There was an empty house where a family used to live. There was no tree, no lights, no ridiculous wreath with little candy canes that her father hated but hung every year. Not this year.

Hermione Granger thought about the empty house on the street where people she’d known her whole life were still celebrating the Christmas season. She hated this tent, and she couldn’t help but realize that Christmas was another thing Voldemort had stolen from them.

She closed her eyes, and she could see that street in lights, and it brought her a different kind of comfort. Home.