For The Pairing Love Competition and For the Fanfiction Tournaments-December. Kingsmerta! :D
For the sake of humoring me, let's just say that wizards are familiar with the phrase "Bah, humbug!" Okay? Okay!
Rosmerta hums to herself as she wipes down the counter in the Three Broomsticks before walking around it to hang up some extra garland she found in the cupboard. She's spent the entire day arranging Christmas decorations and putting ornaments on all of the trees. It's her favorite time of year; she's even replaced her signature turquoise pumps with sparkly red ones for the occasion.
And the best part of the season is that everyone who comes into the pub is in a good mood for a change. How can they not when they are surrounded by so much Christmas cheer?
But then he comes in.
Clearly, Kingsley is distracted because he wordlessly passes by the bar and heads for his favorite table in the corner which has been moved to accommodate a very large Christmas tree. He stares at the place where his table used to be for a moment, before turning on his heel and approaching the bar and sitting on a stool. "It's Christmas already?" he grumbles.
Normally his appearance is the highlight of Rosmerta's day, but she can see that he is not in a good mood. And it certainly does put a damper on things. However, she does her best to ignore his sour attitude.
"Next week!" she says brightly, and sets a mug of butterbeer in front of him. "Merry Christmas!"
"Bah, humbug!" he responds.
Rosmerta gasps dramatically in fake astonishment. "How can you say such a thing? There shall be no 'bah, humbugs' in my pub, Mr. Shacklebolt!"
"I don't like Christmas is all. Everyone is just so…" he waves his hand around as he searches for the correct word.
"Happy?" she offers.
"Yes." He cringes as a group of carolers walks by outside singing 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs' very loudly and out of tune. "Excessively happy."
"And what's wrong with a little excessive happiness now and then?" Rosmerta questions him.
He opens his mouth to make an argument, but he can't think of anything. Rosmerta knows he can't think of anything, because the idea that there is something wrong with being happy is absurd. She tries very hard to not appear to be too smug about proving him wrong, and she strongly suspects from the look of frustration he's giving her that she is not succeeding.
"Because…" he says, determined not to lose without a fight. "I…you…"
She walks around the bar to stand in front of him. Before she can put her arms around his neck he reaches forward and pulls out the mistletoe from her pocket. She hadn't hidden it as well as she had thought. "I hate mistletoe too," he says pointedly.
"And why is that? Had one too many bad experiences, did you?" she teases.
"No."
She crosses her arms and gives him a look that says she doesn't believe him.
"Okay, yes," he confesses. He tosses the plant onto the counter, and she sticks out her bottom lip in disappointment. It's just too tempting. He pulls her tiny frame against him and kisses her anyway. "But luckily for you, I don't need any incentive to kiss you, my dear."