a/n Huge thanks to Lia for this prompt - Bellarke at Hogwarts for the Christmas break soon after Aurora's death. Happy reading!
Clarke walks into the Great Hall on the first evening of the Christmas holidays and curses to herself.
She should have known. She should have guessed, when her head of house told her that only one other student in sixth year – a Gryffindor – would be staying for the holidays.
She should have realised she was destined to spend the fortnight with Bellamy Blake.
She goes to sit opposite him, because she knows she's supposed to. That's how the seating arrangements work, when there are scarcely a dozen students staying at school for the holidays – you sit with your year, or perhaps your house, or literally anyone still in the building whose name you actually know. Eating a meal alone isn't the done thing, and can even result in well-meaning teachers trying to introduce you to a new friend.
She might find Bellamy infuriating and arrogant and smug, but sitting with him has to be better than causing a scene.
"Princess." He smirks at her in greeting, then takes a grossly large bite of mashed potatoes.
Ugh. She doesn't understand how this boy always has so many guys and girls falling at his feet. Sure, he's beautiful and all, but his table manners – and really all his manners – could certainly use some work.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, brisk, helping herself to some roast chicken.
"I live here." He says robustly.
She frowns. "No, I mean – what are you doing here for the holidays?"
"I live here." He repeats firmly. "My mum died last spring."
No. Oh god no. No way did she just put her foot in it this badly. No way did she just accidentally needle her apparently grieving arch-rival about having nowhere else to go for Christmas.
How the hell is she supposed to put this right? Sure, she doesn't like the guy, but she doesn't actually want to go around being utterly heartless to him.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She swallows. "I'm sure you must have lots of friends who'd take you home for the holidays."
She doesn't mean to make it sound like a dig about his sexual exploits. Really, she doesn't. But it seems he takes it that way all the same, as he tries for a smirk. It comes out looking a little heavy, but it's an improvement over dead mothers, she supposes.
"I'd rather stay here. I get to do some studying. And – ah – I guess I'm not really a guy who has close friends, am I? I don't just want to gatecrash Christmas at the house of some guy from the quidditch team."
She nods carefully, chews on a bite of chicken. It's actually very tender and doesn't need much chewing, but it gives her something to do while she tries to process what's happening, here.
"Why are you here, anyway?" Bellamy asks her in turn.
"Mum remarried last summer. It's her first Christmas with Marcus and I wanted them to have some time to themselves." It's a lie, of course. They get plenty of time to themselves – she's at a boarding school, for goodness' sake. The truth is that she isn't quite ready to see Marcus in her father's place for a family Christmas, just yet.
"I get that." Bellamy says. Clarke gets the uncanny feeling he gets more of the truth than the lie she told, but she's not sure why.
Silence falls for a moment. She takes some potatoes, eats them quickly. Maybe if she eats fast, she won't have to stay here and face the awkwardness too much longer.
No. That's rude. And she can't be rude to Bellamy when he's mourning his mum – she knows how it feels, to lose a parent.
"What about your sister?" She asks quietly. She knows that he is devoted to his younger sister, a Gryffindor like himself, in third year.
"She's staying with friends. Gaia Forester. Her mum, Indra, has kind of taken O under her wing since – since this spring."
"I really am sorry, Bellamy. I can't -"
"Save it." He snaps, eyes on his plate. "Everyone's sorry and it never helps. Just – can't you just tell me I'm an ass again? Throw something or start an argument with me like you usually do?"
She bites her lip, considering. She can see why he'd ask that. When she lost her father, she remembers burying herself in work – and in arguing with Bellamy, actually – rather than wanting to answer all Wells' kind questions about whether she was OK.
An idea comes to her, and she thinks it's a good one.
"You want to have a snowball fight tomorrow?" She asks him brightly.
He looks up at her, visibly shocked. "A snowball fight?"
"Yeah. You know, a game in which two parties – or teams – throw snow at each other. No rules, lots of mess. You in?"
"I'm not going to turn down an opportunity to beat you at something." He tells her, grinning a too-brittle grin.
She knows that expression. It's one she has seen on her own face in the mirror, all too many times. But for this evening she lets it go, and laughs, and simply offers Bellamy some more mashed potatoes.
She thinks his poor table manners can probably be forgiven, under the circumstances.
…...
On the second day, snowballs fly.
They don't talk much. They simply wander out into the grounds after breakfast, start pelting snow at each other. There are neither rules nor defences nor any kind of order whatsoever.
Clarke surprises herself by loving every moment of it.
It feels good to simply let loose and enjoy some childish fun, after a year spent trying to be mature and calm and collected at the news of her mother's remarriage. She's been trying so hard to bottle up her mixed feelings, and it's great to simply let it all out.
There's that, and there's the fact that she wins. Maybe Bellamy lets her win on purpose – it's not clear. But she thinks he's throwing the snow with rather less force than he puts into his swings as a Beater on the quidditch team.
Not that she's been watching him play quidditch particularly closely, or anything. She just happens to have noticed that he's a pretty strong guy. So she wonders if he's deliberately going easy on her, now.
She doesn't ask. She's had an easy morning, empty of difficult questions, and she's not inclined to mess with that now.
As they walk back to the castle, Bellamy starts humming muggle Christmas carols under his breath, and Clarke makes no attempt to stop him.
…...
Day three begins with scrambled eggs on toast, and with Clarke getting her schedule straight.
"We can't throw snowballs all holiday. I need to study today." She informs Bellamy smartly. She seems to remember she really enjoyed the snowball fight yesterday, but she has woken up this morning feeling rather uncomfortable at taking all that time off from her studies. She needs to work hard today to push away the guilt.
"Sure. Let's hit the library today." He says easily.
She blinks, stunned. Some scrambled eggs slip from her fork, and she makes no attempt to retrieve them. Let's hit the library? Is hitting the library a thing they do together, now? She knows they are the only two sixth years in the castle but this seems a little bit too much like friendship, she muses.
"You're planning to study too?" She asks.
"Yeah. It's not easy keeping up with you, you know. I have to study pretty hard to compete with you."
She snorts. That sounded almost like a compliment, there. And she has to admit, he does do a decent job of keeping her academically on her toes. They are not arch rivals by accident.
"So you want to meet up in the library?" She presses.
"Yeah. I want to take my time over breakfast, too." He tells her with a pointed glare. "Let's eat and then we can figure out what subjects we're working on today."
They settle on Potions and Charms, in the end. Clarke is better at the former, Bellamy at the latter. It's best that way – it gives them plenty to bicker about and tease each other over, to distract them from dwelling too long on the fact they seem to have become study buddies, all of a sudden. Or at least, that's how Clarke feels about it.
She's not sure why she wants to help him understand the magical properties of the ingredients of Felix Felicis, and how they blend together to complete the potion. All he really needs to do is memorise the list, not truly get to grips with the principles. He's not going to become a Healer – he tells her along the way that he's interested in entering the Ministry and making life better for muggleborns.
She nods, encouraging. She's about to veer back to the ingredients of Felix Felicis when he takes them into new territory altogether.
"I'd like to do more to protect muggleborns' parents most of all. I keep asking myself whether my mum would have lived, if we had better safeguards for muggle parents of magical children."
She gulps, stunned. Bellamy keeps taking her by surprise, and she doesn't think she likes it.
"That's what happened to her? It was a hate crime?" She asks, trying to sound more supportive than nosy.
"Yeah. A couple of Voldemort's old supporters who hadn't been rounded up yet. They attacked the house while me and O were at school."
"I'm so sorry, Bellamy. That's horrible."
"Yeah. It was."
He doesn't say anything else. Clarke's not used to silence lingering between the two of them, but she knows this is not the time to start one of their normal arguments. It's not the moment to tease Bellamy about forgetting the procedure for brewing Wolfsbane potion.
She's not sure what it is the moment for. She'd hug him, if they were really friends. She'd throw a cheerful snowball at him, if they were outside. But she has no idea how to look supportive in a cool, detached rival sort of a way while they're sitting in the school library.
"I think you'd do great in the Ministry. You're cocky enough to be a politician." She tells him pertly.
He laughs a little, and although it sounds slightly hollow, the smile he flashes her way is as true as any she's ever seen.
It's certainly more genuine than his usual smirk, she thinks.
They break for lunch not long later. They wander back towards the Great Hall, Bellamy throwing one cheeky snowball at Clarke's shoulder as they cross the courtyard.
Yeah. It looks like she got it right with that comment about cockiness and politics, after all.
It looks like she got it spot on, in more ways than one.
…...
They hang out in the library again on the fourth day. They don't really talk about it – rather, it just sort of happens, the two of them having a conversation about whether to grab books for Transfiguration or Herbology before they quite realise what they're implicitly signing up for.
Whatever. There's not much else to do round here.
They opt for Herbology in the end, but mostly they don't talk about plants. Somehow Clarke ends up asking Bellamy why he's so into History of Magic and he ends up raving about the correspondences between muggle and magical history for the next hour with scarcely a pause to draw breath.
Clarke finds it more interesting than she probably should.
She tries not to worry about that. She tries not to sit around and analyse why she's been enjoying Bellamy's company so much, these last few days. She tries to distract herself, instead, with a study about the effects of moon phases on the potency of Gillyweed.
She tries not to notice that Bellamy is singing muggle Christmas carols while they work, and that his voice is warm and deep and true.
…...
On day five, Bellamy gets a letter from his sister. It arrives while they're sitting opposite each other at the breakfast table, a small owl dropping the envelope right into a bowl of baked beans.
It's the most Hogwarts thing Clarke has ever seen, and it has her giggling softly to herself.
"What's so funny?" Bellamy prompts.
"This place is so ridiculous. I'm all for preserving wizarding traditions and culture, but you've got to admit that muggles do post better."
"Yeah – but was the problem really with the owl post, or with the baked beans?"
She snorts. It's such a Bellamy question, debating with her over nothing for the sake of it, that it has her face flushing warm with amusement and affection.
Affection? She meant exasperation, obviously.
"Who's the letter from?" She asks, to cover her momentary lapse of control.
"My sister." Bellamy explains, wiping it carefully on a napkin and opening it. "She doesn't say much. But at least she's writing back. She didn't write much over the summer when we were staying apart and it worried me."
"You write to each other a lot? I've not seen you get any other letters this week." It's not supposed to sound critical, but it might come out that way by accident.
"This is the first letter I've had from her. I guess I write to her most evenings." He says, in a tone of voice that makes it abundantly clear he writes to her every damn night, come hell or high water.
She helps him out, hums and nods and does not point out the truth.
"Have you heard from your mum?" He asks, polite, almost tentative.
"No."
"Have you -"
"No." She cuts him off.
He raises his hand, eyes surprisingly soft. "Hang on, Clarke. You don't know what I was going to ask."
"You were going to ask whether I've written to her. And the answer is no. Not since I told her I was staying here for the holidays. I – I can't. I don't know what to say."
His eyes are still soft as he nods and starts speaking calmly. "OK. That's fine too. But if you ever want someone to chat to about ideas for what to say, let me know."
She almost calls him out on it. She almost points out that they're not friends and never have been. She almost tells him that it's damn weird, for him to offer that kind of help.
Then she reminds herself that he just lost his mum this year. She wonders how many things he feels are left unsaid, wonders what he would give to be able to send her just one last letter.
"What would you write to your mum, if you could?" She asks softly.
"I'd just tell her I love her." He says, voice thick, eyes fixed on his meal. "Even though it's hard to say that sometimes, and even though things weren't always great between us. I'd still want her to know I love her."
She nods. She can understand that. It's kind of how she feels about her own mother, if she's being honest. Clarke's felt somewhat similar, since her father's death, since she blamed her mother for it, since Abby then paired up with Marcus so soon.
She follows Bellamy's advice, in the end. He didn't present it as advice, of course – this is an issue far too serious for him to go bantering and competing and lecturing in their usual way. But she understands all the same that his heartfelt statement was a plea to her not to make his same mistakes.
She writes her mother a letter – just a short one. A trite recitation of the schoolwork she's done over the break, a passing wish for Marcus' good health. And then she forces herself to write some words about love, before she folds it and seals it and goes in search of an owl.
…...
The sixth day is Christmas Eve, and Clarke is hit by an abrupt question as she wakes up to face the day.
Who will Bellamy get presents from?
He has no mother to send him anything. She supposes a few of his friends might send sweets, but he did say he wasn't all that close with anyone. If his sister loves him even half as much as he loves her, she's bound to send something – but really, is that all he is to get? One modest gift from his baby sister?
It shouldn't bother her, of course. It's not her problem. He's her rival and antagonist, and sometimes they pass the time studying together while no one else is here.
But it does bother her. He's a decent guy, at heart, and he's had a tough year, and she knows that he must be finding his first Christmas without his mother incredibly difficult. It's plain to see in every slow smile or heavy blink, in the way his jaw goes tense when he thinks no one is looking. And after that conversation they had yesterday about letters and love? No way can she be unmoved by his grief, now.
She's got a plan, by the time she arrives at the breakfast table.
"Potions again this morning?" Bellamy asks her, around a bite of toast. His table manners don't bother her so much these days – she's almost willing to admit that they're not so very bad, and she was just looking for something to judge him for.
"Yeah. Sure. Potions." She gathers her courage. "Have you got any photos of your sister?"
"A photo of Octavia? Why?" He asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Just that I've heard a lot about her these last few days but I'm not sure I know what she looks like. I don't think I'd recognise her." She says, with a deliberate shrug.
Bellamy is evidently unconvinced. "You must know her. Dark hair? Gryffindor?"
Clarke shakes her head firmly. She knows it's an implausible story, but she's sticking to it. She has a vague notion of what Octavia looks like – long straight hair and a short straight fringe. But she's going to need more detail than that for her plan to work out.
"No. No idea. Does she look much like you?"
He frowns, looks away. "She's only my half-sister. Different skin colour and eyes. I guess we look alike apart from that."
Clarke nods, tries to look encouraging.
Bellamy sighs, admits defeat.
"I have a photo." He tells her, scooping a muggle wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opening it with a strangely flustered air. "I know that's a little pathetic. But – yeah. She's important to me."
Yeah. She'd already worked that out, strangely enough. But she doesn't say anything, just nods encouragingly, and then stares hard at the photo Bellamy produces.
"She looks happy." Clarke says brightly.
"Yeah. Yeah – she's a really happy kid in general, always has been. That's why this year has sucked."
She doesn't miss the way Bellamy refers to her as a kid, as if he's had to be more parent than brother to this slight girl. But she doesn't react, either, because she's too busy taking in every detail of the photo. She knows there's no way she can fabricate an excuse to take this away with her – and knows Bellamy wouldn't let it go even if she asked – so she's going to have to memorise all of Octavia's features, here and now.
How else is she supposed to draw the perfect charcoal portrait of Octavia for Bellamy's Christmas present?
…...
The seventh morning dawns. Clarke greets it sleepily, tired from staying up late last night to finish Bellamy's gift.
Then she realises it's Christmas morning. She jumps out of bed, throws on some clothes, and sets out for the Great Hall with a jog. She has Bellamy's gift curled up into a roll in her hand, clutching it close as she hurries down the corridors.
He's already there when she arrives at the breakfast table – as are the handful of other students who are spending the holidays, dotted in clumps of two and three around the Hall. And on the table she shares with Bellamy there also seem to be a few packages, she notes – the owl post must already have arrived.
"Got you something." She says, carefully light, as she holds the rolled paper out to him.
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Merry Christmas." She persists, thrusting the paper right at his chest. "It's only small. But I hope you like it."
He looks totally stunned.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise – I should have -"
"It's fine, Bellamy." She cuts him off with a smile. "It's not a big deal. I only drew a sketch. I wasn't expecting anything."
"I'll build you a snowman later." He offers, half joking, half insecure.
She swats him affectionately on the arm. "Just open it already."
He does open it, then. He unrolls the paper, takes in the sketch and actually full-on gasps.
"You did this?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I know why you wanted to see that photo now. Thanks Clarke. It's really – thanks."
"Any time."
They get down to business, then, eating bacon sandwiches even as they open their other gifts. She was right – he has some warm socks from his sister, and a small selection from Honeydukes sent by a quidditch friend, but that is all. Clarke herself doesn't have many gifts, but they're bigger ones. Her mother has always had a tendency to overcompensate for the lack of genuine warmth between them. This year she's sent Clarke some new drawing supplies and a selection of books about magical medicine. Wells has been generous, too, sending a most tasteful seasonal sweater.
Needless to say, the best gift of all is the misshapen snowman Bellamy makes that afternoon – the snowman that he insists most firmly is an accurate portrait of her.
…...
On the eighth day, Bellamy is not in the Great Hall for breakfast.
Clarke is worried about that. He's been here every morning so far this holiday – he's beaten her here, in fact, more than once. And as far as she's concerned, it's a bad sign, if a guy who's been visibly upset about spending his first Christmas without his family should suddenly disappear from breakfast, abruptly break his habit.
That's why she makes a generous food parcel with items from the breakfast table and then heads straight for the Gryffindor tower.
"Password?" The fat lady portrait asks her.
"I've no idea." She says, totally unabashed. "But my friend is in there and I'm worried about him. Please let me in."
There's a beat of silence. The portrait looks at first taken aback, then considering.
And then she nods, once.
"In you go, then."
Clarke doesn't wait to be asked twice. She steps through the portrait hole, starts striding through what she presumes is the common room.
She's barely gone three paces when she sees Bellamy running towards her, stumbling on a footstool as he tugs a sweater over his head.
"There you are!" She exclaims, somewhere between relieved and exasperated. He's going to have an accident if he keeps rushing about like that.
"Clarke? What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. When you didn't show for breakfast I was – I wondered how you were getting on." She corrects herself, flustered.
He sees right through her, of course. He narrows his eyes, jaw tight.
"I'm OK. Thanks. I'm fine. Just – didn't sleep very well and now I'm running late. Did I miss breakfast?"
"I brought breakfast to you." She announces cheerfully, because a bit of lighthearted logistical help sounds safer than inviting him to talk more about his sleepless night. That would be veering dangerously close to showing him just how much she has come to care for him, of late.
They sit down and eat together, then, sharing sausages and bacon between them, nibbling on cold toast. It's pretty companionable really, Clarke thinks. It's warm and cosy in a way that stretches far beyond the fire burning in the hearth.
Maybe that's what gives her the courage to say it.
"I didn't sleep so well when my dad died. It's been a couple of years now and I'm only just getting back to normal."
Bellamy nods. "Yeah. Thanks. And – sorry that happened to you."
She leaves it there. She can tell neither of them wants to talk about it further, but she's pleased they had even that brief conversation about the elephant in the room.
They polish the food off quickly. Clarke wonders about making her excuses and leaving, but before she knows what's hit her, Bellamy is inviting her to stay and spend some time quizzing him on his Transfiguration incantations.
They spend the whole morning studying together on the overstuffed Gryffindor armchairs, in the end. Clarke never expected to feel quite so at home in her rival house's common room.
…...
On the ninth day, Bellamy invites himself to study in the Slytherin common room and Clarke does not say no.
She doesn't say no to the change of location, anyway. She figures that's only fair, after she visited Gryffindor yesterday. But she does say no to the studying – they spend the better part of the day playing wizard's chess instead.
Clarke loves chess. She always has done. But all the same, she's never previously felt the need to play it for ten hours at a stretch. She has a feeling that her endless desire for just one more match today has less to do with the game and more to do with the company. She's never enjoyed just chatting with someone so much – long debates about the merits and drawbacks of the house system, shared rants about Transfiguration, the occasional passing comment about what it's like to mourn a parent.
They're good together, in a way she never knew they could be.
…...
By day ten, they seem to have given up on boundaries, or personal space, or acknowledging that they ever disliked each other. They still bicker, sure, but they bicker in a rather more lighthearted and affectionate fashion.
"The Gryffindor common room has better light." Bellamy argues, this morning, as they leave breakfast.
"Slytherin has better chairs."
"Our chairs are great."
"Your chairs are overstuffed. They look stupid and they're not comfy. We're going to Slytherin." She announces, quelling.
He follows her, grumbling quietly, muttering under his breath even as he grins at her the whole time. She makes a great show of ignoring his complaints, but really she's stifling giggles.
He stops moaning, when they arrive. He simply flops onto a small couch, summons her chess set, and pats invitingly at the very small space left at his side.
She sits down. She's no fool. She knows that's what he meant by that gesture.
The space feels even smaller when she's in it. Her thigh is pressed right up against Bellamy's, and her arm is sort of sticking into his personal space, knocking into his waist.
He shifts a little. He makes it worse, somehow, so his torso is half-curved around her and she's sitting with her shoulder pressed against him.
She's not complaining. There are worse people to hug, on a chilly winter's morning.
…...
At breakfast on day eleven, Clarke receives a most particular letter.
She recognises the handwriting right away. This is from her mother. And she's not had a letter from her in months – birthday presents and Christmas presents, sure, but not actual heartfelt words.
With baited breath, she reaches out and opens it.
"I see the owl didn't drop that one in the beans." Bellamy notes lightly.
She gives a stiff chuckle, because she knows she's supposed to.
"Clarke?"
"It's from my mum."
His face breaks out into a smile, as if he's actually overjoyed on her behalf. She can't help but smile a little in return – he really does look very happy for her, and it's kind of heartwarming.
"That's great, Clarke. She wrote to you. That's brilliant."
"I wrote to her first." She tells him, proud. "After we spoke the other day. I – I told her."
He knows what she means. She can tell that from the way he reaches across the table to rest a gentle hand on her forearm. "Well done. You going to open it?"
She does open it. She opens it and she reads it, drinks in every last word. It's not a long letter, and it doesn't fix all the distance between her and her mother all at once. But it's a good letter in its way – it includes some words about love, and an apology for making Clarke feel uncomfortable, and one rather moving section where her mum says that receiving that letter out of the blue was the best Christmas present she could imagine.
It's humbling, in a way. And yet on the flip side, it makes Clarke feel strangely proud. Most of all, though, it makes her feel incredibly grateful that Bellamy Blake showed up in her life.
…...
On the twelfth day, they start to look forwards to the future. It all starts because Bellamy is singing again, some old muggle carol about twelve days of Christmas.
"All that's nearly over." She says lightly. She doesn't necessarily want him to stop singing, because she does love listening to his voice, but equally she wants to make the most of every moment she can spend talking with him over this holiday season.
"Not quite. The twelve days of Christmas in the song start at Christmas Day so we can keep singing it until -"
"Bellamy. You know what I mean."
"Yeah. I do." He inhales a loud breath. "I'm looking forward to seeing O again of course. But it's going to be odd having everyone else back when I've got so used to spending all this time with just you."
"Yeah. It's been good." She admits honestly, smiling a warm smile.
"I'm going to miss hanging out with you." He tells her, eyes on his Charms textbook, fingers fidgeting shiftily on the page.
That's an interesting phenomenon, she thinks. She's seen Bellamy Blake in a lot of moods – confrontational and relaxed, overjoyed and mourning. But she's never seen him look so transparently nervous before now.
That's why she gathers her courage and says it.
"We could still hang out. I know we'll have other friends around but it'd be a shame not to spend time together any more."
He nods, smiles slightly. But his fingers are still fidgeting, and his jaw is still clenched, and -
"D'you want to go to Hogsmeade together some time in the new year?" He asks abruptly.
"Yeah. Sure. I'd like that."
"You would? As – as a date?" He checks.
"Yeah. As long as you don't take me to Madame Puddifoot's. That place is awful. Three Broomsticks?"
"Shrieking Shack?"
"Or we just walk around the village arguing about where to go?" Clarke suggests pertly.
Bellamy laughs at that, visibly less nervous as he leans forward to take her hands.
They spend most of the rest of the twelfth day kissing. It's not exactly twelve drummers drumming, but Clarke's not sure a bunch of drummers would have been much use to her anyway.
a/n Thanks for reading!