Really, Hermione Granger was perfectly aware that skiing wasn't her thing. She had been certain of it from the moment her parents sent her that letter that it would end in chaos. Skiing, for god's sake! Flying was bad enough, but skiing—honestly!
But Hermione Granger had always been obedient, and therefore replied to the letter at once, demonstrating very much false cheer at the idea. And so her Christmas holidays were to be filled by snowy hilltops and many falls from slopes steeper than she fancied.
Until, of course, she could simply no longer handle the constant fall into the freezing ground. Then, she decided, it was time to do something about the situation.
So she naturally used the education card.
And Hermione Granger was at 12 Grimmauld Place before seven the very next morning.
And she had returned there as an allegedly very good skier. (And Ron certainly wouldn't hear otherwise, because if he did, she would never hear the end of it.)
And Christmas at Grimmauld Place was very nice.
Harry had actually gotten her that lovely book she'd been wanting. And Ron—
He had gotten her perfume.
She did not know what to think of this. And that was certainly saying something, for if there was one thing Hermione Granger was exceptionally good with, it was thinking.
But what on earth are you to say about that?
It wasn't that it was bad, necessarily. Though it wasn't really the typical perfume. Not citrusy or bubblegum-y. In fact, that was very good indeed, seeing as Hermione simply detested those particular scents.
But it was very strange indeed. Flowery. But very faint. And perhaps even a bit of some sort of spice. Perhaps something ordinary, she thought. Or maybe some uncommon spice belonging solely to the Wizarding world. But it was very light. It was almost as though the scent had gotten lost in the chilly winter breeze.
And she was speechless, and just barely allowed the "thank you" to escape her lips, sounding a bit more awkward than she had been hoping.
But really, that seemed like the safe thing to say.
And maybe she lingered a bit too long near the mistletoe when she spotted his lanky silhouette.
(But he'll hear about that the second she confesses her lack of skiing ability.)
He didn't notice, though, when she glanced at him from below the decoration, as though. Or else he thought, as it seemed Ron often did when it came to Hermione, that she was merely waiting for someone else.
She shuddered at the very thought. Harry. Really, Hermione just didn't want to think about that at all.
So instead she just forget all about that complete nonsense involving mistletoe and perfume. Or tried to anyway.
And it was by far better than skiing.
AN: This, Kelly, would be why I never got around to writing that Yule Ball AU. Though I might write it anyway. Even though it's obvious I lack skill in that area. Anyway, for those of you who are growing tired of fluff, never fear, for next up is Percy Weasley and some nice angst. That's always refreshing.
