Minerva wakes on the sofa to find that the sun is already setting.
She sits up, cursing herself for sleeping the day away, but then she remembers it's her first one off in months, and she's glad she didn't have to spend the whole of it missing her family.
She can't go home. Not this year, while the wounds with Dougal are still so fresh. She almost decided to work through the holiday, but the sense of reverence for it instilled by her upbringing won out in the end. At the very least, she will rest, and she will be thankful.
In the kitchen, she finds the biscuit tin on the table, and card from Augusta atop it, reading, "I still can't fathom why you're spending Christmas alone, you absolute madwoman, but at least you'll have these for company now."
She sets the card down. Did she really sleep through Augusta baking?
She takes a biscuit from the tin. Ginger, her favourite. A worthy gift.
The evening wears on. Minerva makes a pot of hot chocolate and curls up on the sofa with a mug of it and a peppermint stick, staring at the twinkling tree in the corner and humming Christmas hymns when the mood strikes. She's had a few nights like this over the course of the month, and she considered them pleasant, but there's an ache in her chest now that it's truly the holiday. A few days ago, Mum sent an owl carrying a parcel of small presents, but Minerva doesn't have the heart to open them.
The four of them, Mum and Dad and her brothers, will be eating supper about now, and then they'll walk to the church for the Christmas Eve service. She wonders what Dad will say this year; he always makes it different.
She turns to the fire after a while, playing with it by changing its colours and making it take the shapes of various animals. Hours later, at around half ten, a knock on the door startles her, and she sends the fire back to its normal state.
Her mind reels a bit, because the only person she can think of who'd be mad enough to visit her on Christmas Eve is Dougal, and he is exactly the person she's trying to avoid by not going home. . . .
As she approaches the door, she realises this idea is absurd, but she asks, "Who is it?" in an English accent, just in case.
"Finn."
He is her field partner, and she considers him a friend enough to use his nickname, but they have only known each other for a few months. What the bloody hell is he doing here? And why the bloody hell are there tears welling up in her eyes?
She blinks them away and opens the door. "Haven't you got parents?"
He just shrugs, as she thought he would. "Thought you might need company. Augusta said you're having a hard time with the holiday."
She jokes about the pure-blood Slytherin families meeting up for tea and secrets, but things like this make her wonder if it's true. She raises an eyebrow, trying to appear indifferent. "How would she know?"
"She's your best friend, and your flatmate. She's bound to notice things."
Well, if nothing else, Minerva is glad for the company. "Don't just stand there letting in the cold. Come in." When he does, she finds herself apologising for the mess even though she really isn't sorry for it, because she never expected a visitor.
He stops her mid-apology by saying, "You don't have to bother with all that rubbish. I don't mind."
"Thank God." She leads him to the kitchen. "Care for some hot chocolate? And I've got an excess of peppermint sticks."
He nods, and she pours him a mug, stirring it with a peppermint stick a few times before sliding it across the counter to him. She silently Accios her own mug and pours more for herself before returning to her seat by the fire, where she resumes playing with its colour and shape. Elphinstone watches, laughing at the more ridiculous ones, but mostly he's silent too.
At half eleven, she stands. "I'm going for a walk."
She pulls on her coat and fills her mug once more before heading outside, using wandless magic to keep the drink warm. He follows, without hesitation and without asking where she's going, which is good, because she isn't sure herself.
Snow falls, but the lack of a breeze ensures that the air isn't terribly cold. There are footprints in the snow. . . .
She suddenly knows exactly where she's going.
It's in the quietest part of the neighbourhood: a small church with stained-glass windows and a rose garden. It may be Anglican, but its size reminds her of home, something she misses so much that it physically hurts.
The doors are open despite the snow, and Minerva sits next to the front steps so as to remain out of sight, quietly singing along with the hymn. Elphinstone joins her, and though he is obviously unfamiliar with the lyrics, does his best to hum the tune with her.
When the bells toll midnight, the priest begins to speak, and it makes her smile. He speaks gently, as if to a friend, just as her father always does. Conversational, warm, and full of obvious love for his congregation.
A few final hymns are sung afterward, and then Minerva and Elphinstone both stand and rush off before the people inside can make their way out and see them sitting there.
"That was lovely," he says.
Minerva nods. "Don't tell my father," she says jokingly. "He'd feel so betrayed."
"Not a word," he says, as if it's likely he will ever meet her father.
.
They talk for a long time back at the flat, a bit about the Christmases they had growing up, a bit of nonsense, and the rest about work. He's been offered a large promotion, and taking it would make him her boss, so he is reluctant to do so. He's "never got on so well" with a field partner, apparently.
"Take the bloody promotion," she insists. "We need better bosses."
Neither of them glances at the clock until it's nearly four, and then they both swear in shock.
He stands. "I'd better get back. They all expect me to be there on Christmas morning, you know."
"Of course."
She follows him to the door, but he stops just before opening it and stares down at the welcome mat. She finds herself thinking that Muggle clothes suit him very nicely, and then chides herself for being ridiculous—
"If it's all right with my family, would you care to come for Christmas dinner?" he asks.
"Oh, dear, when you get that promotion, people will certainly accuse you of favouritism."
"No one has to know." He opens the door, steps outside, and looks as if he's remembered something when he turns back to her. "With my family, there's something about yourself you'd best keep quiet."
"That I'm a half-blood?" she says dryly, assuming the worst.
"Merlin, no. That you were a Gryffindor."
"You bloody—" She shakes her head to fight off her laughter, and wonders if he knows how much he's helped her tonight. "Happy Christmas, Finn," she says, and gives him a nod, hoping he'll catch the deeper meaning.
He smiles and returns the nod, and she knows he understands. "Happy Christmas, Minerva."
I headcanon them both as Hit Wizards; it makes sense with her skills. I know Pottermore only says he was her boss, but I don't see why he couldn't have been her partner at first.