I don't own 'Harry Potter', 'Twilight' or 'The Santa Clause'. For this story the vampires are now elves, but not Christmas Elves.

Christmas Magic All Year Round: Chapter 1 – The Granger's Perfect Little Angel

Mr. and Mrs. Granger told Hermione they knew from the day she was born she was a very special little girl. They saw how special she was in those special little eyes of hers, but also those special little hands of hers. They knew she would grow up and be something great. As such it came as no surprise when Hermione found herself skipping grades and reading at a high school level at a very, very young age. Sometimes they called her their Christmas miracle despite not being born in December as they learned the December before that they would be having a baby despite never having such luck before.

She grew up in a very strict household. While she was able to read anything, she wanted her parents kept anything fantastical off her reading list. Fantasy held no place in a house with a firm belief in science which in turn also planned on their daughter going into one of the leading fields of science. After all, Hermione was deemed what the adults around her called a child genius. There was great debate whether she might become a medical doctor, a biochemist along with any other wide range of science or anything dealing with technologies and science. The only non-science expectation was in fact becoming a lawyer.

As such Hermione found herself surprised when her parents stopped asking her what she wanted to be when she grew up among a specific list of course.

They in fact didn't ask her at all.

The small child felt ill for some time and found herself unable to read the books she loved reading without getting a major headache. She'd fall asleep during her favorite science programs, but a few time at school she found herself fainting. The complete black outs led to Hermione being taken in to see a doctor, yet nobody ever told her what was wrong with her. She did, however, see her parents cry and wring their hands regarding whatever the doctors told them and they seemed inclined to treat her differently than before.

For gifts she received she no longer received books. Her headaches were sighted, but the number of stuffed animals started burring her. Some were even of fantastical animals she'd heard briefly mentioned, yet her parents avoided even among the classics giving her books about. The child missed reading yet found herself with headaches when she did in fact try to read. These headaches would bring the poor child to tears and her mother would give her some medicine to sleep. Everything seemed passing in a blur as her mother sat there waiting for her to fall asleep.

Her parents probably thought she was asleep when she snuck down the stairs and overheard the conversation between her parents. "How could you have an affair with another man?"

"I didn't."

"Don't lie to me. I went to get tested to see if I was a match for Hermione and found out that I was not. If she's not my daughter, you had to have an affair."

"I don't remember."

"Of course, you don't. She's not my daughter."

"Daddy?" Hermione spoke up from the stairs where tears welled in her eyes. Her lip formed into a pout as she tried not to cry. Her daddy was of course her daddy, so why would the man in fact say he wasn't? She clutched the banister as hot tears poured down her face. Hermione's mother rushed over to her and scooped her into her arms before tucking her back into bed so she could sleep some more. Eventually her mother woke her up. Her mother carried her down to the taxi waiting for them which in turn took them to the airport. Hermione peeked out the window looking for her father. "Where's daddy?"

"He's not coming with us. He needs to keep the dentistry going while we're taking our trip."

"Where are we going?"

"We're taking a trip to America. There is a doctor there who will help you feel better."

Hermione continued holding her mother's hand as she got onto the plane but found herself situated in a seat looking out the window. The plane took off and Hermione found herself dozing off for a bit, yet she over heard her mother speaking to the lady across the aisle. "So, what are you going to America for?"

"My daughter has cancer, so I'm taking her to one of the leading children's hospital over there."

"Oh. Is it just the two of you?"

"My husband…" Her mother paused. "I told him he could stay behind. He needed to take care of the business after all so we can stay afloat, but we also had a fight I'd much rather not discuss."

"Oh, sorry." The woman stopped speaking to Hermione's mother and Hermione pretended to wake up at that point. The person in charge of the taking care of the passengers brought her a drink. Hermione found herself looking out the window feeling as if she were missing something. This feeling always bothered her despite always hearing that she was her mother's special little angel, yet she wondered if she was still her father's special angel. Realization hit that at eight years of age she would not be spending Christmas with her father.

A jingling sound was heard outside of the window and she found herself looking. Hermione's mouth opened as she saw Santa's sleigh flying outside of the plane, yet when she closed her eyes the sleigh was in fact gone. She'd heard about Santa every year despite her parents always telling her he didn't exist and they honestly believed she didn't believe. Despite this, they still continued the Santa tradition where her father would place presents under the tree pretending to be Santa.

It was the one magical time of the year.

This year there were no Christmas decorations, no Christmas tree or even a chance at getting presents. Hermione tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mama. How does Santa give presents to children who are on planes during Christmas?"

Her mother sighed. "Hermione, I thought you didn't believe in Santa?"

Hermione looked out the window. She was sure of what she had seen despite the fact she'd been told by one doctor she might be having hallucinations. She saw Santa, but she believed in him.