The Twelve Days of Christmas

And you thought I wouldn't deliver... It's currently 2:13 AM, EST, on December the 24th. I promise, later today at least one more chapter will be up - it may be closer to midnight than anything, but it'll happen. Hell, if I have the time, you'll have two. This story will be done by Christmas, don't worry about that. I have yet to miss a deadline... I finished a 100 chapter story on July 31st (which incidentally, wasn't planned when I first started out, rather about 25 chapters in). It snowed today... I was happy. :o) And I also saw the Majestic, which is a very, very patriotic movie. I'm surprised the critics haven't said too much about it.
Happy Christmas Eve,
Aimée

Chapter 8 : Falter


It was December 24th, Christmas Eve. The five boys of Gryffindor dorms laid in their beds, conversing back and worth with the eager banter of six year olds anticipating the morning to come.

"Who do you think your Saint is, Dean?" said Seamus, who was curled up into a small ball at the foot of his bed, blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon.

"Don't know," Dean admitted. "A Gryffindor girl… Definitely not Hermione though, she's not too into pink, it she? Lavender, maybe."

"I haven't a clue as to who my Saint is," Seamus sighed. "It's simply awful not knowing, I must say."

"We'll find out tomorrow morning," mumbled Ron sleepily into his pillow. "But while the subject's open, I probably got someone horrible – Malfoy or your girlfriend. My luck just runs that way, you know."

Seamus grinned, "I will jump onto the Gryffindor table and strip off all of my clothes, then dance the funky chicken if Pansy's your Saint."

Ron's eyes, although veiled by darkness, widened. "You promise that?"

"O' course," promised Seamus. "You have my word as an Irishman."

"Guys… that's the last thing we need right now, Seamus dancing around naked." Harry mumbled.

"True," Ron admitted, "Who do you think got you?"

"You." Harry admitted, "You or Hermione. No one else…"

Ron understood Harry's unspoken words; only he and Hermione knew of Prongs.

"But they said they asked…"

Harry understood Ron as well; his Saint had asked Professor Lupin, which was enough of a boost up for it to be anyone.

"So, it's just a question of who he'd divulge that sort of information to." Harry said quietly, "Which automatically rules out any and all Slytherins."

"Who else is left?" Ron asked, "Because I can assure you, it's not me."

"I don't know…" Harry mused, looking up at the blurry rafters. "Who do you think got you, Neville?"

Neville sighed and rolled over in his bed to face Harry's. "I'm not too sure, really. I'd like to be surprised, anyway."

"Isn't it awful to not know?" Seamus murmured, eyes focused some ten feet above him.

"It is," Dean agreed. "But I suppose Ron's right – for once in his pathetic excuse for a life… just kidding!" he put his arms defensively in front of his face to protect against the onslaught of pillows that hit him next. "We'll just have to wait to find out tomorrow."

Seamus sighed, "I hate waiting."

"It's not too bad," said Harry, "I rather enjoy it. I like waiting more than actually doing or receiving. Anticipation has really always been apart of my life, and we've grown rather fond of each other."

All four boys sniggered at Harry's dream-filled voice, albeit sarcastically.

"And I suppose you'd rather open your presents New Years Day, to prolong the wait a bit?" grinned Ron, who was now wide away.

"Of course not," Harry insisted, "I've accepted the fact the wait will soon be over; otherwise, the wait wouldn't be nearly as much fun."

"You're a nutcase, you know that Potter?" Seamus shook his head, "An absolute nutcase."

"I second that." Dean added good-naturally.

"And I will be third." Ron laughed.

"Over ruled," Neville interjected. "He's not a nutcase – not nearly as much as Dumbledore is."

"True…" Seamus mused, surprised greatly at the smaller boy's intellect. "But he's enough of a nutcase to go around snogging his friends."

"SEAMUS!" Ron roared, "You promised you wouldn't say anything!"

The remaining two boys – Dean and Neville – immediately sat up, not wanting to miss out on this juicy tidbit.

"What'dya mean?" Dean asked, peering through his half-drawn curtains towards Harry and Ron's beds.

"Ron, Hermione, and I—" Harry choked for a moment, the continued. "We sort of got stuck under the field of mistletoe in the fourth floor."

Both Dean and Neville let out a burst of laughter, but soon quieted to allow Harry to continue.

"Those things don't let you out until you've – snogged – the intended parties. Which, in this case, happened to be both Ron and Hermione." Harry breathed in deeply, "Hermione's not too bad of a snogger. Ron, however… Sorry, but you could use a bit of work."

Ron raised an eyebrow, starting to realize what Harry wanted to do. "Well, Potter, you're not exactly Joe Smooth either. Far too much tongue, and you slobber."

"I slobber?!" Harry exclaimed, "You should talk! I had to use a hanky afterwards, with all that spit and saliva you drooled on me."

"Enough!" Seamus said loudly, "Too many details!"

Harry smirked, "Good. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I didn't…" Seamus was at a lose for words. "Ok, fine, sight of you and Ron snogging was rather funny, but I didn't need to hear the details."

"Neither did we," Dean agreed. "But you say Hermione's a good snogger?"

"Best girl I've ever snogged." Harry confirmed.

"That doesn't mean too much," Ron grinned, "The only girl Harry's ever kissed was –"

Ron faltered, realizing the insult he had intended wasn't going to work. It was the last thing he wanted to do, remind Harry about his parents this time of year, especially when things were so perfect.

"It's ok," Harry said quietly, "But untrue. I'm pretty sure I haven't kissed my Mum – especially not lately."

Ron gave his best friend a small smile, "Sorry Harry, I wasn't thinking."

Harry shrugged, "It's not a big deal, I'm fine."

There was a moment of silence before anyone spoke again – and surprisingly, that person was Neville.

"So… Harry… Hermione's a good snogger?"