Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or ideas which you recognise as being from JK Rowling's Harry Potter series or any other trademarked or copyrighted work. The plot of this story is my own, but I have no intention of making any money from it.
Chapter 11
"Still here, Milly?" Amelia Smith, the woman known in a former life as Susan Bones, looked up from her paperwork. Her Operations Director, Matt, was standing in the doorway, grinning at her. "It's 9 pm, the day before Christmas Eve – surely you have somewhere else to be?"
She smiled at him. They had been flirting for a while now, but she was reluctant to take things any further – office romance, not a great idea. Besides, there was the whole "secret witch" thing. "Pot calling kettle?" she asked with a grin.
He shrugged. "Well, I was just heading out." He flashed a rakish grin. "Care to come out for a drink?"
Susan's smile froze. "You know that's not a good idea, Matt."
"It's just a drink. It's Christmas."
Susan looked at her watch. He was right, this was silly, and well, she was getting a bit bored, sitting at her desk, trying to manufacture a reason not to go home to an empty flat. Christmas was always the hardest time – everyone had someone, except her. She hadn't seen her family since the Christmas of her fifth year at Hogwarts. In her sixth, the year of the Battle of Hogwarts, she had stayed at school. How foolish that felt now – missing the last crucial holiday before her life collapsed. Well, there was the yearly holiday with the Order, of course, but, though they had become a family of sorts it wasn't quite the same. Maybe a drink would help her not feel so empty this evening.
She looked at him over her glasses. "One drink!"
He smiled, and offered her his arm. Shrugging her shoulders into her coat, she accepted it, and they walked out into the dark winter evening to the pub.
X
Anna Seymour had had no such qualms about starting a relationship. Notwithstanding the fact that he had no idea that her name was really Hannah Abbott, and that she was a witch, she had been with Dan for the past three years. At the moment, they were curled up on the settee in their flat, watching Love Actually. This had, of course, been all Hannah's idea. Dan saw himself as far too manly to be watching a chick flick, but she would have sworn that he was secretly enjoying it.
"Baby?" his arm tightened around her slightly.
"Yeah?"
"You sure about coming over for Christmas? I mean, you know that Mum and Dad 'd love to have you."
She kissed him. "You know that I'd love to come, but this trip with Milly is an annual tradition. You know, drinking cocktails on the beach, ogling all the hot men..."
"Not too much ogling I hope!"
Hannah grinned at him saucily. "Well, I'd hardly tell you, would I?"
He growled, and, regardless of the movie, started tickling her til she begged for mercy.
When he let her up, she continued. "Well, all right, maybe not that much ogling, but for the past seven years we leave on Christmas Eve, and spend til the second exploring some exotic place. And you have met Milly, so it's hardly like leaving me with a stranger." She neglected to mention the other eight members of the Order who would also be accompanying them on this holiday.
"All right, all right." He put his arm round her again. "Maybe next year."
Hannah thought about the Order's plans for June. "I promise you, if we're both around next year, then I will come with you to your parents for Christmas."
Dan wasn't really listening, having returned his attention to the television, where there were now two people having sex. She grinned to herself – typical.
X
Ernie Macmillan was putting the final touches to his editorial for the Christmas Day edition. He leafed through the proofs for the articles to fill space for the guest editors while he was on his break.
Top of the pile were a few articles on Malfoy and Harry, who had obligingly been seen falling out of several nightclubs together. It helped that they had been able to tip Ernie off the week before on where they'd be. The accompanying article contained a nice set of quotations from "anonymous friends of the couple" (Ernie himself, with suggestions from Harry and Malfoy) on the joy of the budding relationship, and a few fawning comments from Harry about the "deep and abiding support of the fans, helping me through this difficult time." Ernie made a mental note to talk to Harry about running an exclusive interview and photoshoot with the couple at some point.
Next, an article on the PM's latest gaffe – when out Christmas shopping, he had made an unfortunate politically incorrect joke at an Asian shop assistant. Ernie highly suspected another confundus charm: the man usually had more sense! Next to this lay an opinion piece on Malfoy's trip to an orphanage. He wrote a post-it note - put the two articles on the same page. Subtly emphasise the comparison.
Below these lay an op-ed on the PM's wife's terrible dress sense for the Christmas church service. He read it over; wow, Liz was really good at the snide, cutting remark thing. Considering that the service itself wasn't until tomorrow, she'd done rather well, with two thousand pre-written words on terrible outfits the poor woman had worn in the past, and vague suggestions of impropriety. Nothing to cause a lawsuit, but sentences like: "Since she doesn't work, and her children are all grown up, and she obviously doesn't spend her days worrying about her appearance, what does Marjory actually do?" The piece just needed a few unflattering pictures from tomorrow morning's service and a few outfit-specific jibes, then it was ready for publication.
At the bottom of the pile were various obligatory photos of beautiful women wearing little more than Santa hats and tassels – well, the Crier was a tabloid, and if Ernie knew anything, it was how to sell what the customer wanted.
He looked at his watch. Rolex, of course. When one worked as hard as he did, it was good to be able to indulge, and besides, it was good for the image. Before he could register the time, however, he heard loud voices coming from the open plan office outside his door. Time to go, then, he presumed.
That evening, December 23rd was the paper's office Christmas party. Ernie usually made a point of not socialising with the staff, aside from a few drinks of a Saturday night, to avoid complications when making tough editorial decisions. However, the Christmas party was always the exception. There was always a clear sign on the door, literally (it was big and red and white and they tacked it to the doors of whichever nightclub had been rented for the night) – WHAT HAPPENS AT THE PARTY, STAYS AT THE PARTY. Despite this, Ernie always found at least a couple of the page 3 girls receptive to his advances, thinking that sleeping with the Editor would get them bumped up. Fortunately, his friendly PA Erica had always set them straight by the time he got back from his holidays on the third of January, and, well, if they ever caused trouble he could always dump them from the paper.
He grinned with a rather shark-life expression, pulling his coat on over the suit, and heading to his personal limousine to be driven to the nightclub hired out for the paper's personal use for the evening. Sure, he was a Hufflepuff. The traits associated with that house were loyalty, dedication and a willingness to do hard work: Ernie Macmillan had those in spades. But no one ever said anything about nice.
X
Neville Longbottom, too, was in a nightclub. Technically, he was no longer a student himself, having gained his PhD in Botany three years before, but a large part of being the Head of HR at the NUS was networking with students from universities across the country. And that meant that when the London Universities had a joint Christmas party for their most important faculty members and the heads of their respective unions, it was the perfect opportunity for some subtle politicking.
He nursed a beer at the bar, chatting to Simon Anderson, a politics student at LSE and a significant force in student activism.
"So, what do you think of Malfoy?" Simon was asking.
"Well, obviously, his politics have distinct advantages for students, so I suppose I'm in favour of him on a purely self-interested point of view." Neville had learned over the years, admittedly with some coaching from Hermione at the beginning, that to be too openly supportive of anything often had the opposite effect on the target.
"But what about the social stuff? He's quite hard-line, isn't he?"
Neville shrugged. "Well, I guess it depends on what you mean. Like, prisons – personally, I believe that prison needs to be a deterrent, so it should be tough. The reoffending rate at the moment is ridiculous – Malfoy's ideas could deal with that." That was another thing he'd learned – play up the prisons angle. In his experience, which had become rather extensive, even the most liberal of people tended to agree that the prison reoffending rate was rather high. And getting them distracted with that tended to help skirt over some of Malfoy's more obnoxious humanitarian policies.
"If they work."
"Well, liberalism hasn't so far."
There commenced a diatribe from Simon about the evils of overly left wing policy. Neville smiled and nodded, pleased that his subtle manipulations of the past few weeks appeared to be working. He'd managed, with the help of a few well-placed suggestibility potions slipped into Simon's drinks, to get the other man talking about how the country was going to the dogs and other such sentiments, making him prime for Malfoy's propaganda. Neville still hated to do this, but there was really no choice.
He sneaked a look at his watch, bored now of the long speech. Nearly midnight, good. Neville excused himself with alacrity, and went home to pack. Thank the gods for the Order's holiday tomorrow, he really needed a break.
X
Seamus Finnegan did not like camels. He had decided this about thirty seconds into his solo camel ride across the Atacama desert. Atacama! Yes, they were doing the rounds, a different desert every year in order to stay unobtrusive, but really! Who came up with this one? Did they have to add jetlag to an already uncomfotable journey by travelling as far from the UK as humanly possible? At least the Sahara had been vaguely the same timezone, and there had been jeeps as opposed to these bloody uncomfortable creatures. When he found out whose idea this bloody camel had been...
Two hours later, he was just really, really bored. This had overtaken his anger, fortunately for whoever had thought of the camels. At least he had his iPod, he supposed. Heavy metal rock for the whole trip had done wonders for his mood. Once his specially modified compass (another Hermione product - where she found the time he really did not understand!) started spinning madly, he let out a sigh of relieft, pulled on the reins and the camel, which he had christened "You Bloody Creature", came to a juddering halt. Seamus promptly fell off. Cursing under his breath, he picked himself up and said to the apparently empty air "Fifty flying flobberworms."
Nothing apparently happened, except that a thin black line appeared in the sand in front of him. Seamus bent over and touched a fingertip to it. "Seamus Alosius Finnegan," he muttered.
He looked up, and, sure enough, the large marquee they used for these holidays had appeared in front of him. Seamus grabbed You Bloody Creature by the reins and dragged it across the line with some difficulty, tying it to a post stuck in the ground. Hannah and Susan were lying on sun loungers outside, wearing bikinis and sunglasses, clearly enjoying the thirty degree heat. Ron and Harry were zooming around on brooms, chasing a small golden snitch. As he watched, Harry caught it, and they both flew down to earth to meet him.
"Enjoy your journey?" Ron was smirking.
"Bastard. It was you, wasn't it?"
"I have no idea what you mean, Seamus dear."
The Irishman rolled his eyes at the mock-innocent look. "One word: Camel."
"Well, yes, Hermione left me in charge of arranging the travel for you and Neville since we were in Chile for a game anyway."
"And you thought camels were a good plan? What the hell?"
Ron was grinning. "She did say to make sure they were varied for all of us. So you and Neville got the camels. It's very authentic."
"How did you get here then?"
Harry was sniggering, too. "Ron, Draco and I came by broom. About an hour from the nearest city, perfectly simple."
Seamus glowered at them. "Thought we weren't allowed to use wizarding transport?"
Hermione had come out of the tent to join them. "I did tell them it was a bad idea!"
"Oh, come on Mione," whined Ron. "We're in a desert, any muggles who saw us would just think it was a mirage or whatever."
Hermione looked like she was about to reply, but at this point Ernie appeared on the black line demarcating the edge of their camp. "Just a sec," he called to them, then with a vroooooom he drove a large Harley Davidson motorbike into the site.
"Flash bastard." Ron shook his head.
"Coming from the owner of a Mercedes?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Once Ernie had joined them, Harry began to speak. "Right, only Neville to wait for now. Same drill as always, we have a five kilometre circular perimeter, shown by the black thread. It extends high enough that we can fly pretty much as we like, the spare brooms are in the shoe room in the tent as usual. The climate control outside is off, so it'll be cold at night, but it's on inside so it'll 25 degrees in the day and 20 at night in the tent. You've all got your usual rooms, same passwords you set last time, but the lounge on the second floor has been converted for Draco to sleep in. House meeting at 6pm local time tonight, to sort out plans for the holiday and cooking rotas and all that crap. Oh, and Seamus, Susan says that if you leave your dirty boots in the middle of the floor again this time, she'll curse your bits off."
There was general laughter at that, and the group broke up, Ron and Harry back to the skies, Hermione back to her novel. Ernie and Seamus headed into the tent to have a shower and unpack before the meeting.
X
Though it had arrived in the desert in Hermione's backpack, the 'tent' was really too luxurious to be called that. You could get quite a lot when you had a) magic and b) a practically unlimited budget, courtesy of the Potter millions. "Canvas mansion" would probably have been more appropriate. From the outside, it was merely a large white marquee, as one might see at a certain type of garden party. But inside was a whole other story.
It was built around a large marble staircase with dark wood bannisters in the middle, which stretched in a spiral up through all three floors. Ernie complained every year that all those stairs were overkill, and couldn't they just have a nice lift instead. So far, he had had nothing but raised eyebrows for his trouble. The top two floors had five bedrooms each, evenly spaced around the central landing, with an en-suite toilet with shower and bath attached to each. Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Susan and Colin were on the top floor, with Harry, Ron, Draco, Ernie and Hannah on the one below.
It was the ground floor, however, which was the most awe-inspiring. The double doors at one side, the only entrance, opened out onto a circular open space with the staircase in the centre. The floor was all parquet flooring, and the canvas sides of the tent had vanished to reveal shimmering ivory stone walls. There were a couple of ornate archways in these, leading to storage rooms. The main area was completely open plan, with a fairly extensive kitchen in the right hand semicircle, and a seating area to the left.
It was in this lounge which the Order were sitting, drinking ice-cold coke with shots of their tipple of choice, and talking about their plans for the next two weeks.
"We don't have to do the running thing every day, do we Harry?" Ernie was whining again.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, Ron and I are going to do the perimeter run every morning at 5 am, it's a good way to check that all the wards are still up as well as keeping us fit. You're welcome to join us as and when you want."
Neville shuddered. "5 am is obscenely early, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "I like mornings."
There was a spate of rolled eyes. "Believe me, Harry, we know," said Susan. "Just don't you dare wake us up at 4 again for an 'emergency training session'. I haven't recovered from the last one, and it was three years ago!"
"It was fun, though! Anyway, let's move on. Hermione?"
She took out a notepad, to looks of resignation from everyone else, and began going through a list. "Meals – I've drawn up a rota, it's on the fridge door. Breakfast at ten, dinner at eight. Anyone wants extra food," they all turned to Ron, who raised his hands in mock surrender, "get it yourself from one of the cupboards. We should be pretty well stocked on everything, but if we run out come find me and we'll sort it. Obviously, tomorrow is a bit different. We're having the full roast dinner. I need everyone down here at noon to help with the cooking and the preparations, and we'll eat at about three. Any objections?"
There were none. They all knew better than to argue with Hermione in List Mode.
Looking satisfied, Hermione moved on. "As for activities, there's not much planned at the moment, so any ideas are welcome."
"Tonight is definitely Christmas decoration night," said Hannah firmly. There were nods of agreement.
"Tomorrow's also off," agreed Harry. "Hermione thinks she's managed to charm the telly to get the UK stations this year, so we're watching Doctor Who, and all the other Christmas specials. No arguments."
Draco looked at him as though he'd gone mad. Harry batted the expression away airily. "I'll explain later! Anyway, what do you lot want to do?"
"I'd quite like to go hiking," said Colin. "Some photos of this landscape would be fantastic. Maybe using one of the camels as a focus for the picture?"
Neville shuddered. "Take mine. As far away from me as possible, please." He and Seamus shared a look of disgust.
"Hiking sounds good." Hermione was already adding it to a new list.
"Quiddich," said Ron firmly. "With ten of us, we can have a proper 5-a-side game, set up nets and everything." Hermione rolled her eyes, but added it to the notebook anyway.
"Obviously, we'll have to do some training at some point, now that the election's only a few months away," said Harry. "But without the Room, I'm not sure what we can do except fight each other."
"I think the best thing to do would be practicing duelling with individual golems," mused Hermione. "Sev... I've sorted out Draco's weight problem," Ron sniggered, but Draco and Harry glared at him so she just kept going, "so I think it should be fairly simple to make fairly realistic duels. Obviously, they'll just attack without much finesse, since I can't do the advanced programming in such a short space of time."
"Lack of finesse is pretty much the definition of Death Eater," commented Draco.
Harry grinned at him. "So we should be OK there then. Hermione, Draco and I will spend Boxing day morning sorting that out then."
"To be honest," said Susan, "I was just really looking forward to sitting by the pool, tanning and reading crappy novels and magazines for a couple of weeks." Hannah nodded in agreement.
Hermione turned to Ron with a raised eyebrow. (Harry was strongly reminded of Snape, and resolved to have a word with her about that at some point, before promptly forgetting about it when Draco's hand somehow found its way onto his thigh.) "Have you done the pool yet, Ron?"
Ron sheepishly admitted that he'd been too caught up in flying with Harry to put up the pool and hot tub yet. It was agreed that he, Colin and Seamus would go outside and do that now, while the others began the Christmas decorations. With a sigh, drinks were abandoned for a while, and everyone went about their respective jobs,
As had become a sort of tradition for Christmas Eve, they had takeaway Chinese for dinner, bought in London by Neville for everyone and kept in stasis until they were needed. Draco looked at the greasy prawn crackers as though they had come from another planet, but once he'd tried one, he hogged the bag and refused to let go of them, much to his Harry's amusement. The so-called Leader of the Order then proceeded to steal as many of them as possible from Draco, until he got irritated enough to dump an entire pot of sweet and sour chicken on Harry's head, to the amusement of the others.
Christmas passed in a haze of turkey and vegetables. Hermione appeared to have brought enough food for forty people, and the fruitcake was so big that it had to be carried in by both Seamus and Colin. The lunch lasted well into the evening; in fact, it lasted until 6:15 when Harry suddenly realised the time and went haring across to the sitting area, dragging a reluctantly moaning Draco by the arm. Harry cast a series of wards and silencing charms as soon as he got to the seats, completely insulating the lounge from the remainder of the ground floor.
When the others had finally finished their meal and cleared away, they walked across to the seating area. Hermione began to unravel Harry's wards, but just as she was getting started they suddenly dropped. "Timed to end with the programme," explained Harry, as the credits rolled across the screen.
Harry and Draco were sitting entwined upon the settee, arms around one another, so close that they could have been conjoined twins. Ernie ignored the pair completely in favour of the bowl of nuts on the coffee table, Susan and Hannah let out a simultaneous "Awwwwww!" (they received identical glares from both boys), Colin and Seamus rolled their eyes, but Hermione and Ron looked thoughtful. They exchanged a long look. Hermione raised an eyebrow, then Ron nodded and they proceeded towards their respective seats.
X
It was the evening of the twenty-eighth of December, about five o'clock in the afternoon. Susan and Hannah were sunbathing by the large and luxurious pool which had been set up around the back of the tent, and Seamus was swimming in it. Neville and Colin had gone out for the day, riding the camels (much to Neville's disgust!) up the dunes in order to take some photographs, and Ernie was in his room having a siesta. Harry was outside, battling a pile of sand charmed to the form of Antonin Dolohov.
Draco was descending the spiral stair, towel in hand, about to go and join Seamus in the pool, when he was confronted by the rather intimidating sight of Ronald Weasley's broad and tall form leaning on the bannister, blocking his way and wearing a strangely pained expression. Next to him was Hermione Granger, looking slightly sheepish but resolute.
"We want a word, Malfoy." Weasley's expression hardened.
"Actually, Weasley, I'm on my way out, can it wait?" Draco did not appreciate being spoken to in that tone.
"No, it can't. Sit. Now." Weasley gestured to the lounge area.
"If you think I'm going to be spoken to like that, Weasel, you'd better-"
He was interrupted by Hermione, who had ducked under Weasley's outstretched arm and up a step in order to be level with both men. "Boys!" she said sharply. "Stop behaving like idiots! Enough testosterone!" She prodded Draco down the steps until he was on the ground floor next to Weasley, and she was standing over them looking down like a queen over her subjects.
"Now. Ron, stop trying to look intimidating, you just look constipated. Draco, we do need a word, it's about Harry, come and sit down and have some tea, both of you." She turned both of them around forcibly, and ushered them across to the sitting area.
Draco felt as though he was in the world's most intimidating job interview as he sat on his preferred chair, and Hermione and Weasley settled themselves on the settee opposite. Hermione summoned some tea from the kitchen and poured it sedately, an act strangely incongruous with the tense atmosphere.
"Now then," she said, settling back. "I apologise for Ron's rudeness, Draco, but we need to talk about Harry."
Draco was immediately defensive. "What about him?"
"Well, it's like this," she explained. "Harry's got no family but us, and for the past few years he's all the family we've got, too. We're rather protective of him."
Draco raised an eyebrow. Where was this going?
"Hear me out, Draco. Now, I know you're only pretending to date, and you've only been doing it for a month-"
"But Harry's not playing." Ron interrupted harshly. "What? Hermione, you would have used a hundred words instead of ten! Let's get this over with!"
She sat back with her arms crossed. "Fine. You talk then." Draco smirked a little at the pout.
Weasley continued. "It's like this, Draco. Harry's been my best friend since we were eleven, and I haven't spent much time out of his company since. I know him better than he knows himself – hell, I could have told you he was gay when we were twenty."
"How very touching," Draco sneered.
"Shut up. Anyway, you may be just pretending to like him, but I think he likes you for real. I've seen him in the company of both boyfriends he's had since he ditched that Russian bitch Olga two years ago."
"His ex-wife," Hermione supplied.
"Yes, I know," said Draco. "He told me before he told you lot that he was leaving her."
Weasley and Hermione shared a look. Shrugging, Weasley carried on where he had left off.
"Yes, anyway. They were both blonde and blue eyed. So you're definitely his type."
"Either that," commented Hermione, "or he was just finding substitutes for the person he actually liked subconsciously."
Both men looked at her blankly. "Hermione," Ron was exasperated. "Men don't think like that!"
She rolled her eyes. "Hence the word subconsciously! Ignore me though, carry on!"
Draco interrupted. "Whatever! So I'm his type – so what? Maybe that means he's just enjoying the playacting more than he would otherwise!"
Hermione put a hand on his knee. "Draco, we're his best friends. We've never seen him like this! He let you watch Doctor Who – no, he dragged you to watch Doctor Who. He never lets anyone disturb that – he set wards to keep the rest of us out for goodness' sake. And – well. Harry is so playful around you. I haven't seen Harry do playful since first year!"
"So what we're saying, mate," the constipated look had returned to Weasley's face, "is that if you don't like him in the same way, if you are only playacting, you'd better make it clear to him now, before he gets too sucked in."
Draco was silent, in turmoil.
The gentle voice of Hermione drew him from his reverie. "But you're not playacting, are you? You like him too."
Weasley was looking murderous. "You'd better be sure before you open your mouth. Because if you mess with Harry, we'll hex your bollocks off. Or do it the old-fashioned way. With big sticks and fists."
Hermione swatted at him. "Enough, Ron."
Draco spoke, pushing the words out in almost a whisper, unwilling to speak but forced but the circumstances. "Alright, alright, I... don't do talking about feelings and crap, that's for girls. But... I like Harry too. Quite a lot. I started out pretending, but..." He trailed off.
Hermione stood up, set her tea down carefully, then hugged him. "Well done, that's all we needed to hear. It's OK."
Weasley looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, um, good. Right. Well, basically, if you're lying or pretending or if you make him unhappy in any way we'll make you regret it, OK? Hermione knows the most inventive curses I've ever seen, and I may not be smart but I pack a good punch. So consider yourself warned."
Feeling very relieved that he didn't have to talk about feelings any more, Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I think we've established that. No hurting Harry. Fortunately for both of us, that's not on my agenda."
There was a pause. They all looked at each other.
"Good," repeated Weasley. "Now that we've got that sorted, I'm going to go and make a Quiddich pitch so we can play properly tomorrow. Come on, Hermione. You're going to transfigure some nets for me! Yours always hold for longer than mine." She rolled her eyes in apology at Draco, but allowed herself to be dragged outside.
Draco sipped his tea contemplatively.
"So what is?"
Hearing the voice, Draco startled and managed to cover himself in lukewarm Lapsang Souchong.
Harry appeared from behind the spiral stairs. His dyed red hair was even more mussed than usual, and he looked slightly flushed. He was biting his lip, something Draco had noticed that he only did when nervous.
Scourgifying himself hurriedly, Draco asked confusedly, "What's what?"
"On your agenda. If hurting me isn't, I mean. I'm glad to hear that, by the way."
He felt his face flush a deep red. "How much did you hear?"
"Well, I was just coming in to get a drink of water when I heard the three of you over here. I was just about to come and save you from the raving lunatics attempting to defend my honour when I heard something very interesting indeed."
Draco wondered idly whether it was possible to be any more embarrassed at this point. His face felt to hot that it might just melt off, and he was probably the colour of an overripe tomato - not a good look for a platinum blonde!
Harry sat down on the arm of the chair, whose current occupant was finding the floorboards immensely fascinating all of a sudden.
There was an awkward pause. As was his wont, Harry broke it. "So, you like me? As in, like like?"
Draco snorted. "What are we, twelve?"
"Still. Were you lying?"
"No."
"Oh. Good." Harry turned and knelt down in front of Draco before snogging him soundly. "Because I like like you quite a lot too."
All in all, thought Hermione, standing watching from the doorway, it had been a rather successful holiday. She only wished her own romantic dilemmas were so easily solved.
Author's Note:
Apologies for what is possibly the fluffiest chapter in the history of fluffy chapters. :) I suddenly realised that it would be Christmastime, and I couldn't let that pass without a mention and a bit of fluff. We'll get back to plot next week, I promise!