A/N: Just a little bit of Christmas fluff
I hate sappy Christmas traditions, I really do. Don't get me wrong – the snow, the tree, the carols, that's all great. You can deck the hell out of the halls, jingle bells until you puke and bring as much joy to the world as you want. But why, why I ask you, does mistletoe even come into the picture?
It is not a pine tree, it is a weird little plant. As such, I fail to see the purpose of absolutely drowning Hogwarts in mistletoe. Yet people do it – every year I have to watch where I step and dash through doorways and make sure I never try to pass through the same hall as James Potter. That bloody mistletoe makes my life a living hell for the month before Christmas Holidays, and this year has been no different.
But I've survived. This is the last day before everyone leaves to spend the holidays with their families, and I've just finished packing my trunk. Everything is set, my parents will be waiting for me at King's Cross tomorrow, and I will be able to enjoy one long, wonderful, Potter-less month.
Joy to the world.
Knock knock knock.
Oh shit.
"Lily? Are you in there?"
Leave it to James Potter to figure out how to get up the bloody stairs to the girls dormitory.
"What do you want Potter?"
"Can I come in?"
I sigh. I shouldn't have answered him in the first place. Stupid Lily.
"Please?" he adds a little more quietly.
Well honestly, it is Christmas. I should be nice. Two minutes of civil conversation won't kill me after all. I walk over to the door and open it, stepping back quickly as I do just in case he happens to be holding mistletoe. Luckily the offending plant is nowhere in sight.
"What can I do for you Potter?"
"Well it's just … I mean it's almost Christmas and everything – "
"Nothing escapes your notice does it?"
He gives me a slightly offended look, "Be nice Lily," he says, "Please."
Damn those soft hazel eyes. He has absolutely mastered the wounded puppy dog look. I give another sigh. Fighting this would just take too much energy. And there's something about his eyes that just gets me far more than I'd like to admit.
"Okay," I say "Sorry."
"Anyway, I just wanted to give you this."
He holds out a small package to me, wrapped in gold with a tiny red bow on top of it. I look from him to the box for several seconds, half expecting it to be some sort of trick.
"Um, Lily? You're supposed to take it," he says, giving a nervous laugh.
"Thanks, I'm aware of what to do with a gift."
I snatch it quickly and unwrap it, bracing myself for whatever idiotic idea Potter has in his head about what would make a good Christmas gift. The past few years have included such gems as self-cutting scissors for my hair (which went on a rampage and nearly balded me), a toad (I didn't even bother to ask what he was thinking with that one) and a pair of bunny slippers that were actually live bunnies (impressive bit of magic, but horribly uncomfortable when the bunnies tried to run away).
"Oh," I say quietly, lifting the lid. This is impossible – James Potter has actually gotten me a good present. No, more than good. It's fantastic. It's exactly what I wanted. It's exactly what I dreamed of getting. But …
"How did you know?" I whisper quietly, taking the gold and emerald bracelet from its satin bed, "I mean really, this is just… just…"
This is just perfect. Those are the words I'm trying to get out. I'd been dreaming about this bracelet since our first Hogsmeade visit. It was so beautiful – an antique, nearly priceless. I had never owned anything so beautiful, and up until now I had assumed I never would.
"So you like it?" He asks nervously, "I saw you looking at it every time we went on a Hogsmeade visit. I mean I assumed this was what you were eyeing – that diamond encrusted blast-ended skrewt broach next to it was pretty hideous, so if you like that I think I can safely say you have no taste whatsoev-"
The end of the word was drowned out by my lips against his. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but suddenly I'm kissing James Potter. Maybe it's the six years of failed attempts to woo me, maybe it's the sheer ridiculousness of how much money he just spent, maybe it's the eggnog getting to me. Or maybe whispers a tiny voice in my head, it's that you love him just as much as he loves you.
Finally, we break apart, James looking like he's just been made the king of the world.
"Wow," he whispers, "What made you do that?"
I glance up at the ceiling and mutter a quick spell. Mistletoe appears above us.
"Blame it on the mistletoe," I say simply.
He shakes his head, a smile starting to light up his handsome face, "We both know that wasn't there ten seconds ago."
"You stick with your story," I say, putting my arms around his neck and leaning in closer, "And I'll stick with mine."
Okay, so maybe sappy Christmas traditions aren't so bad after all.
A/N: Reviews are like hot chocolate on a cold day!