Novo Nachalo

Chapter 1: New Year, New Beginning

Monday, December 31, 2007 to Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Hermione used to love New Year's Eve.

That was when it represented new beginnings and possibilities, new hopes and goals, new risks and rewards.

When she and Viktor celebrated it together, because they considered it the anniversary of their reconnection. The reason they started seeing each other again, even if it was just a fling at first to help her get over Ron all those years ago.

But this was Hermione's first New Year's Eve since Viktor's death, and Hermione was viscerally, painfully, deeply aware that she didn't love it anymore. Just as she hadn't loved Christmas last week without him, or, she imagined, any other holiday that would be defined by the lack of her husband.

The loss wasn't even four months old yet, but the wound had yet to begin to scab. In fact, it still felt raw enough to make her knees shake any time she thought of it, like she was still haemorrhaging blood fast enough to keep her light headed. Nothing quite felt real.

In the quiet moments when she was alone with her darker thoughts, Hermione believed it was the sort of pain that would never heal. But then she looked over at Rosen, their six and a half year old daughter, asleep on the couch and snoring softly, and Hermione knew she had to try. She didn't want Rosen to carry this heavy weight of her grief her whole life, which meant finding a way to put her own sadness down and set a healthy example of mourning and moving forward for her daughter.

It just felt too early for that. She wasn't ready yet to loosen her grip on his memory. The idea of beginning to move on felt like sacrilege when four months ago, they had been planning Hermione's birthday together as a family. Viktor had told Rosen that she could choose any kind of cake and they would figure out how to bake it for Mama together. Who would bake with her now? Vik had been so much more domestic than her...

The countdown to midnight started on the radio, and Ron and Harry gave each other sad smiles.

They were sad for her, she knew. Otherwise, they would be celebrating like they usually did, at some party with their friends or family or both. Instead, they had insisted on staying home with Hermione when she had said she was just going to have a quiet night in.

She moved to the couch and gently roused her daughter. It took a moment, and the countdown was at four already by the time she woke.

"Chestita Nova Godina, svetlinata na zhivota mi," Hermione murmured to her.

The words were Bulgarian for Happy New Year, light of my life. Rosen wrapped her little arms around Hermione's neck, buried her face in the mane of wild curls they shared—my curly girls, Vik had called them. Her sleepy voice mumbled a request back in Bulgarian instead of saying it back, simply asking if she could go to bed now.

Harry and Ron were still kissing across the room, so at least they didn't see the look of pain cross Hermione's face. It hurt, but not because she was taking it personally. Even if her own sadness hadn't made the atmosphere so thick, Vik had always been better at celebrating than she was. Of course it was hard for Rosen to celebrate just now too.

She just scooped her little girl up into her arms and took her upstairs to her room. It was the smallest room in the suite Harry and Ron had so freely offered up to them when Rosen had begged not to go back to their own home months ago. Her best friends assured her that they would have those four rooms—a sitting room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms—at Grimmauld Place all to themselves for as long as they needed.

And it might be a while. Hermione couldn't imagine selling the home she and Viktor had bought for their family last year when they moved to London, and Rosen still refused to go inside of it. Besides that, for as hyper-independent as Hermione had always tried to be, she didn't actually do well on her own anymore. She'd been used to it once, but it had been years, and she didn't imagine now was a good time to move out, when she still nearly suffocated with longing every time she went to bed alone.