Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

A/N: Happy Sunday, all! Appreciate all the love so far with this one! Although my intention was to finish up this fic prior to Christmas, I'm not exactly sure if that'll happen. Regardless, two more chapters will be coming to round out this story, even if it's after the actual holiday :)

Thanks as always to the most magnificent betas!

The Holiday Prophecy

Chapter 3

Rockefeller's covered in the lights

Families are playing on the ice

From Harlem to the Battery

Every corner's bustling

Suddenly it's Christmas in New York

Central Park looks beautiful in white

Cuddled up beneath a blanket taking in the sights

The City is all red and green

Wrapped up like a gift for me

Finally it's Christmas in New York

No there's nothing better

We should all have Christmas in New York

Ron

In a wicked twist of fate, Ron follows the woman's point towards a tiny restaurant sign that's lit with a single word.

Serendipity.

Peals of laughter burst from his mouth, laced with a hum of amusement at the matter. Judging by the rapid blush invading his companion's cheeks, she's just as surprised as he is — if not a tad embarrassed — given the tension of their recent conversation.

"I guess this is the place, huh?"

A smile envelops her face as she tries to suppress her giggling. "It appears so."

"Well, come on then!" Ron holds the door open for her to walk through first, a jingling bell on the knob signaling their arrival, and he's brimming with curiosity as to what awaits them inside.

The interior looks like a very old antique shop that has been restyled into an ice cream parlor. Although it appears very small from the outside, it seems as if it's been magically expanded on the inside by the spacious high beamed ceilings and eclectic decor covering almost all of the wall space. Although the lights are dimmed to cast a warm and inviting glow, the restaurant is not lacking in Christmas spirit.

Large, raw wooden pillars wrapped in white string lights are positioned at various points around the eatery, along with a Christmas tree that stretches to the ceiling in the corner of the open room, decorated with shiny red baubles and gigantic gold bows. The tightly packed tables are covered in red velvet cloth, with flicker flame candles backed with poinsettias centered on each one.

They find a cozy two-seater sandwiched between other couples that are sitting close enough for them to catch the patter of conversation happening around them, but no specific words. The table is smaller than Ron imagined as they sit down, only needing to reach out his finger in order to touch her elbow resting on the surface.

The woman unwraps her scarf from around her neck as they're handed menus by a wait staff member. "It smells divine in here."

Staring at her makes Ron realize that he doesn't quite know how to go about all this. Would this be considered a first date? When they were walking around the city in the flow of people, it all seemed so informal that he didn't really think about it, but now that they are sitting face to face — well, restaurant expectations are a bit more involved, aren't they?

The candlelight casts a glow on her face as she beams up at him, making his heart pound. His hand is clammy against his bouncing knee under the table.

Bloody romance and shit.

"Let's see what it says here." She reaches over the flickering candle for one of the fold-out cards and opens it up, hiding her face from view.

Ron swallows in a mouthful of air then takes a drink from the water glass that the hostess has just set in front of him, a quick swig turning into him almost downing the entire contents in one gulp. When he comes up for air, he notices the woman's eyes peeking above the menu just enough to watch him closely, but still masking the majority of her face.

"Thirsty?"

"A bit, yeah." He scratches his skin around the collar of his jumper, wondering why he's so warm all of a sudden.

Curiosity only growing, Ron opens the card to look at his options. American-style food fills the colorful menu, and he isn't sure he's ever seen so many mouth-watering sandwiches and sweets. From foot-long hot dogs to cheesecake topped with hot fudge and strawberries, he's so tempted to get one of everything.

"How is one person supposed to choose?" Ron shakes his head in disbelief.

The witch in front of him studies the menu while chewing on her bottom lip, as if contemplating a life-altering decision. "I don't really know…well, let's see what they have for sweets. Ah, here we go, and it comes with a tagline."

She clears her throat before reading the description. "Order dessert and fall in love."

Her discovery is followed up by the utterance of a single word in a low whisper. "Oh."

Cheeks rising in temperature, Ron releases a nervous chuckle from his lips, making a feeble attempt to diffuse the tension. "Well, that's an odd saying to put into a menu, isn't it?"

"Can't say I've heard that one before." She still has her head buried inside of her menu, and he ponders what to say next to keep the conversation flowing.

Scanning over the drink options, he makes a suggestion. "I think you should get the famous frrrrrozen hot chocolate."

She wrinkles her nose. "Why did you say it like that?"

"That's how it's spelled on the menu!"

"Let me see." The woman snatches the menu right out of Ron's grasp, annoying him a bit considering she happens to have her own she could use.

"It does seem as if this place is famous for its…ambitious desserts and unique recipes."

Ron doesn't need to think for a second longer about his choice. In a matter of minutes, a frosty chocolate drink poured into a large goblet and topped with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings appears in front of them, served with two spoons and two straws made out of agave fiber.

"Oh, the straws are biodegradable!" Her eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning. "Splendid."

Ron flashes a grin towards his dinner companion sitting across from him, having never seen someone share such excitement over straws. She also ordered a hot tea with lemon and honey, which he considers to be one of the more generic items on the menu.

"Are you sure you don't want an-" He pauses to look at the options once more. "Eggnog martini with amaretto liquor?"

She cups her hand around her steaming mug and holds it up. "I think I'll keep this delightfully warm goodness all to myself, thanks."

"Should've added a splash of Firewhiskey." Ron winks at her. "That would warm you right up!"

He seals his lips over the straw of his own drink, which is packed full of chocolatey flavor. The texture is thicker and icier than a standard hot cocoa, but the taste isn't as rich. It's a luscious, creamy refreshment despite the cold temperature outside, and one that certainly makes him feel like a kid again.

"I'm boggled by your insistence on getting a frozen drink." The woman shakes her head, and Ron can tell by the way she shifts her gaze between him and the heaping beverage on the table that she's intensely judging his choice.

"C'mon, we can't come to a restaurant and not order the signature item!" Ron nudges the large goblet in her direction, angling the unused straw towards her. "Here, try some."

A less-than-convinced look appears on her face as she stares at the whipped cream melting down the outer casing of the glass. "It's just cold chocolate milk."

Ron throws his head back, letting out a dramatic scoff. "Just chocolate milk? Hardly. 'Sides, even if it were, that doesn't sound near as fancy enough for this magic. Go on, give it a taste."

Although he can still see the hesitation on her face, she leans back in her seat with crossed arms while leveling him with a contemplative gaze. "It's like magic, huh?"

His mouth twists into a cheesy grin. Somehow, he can't see her resisting an opportunity to learn. "Wouldn't know unless you try!"

Another loud rumble through Ron's belly signals to him that she's waited too long to make a decision, and he shifts forward to take another sip just as she's leaning in too, causing their foreheads to collide in an epic miscalculation.

"Ow! Sorry."

"No, I shouldn't have leaned in while you were-"

Ron gestures towards the drink, the tips of his ears burning. "Go on."

"Well, it's large enough for both of us, isn't it?" The witch brushes a tendril behind her ear, nibbling on her bottom lip as she awaits his answer.

He keeps his gaze steady on her chocolate brown eyes while leaning forward for another sip, hoping that she can't sense how eager he is for her to try it. He better clamp his mouth shut before he starts drooling.

As soon as his lips seal around the opening of his own straw, he quirks up an eyebrow at her before shifting his gaze to the extra straw that awaits, giving her permission to join him. Although he doesn't think it's bleeding likely that she will, he almost chokes on the liquid when she does.

With their noses just centimeters apart, he can smell the honey and lemon on her breath, igniting a warmth in his chest that is new to him. He's entranced by the way she takes a timid sip of the frozen hot chocolate before releasing the straw and licking any excess chocolate from her lips.

"So, what do you think?"

"It's…sweet."

"Brilliant observation." Ron sticks his tongue out at the woman who glares back at him.

"I think we can just about check off every holiday cliché now, huh?"

A rumble of laughter erupts through his chest. "I reckon so."

"So…" Ron pauses to wipe away the chocolate smudge on the corner of his lips before continuing. "Do you think it was fate that we ended up here?"

A heavy sigh escapes her lips. "And we're back to this, are we?"

"Color me curious. The Seer mentioned we should let fate decide our potential future."

"But-" She leans forward with her elbows on the table, a familiar glint in her eyes that suggests she's ready for another debate. "Is it really fate that we met today, or just a fortunate accident?"

Ron cocks his head to the side. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not necessarily, although you do make a great point." The woman ponders his thought for a few moments, then adds, "Fate may send us signs, but it's how we interpret those signs that determines whether we are happy or not."

Ron shifts in his seat. The notion that each and every decision he makes can change the trajectory of his life scares the bloody hell out of him. If he had just walked in a different direction today, he never would have met this brilliant witch sitting in front of him. Or would he?

"If fate sends us signs, maybe some things in life are meant to be predetermined." He hopes he's not being too forward by unleashing his opinion, but she doesn't seem deterred.

"I believe we make our own choices."

Mimicking her posture, he moves his face just inches from hers, not once daring to look away. "What choice are you going to make right now?"

Ron hears her sharp intake of breath before they are interrupted by an untimely member of the wait staff.

"Sorry, Sir, Miss, but we are about to close up for the evening."

"Oh!" The witch brings her hands to her cheeks, eyes darting to the empty tables around them. When did everyone leave? "Is it that late already?"

Filled with a desperate need to make sure the night isn't over yet, Ron asks, "Fancy a walk?"

A brilliant grin lights up her face. "You've read my mind."

In spite of the electric lights adorning the buildings and monuments, the sidewalks and street corners seem much quieter now than they were before they went inside the restaurant. Shops are closed, which means the city goers have gone home and the empty streets are no longer fighting against the traffic of cars.

Ron makes a ghastly attempt to stifle a yawn. Although he's feeling tired from roaming through the city, he's not ready for the night to be over, and he only hopes that the witch strolling next to him feels the same.

"I'm not sure I have a clue where we're walking." There's a hint of amusement in her voice as they walk side-by-side, so close that their arms continuously brush together.

He's itching to reach out and grab her hand, but the consequences seem too daunting to think about if she doesn't approve. So instead, he takes a flick out of her wand and begins talking to distract himself.

"You don't have to. You just have to believe that it will lead you to where you are meant to be."

"How serendipitous of you."

"Serendipitous?" Ron clucks his tongue. "How many forms of Serendipity are there?"

"Not many."

"What about-" He taps his chin. "Serendipiosity?"

"No."

"Serendipaciousness?"

The woman releases a hearty laugh, a sound that leaves Ron yearning to slip his hand into hers even more. "No. Definitely not."

They fall into a steady silence that doesn't feel awkward at all, but welcomed, and he finds that he's simply enjoying her presence. It seems as if she feels the same — at least, that's what he is counting on.

"Favorite moment of your holiday so far?" The witch inquires after a brief period.

Ron pretends to mull it over, knowing without a doubt what his answer will be.

"This one."

His answer causes her to pause mid-stride and gaze up at him in awe. "I'm flattered."

She draws closer, quickly evaporating much of the distance between them. The action alone consumes his mind, and he's having trouble decluttering his thoughts in order to formulate an intelligent response.

Thankfully, she fills in the gap for him. "I think this might be my favorite moment, too."

"And you really don't have a boyfriend right?" He blurts out, almost kicking himself for the brash way in which he asks. "Or, girlfriend, I shouldn't be presumptuous-"

The woman places a hand on his arm to steady his rant with a shy smile. The simple touch ignites a warmth inside Ron. A warmth that manages to ease every worry he's had this holiday season just by having her standing close to him.

"I don't have a significant other in my life, no. I mean, that's not to say I haven't had relationships, just none that were meant to last."

"Meant to last, huh? Is this your way of warming up to the idea of fate?" He teases, never getting enough of the exasperated look she gets in her eyes when he cracks a joke.

"No," she insists, looking down, "I was simply saying that I believe there is a person out there for everyone, it's just up to us to find them."

This witch really is one of the most interesting people he's ever met. Just when she's convincing him that she's ready to extend their evening, as she would say, the woman still manages to make Ron unsure of where their interaction is headed.

At least he's clear on what he wants.

Ron exhales through his mouth, viewing the visible puffs of air from his breath mingling with the frosty season. "So, there's not a chance that you're on holiday too, right?"

"No, I'm not." A sympathetic look crosses her face, and the air between them changes as if both are realizing that their evening is winding down — or is it early morning now? Hard to say.

"I figured as much. So, what do we do now? Because I really, really would like to see you again." A raucous sound comes from his mouth, one that can be interpreted as a cross between a snort and a laugh. "Can I have your name at least?"

The corner of her lip curls up, eyes twinkling. "Why don't we let fate decide?"

"You wanna let fate decide what your name should be?" Ron's forehead creases, trying to discern the meaning of her words.

"Not exactly." Although she keeps her eyes glued to Ron's, there's an emotion displayed in them that indicates she's terrified at the prospect of what she's about to say. "If you want me to believe in this ridiculous prophecy-"

"You sound like a true believer already."

Giving him a nudge on the elbow, she pins him with a stern glare. "As I was saying, maybe we should — I honestly can't believe I'm suggesting this because I hate not knowing information — maybe we shouldn't exchange names."

A single word tumbles out of Ron's mouth before he can even process what she's suggesting. "What?"

"Think about it." The barmy woman starts pacing the empty street corner. "If we are truly meant to be together, we'll somehow meet again, right?"

Panic rises from his belly. "I don't think that's-"

"I think that's exactly what the Seer was trying to explain to us. The prophecy stated that we are destined to be together, right?" Ron tries not to be offended over her use of air quotes around the word destined. "Well, this is our chance to prove it."

The next words vibrate on his tongue without pause, unable to fathom her line of thinking. "Let me check if I've heard you correctly. You're saying that we should part ways tonight, with no clue how to find each other, and just hope that we'll cross paths again?"

"Yes."

"You're bloody mental, you know that right?"

A satisfied smirk appears on the witch's face. "Now who is the true believer?"

"We can't just leave it all to chance, can we?" Ron screws up his face into a grimace.

"You want me to believe in this prophecy? Well, this is how!"

"You're mental, you are actually mental," Ron reiterates, mumbling under his breath. He can't believe he's even entertaining this idea. Is it because he's lacking the confidence to just say I want you and I don't want to let you go? A part of him can't shake the feeling that this is all just an elaborate scheme crafted by the woman to get rid of him because she can't stomach the sight of him anymore, although he hopes that's the irrational voice in his head talking.

"What if we set a deadline?"

Her suggestion piques his curiosity, deterring him from his thoughts. "A deadline?"

"Yes. One year. We give it one year for us to meet again, otherwise we plan on returning here to New York City next Christmas."

"But-" Although the idea sounds simple enough, a gnawing feeling radiates from his gut at how far away next Christmas already seems. "A whole year? Really?"

"Well…" She bites down on her lip, apprehension coloring her face. "It's not like we're in the same place in our lives right now, anyway. If we meet again next year, we can have that conversation."

He wants to tell her that he doesn't have a bloody clue where she really is in her life now, but he keeps that sentiment to himself.

The woman's eyes light up. "We should exchange something."

"Exchange? Like what?"

"Well, something personal to us as collateral." She starts digging through her extendable beaded bag. "As a means to guarantee that we'll meet next Christmas if we don't find each other again sooner."

"Do you not trust me to show up?"

"Well, what if something happens? Or maybe undue circumstances prevent one or both of us from making it?"

Ron places his hands on his hips, arching up an eyebrow. "You planning a disappearing act on me?"

"No. I'm just saying, sometimes things come up. What if you're attacked by a twelve-foot troll on your way here? How am I supposed to know how to find you again?"

"A troll?" Ron scoffs. "You insult me."

"Think of it like a binding magical contract," she continues, ignoring his protest. "The items cannot be returned until we meet. Let's say we meet at the ice skating rink in Bryant Park, on this very evening, same day next year."

"And what if I lose the item you decide to give me?"

"You wouldn't."

"Accidents happen."

"In that case-" The witch turns to leave, but Ron catches her hand before she can get very far.

"No, no wait. I'm sorry. Please. I was joking. Show me what you have in mind."

She pulls a thick book with a burgundy cover from her bag and hands it over to Ron, who inspects the item. The tattered edges around the binding showcases that it's been well-used.

He reads the title on the cover. "Hogwarts: A History. You didn't even attend Hogwarts."

"How do you know that?" The woman challenges him with her chin raised.

Ron shakes his head in wonder. "You're seriously so interesting and I have so many questions."

"Anyway." She waves her hand through the air. "This book is my absolute favorite in the world. I have my initials written on the inside cover. If, for whatever reason, we can't meet next Christmas, you'll have a way to still find me."

Ron doesn't waste a breath before opening the front cover and finding the three little letters written in the top corner with the neatest scrawl he's ever seen.

HJG.

He starts racking his brain for potential first names starting with the letter H. Hannah? Heather? Helena? None of them quite fit the unique woman standing in front of him.

"And what's going to stop me from figuring out who you are as soon as we leave here?"

The witch narrows her eyes at him. "Well, I imagine I'll just have to trust you."

"Sorted. And here." Ron removes one of his wool mittens and places it in the woman's outstretched hand.

She stares at the garment with skeptical eyes. "A glove? Really?"

"These pockets aren't exactly stuffed full, you know. Besides, these are handmade by my mum. My initials are also on the inside. She'll be so upset when she finds out I've lost one."

A flash of guilt shines through her eyes and she makes an attempt to give his mitten back. "I wouldn't want to take-"

"Oh, you can have it. Besides, she knits me a new pair almost every Christmas."

"Okay, then." Ron watches her clutch the mitter tighter in her hand with a hint of a smile. "Thanks."

"So, erm." Ron clears his scratchy throat, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I guess this is goodbye. For now, at least."

"I guess it is." Her voice is softer than before, with her face set in resigned sad lines.

A layer of unsettling emotion fills Ron with an unspeakable dread with the impending separation glooming. An ache pushes against his heart, wondering once more if they're making the right decision to experiment with the prophecy.

"I-uh-" Ron's cheeks burn scarlet. "I had a really nice time tonight."

"It wasn't terrible."

"You're a cheeky one, aren't you?"

"Alright then." The extended goodbye feels slightly awkward, yet at the same time, doesn't feel long enough. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, stranger," she whispers before pivoting around and walking slowly — so slowly — in the opposite direction.

Ron watches her go, a great sense of sorrow sweeping over him, sucking away all of his energy to move with it. They had gone through what seems like so many stages of a relationship all in one night, from flirting with prolonged glances to bickering over their differences to longing for their next interaction — that it makes him fully believe that this prophecy could indicate something greater than themselves.

As if the woman could hear his thoughts, she halts just before turning a corner, her head swiveling around to check if he is still there. Ron inhales a sharp breath, applying restraint to shout out towards her.

Then she moves in his direction, walking faster and faster until slowing to a stop a few paces away. A pleasant flush colors her cheeks as she takes in several rapid breaths. Her mouth is open, poised for conversation, although no sound comes out.

Pebbles of snow fall down onto her nose as Ron studies every inch of her face, gaze traveling from her rosy lips back up to her dark eyes. If there is a single moment he'd like to preserve in time, it would be this one. A sense of purpose, a flow of magic, runs through his veins, pumping him with the courage he needs to close the distance.

Kiss her, you fool.

Operating with unspoken words, Ron cups her face with both of his large, gangly hands, taking a moment to trace her jawline with his thumb. Her skin is so smooth, so soft, and he can feel her body trembling against his own. When her tongue darts out to lick her lips in anticipation, he knows she's communicating her own desire.

He crushes his lips to hers, completely overwhelmed by the instant pleasure he receives from the kiss. Fuck, this is so different than anything he's ever felt before. She responds with a similar force, caressing his lips with a soft moan.

Ron doesn't know exactly how long they stand there, with the snow falling down atop their heads and no awareness of what is happening around them, but the moment is over far too soon.

Pulling a fraction away, she whispers one parting question, allowing Ron to taste the chocolate and peppermint on her breath. "Same time next Christmas?"

"I'll be there."

The visit will always hold a special place in his memory — a memory that he wishes to extract and keep hidden in a vial in a safe location, never to be forgotten or lost.