25 days of christmas

Here I am, going on a quest to finish this collection before Christmas… Let's hope, ne?

Okay, I'm taking the prompts from the “25 day of fic” going on tumblr. The max length is 1000 words, which I already surpassed with this one, but… yeah. Hopefully, I'll manage. And yees, I know I should be updating my other fic.

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Title: “let's blame it on the hat”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 1,486

Theme/Prompt: #01 - mistletoe

Warnings/AN: ootp au, in which Sirius lives.

Summary: But what about her? Had it been good for her? `Well, it must have, otherwise she wouldn't have hugged me and pressed all of her soft bits into me... I think.'

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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He was supposed to put the blame on someone, point his finger and scream "it's your fault!", but if anything, Harry thinks, he was actually truly grateful.

Of Sirius, because the present came from his wayward Godfather.

But before feeling all happy and grateful, he'd felt pretty bloody angry.

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He should've known the present would be some kind of prank; Sirius looked way too smug after handing it over. But, oh well, no point in whining now. He only needed to avoid getting close to anyone until Christmas Day came to its end.

Because, you see, Sirius' present, while harmless at first sight, was a device that would leave him locked in place with whomever he bumped into: a freaking Santa hat with a mistletoe hanging from the tip.

An innocent gift; normally something a bloke would joke and laugh about with his friends and be daring and wear it and see if he could catch the girl he fancied with it.

But in a house where the male guests were the vast majority and the female guests were either too old, related to his best mate or his best friend, Harry didn't have much of a choice but to run and hide.

Because once he put on the hat, he couldn't take it off until a kiss was shared under the mistletoe.

The twins offered to help him, saying they could try to find a way to take it off if he would let them use it on Ron and see if their brother had the stones to kiss Hermione (just thinking about it made his stomach clench unpleasantly), but he'd declined.

Ron told him jokingly that he and the twins would even let him kiss Ginny if he really wanted to get the hat off, only to be scowled by Mrs Weasley, but not before Harry caught her wistful look as she looked between Ginny and him. That, too, he declined.

Remus gave him the most sensible advice, but still he was forced to decline. "Just ask Hermione to help you. You know she'd do anything for you."

And it was true, which was why he had to shoot down his suggestion.

Which left him with only one option: harass Padfoot until he caved.

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Forcing Sirius to break the spell on the hat was easier said than done as, hours later, Harry found himself dragging his feet towards the dining room of Grimmauld Place for dinner.

Sirius' words were still ringing in his head, along with his cheeky smirk. "There's no counter for the spell, Harry, only a kiss will do. Now, be careful though, the hat picks up on your feelings, which means only a kiss you enjoy will work."

Harry sighed as he entered the dining room. How was he supposed to enjoy a kiss that was being forced on him?

I'll get you for this, Padfoot.

Making sure the mistletoe was hanging over his back, Harry approached the table tentatively, scanning the room for a free chair, deciding that the farthest from his friends the better.

"Harry, dear, don't sit there all by yourself! Come, I saved you a spot, right here."

Mrs Weasley smiled at him, but Harry couldn't bring himself to return the gesture, his eyes glued to the chair reserved for him—that just so happened to be the one next to Ginny.

Oh, no, thank you.

"It's okay, Mrs Weasley, I'll be fine here—"

The sound of a chair scrapping against the floor cut his sentence short. It was accompanied by a soft "oh, honestly!" and soon, to everyone's utter shock, Hermione was stalking in his direction, a determined look on her face.

Harry, and everyone else, was frozen in place, not knowing how to react to this sudden turn of events, because, until then, Hermione had remained quiet over his predicament.

Grabbing hold of his hand, and keeping a safe distance from him, Hermione started to drag him to the nearest empty chair, but that was still close enough for him to properly enjoy Christmas dinner.

All the while, she ranted about his unreasonable desire to stay away from everyone, hat or no hat. "Enough of this, Harry! You're going to sit with us and enjoy dinner with your friends and family and you're going to forget about that stupid hat. It's only a few hours to midnight and the—ahh!"

But as luck would have it, Hermione tripped and lost her balance, falling. And already knowing what was going to happen, Harry went with the flow, making use of his Seeker reflexes and catching the girl and pulling her against his chest to prevent what would have been a painful accident.

The hat twitched on his head, reacting to his feelings, and the mistletoe lurched forward, hanging merrily above their surprised stare.

And the kiss was being demanded.

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Harry didn't know when his feeling for Hermione changed, but he remembered when he became aware of them; it was the day after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, when he sat by her side in the Hospital Wing.

All she'd ever done for him had rushed through his mind, the sacrifices, the choice to disregard rules because of him... all of it had gave him clarity and he'd realized more than he expected.

And now, watching her blush travel down to her neck (and most likely beyond that), Harry couldn't, for the life of him, resist the urge to kiss her any longer. Moving his hands over her shoulders and around her neck, he used his thumbs to tilt her head back so he could try to read her expression (a mixture of surprise, hesitation and longing).

She didn't disappoint.

Smiling softly, Harry brushed her lips once before pressing his mouth to her gently. He closed his eyes, and someone moaned softly in response, he didn't know whether it was him of Hermione.

He kept the kiss gentle, the brushes of lips soft and deliberate, enjoying every second of it. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing against him, and took the kiss up a notch. He, responding in kind, snaked his arms around her waist and let his tongue prove gently at her lips.

After that, everything was bliss.

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Not even the outrageous cries or the happy laughter broke through the haze surrounding them. No. It was the soft thudding sound of something hitting the floor what made them snap out of their bliss-induced trance.

The hat had fallen.

Dinner proceeded as normal, if a little bit strained. The twins, Sirius and Remus were all grinning at him. Mr Weasley was being his usual pleasant self, but Mrs Weasley, though she tried to hide it, and the youngest red-haired youths were not happy. At all.

But it was Hermione's reaction what worried him more. She'd kept quiet all through the meal and made a hasty retreat as soon as it was politely possible. Leaving Harry feeling disconcerted.

It had been a good kiss, right? He had enjoyed it. Well, of course he had, the hat had fallen and it was Hermione, the girl he... cared about. It couldn't have been anything other than perfect. But what about her? Had it been good for her?

Well, it must have, otherwise she wouldn't have hugged me and pressed all of her soft bits into me... I think.

Of course she enjoyed it, or he'd be sporting a lovely hand-print on his face right now.

Then why run?

Well, who could understand girls anyway. They were all confusing. But still, Harry figured there was nothing wrong with him going to talk to Hermione to make sure everything was okay between them.

So, after all the residents of the gloomy house had gone to bed, he quietly snuck out of his room and padded slowly to her door, knocking a softly as he could and hoping she was still up.

Luck seemed to be on his side, because seconds later, Hermione stood in front of him, clad only in a pair of flannel pants and a large shirt.

"Um, hey... I... I just wanted to make sure you... didn't hate me or something..." he said, immediately feeling lame.

"Why would I hate you, Harry?"

"Because I kissed you in front of everyone... and probably embarrassed you."

She blushed prettily, looking uncomfortable, but shook her head. "I, um, don't hate you, Harry, I could never hate you. And, er... the kiss was lovely."

He perked up at this. "Really?"

"Really."

Shifting nervously on the spot, Harry fiddled with the hat, which he'd brought along not knowing why, drawing her attention to it.

Hermione looked from him to the hat and back a few times, until she focused solely on the hat. Without a word, she took it from his hands and looked up into his eyes. Smiling mischievously, Hermione placed it on her head.

Harry smiled back.

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End.

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Hopefully, I'll be updating this soon.

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Well, here the second instalment of this little christamsy oneshot collection! I want to finish this little piece before tackling my other fics. As there's a maximum in length I think I'll be able to do it rather quickly.

Enjoy!

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Title: “hot liquid dilemma”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 859

Theme/Prompt: #02 - hot chocolate

Warnings/AN: during ootp, mild au

Summary: In which Hermione ponders and comes to some realizations. And there's also hot chocolate.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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“What do you mean, you don't like hot chocolate?!”

Hermione sighed, thinking back to a far ago day in First Year when Ron had exclaimed something similar but about chocolate frogs. Not even bothering to look up from her book, she replied. “Exactly that, Ronald. I don't like hot chocolate.”

Apparently, the Wizarding World had more in common with the Muggle World than they were willing to admit, as they, too, liked to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate during winter, especially over Christmas. Unfortunately, not even in this world Hermione liked the sweet beverage, but being the daughter of Dentists, she supposed it wasn't much of a shock.

Ronald, of course, wasn't aware of such information.

“I don't believe you. I can't! Everyone likes hot chocolate!”

Hermione, calmly as you please, turned the page of her book. “I'm not asking you to believe me, Ronald. I was merely stating a fact.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Harry watching her with a speculating look on his face before returning his focus on the chess match he was once again losing. She turned back to her book, but couldn't hold her concentration for long as an unyielding desire to look up made its way through her body. Eventually, she relented, and soon caught herself staring intently at her green-eyed friend.

It was a practice she'd been performing frequently as of late: Harry-watching, as she called it. It had begun at the end of Fourth Year, shortly before the Third Task, and had been escalating steadily over this past term. At first, Hermione didn't realize she was doing it until she became aware of one little detail in her recent interactions with Harry: it seemed now as if she could read him like an open book, and in return, he could guess what she wanted to say most of the time without having to talk.

It was amazing, thrilling and… intimate, this connection with Harry. They were capable of holding short conversations with mere looks and a few gestures that would leave most of their classmates giving them curious glances. And it was fun, knowing she could communicate with him in a way no one else could.

Thinking back to all those time when she was able to pick up on his sour mood, Hermione deemed this day truly special. Not only because it was Christmas Eve, but because it was the first day since acquiring her `talent' that Harry seemed to be truly, really happy.

So, forgetting all about her book, Hermione contented herself with watching every single move of one Harry Potter.

He looked positively happy, though somewhat frustrated to be losing so thoroughly to Ron again. Watching as another of his pieces was destroyed; Harry reached next to him and lifted his mug of hot chocolate to his lips, taking a sip before gulping down a good portion of the sweet liquid. After taking another gulp, Harry licked his lips; unconsciously, Hermione did the same.

“Ha! I knew it! You were lying!”

Startled out of her thoughts, Hermione turned to Ron. “What?” As soon as the words left her lips she cursed herself for her ineloquence.

Ron grinned smugly at her. “You do like hot chocolate. You were just staring at Harry drinking his with this longing look on you face! Come on, Hermione, admit it!”

She felt her face go warm, but refused to admit she was actually blushing. Casting a quick glance at Harry, before hiding behind her book, she saw him giving her another speculative look. “I will admit no such thing.”

Ron laughed good-naturedly and left the room, probably in search of more hot chocolate.

Hermione tried to ignore his echoing merriness and hid behind her book again, but the words didn't quite seem right to her. Suddenly, the couch dipped next to her bended knees and she looked up to see Harry sitting close to her, very close to her regardless of there being enough room for him to sit comfortably. He was giving her an intense look, not touching her anywhere but she could feel his warmth sipping into her side and moving to envelop her.

Her face grew warmer.

With careful deliberation, Harry took a long sip from his mug, clearly savouring the taste before speaking. “So, you really don't like hot chocolate?”

Watching his lips move with an unhealthy fascination, she managed to nod and respond coherently. “My parents are dentist, Harry, that's why I don't like any kind of sweets.”

He swallowed the remains of his hot chocolate, humming softly as his eyes travelled over her face, as if searching for something. Seconds later, he seemed to find it. “Well then, let's see.”

In the blink of an eye, Harry was inches from her face and closing in. She barely had time to realize what was going to happen when Harry gripped of the back of her neck firmly, pressing his warm lips to hers—and her brain ceased to function, but not before acknowledging a stray, lone thought.

It was Christmas' Eve and, at last, Hermione Granger was enjoying the sweetness of hot chocolate.

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End.

Only 23 more to go.

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Title: “the green-eyed snowman”

Rating: PG

Words: 933

Theme/Prompt: #03- snow

Warnings/AN: during ootp, mild au

Summary: In which Hermione is the Queen of snow fights and Harry is the King of snowmen.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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It started like this.

The Weasley Twins knew it was a bad idea to mess with Hermione; she was, after all, probably the Brightest Witch Hogwarts had ever had. So, yes, deep down, they knew very well that getting on her bad side was, well, bad.

But they were Gryffindors and Gryffindors always charged forward.

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It was a rare sunny day near the end of the second week of December, the night before was the first snowfall and Hogwarts was blanketed with a thick layer of snow. Being a Saturday, the students had no class and while most decided to enjoy sleeping in, a few early birds were getting ready to breeze by breakfast so they could tackle the winter wonderland that was Hogwarts outside. Among these students were the Weasley Twins, who'd managed to convince all of their housemate from Fourth Year and above to join them in a light-hearted snow fight.

The light-hearted part lasted the walk from Gryffindor Tower to the grounds around the Black Lake, when everyone decided it should be a girls-vs-boys snow fight. Then it was an all-out war that, while mostly equalled at first, eventually turned quite bad for the girls.

One girl, however, had cleverly decided against joining such a juvenile game, sitting with her back against an ancient tree overlooking the `battle field' instead; a book secured between her hands, the new edition of Hogwarts, A History given to her as a birthday present from her best friend.

She was enjoying herself, reading peacefully and bothering no one, but, alas, it was meant to end.

For just then, the Twins noticed her and their devious minds came to the conclusion that her calm demeanour was not suitable for this fine sunny day; taking aim, they charmed a few snowballs and launched them at her.

It wasn't the snow, nor the fact that her reading was interrupted, God it wasn't even the raucous laughter that followed the rain of snowball, no; what pissed her off was that Harry's gift was damaged by unthinking prats who wouldn't very well leave her alone when she specifically requested to be left alone (that she was noticeably moodier because of her approaching, you know, didn't help either).

Deciding payback was in order, she quietly requested Dobby to take her book back to her room, promising to pay him later, and made her way to her female housemates as calmly as you please while brushing the snow off her. A quick swish of her wand and a tall snow wall rose before the girls, protecting them from curious glances.

Harry, who'd seen the slow-burning rage in his best friends' eyes, wisely decided to put some distance between the laughing boys and himself. And soon he was mentally patting his back for doing so, for just at that moment, five towers emerged from the top of the snow wall with the Gryffindor girls standing comfortably on them. They looked pleased, triumphant, but none had the wicked glint that Hermione possessed as four canons made of snow materialized in the lower towers and promptly started firing off canon-sized snowballs at the Gryffindor boys with an alarming precision (but then, if it was Hermione's spellwork, Harry wasn't at all surprised).

It was Hogwarts' Snowball Massacre.

Now, the students from the other Houses that had gathered to watch the snow fight were laughing at the utter failure of the boys at defending themselves. And what a failure it was, they were seconds away from being completely buried in snow when Harry decided that, as a boy, he had to help.

Gathering a handful of snow, he took aim and threw with as much force as he could muster and hit Hermione square on her face. Not bothering to see her glare, Harry turned around and ran away, hoping to gain some distance but knowing Hermione would find a way to catch him in the end.

And she did.

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It ended like this.

When she caught him, it was at the Quidditch Pitch. Hastily, Harry made quick work of a few charms and transfiguration spells and had a small battalion of snowmen standing before him, protecting him; if McGonagall and Flitwick could see him now, they'd be praising his spellwork, but as it was, only Hermione was there to admire his work.

She did praise him, though. “Well done, Harry, but you might as well surrender. You cannot beat me.”

“Oh, yeah? Well… er, we'll see!”

A flick of a wrist, and the battle was on again.

The snowmen batted away all the snowballs, even when they merged to make bludger-like snowballs. After a while, in which Harry and Hermione had resorted to attack one another the muggle way, it was obvious they were both at a stalemate. Not wasting time, Harry did what he was best at: making snap decisions.

Taking advantage of his speed and quick reflexes, he maneuvered his way across the field and tackled Hermione down, pinning her to the ground. Before he could proclaim his victory, however, the snowballs fell upon him.

Harry rolled off Hermione with a disgruntled sight, pouting like a petulant child when she started giggling. And she didn't stop even when she knelt at his side and started to brush the snow off him.

“Well, you certainly are the King of snowmen now.”

His pout deepened but Hermione wiped it off his face in no time.

“Is his majesty, the High King of Snowmen, happy now?” she asked with a smile.

Harry grinned and pulled her lips back to meet his.

Really, that was answer enough.

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End.

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22 more to go! I really want to finish this before Xmas!

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New Year's Eve, I'm aiming to finish this for New Year's.

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Title: “those sweet memories”

Rating: PG

Words: 1,512

Theme/Prompt: #04 - candy canes

Warnings/AN: post-ootp au

Summary: Harry is just happy to have another memory of his parents.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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It starts with a candy cane.

Harry sits comfortably on the love seat with Hermione curled next to him, using his as a huggable pillow; her head rests on his shoulder and her arms are wrapped around him firmly. It's been over three years since the War and Hermione still clings to him as if he were to disappear while she sleeps. It's okay though, he clings to her too.

He looks at the Christmas tree sitting across the room, casting soft glows around their living room. Which is in their house; their home. It still amazes him, that fact; he's married to Hermione and they're spending their first Christmas as husband and wife in their brand new home. Harry had hoped that with this new beginning, he would be able to spend Christmas Eve like a normal person, having dinner with his wife and cuddle a bit in front of the fireplace before going to sleep to wait for Christmas.

He should've known, Harry Potter is anything but normal.

So, it stands to reason that, after returning from their annual trip to Godric's Hollows, Harry decides to forgo sleep and instead chooses to sit in front of their Christmas tree and wait for the clock to announce midnight. Hermione, of course, joins him gladly after insisting they both change into their pyjamas. It is not unexpected to see Harry awake until way past midnight, after their first trip to Godric's Hollow, sleep eludes him. But Hermione, while she is firm in her desire to be with him on this night, never stays awake too long, usually surrendering to Morpheus minutes after midnight if not before. Tonight, though, is a special night; she's pregnant with their first child and her sleeping habits are as erratic as Harry's used to be, hence why she is still wide awake next to him.

After midnight is announced, Hermione suggests they check their boots to see what Father Christmas left for them and after he gives her an inquisitive look, she blushes and pouts. “Your kid is hungry.”

Harry laughs and complies, levitating their boots onto their laps.

That's how, two hours later and on the brink of sleep, Harry stares at his candy cane while feeling something tugging at the back of his mind, fighting to come forward but failing. Eventually, Harry placed a gentle kiss on Hermione's temple, accommodates her until she's lying down with her head in his lap, and settles on rubbing her expanded belly until sleep claims him completely.

It doesn't take him that long.

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He's crying; he knows he is. He wants to move but for some reason his body is not responding as freely as it did just minutes ago, he's sure. It scares him. He feels trapped and he doesn't like it, so he cries and cries and cries.

Someone opens a door near him, a feeling of being safe suddenly engulfs him, and he stops crying. Seconds later, the blurry image of a man hovers above him and he feels relieved, happy. The man wipes his tears away and picks him up, and he feels so safe that he wants to laugh. And he does. The man laughs with him and the cradles his body carefully and walks out the room.

He should be wondering how this man can carry him around so effortlessly, but his train of thought halts abruptly as his vision clears and the man's face comes into focus. And he gasps. For a brief moment, he thinks he's looking at himself, and how could he not? The same untamed hair, the strong jaw and the high cheekbones, the same round glasses…

Dad…

He wants to talk, but can't and tears gather in his eyes again, blurring his vision.

James Potter sits down on the floor, right in front on the Christmas tree, smiling tenderly at him. “Don't cry, Harry. You're safe now, Dad is here.”

Those words only prompt him to cry more, so James gathers him up and settles him on his shoulder, rocking from side to side while whispering reassuring words. He grasps tiny fistful of James' shirt, not quite believing what's happening. By the time he manages to calm down, another thing happens that makes his eyes water again.

“What happened, James?”

The soft voice of Lily Potter reaches his ears.

Turning to the sound, he can't really keep his head up for long and rests it on his Dad's shoulder, watching his Mum walk towards them with a tender smile on her face. Her hair is tied into a messy bun and she looks as if she just woke up, but that is okay, she looks lovely to him anyway.

He whimpers sadly as Lily sits by them, drawing out a concerned look on her face. She pulls him into her arms, cradling him against her chest and it's all he can doo not to cry desperately.

Mum…

“Oh, sweetie. Don't cry, Harry, Mummy and Daddy are here for you. Always.”

James scoots closer, grapping them both in a comforting embrace and he caresses his unruly hair. Eventually his sobs recede and he's able to focus on his parents. Both alive and happy and taking care of him. A little smile stretches his lips, happiness at having this chance rushing through him, and he giggles and coos and both James and Lily laugh happily at seeing him happy. James suggests they open the presents as it is already Christmas, but Lily scolds him saying they promised Sirius, Remus and Peter that they'd wait for them to do that.

“You see, Harry, your Uncles are as anxious to share your first Christmas as we are,” says Lily, kissing his little nose lovingly.

James pouts next to him, which earns him a kiss from his wife, and then smiles. “Well, how about we open just one present for Harry?” James turns to him then. “Yeah, Harry? Do you want to open just on tiny present while we wait for your lazy Uncles to arrive?”

He giggles and coos as it's all he can do now, but his Dad takes his response as a yes.

“Well, then,” says James, producing a tiny box, wrapped neatly in colourful paper. “Shall I?”

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Someone's shaking his shoulder, but for the life of him, he can't tell why. Can this person see he's trying to stay with his parents? That he's happy to just stay in his mother's arms while he plays with his father and sucks on a candy cane?

“Harry…”

Someone's calling him. It must be his mother because the voice is soft and warm and it always brings a sense of happiness.

“Harry…”

Or not, because there's definitely a touch of fear in the voice and he can clearly see his mother smiling at him. Then, his father kisses his temple and his mother leans over to do the same. He closes his eyes as her lips make contact and sighs.

“Harry!”

The he opens them and sees Hermione's worried face in front of him. He blinks and she sighs in relief and then flings herself into his arms. Harry's feeling thoroughly confused, but returns the gesture anyway; it's an involuntary reaction now. He can feel her trembling and his worry springs forth, fearing something might be wrong with her or the baby.

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

She laughs lightly, pulling back to give him a passionate kiss before settling in his arms again. “Am I okay? I'm fine, Harry. It's you I'm worried about.”

He looks downs at her, his confusion back and in sight for her to see. “Me?”

Hermione kisses his cheek before talking, hugging him as is to reassure herself, and he wants to know what happened to get her this upset. Idly, he noted the sun had risen at some point, the living room bathed in its soft glow along with the Christmas lights.

“What happened, Harry? I woke up to find you mumbling and crying and… oh, Harry, you wouldn't wake up! No matter how hard I shook you, you just weren't responding. I was so scared!”

He blinks slowly, his mind bringing back his memories one by one, from the moment he fell asleep to the moment his father presented him with a candy cane to waking up to her lovely face. “I don't… I think… Hermione, I saw my parents.”

When she sits up, Harry relates everything he remembered, wondering briefly if he had been dreaming, but no believing it so because it all felt so real, too real to be just a dream. By the time he's done, she has tears in her eyes but she's smiling and looking at him with so much happiness that he thinks he might choke up.

He wants answers, he wants to know what happened, but really, does it matter? He finally has proof that his parents were happy while they lived! That he was loved before Fate screwed him over, like he is now.

“Oh, Harry…”

He's just happy to have another memory of his parents now.

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End.

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Oooh, wish me luck guys! I really want to finish this

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Title: “the right one”

Rating: PG

Words: 591

Theme/Prompt: #05 - Christmas tree

Warnings/AN: post-ootp au, in which Sirius still lives

Summary: “It has to be the right one.” In which Harry struggles to be the perfect husband and Sirius is Sirius.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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“You don't understand, Sirius. It's our first Christmas together as a married couple and I want it to be perfect.”

Sirius arched his eyebrow at his godson as the young man perused the trees around them, looking for the right one. “I understand, Harry. I was there when your parents married, when Moony married, and when you married, remember? And I'm married myself, so yes; I understand the need for the first Christmas to be prefect.”

Harry huffed and continued inspecting the trees, moving into the next row.

“What I don't get is this need you have of getting The Right Tree. What is the right tree anyway? All these trees are perfect if you ask me.”

Harry sent him an angry glance, then blushed and averted his eyes.

Sirius grinned at him. “Something you wish to tell me, Pronglet?”

With a sigh, Harry replied. “You're right, and I think the same as you. To me, all these tree are perfect, but…” From his pocket, Harry pulled out a golden medallion, and handed it over to Sirius. “Hermione enchanted this medallion to get warm whenever one gets close to the right tree.”

Sirius passed the medallion from one hand to the other, not seeing anything special but knowing Hermione enough to assume it worked perfectly. He noted, with no small amount of surprise, that the medallion was cool, not cold as one would expect metals to be, but pleasantly cool.

“No luck so far, then?” he asked.

Harry shook his head dejectedly. “So, we have to keep looking.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Sirius handed the medallion back and kept following Harry around the rows and rows of trees, wishing he had taken up Moony's offer to stay behind with the females of their family, but really, maybe this was for the best; you never know what could happen to you in a house full of toddlers and a very pregnant and very volatile Hermione.

It was after three hours and two stores later that Sirius realized what The Right Tree was to Hermione.

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Harry was confused… and scared.

Ever since finding the right tree, Sirius had been looking from the tree to his face and laughing raucously. It was a kind of laugh that reminded him of Sirius post-Azkaban… or worse, Padfoot. Shaking the uneasy feeling, Harry contented himself knowing that he found the tree Hermione wanted.

The laugher receded once they arrived at the new Potter Home, but not the amused grin of his godfather's face. Again, pushing his uneasy feelings aside, Harry stepped in levitating the tree and deposited it in front of his wife for approval.

Sirius started chuckling.

“Well?”

Hermione waddled—no, walked; Hermione walked over him and inspected the tree with a critical eye, until she turned to him. At first Harry though something was wrong and he had messed it up, but the way Hermione was looking at him reminded him of…

“Did he pass the test, Hermione?”

…of the way she looked at the tree!

“What?” he asked defensively.

Sirius, Moony and the rest of their family grinned amusedly.

Hermione nodded once and pecked his lips. “Yes, he passed. And, Harry, the tree's perfect.”

He was relieved to see her smile, letting out a big sigh. “You positive?”

Hermione nodded and pecked his lips once more, looking deep into his eyes.

Just then, Padfoot stepped into the picture. “Of course she is, Pronglet. After all, the tree matches your eyes.”

Later, Harry would be hard pressed to reverse the Hex that turned Padfoot into Prancer.

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End.

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Still aiming for New Years' Eve…

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Title: “c is for cute”

Rating: PG

Words: 1,486

Theme/Prompt: #06 - angel

Warnings/AN: post-ootp, 6^th year au

Summary: In which Hermione has a revelation and Harry is… Harry.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Hermione arches her eyebrow, trying to convey her exasperation, but can't resist the urge to smile when Harry grins sheepishly at her from his place on the snow-covered ground.

Really, the boy is just too cute for her to preserve her sanity.

“Honestly, Harry,” she says, tapping the ground with her foot.

Harry pouts and something inside her melts. “Please, Hermione? You know I've never had the chance to do this before…”

It should be illegal, those pleading eyes. How is she supposed to resist him when he's looking at her like that? Criminal.

“I… Alright.”

He grins mischievously and lies down on the snow, starting to move his arms and legs, shoving the snow out of his way and shaping the outline of a snow angel. It takes him a few minutes to realize she's just standing over him, watching and smiling smugly at him and when he does, Harry sends her a puzzled look.

Hermione chuckles, noting how simply cute he looks lying there, partially covered in snowflakes, in the middle of his snow angel, and replies. “Honestly, Harry, aren't you a wizard?” And without waiting for a answer, she flicks her wand and a truly wonderful snow angles takes shape a few feet above her head; another flick and the creation spreads its wings and flies gently over their heads.

“Wow…” Harry seems really amazed, considering he could have done the same, but then he sighs and looks slightly disappointed. “That's brilliant, Hermione. You're brilliant; truly amazing.” He doesn't move and simply stares at the angel in wonder and a little disappointment.

“You don't sound happy… Harry?”

He smiles weakly at her, he seems to ponder something for a while before speaking again. “I just… wanted to do something normal with you. Something only the two of us, being raised as muggles, would… enjoy.”

“Like making snow angels?”

Harry shrugs.

Hermione looks at the angel flying over their heads, lost in though. She should've known Harry would want to do this something like this with her. They've been dating for about five months now, and all their time together had been spent in the Wizarding World. Oh, she wants to slap herself! Of course Harry would want something away from , all the magic. Fifth Year had ended horribly what with the last battle against Voldemort, Harry wanted a break from magic in general, why hadn't she thought so?

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione kneels next to her confused boyfriend, and smiles. “I'm sorry, Harry,” she mumbles and leans down to kiss him.

Harry, shocked as he clearly is, doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, nor does he stop when snowflakes start to fall around them. After a few minute kissing softly, Hermione lays down next to him, snuggling into his chest.

“Still want to make snow angel?”

Harry chuckles and then kisses her temple. “Not right now, no. I'm pretty fine here with you.”

“Well played, Potter, stall all you want. But keep in mind, I'm the Queen of snow angles.”

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I'm kinda bringing this back to life. For now. Until my muse leaves me again, and work consumes my life.

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Title: “christmas' treats”

Rating: PG

Words: 1,688

Theme/Prompt: #07 - pie

Warnings/AN: post-ootp, 6^th year au

Summary: In which Harry suddenly realizes why his two best friends are not compatible. Then learns something important as well.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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For someone who claims rather loudly to fancy the girl, Ron certainly has an uncanny talent to upset Hermione.

The fact that the red-haired boy is already miffed due to having been rejected by said girl doesn't help, but seeing them bicker now, on Christmas' Eve, Harry can't help but think Hermione is actually onto something when she'd loudly proclaimed in the middle of the Common Room she and Ron were as compatible as Ron and Malfoy. Okay, maybe yelling that to his face had not being the best, but Ron had been at fault, needling her and pestering her to convince her to go on a date with him.

Harry considers himself lucky, that both of his friends had stormed off at that point, thus sparing him the uncomfortable job of choosing sides (although, he knows which side he'd have taken). And he had tried to play peacemaker the next day, while walking Hermione to her Runes class, inquiring about her words and if she had not acted in haste to reject Ron like that. After all, didn't their fights mean there was tension between them? Maybe they could be compatible if she tried.

It had been the wrong thing to say, as he'd been witness to something he desperately wishes to never see again.

Hermione's eyes had, for an eternal and tortuous moment, lost all their light; her face becoming a perfectly blank canvas. She'd then said, very quietly, that hurtful comments and petty fights did not make a relationship; that demeaning someone's beliefs was wrong if you did it simply because those beliefs were different from yours.

She'd said, very, very quietly, before leaving him standing there, utterly shocked, in the middle of the hall, that she would not allow someone else's expectation dictate who she should love.

Harry hadn't brought that topic up again. Even going as far as preventing anyone to bring it up to her, especially Ron.

~

“I just can't—ugh, why does he do that?! Does he get some sort of satisfaction by annoying me, by trying to ruin everybody's Christmas!?”

Harry doesn't know what to respond; well, he does, but is not sure if he should. He actually understands Hermione's ire, really, even he is angry at Ron right now.

Sirius had gone out of his way to organize this Christmas so both his best friends and their family could spend it in the newly remodelled Grimmauld Place. Harry had thanked him profusely, once more telling him he was the greatest Godfather of the world.

But Ron had made it his personal mission to make everyone as miserable as he felt for being rejected by one girl.

Granted, he'd probably be the same if he were to be rejected by Hermione; Harry doesn't know why, but the thought of it being most likely a certain thing leaves him feeling irrationally angry and depressed at the same time.

He's already getting lost on his thoughts of certain rejection when Hermione snaps him out if it.

“Say something, Harry!”

He blinks, rather stupidly he thinks, and shrugs. “I dunno… Hermione, I'm not exactly on the best position to comment on this.”

The pain he sees flashing through her eyes tells him he said the wrong thing, again, her following words only confirms his realization.

“I know you won't side against your best friend, Harry,” she says, looking away from him and staring at the lone piece of pie sitting on the table in front of them. “I suppose I should have expected it.”

“I didn't mean it like that, Hermione,” he says quietly, not knowing what to do but wanting desperately to comfort her.

“It's okay, Harry.”

“No, listen.” He grabs her hand, gently urging her to look at him. “Ron is wrong to act like a git because you don't return his feelings. And you're right, Hermione; nobody can force you to care for someone like that. Those things happen on their own… Also, I'm sorry about what I said to you that day.”

Hermione's whole demeanour immediately softens at that. “Oh, Harry, it's really okay. You are socially awkward, I should've expected such questions.”

Her little smile is enough to take the sting out of her comment on his social skills. “Thanks, and really, I guess I am starting to see what you meant by saying you and Ron are incompatible.”

“Oh?”

He points at the piece of pie with his free hand, grinning lightly. “Take that for example. Yeah, it's not the best Christmas pie ever, but it tastes okay, yet Ron had to go and make a big deal because it didn't taste like his mother's. I'm starting to understand how relationships should work; Sirius explained something about that. The person who wants to be with you ought to be supportive, yet should be able to offer constructive criticism. He shouldn't be insulting or demeaning… He should go out of his way to make you smile, not cry…”

Harry falls into silence then, oddly mesmerized by the soft smile Hermione is giving him. There is a brief moment where his subconscious tries to tell him something, but he fails to grasp it before the thought is securely put aside. He'll revisit that later, his objective now is to cheer his best friend up, and he seems to be succeeding brilliantly.

“…That's right, Harry. A relationship should be like that.” Hermione leans forward and places a kiss to his cheek, pulling back slowly afterwards. “So, you really liked the Christmas pie I made?”

Just to prove his point, Harry reaches over the table to grab the last piece of pie, taking a huge bite and wagging his eyebrows at her. He's rewarded with her delightful laughter. And he really is enjoying the pie; it's true that it's not the best one out there, but it's not bad either and Hermione put a lot of effort into it. And to be her first try, Harry thinks she did a wonderful job.

Swallowing his bite, and putting enough of a show to make his appreciation clear, to which Hermione grins happily, Harry proceeds to move on with their conversation. “Now, see? Your pie is fine, maybe the crust is a little burnt, and it didn't taste sweet enough, but it's still fine and… And, Hermione, someday you'll meet someone who knows how to appreciate you, how to be supportive and loving, and who'll like everything you cook! Who knows, maybe you already met him and he's just waiting for you to notice him!”

His last statement accomplishes what he'd wanted, Hermione laughs again, her earlier anger completely forgotten. But then she smiles at him, a somewhat different smile, because he's sure he can recognize all of her smiles and this one definitely feels different. Somehow it's gentler, sweeter… His thoughts are derailed as she leans closer again, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight against her body. And he hugs her back because she's Hermione and this is what she does. But then, she pulls back, although not completely, and kisses his cheek again. Another Hermione thing, but like her smile, this kiss feels different too.

When she settles in his arms, her chin resting against his shoulder, Harry is left wondering what was it that he clearly missed.

“Maybe you're right, Harry… Maybe, my special someone is already here but the one actually doing to waiting is me, that's okay though.” She kisses his cheek again before pulling back completely, still smiling differently. “I don't really mind waiting; especially now that I know my special someone will take notice soon.”

Hermione stands up then, biding him a good night and telling him to go to bed as everyone is expected to be up bright and early tomorrow to open presents. Harry nods but stays where he is, turning to stare at the empty plate thoughtfully, trying to decipher the meaning of Hermione's last words.

He can't and finally decides to go to bed.

~

Grimmauld Place has never been more alive with happiness before now, he knows. Sirius had been very honest when he told him of his past with his family, as he had been when he finally told him about his life with the Dursleys.

Neither he nor Sirius had had many happy Christmases before, so they can actually appreciate this more than anyone else.

Harry doesn't rush like the Weasley kids to open his presents, preferring to observe his friends and family first. When he does start opening his presents, he starts with Hermione's. It's the shape of a thin book and he almost expects it to be that, but found something completely unexpected instead. With a note from Hermione advising him to cancel the Shrinking Charm when he has some privacy, as it would be impossible to redo later.

The thoughtfulness of her gift leaves him almost in tears, only his desire to avoid being questioned prevents him from letting said tears fall while rushing to hug her.

It is to this that Hermione's words from last night return, finally making sense.

“…Maybe, my special someone is already here but the one actually doing to waiting is me, that's okay though…”

She'd been talking about him. Of course she'd been talking about him.

Shaking his head, he feels like laughing, settling instead to smile like an idiot and rightly so because he feels like an idiot. It's so obvious, really. He clutches Hermoine's gift against him, thinking, maybe, he can forgo the tears if he simply crosses the room to her side and kisses her silly.

He doesn't though, simply because it would be her first kiss and Harry knows she wants that kiss to be special. So, he thinks, he'll make it special.

“Everything alright, Harry?”

Turning to Sirius, he grins happily before turning to look at Hermione and finds her looking at him nervously. Harry smiles, without a care, probably broadcasting to her all he's been thinking, and she smiles back just as wonderfully as she did last night.

“Brilliant,” he says to Sirius, his eyes still firmly on Hermione. “Everything's brilliant.”

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End.

So, like?

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Two stories, because. XD Hope you like them!

This is, as you'll see an AU. In which James and Lily never died, Harry has twin brothers. Sirius is there and Remus and, of course, Hermione.

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Title: “impressions”

Rating: PG

Words: 863

Theme/Prompt: #08 - tinsel

Warnings/AN: au

Summary: “Ribbon not enough for you, Potter?”

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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“Would you stop that?”

His scathing tone only made his brothers laugh harder.

“Can you at least help me?”

Again, his request went unanswered as the only thing that greeted his ears was more laugher. Only now, those laughing included his own Father, his Godfather, and his Uncle.

Harry growled in frustration, his movement restricted to squirming on the ground. He squirmed some more, trying to reach his wand, and when that failed, tried some wandless magic; it all failed. He could not think how the hell he went from decorating the Christmas tree to lying on the floor tied—wait, wrapped up in tinsel.

The giggling baby next to him, though, answered his question.

Harry Potter, age twenty-one, the best Auror the Ministry had had since Alastor bloody Moody, was bested by a bout of accidental magic from his daughter.

His baby daughter.

“I have to admit, son, your efforts are worthy of praise, but it seems you cannot beat the prowess of the Potter Ladies.” His Father gave him an unrepentant grin as he picked the giggling baby girl up from the floor.

Harry glared at him. “Shut up, and tell her to release me, Dad. Hermione will be here soon, and I promised to have the tree all decorated by then!”

Sirius' grin was as unrepentant as his Father's then. “Aw, but why? You look cute like that, Harry, I'm sure Hermione will like it!” Then, he turned to the baby and proceeded to speak in what he considered cute baby-talk. “Right, sweetie? Doesn't your silly Daddy look cute like that? Yes, he does. You don't have to release him. No, you don't. No, you don't.”

Harry kept on glaring. “You sound ridiculous, Padfoot.”

“While I'm inclined to agree with Harry, in that you do sound ridiculous talking like that, Sirius,” said Remus, ignoring Sirius' glare; he then turned to the fallen Marauder. “You have to admit, Harry, that this is incredibly funny. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, the last time something like this happened, it was you who pranked us unintentionally.”

“Oh, right!” His Father laughed at that, bouncing his granddaughter on his knee. “Yeah, you left us glued to the ceiling a whole afternoon! Lily was the only one who managed to convince you to let us down, it almost seemed like you didn't want to.”

“Well, Sirius had decided he needed to be scare to see how strong his reaction would be. You agreed to go along and I was just an innocent bystander.”

Sirius frowned at Remus, and obviously tried to remain stern but couldn't, and ended up grinning again. “Innocent bystander, my ass. You both put the blame on me! I don't think Lily ever forgave me for that.”

“Oh, she did. Otherwise you wouldn't be allowed to be here.”

Harry sighed, letting his head drop back. “As lovely as it is to listen stories about my childhood, can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

One of his brother, Harry couldn't tell which (and, really, now he could actually understand Ron's complains about his own twin brothers, and actually suspected that they've been taking classes from the red-haired pranksters), kneeled next to him and poked him on the forehead. “It's your fault, Harry.”

The other one, either Jacob or Linus, copied his twin, and poked Harry on the forehead as well. “Yeah, we told you not to take away her glass-globe.”

“She was putting it in her mouth, what was I—hey! Dad, stop her!”

As if on cue, his baby girl had levitated the aforementioned glass-globe back to into hands and proceeded to munch on it. But, much to his chagrin, none of the other (questionable) responsible adults did anything to stop her. His brothers simply smirked down at him before going over to the little girl, both making funny faces to make her laugh.

“Aw, come on! Don't let her—Rose, don't do that, sweetie.” Harry squirmed some more on the floor, already dreading the moment Hermione were to walk through the door into this scene. “Rosie, don't put that in your mouth! Listen to Daddy, please, sweetie, don't put that in your mouth.”

The little one tilted her head to the side, her bright green eyes never leaving her Daddy, and kept slobbering over her pretty and shiny round toy.

“You know, Harry, I know you said you had a big present for me that you were going to give me in private, but, I never thought that present was going to be you.”

Hermione, of course, chose that moment to return from her shopping with the ladies.

Resigned to the worst, Harry craned his neck to look at the entryway, to find his lovely wife of three years standing there, flanked by both, his mother and her mother. By the twitch of her mouth, he knew she was either trying to control her anger or laugher.

The grin that followed suggested it was her laugher. “Tinsel? Ribbon not enough for you, Potter?”

As laughter breaks around the room, Harry lets his head drop back in resignation, annoyed yet still feeling oddly happy.

Here is to a lovely Christmas.

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End.

Have a Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

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