All About Christmas Spirit

All About Christmas Spirit

“They all look the same, Hermione.”

“Do shut up, Ron; you're ruining the holiday spirit.”

Harry sighed. Forget holiday spirit, even Christmas tree shopping resulted in bickering.

“Just pick one already! It's freezing, the wind's howling, and I can't feel my bloody fingers anymore!”

“I told you to wear gloves, Ronald.”

“I didn't think we'd be out here for an hour, Hermione.”

He vaguely wondered if he still had toes; they had gone numb thirty minutes ago. He shrugged when Ron shot him a disbelieving look.

“Harry, what do you think of this one? Too big for the living room? Or will we keep it somewhere else?”

“I like it, it's not too big for the living room, and I reckon that's as good a place as any in a house with less Christmas spirit than Voldemort himself,” Harry deadpanned. Ron shuddered and Hermione visibly darkened at his words.

“We agreed to not mention him this week,” said Hermione fiercely. “It's meant to be a normal time for us, and it can't be normal if you keep sulking over horcruxes and a man who hasn't shown his face in months.”

“Yes, normal is the watchword,” Harry snapped. “Sorry,” he apologised hastily at the look of hurt that crossed Hermione's features. An awkward beat passed before he continued, “I really do like that tree, though.”

Hermione brightened. “Good,” she declared, bossy tone back in place. “Let's go home.”

They somehow managed to Apparate themselves and the tree onto 12 Grimmauld Place's doorstep without attracting any attention from the surrounding Muggles. Outwardly, the house was as decrepit in appearance as always. The inside, though, was another story.

“I still don't understand what possessed you to do all this,” Ron said, gesturing to the abundance of decorations as he shook off his coat and tossed it over the back of an armchair.

“Holiday spirit,” Hermione replied simply, as she had every time Ron mentioned the explosion of red and green that covered the house's interior. “You like it, don't you, Harry?”

Harry smiled and nodded his answer before making his way into the basement kitchen. Truth be told, he did find it rather annoying every time he tripped on a string of garland or nearly impaled himself with a random decoration, but there was something inherently comforting about what Hermione had done with the place. It felt more like a home than Grimmauld Place ever had before that winter.

“Conjure up some hot chocolate, will you, Harry?” Ron asked as he dodged a stray piece of garland and leant back against the counter. Harry complied and sat down with his own mug and savoured the ever-intoxicating taste of chocolate.

“What, no marshmallows?” Ron asked. Harry rolled his eyes and made it so Ron's mug was overflowing with tiny marshmallows. Ron snorted before pulling his wand out of his back pocket and vanishing most of them.

“Where's Hermione?” Harry queried once he was sure he held Ron's attention and a mug full of chocolate didn't.

“Dunno. Said she was going upstairs for a minute. She's probably charming her bedroom to smell of pine needles.” They shared a smirk at the rather large probability of that being exactly what Hermione was busy with.

“What'd you get her for Christmas?” asked Harry.

“A book,” shrugged Ron. “Couldn't figure out what else to get her. She didn't seem to fancy that perfume I bought before.” He paused and looked as though he was recalling a particularly unpleasant memory. “What'd you buy her?”

“Nothing yet, actually,” he replied. This year, a book just didn't seem right to Harry. He still hadn't worked out exactly why he felt that way, but he didn't dwell on that. He was more concerned about finding the right present for Hermione when he only had two days until Christmas.

“Way to procrastinate, mate,” Ron said and clapped Harry on the back hard enough so that he spilt hot chocolate on his sweater. “Er - sorry about that,” he added sheepishly.

“Allow me,” Hermione said and both boys jumped out of their skin at the sound of her voice. Harry sloshed even more liquid onto his jumper.

“Bloody hell! When did you come down here?” Ron questioned as Hermione cleaned Harry's sweater with a flick of her wand.

“Right about when Harry was saying he hadn't bought me anything yet,” she intoned. He blushed and murmured something about going shopping tomorrow.

“You're a sneaky one, Hermione,” said Ron. Hermione swatted his arm. “Where were you, anyhow?”

“Gathering the tree decorations. There are at least thirty boxes, so I'd say it's time we get to work if we want this tree decorated by tomorrow!”

“Thirty boxes!” Harry exclaimed as Ron's jaw comically dropped. “How're we going to fit thirty boxes worth of ornaments onto one tree?”

“Clearly, you didn't get a good look at our tree,” Hermione replied cryptically.

*** ***

“Bloody hell, Hermione.”

“Do you realise how many times you say that each day, Ron?”

Harry thought `Bloody hell' was rather appropriate for the situation. He obviously hadn't gotten a decent look at the tree they bought earlier. Surely he would've objected if he'd looked properly.

“It's - it's massive! How tall is it? Three metres?” Ron questioned, a trace of awe in his voice that he usually reserved for his Chudley Cannons-worshipping talk.

“Nearly four, actually,” Hermione replied, beaming infectiously. Harry noticed she sounded extremely proud of her find and couldn't fight the grin that stretched his face. She noticed his smile and blushed lightly before pointing to an open box of shiny red ornaments and ordering the boys to work.

Three hours and countless broken ornaments later, Hermione was standing on a stool and directing Harry and Ron in a dangerously agitated tone.

“To the right, I said! The right!” she bellowed at Ron as his levitated ornament began to veer to the left side of the tree. Harry stared at her from across the room and watched her as she whipped out her own wand and placed the ornament onto the branch. She was sweaty, tired, and appeared ready to kill. Harry thought she looked rather fetching.

“Give it a rest already, you madwoman,” Ron moaned and dropped dramatically onto the floor.

“But it's not finished! We can't stop until it's fully decorated!” she argued.

“Maybe you can't, Hermione, but I can. I'm going to shower,” Ron countered and pulled himself to his feet. He saluted at Hermione - she threw an ornament at his head - and went upstairs.

Hermione sighed and repaired the thrown decoration. “You can go too, Harry,” she said, looking dejected.

“I don't want to,” Harry said genuinely and levitated an ornament onto a higher branch. He glanced at Hermione and found her staring at him, her eyebrows raised in the universal look of scepticism. “Honestly,” he stated. Hermione jumped off the stool and walked over to where he stood. She peered up at him before she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, catching him off-guard.

“Hermione, what-” Harry stammered before Hermione shushed him by briefly tightening her hold. She let go and grinned up at him.

“Thanks,” she said simply. He felt himself flush and he looked down, grinning at the floorboards. He levitated another ornament onto the tree and saw Hermione do the same.

“So,” Harry began after a few minutes of silence, “you and Ron?” He kept his sight trained on the tree as he spoke.

“Not really, no,” she replied. Harry discreetly glanced at Hermione and found her expression to be unreadable. He levitated another ornament onto a branch. “So,” Hermione mimicked Harry, “you and Ginny?”

“Not anymore,” he answered. He felt her gaze on him but didn't look away from the ornament hovering in mid-air.

They finished decorating the tree in silence.

*** ***

“You didn't have to come along.”

“I thought I'd keep you company.”

Harry stopped walking and turned to face Hermione. “You really wanted to shuffle your way through crowds of desperate shoppers on Christmas Eve just to keep me company?” he asked, smiling lightly. “Or did you tag along so you could catch a glimpse of your present before Christmas?” Hermione blushed furiously. “Thought so.” Hermione pursed her lips and walked ahead of him. Harry ran to catch up with her.

“I'll have you know that I still have a gift to purchase as well,” Hermione said loftily, although Harry found it hard to take her seriously when she was wearing a colourful wool hat with hippogriff-shaped ear flaps. He snorted ungracefully when he realised it was a product of Dobby's knitting skills.

“Are you laughing at me?” she questioned and stopped still in her tracks. A sharp elbow from a harried shopper jabbed Harry's stomach when he stopped alongside Hermione. He grunted in pain and she bit her fist to stifle her laughter.

“Are you laughing at me?” he countered and desperately attempted to arrange his features in what he hoped was an angry look. Apparently it wasn't, as it only seemed to add fire to Hermione's laughter.

“I might be,” she managed to say through her gloved hand.

“I might be laughing at you, then,” he replied.

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Hermione questioned, her eyes alight with happiness. Harry stopped massaging his stomach and considered mimicking her before he was distracted by her eyes. Hermione's eyes had always been `brown' to him, but suddenly `brown' didn't work. Somewhere along the way, `brown' became `cinnamon' and `chocolate' in his mind.

There was something so immense about discovering this seemingly small fact that Harry felt light-headed. He stared at her without realising how strange he must look and didn't stop until he was hit by an armful of shopping bags and yelled at for blocking the alleyway.

“I - er - have to buy your gift now,” he said as he stared pointedly at Flourish and Blotts Bookstore.

“All right,” Hermione said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw her regard him with an indecipherable expression.

“Be careful, Hermione. If you see anyone suspicious, Apparate straight home, all right?” Hermione nodded. “Meet you here in an hour or so,” he stated and brushed past her.

Harry wandered through Diagon Alley and realised thirty minutes later that he hadn't even looked at any of the stores he'd passed. He sat on a nearby bench and put his head in his hands. Different gifts flashed in his mind's eye as he wracked his brain for ideas. A book wasn't good enough this year. Jewellery, clothes, and perfume weren't Hermione enough. He stood up, frustrated, and stalked back the way he came from again, desperate to find something, anything, for Hermione. He found himself standing in the doorway of a jam-packed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

“Harry! Oi, Harry!” shouted Fred Weasley over the noisy crowd. Harry elbowed his way over to where Fred stood. “All right, mate? Haven't seen you since Bill's wedding,” he said and shook Harry's hand.

“I'm fine, thanks,” Harry replied.

“Mum's in a right state over Ron not coming home for the holidays. Says she would love to have you and Hermione over as well. She's still pulling for you and Gin,” Fred said and rolled his eyes. Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable and was thankful for his decision to stay at Grimmauld Place.

“Well - er - tell her `thanks' for the invitation and `sorry' about Ron not showing up,” Harry said and began to back toward the door.

“Anyone else you'd like me to speak to?” Fred asked with a rather lecherous grin.

“No,” replied Harry definitively. “Happy Christmas, Fred,” he said and walked out of the store.

He strolled through the alley and tried to distract himself with all the bustle of the shoppers but found his thoughts returning - without fail - to Hermione. Sooner than he expected, he was in front of Flourish and Blotts once again and saw Hermione waiting for him, her arms full of bags. She smiled in greeting and his stomach lurched. He pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and grabbed a few bags from her arms before nodding and Apparating to the house.

*** ***

“Ronald Weasley, get that mistletoe away from me!”

“I thought you were all about the Christmas spirit, Hermione! Doesn't mistletoe fall into that category?”

“You know very well I'm `all about' the Christmas spirit, but I'm cooking. You don't want Christmas Eve dinner ruined, do you?”

“Fine, fine.”

Harry stood silently at the counter, staring at Ron and Hermione as the knife he charmed hovered in mid-air and chopped vegetables. He wondered if there really wasn't anything between the two of them. He wondered why wondering about that made him sick.

“Ron, I thought I asked you to check on the soup!” Hermione exclaimed and ran over to the over-flowing pot.

“I was too busy trying to get a kiss out of you. One kiss, Hermione! It's not like it'd be our first,” Ron grinned.

Harry fleetingly thought about charming the pot to smack Ron upside the head.

“Fine, but it'll be our last,” Hermione said firmly. She glanced at Harry so quickly that he almost missed it, stood on her toes, and kissed Ron chastely on the lips. Harry was seething. Hermione grabbed the mistletoe from Ron and tossed it into the fireplace.

“That was my last piece!” Ron exclaimed as he watched it burn.

“You'll just have to find another way to get kisses. Perhaps Lavender still wants a go with her Won-Won,” Hermione said in a voice laced with sarcasm. Harry couldn't help but smile at that; Hermione saw and appeared pleased with herself. “Go sit down now, dinner's ready.”

*** ***

“I thought we agreed not to open presents until Christmas morning!”

“It's 11:50, Hermione. Only ten minutes to go!”

Hermione turned to Harry in an appeal for help, but Harry only shrugged in response, not wanting to cause a row. “Fine,” said Hermione, clearly too exhausted to argue with either of them. Ron immediately dove under the tree in search of his gifts. Hermione shook her head and summoned a neatly-wrapped package. She appeared anxious as she handed it to Harry, as though she was worried he wouldn't like his present.

He peeled off the bow and stuck it to her hand before tearing into the paper. The leather-bound cover of So You Want to Be an Auror stared up at him. He grinned broadly and hugged Hermione as best he could while holding the extremely heavy book.

“Thanks, Hermione. It's great,” Harry said. Hermione beamed at him. Harry looked over at Ron and saw he was excitedly flipping through the pages of the new edition of Flying with the Cannons Harry gave him.

“This is brilliant, Harry,” Ron said without looking up from one of the moving pictures.

“Glad you like it, mate,” Harry replied. “Could I have a word, Hermione?” he asked. She nodded and followed him into the corridor and into the kitchen. Harry sat on one of the benches before jumping up and walking over to the fireplace where he briefly contemplated the best way to say what was on his mind. Hermione stood silently in front of him.

“I don't have a present for you, Hermione. I never bought one,” he blurted out. So much for contemplation. She looked surprised but not disappointed, which he took as a good sign. “I just - I couldn't figure out what to get you, and I'm not artistic so I didn't make you anything. Basically, I'm a prat with nothing to give my best friend on Christmas.”

“Harry, that's quite all right; Christmas isn't-”

“It's not all right! You do so much for me and I can't even manage to buy you a bloody gift! You're so important to me, Hermione, and I wish I could show you how much, but I'm too daft to even think of the right gift for you and now you look upset, I'm so sorry,” Harry stopped rambling when he saw the expression on Hermione's face.

“I'm not upset, Harry, I've just realised something,” she said, and before Harry could reply, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him.

And suddenly, things were right. In his mind, the only way he could describe kissing Hermione was right. Hermione was who he was meant to kiss, and it was as simple as that. Her lips were warm against his, and once his initial shock evaporated, he kissed her in return.

She pulled away eventually and he grinned at the brilliant smile that Hermione wore. There were so many things Harry wanted to say and he struggled to find the words to express all of them. “But I didn't get you a present,” he eventually said dumbly, mentally kicking himself.

Hermione shook her head, still beaming, and said, “Christmas isn't about presents.”

Harry didn't reply with words, but as he kissed her again, he figured she was right. As usual.

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