Set During December of Emma's fifth year.
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Emma hadn't stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas break since her first year. Mary-Margaret had insisted she spend the holidays with her family for the past three, but the Blanchards were on a vacation in Egypt this winter. So, Emma was stuck at school on the Christmas morning of her fifth year at Hogwarts.
There was only one table in the Great Hall that morning, and there was only one student eating breakfast when Emma came down. He was right at the middle of the table, like the whole thing was his, but Emma could see the defensive slump of his shoulders. His normally sparkling blue eyes were sad, downcast. His mop of unruly hair was just as wild as it ever had been, but it looked a little less messy-on-purpose and more I-just-woke-up.
Like Emma, Killian Jones had come down to breakfast in his pajamas. While hers were pale pink and plaid (a gift from Mary-Margaret), his were solid navy blue with a yellow collar and buttons. His collar was popped up, but like his hair, Emma couldn't tell if it was on purpose or accident.
Emma padded her way down the opposite side of the table from the sixth year boy and stepped over the bench across from him. He looked up suddenly, as though she'd apparated instead of walked up to him. His eyes were a little red. Perhaps he hadn't slept well. Emma knew her own eyes probably matched his.
"Happy Christmas," he said without a trace of happiness. "Swan, isn't it?"
"That's me," she said, sitting down across from him. "Merry Christmas, Jones."
"You've heard of me," he said with a ghost of a smirk. "Good things, I hope."
She rolled her eyes and started filling her plate. They ate in silence for a minute.
"I didn't know you were one of the Lost Boys," he said eventually, his eyes meeting hers with an appraising expression before darting around the empty hall.
"Lost Boys?" she said, looking around in confusion for a moment before his meaning dawned on her. "You mean orphans."
He nodded with a wry smile, clearly pleased that she'd caught the dark humor.
"Aren't you a pure blood?" Emma asked. "How do you know about the Lost Boys?"
"Love muggle literature, me," he said, all bravado and smugness, "love to see how wrong they are about magic."
"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Like all that rubbish about 'true love's kiss' breaking any curse," he made a dismissive snort.
"You've read Snow White?" she accused incredulously.
"Does that surprise you?" he said gently, his eyes more honest than she'd expected with his flirtatious reputation.
"Actually, yeah," Emma said. She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Will you be taking the class, then?"
"Class?" his eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely curious.
"The Muggle Literature class that we're trying to create," she said, reaching for a cinnamon roll from a tray on his side of the table.
He plucked a particularly decedent-looking sweet bun from the tray and offered it to her.
"Who is 'we'?" he said as she took the roll from him, their fingers brushing.
"Thanks," she murmured, setting the pastry on her plate and then licking the errant icing from her fingers.
Killian was mirroring her, also cleaning his own hand with his mouth.
Emma looked away, trying to remember what he'd asked.
"Um, some friends of mine…" Emma said, taking a breath before looking at him again, "Professor McGonagall said she'd sponsor it if we get enough students."
"Ah," he said, nodding. "I think Briars mentioned something about that."
"Aurora?" Emma said, surprised that he'd know the younger girl. Then the realization hit her. "Right, you're both on the Quidditch team."
"Aye," he said. He looked amused but slightly disappointed.
Emma dimly remembered the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin game from October. She knew that Hufflepuff had won, but she and her other roommates had left when the game entered its fourth hour.
"I didn't stay for the whole game," Emma admitted, smiling apologetically.
"Neither did I," Killian said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"What?" she said incredulously. "You were playing in that game!"
"We were up by 270 with Slytherin yet to score," he shrugged. "So I popped off for a drink."
Emma gaped at him for a moment. She absolutely believed that he was telling the truth, but she still couldn't quite imagine that he'd really done it. How had nobody noticed that the Hufflepuff Seeker had wandered off?
"What if the score had changed?" she asked, eyes wide.
"No one can get past Graham, Swan," Killian said with an easy shrug. "He's the best Keeper we've had in years. The only way the score could have changed is by going up for us by quaffle or up for them by snitch. We'd already won, so I let Jefferson find the little golden bugger to offset the trouncing."
Emma just shook her head, turning her eyes back to her breakfast. She poured herself a mug of cocoa.
"We'll see how you do in January, aye?" Killian said quietly after a moment.
Emma's head snapped up. He was smiling at her, almost shyly—where did that come from?
"What," she said, as if she didn't know what he meant.
"Of course I know you made the team, love," Killian said, back to his usual, cocky smirk. "I'm the Captain, it's my job to know. Anyway, Dave told me. Well, threatened me's more like. He thinks rather highly of you. He was all 'watch your backside, Jones,' and placing wagers."
Killian picked up a strip of bacon and took a bite out of it, still watching her.
"You know David," Emma said, still off-balance.
"Respective team captains in the same year?" Killian said, raising an eyebrow again. "Aye, we've met."
Emma snorted at the sarcasm but made no reply.
"So, you're the new seeker for Gryffindor," Killian said, leaning forward on his elbows so he could study her. "I hope you're as good as Dave says. I love a challenge."
His smile was practically predatory. This was the Killian Jones she'd heard about: hopeless flirt, cocky pretty-boy, confident team captain. She could deal with that.
"Yeah?" she said, leaning forward and grinning right back at him, "well David's wrong. You'll be watching my backside as I beat you to the snitch."
"I wouldn't mind the view, love," he said saucily with a wink.
Emma's mouth fell open when she realized what she'd said. Clearing her throat, she decided to change the subject.
"So, are you interested in taking the lit class?" she asked, trying to regain her composure. She took a long sip of her cocoa.
"How many more do you need to make it happen, love?" he said, taking a drink from his own mug.
"We need at least seven, preferably ten, and we've already got…" she quickly counted in her head: Me, Mary-Margaret, Ruby, Belle, Ariel, Aurora, probably David if Mary-Margaret has any say in it… "Six definite yeses and one maybe."
Killian nodded, looking thoughtful.
"Any year?" he asked.
"Third years and up," she said, nodding at him.
"Aye, you can count me in," he said seriously, giving Emma a little nod.
"Really?" she breathed, beaming.
"Aye," he said, favoring her with a genuine smile, "and I can fill your quorum, I think. August will be thrilled—loves books, him—and if Briars is in, I can convince Phil. Maybe Graham, too…"
"Thank you, Jones," she said seriously.
"You could call me Killian, lass," he teased with a smirk.
"That's not what's on your jersey, captain," she sassed back.
"So you have been watching my backside, eh, Swan?" he lilted, grinning. His blue eyes sparkled merrily.
"In your dreams," she huffed, rolling her eyes.
"You have no idea," he murmured, winking again.