Advent Calendar Days 14 and 15
I'm afraid I wasn't in the mood for writing last night, so today is a twofer.
First up is a recommend. I know most of you will be following the sshg_exchange, but this amazing offering hasn't had many reviews yet and it deserves to be read as it is astounding.
No Greater Dominion is told from Harry's POV, which makes it surprisingly authentic. Except this Harry has proper emotions and can express himself eloquently, rather than just shouting at people. His evolving feelings for Severus and Hermione, and his observation of their evolving feelings for each other are so sweetly done, while the background carnage and confusion just make it so imperative that you find out what is going on. And as for the ending... Gah!
Second, here is Chapter Three of the House in the Dales.
The Tree
The next morning dawned bright and cold, the storm apparently having blown itself out during the night. The winter sunshine creeping through the curtains did much to restore Hermione’s good spirits; she pushed the heavy eiderdown away in a swift, decisive movement and threw back the curtains to greet the morning. The river had swollen somewhat during the night, its normally placid waters now churning with mud and other debris. She stood and watched the heavy branch of a tree glide serenely towards the village before the cold finally sent her scurrying to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
The little sitting room was looking cosy and welcoming once again, perhaps due to the aging half-Kneazle sleeping by the hearth, his ginger fur sticking up like the bristles of a shoe brush.
Nudging a sleepy Crookshanks aside, Hermione Vanished the ashes of last night’s fire and set fresh flames leaping in the grate. With the curtains open and the shutters unlatched, the cottage was flooded with cold, bright light and a feeling of almost infinite possibility.
Hermione made herself a pot of tea and carried it to the little kitchen table along with her toast, deep in thought. She was far too sensible a creature to allow the despondency of the previous evening to cause her to despair. She had chosen to spend the season alone because it was preferable to the suffocating nature of being coddled by her remaining nearest and dearest. It had been her choice and she was determined to enjoy it. There would be no falling into the doldrums. No, if anything, her momentary loneliness had spurred her on to fill this little holiday with all sorts of fun and contented happiness.
It was with this in mind that she finished her breakfast, put on her hat and scarf, and set off down the path beside the river into the town.
Hawes was a bustling little market town with an interesting museum and a plethora of fascinating little shops. The whole place had been decorated for Christmas with trees in the windows and strings of lights criss-crossing the street.
The market filled the narrow streets and the stalls were crowded with browsers. There seemed to be a Victorian Christmas theme in place, and it was rather like walking down Diagon Alley. Some of the Christmas decorations on sale were so lovely that Hermione began to toy with the idea of decorating the little cottage for Christmas.
“It already looks like the illustration from a chocolate box,” she reasoned. “A few twinkling lights and a wreath on the door can’t hurt.”
The idea grew and grew until she had planned herself a little Christmas feast all for one (and a cat). She would find the world’s smallest turkey, purchase one of those ridiculously over priced miniature puddings and hope that it could be heated with the wave of a wand. She made a mental list of all the things that she might need - never quite as much fun as a real list of ink on parchment, but satisfying nonetheless - and browsed the jumbled stalls with renewed interest.
Shopping for decorations was so much fun that Hermione almost allowed herself to forget the most important decoration of all - the Christmas tree. Thankfully, there was a selection at the edge of the market that caught her eye, and she wandered over to have a closer look.
The trees were absolutely perfect - all wonderfully symmetrical, with bushy green branches. All practically identical in their festive perfection.
Hermione blinked.
They weren’t practically identical; unless she was very much mistaken, each perfect tree was a carbon copy of the next, with just slight variations in size. There was a little three footer that would have been perfect for the space by the living room window, an exact scaled down replica of the towering ten foot monstrosity that stood in pride of place.
The stall holder caught her looking and sidled over, giving her a cursory glace appraisal.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” he asked. “We can deliver, if you like. It would only take a moment.”
There was no suggestion of magic about him. Indeed, he looked more normal that the other stall holders, having forgone the Victorian get up so many of them had chosen, but there was something far too knowing about his glance for him to be a Muggle. His next words confirmed her suspicions.
“You’re staying in the Brown cottage, aren’t you, Miss?”
“Yes,” Hermione replied, hoping that such knowledge came from living in a small town and not from any undue interest on his part. Surely all little towns were like that? It was the main reason she had always lived in the city. “I’ve taken it for Christmas.”
“This little tree here would be perfect for a house like that.”
Hermione conceded that it probably was and asked for it to be delivered. The stall holder glanced from side to side, and the little tree quietly vanished.
“Will there be anything else, Miss?”
The Miss in question was wondering if she ought to report such flagrant use of magic around Muggles - plus the implication that he was making a profit from Gemini Charmed trees - and fast coming to the conclusion that it would hardly be in keeping with the sense of Christmas cheer she was attempting to nurture within her breast.
Still, the knowledge that he was a wizard prompted her to enquire, “Do you know Madam Brown?”
“Not quite,” came the reply. “I deliver goods to the house, but Madam Brown isn’t one for conversing with tradespersons. Titus usually keeps me informed.”
“Titus?”
“Her house elf. There was a mania for classical names when she was a girl.” He explained. “What about you - are you in the cottage all by yourself? No family?”
Hermione, who had been hoping for a little more information about her temporary landlady, felt her smile slip. “No, no family,” she concurred.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised cheerily. “It’s not my place. Well, there we go, all delivered. That’ll be twenty quid to you, pet.”
Hermione paused. A man who traded with the local wizards might be able to solve one puzzle for her. “Do you happen to know Mr Tamworth, as well? He has the house on the hill?”
The genial smile faded from his face. “I don’t trade with Tamworth, Miss. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other customers waiting.”
*
Hermione walked along the little path beside the river, caught up in her thoughts. It seemed as if Jonathan’s little drama was determined to catch her interest. There had definitely been an edge to the market trader’s voice when he had spoken about Mr Tamworth, as if he knew something altogether unsavoury about the man. Not at all the sort of man who should be allowed to marry the Incomparable Evangeline, especially not when her heart was already promised to a young man of such melancholic loveliness as Mr Thorpe. And then there was Madam Brown, who owned a House Elf but was probably too removed from the capital to know about the wonderful advancements that had been made in human-elf relations. Hermione could almost feel her fingers itching as she resisted the idea of helping out.
Yet resist, she must. She didn’t have the full facts, after all. It could all just be a misunderstanding that would be sorted out quite satisfactorily without her intervention.
Not to mention the fact that she had promised herself a holiday away from helping people.
She let herself daydream a bit about the perfect little Christmas she had, organised instead. The turkey had been ordered from the butcher, her bags were full of tinsel and baubles to decorate the house and, if she hadn't just been fleeced by the stall holder, there would be a darling little tree waiting for her in the front room when she returned home.
*
She decorated the tree that night. Carefully charming each bauble to light softly and dim at different rates was a time consuming but thoroughly festive project.
This was the first tree she had ever decorated all by herself. The thought struck her as rather peculiar and had the happy effect of making her feel very grown up and self sufficient. With the daintiest flick of her wand, tiny lilac lights sprang into life and twined themselves carefully around the branches. It was perhaps the gaudiest display she had even seen and Hermione loved it.
The cottage was so charmingly ready for Christmas that Hermione felt a moment’s sadness that she wasn’t expecting any visitors over the festive season.
Humming herself a silly little tune, she began to drape tinsel over the mantelpiece, out of Crookshank’s reach. He might have been getting a little long in the tooth, but her familiar still had the alarming propensity of all cats to attack anything festive within swiping range.
Hermione had just stepped back to admire her handiwork when the peace of the little cottage was disturbed by a sharp, precise tapping at the door.
On to Chapter Four
It's the work's Christmas do tonight. Mexican and cocktails. Can't see that ending badly. . .
First up is a recommend. I know most of you will be following the sshg_exchange, but this amazing offering hasn't had many reviews yet and it deserves to be read as it is astounding.
No Greater Dominion is told from Harry's POV, which makes it surprisingly authentic. Except this Harry has proper emotions and can express himself eloquently, rather than just shouting at people. His evolving feelings for Severus and Hermione, and his observation of their evolving feelings for each other are so sweetly done, while the background carnage and confusion just make it so imperative that you find out what is going on. And as for the ending... Gah!
Second, here is Chapter Three of the House in the Dales.
The Tree
The next morning dawned bright and cold, the storm apparently having blown itself out during the night. The winter sunshine creeping through the curtains did much to restore Hermione’s good spirits; she pushed the heavy eiderdown away in a swift, decisive movement and threw back the curtains to greet the morning. The river had swollen somewhat during the night, its normally placid waters now churning with mud and other debris. She stood and watched the heavy branch of a tree glide serenely towards the village before the cold finally sent her scurrying to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
The little sitting room was looking cosy and welcoming once again, perhaps due to the aging half-Kneazle sleeping by the hearth, his ginger fur sticking up like the bristles of a shoe brush.
Nudging a sleepy Crookshanks aside, Hermione Vanished the ashes of last night’s fire and set fresh flames leaping in the grate. With the curtains open and the shutters unlatched, the cottage was flooded with cold, bright light and a feeling of almost infinite possibility.
Hermione made herself a pot of tea and carried it to the little kitchen table along with her toast, deep in thought. She was far too sensible a creature to allow the despondency of the previous evening to cause her to despair. She had chosen to spend the season alone because it was preferable to the suffocating nature of being coddled by her remaining nearest and dearest. It had been her choice and she was determined to enjoy it. There would be no falling into the doldrums. No, if anything, her momentary loneliness had spurred her on to fill this little holiday with all sorts of fun and contented happiness.
It was with this in mind that she finished her breakfast, put on her hat and scarf, and set off down the path beside the river into the town.
Hawes was a bustling little market town with an interesting museum and a plethora of fascinating little shops. The whole place had been decorated for Christmas with trees in the windows and strings of lights criss-crossing the street.
The market filled the narrow streets and the stalls were crowded with browsers. There seemed to be a Victorian Christmas theme in place, and it was rather like walking down Diagon Alley. Some of the Christmas decorations on sale were so lovely that Hermione began to toy with the idea of decorating the little cottage for Christmas.
“It already looks like the illustration from a chocolate box,” she reasoned. “A few twinkling lights and a wreath on the door can’t hurt.”
The idea grew and grew until she had planned herself a little Christmas feast all for one (and a cat). She would find the world’s smallest turkey, purchase one of those ridiculously over priced miniature puddings and hope that it could be heated with the wave of a wand. She made a mental list of all the things that she might need - never quite as much fun as a real list of ink on parchment, but satisfying nonetheless - and browsed the jumbled stalls with renewed interest.
Shopping for decorations was so much fun that Hermione almost allowed herself to forget the most important decoration of all - the Christmas tree. Thankfully, there was a selection at the edge of the market that caught her eye, and she wandered over to have a closer look.
The trees were absolutely perfect - all wonderfully symmetrical, with bushy green branches. All practically identical in their festive perfection.
Hermione blinked.
They weren’t practically identical; unless she was very much mistaken, each perfect tree was a carbon copy of the next, with just slight variations in size. There was a little three footer that would have been perfect for the space by the living room window, an exact scaled down replica of the towering ten foot monstrosity that stood in pride of place.
The stall holder caught her looking and sidled over, giving her a cursory glace appraisal.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” he asked. “We can deliver, if you like. It would only take a moment.”
There was no suggestion of magic about him. Indeed, he looked more normal that the other stall holders, having forgone the Victorian get up so many of them had chosen, but there was something far too knowing about his glance for him to be a Muggle. His next words confirmed her suspicions.
“You’re staying in the Brown cottage, aren’t you, Miss?”
“Yes,” Hermione replied, hoping that such knowledge came from living in a small town and not from any undue interest on his part. Surely all little towns were like that? It was the main reason she had always lived in the city. “I’ve taken it for Christmas.”
“This little tree here would be perfect for a house like that.”
Hermione conceded that it probably was and asked for it to be delivered. The stall holder glanced from side to side, and the little tree quietly vanished.
“Will there be anything else, Miss?”
The Miss in question was wondering if she ought to report such flagrant use of magic around Muggles - plus the implication that he was making a profit from Gemini Charmed trees - and fast coming to the conclusion that it would hardly be in keeping with the sense of Christmas cheer she was attempting to nurture within her breast.
Still, the knowledge that he was a wizard prompted her to enquire, “Do you know Madam Brown?”
“Not quite,” came the reply. “I deliver goods to the house, but Madam Brown isn’t one for conversing with tradespersons. Titus usually keeps me informed.”
“Titus?”
“Her house elf. There was a mania for classical names when she was a girl.” He explained. “What about you - are you in the cottage all by yourself? No family?”
Hermione, who had been hoping for a little more information about her temporary landlady, felt her smile slip. “No, no family,” she concurred.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised cheerily. “It’s not my place. Well, there we go, all delivered. That’ll be twenty quid to you, pet.”
Hermione paused. A man who traded with the local wizards might be able to solve one puzzle for her. “Do you happen to know Mr Tamworth, as well? He has the house on the hill?”
The genial smile faded from his face. “I don’t trade with Tamworth, Miss. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other customers waiting.”
*
Hermione walked along the little path beside the river, caught up in her thoughts. It seemed as if Jonathan’s little drama was determined to catch her interest. There had definitely been an edge to the market trader’s voice when he had spoken about Mr Tamworth, as if he knew something altogether unsavoury about the man. Not at all the sort of man who should be allowed to marry the Incomparable Evangeline, especially not when her heart was already promised to a young man of such melancholic loveliness as Mr Thorpe. And then there was Madam Brown, who owned a House Elf but was probably too removed from the capital to know about the wonderful advancements that had been made in human-elf relations. Hermione could almost feel her fingers itching as she resisted the idea of helping out.
Yet resist, she must. She didn’t have the full facts, after all. It could all just be a misunderstanding that would be sorted out quite satisfactorily without her intervention.
Not to mention the fact that she had promised herself a holiday away from helping people.
She let herself daydream a bit about the perfect little Christmas she had, organised instead. The turkey had been ordered from the butcher, her bags were full of tinsel and baubles to decorate the house and, if she hadn't just been fleeced by the stall holder, there would be a darling little tree waiting for her in the front room when she returned home.
*
She decorated the tree that night. Carefully charming each bauble to light softly and dim at different rates was a time consuming but thoroughly festive project.
This was the first tree she had ever decorated all by herself. The thought struck her as rather peculiar and had the happy effect of making her feel very grown up and self sufficient. With the daintiest flick of her wand, tiny lilac lights sprang into life and twined themselves carefully around the branches. It was perhaps the gaudiest display she had even seen and Hermione loved it.
The cottage was so charmingly ready for Christmas that Hermione felt a moment’s sadness that she wasn’t expecting any visitors over the festive season.
Humming herself a silly little tune, she began to drape tinsel over the mantelpiece, out of Crookshank’s reach. He might have been getting a little long in the tooth, but her familiar still had the alarming propensity of all cats to attack anything festive within swiping range.
Hermione had just stepped back to admire her handiwork when the peace of the little cottage was disturbed by a sharp, precise tapping at the door.
On to Chapter Four
It's the work's Christmas do tonight. Mexican and cocktails. Can't see that ending badly. . .