December, at last, spread across Hogwarts in the form of perpetual snow and Christmas decorations. Floating tinsel and ornaments bobbed through the halls with animated adornments flying around them in a coordinated routine.
Even the classes had taken on a holiday cast.
They grew Mistlefingers in Herbology, a magical variant on the traditional decoration that carries itself from doorway to doorway in search of awkward mischief. Professor McGonagall had them transfigure a rubber ball into a silver ornament with moving parts that they then took to Professor Flitwick to practice their animation charms. Harry's little broom ornament would hover in the air on its own without any problems, but any time he tried to make it fly around, it'd fly straight into a wall.
The coming holiday brought with it its own festive anxiety as Harry began to obsess over what to get the Delacours for their Christmas gifts. He was somewhat confident Fleur would like her gift, even if it fell a bit on the practical side of things. But what could he possibly get to show his appreciation for the people who had taken him in and treated a stranger almost like one of their own?
His torment was finally ended by a letter from Gabrielle barely a week before the holiday break began.
Harry,
I have been thinking about gifts since you asked about them. Maman has mentioned cooking with you many times. I suspect she is trying to hint that I should give it another try. Anything you get her that helps her cook with would both be useful and have sentimental value.
Papa is not very hard to shop for, no matter what Fleur says. He means it when he says he will like whatever you get him. He is happy you thought of him, more than he is happy to get a gift.
As for me, I have had a lot of extra time this year and have already finished my small collection of books. I would enjoy having more to read.
I am sure Fleur will like whatever you got her.
I will see you at Christmas! I cannot wait!
-Gabrielle
XxX
In the last days before break, Hogwarts was a ball of festive energy ready to burst. Students talked of little else, most already packed for the welcome break from school. For Harry, it was a time of alternating bouts of extreme anxiety and over-the-moon excitement. He had realized, much too late, that he had neglected to think of a gift for Sirius, and had to scramble to put something together. He had considered gifting his broom ornament, but a particularly unyielding wall had left it in minuscule splinters.
By the time the last day of school was coming to an end, he had worked himself into such a frenzy that Hermione had cornered him in an empty hallway under the pretense of needing his help with some vague prefect duty.
It wasn't until she stopped him that he realized he had been muttering to himself like some sort of lunatic.
Which was fitting, since it felt as though he had gone crazy.
"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" she asked, her bossy hands-on-hips prefect stance at distinct odds with the worried expression that crossed her features.
"It's just…" he said, words spilling from his mouth of their own volition, not bothering to try to form into any sort of sensible structure first. "I get to go back, but it's been a while. What am I supposed to do? Do you give gifts first? How nicely do I wrap the gifts? Do they have different customs? How-?"
"Harry!" Hermione all but shouted, her hands up in a calming gesture.
"It's okay," she soothed. "Everything will be fine. Didn't you have a good time with them over the summer, even with everything else going on?"
He nodded his reply, jaw clamped resolutely shut, lest more nonsense fall out.
"I'm sure they'll be happy to have you back. Why are you so worried about it?"
His mouth worked as he tried to find a way around the core of his bubbling anxiety. He found no paths other than straight through.
"It's…it's my first Christmas," he whispered, though there was nobody else in the hallway to hear his pathetic admission. "My first real one."
Hermione's worried frown froze in a hybrid of shock and understanding.
"Well," she said, dragging the word out as she thought. "Can you think of a better way to spend your first Christmas?" she asked, her voice a little too level.
He shook his head.
"No. Not really. I don't know why I'm so worked up about it."
He tried to smile but could tell it was a paltry attempt the moment he plastered it on.
"It's okay if you are worked up," she said after a moment. "It's a big deal, Harry. It's normal to be worked up about things like that."
He nodded, offering her a much more subdued but more genuine smile.
There was no doubt in his mind she'd wheedle the fact that he was visiting Fleur the night before. An evening which, in his mind, tried as hard as it possibly could to transform into a sort of...date.
But he could keep his secret dreams to himself. At least until he figured out how to tell Hermione without getting mercilessly teased.
XxX
Massive crystalline snowflakes fell upon the platform at Hogsmeade station, brushing against students crammed into the building and archways in an attempt to hide from the frozen precipitation. A biting wind piled snowdrifts into corners and shoes while stabbing at exposed noses and ears.
Hermione and Ron huddled beneath an awning, watching Harry nearly vibrate the snow off himself with his nervous anticipation. His eager sweeps of the track for the Express brought a smile to Hermione's face, though it faded at a twinge of sadness that his first proper Christmas hadn't happened until he was fifteen.
Ron, on the other hand, grinned like a loon.
"He says it's for Christmas," he said, leaning over conspiratorially. "But I'll bet he's just excited to go to her flat."
"Ron!" she hissed, swatting him on the arm. There wasn't much force behind it through their layers of clothing, but it got her point across. "We've talked about this! You leave him be, otherwise, you'll mess this up for him."
"I know!" Ron said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was just joking."
"Still…" she said, itching to keep Ron's careless words from Harry.
Her friend deserved the best Christmas the world could muster. And she was no expert, but-
The shrill whistle of the train drifted on the icy breeze, stalling her thoughts. The snowfall made for a beautiful landscape, but some warmth would be nice.
XxX
Once the Express had stopped and opened its doors to the torrent of freezing students, they made their way to an empty cabin and slid inside. Harry slid his small bag up onto the rack usually reserved for his trunk and dropped down into one of the seats. Then he stood and checked to make sure the gifts were still inside.
Good. They hadn't fallen out since he had checked after boarding the train. Satisfied, he sat back down.
Before they could strike up a conversation, the cabin door slid open to reveal Luna, who had a copy of the Quibbler clutched tight against her chest.
"May I join you?" she asked, peering at the three of them with her steady unblinking gaze. "I was asked to leave the first cabin I chose, and you didn't mind riding up to the castle with me."
"Of course," Harry said, gesturing to the empty spot next to Hermione.
Luna took the offered seat with a strange sort of gentle disbelief, then held her magazine up.
"Would any of you like to read it? There's a rather good article about the Minister's vacation being a cover for a diplomatic trip to a nearby nest of Vampires."
"Fudge doesn't really seem the type to want to be around Vampires," Harry pointed out. "At least he didn't seem that way to me."
She fixed him with a gaze of such intense scrutiny that it nearly pushed him back against the seat. She appeared to reach some sort of internal decision and nodded, her demeanor switching back to relaxed and airy.
"Yes. I expect you would have met with the Minister before. He seems like the type of person who would think that it's your labels that are important."
The whistle sounded before she could continue and the train lurched forward.
"What are you doing for Christmas?" Hermione asked Luna.
"Daddy and I celebrate Yule, though he lets me put up a Christmas tree," she answered, smiling a faint, warm smile. "I like to collect strange ornaments. He finds one for me every year."
"That sounds nice," Hermione said, then a look of surprise dawned across her face a heartbeat later. "Ron, I can't believe I've never asked. Does your family have any special traditions?"
"If you count being nice to each other as a tradition, then sure. It's one of the few times we're all together, so everyone tones it down a bit for Mum's sake. Even Percy is a bit more tolerable."
The snowfall grew heavier as they traveled, the rolling hills tucked beneath the pristine white blanket. They listened as Hermione told them of her muggle Christmas, something that felt mundane without the floating ornaments and shifting lights they had grown accustomed to. But as she detailed waking at dawn with her father and cooking their special traditional breakfast, Harry could see the much more precious magic hidden within her story.
The duo always let her mother sleep as late as she wanted, warming a heavy blanket in their dryer and curling up on the living room couch to read. Their evenings were filled with traveling family and visiting grandparents and ended with just three, simple, homemade gifts.
While her story warmed him against the relentless snowfall outside, he felt his contentment slide away. In an identical cabin, just a few months prior, he had shared his deepest secret with two of his closest friends.
One he had kept his entire life.
Less than a month before that, he had been freed from the prison that had been Privet Drive.
How was it possible to go from such misery to such tangible joy in such a short time? It didn't seem possible. The absurdity of it made him either want to laugh or burst into tears.
He settled for silence, opting to listen and watch as Luna interjected tiny comments that managed to derail Hermione's entire thought process, stunning her into momentary speechlessness.
He hadn't quite managed to find his bearings once the train rolled to a careful stop at King's Cross. After the final whistle, the four of them stood, with Harry checking his bag to make sure all the gifts were still inside. He slung it over his shoulder and followed Luna from the cabin, bringing up the rear. The air in the corridor vibrated with conversation and students, packed shoulder to shoulder as they spilled from the train in waves. Harry swallowed down the anxious crawl of panic that rose in his chest at being pressed in at all sides, instead focusing outside the windows.
He was able to glimpse an island of red hair amongst the milling families of the platform with a single spot of wild darkness close by. They were spotted the moment they stepped from the train and Sirius began waving like a madman, his hand swinging wide arcs above his head.
Luna paused, then turned to their small group.
"I see my dad," she said, smiling her wispy smile to the three of them. "Happy Christmas."
"Happy Yule, Luna," Harry said. "See you when school starts again?"
She stared at him again for a long moment, eyes searching his face. Eventually, she relaxed.
"I would like that very much," she said, then left to meet with a tall man wearing vibrant purple robes and who had the same sunny blond hair as Luna.
"Good to see you, Harry!" Mr. Weasley said as they approached. "You too, Hermione!"
Harry opened his mouth to reply but found himself swept up into one of Mrs. Weasley's hugs.
"Oh, it's so good to see you, dear," she said, giving him a tight squeeze, oblivious to the stiffening of his spine.
"You too, Mrs. Weasley," he said once she released him.
"As wonderful as this is," Sirius said, stepping forward next to Harry, "we should get going. I'm not sure the holidays are best spent at a train station, after all."
Harry nodded his agreement, pins and needles sweeping across his body. It was happening. He was about to leave for the Christmas holiday with his godfather.
Hopefully, his grin didn't look too goofy.
"Have fun, mate," Ron said with a wave.
"I'll see you when school starts again," Hermione said. "Happy Christmas, Harry."
Harry waved his reply to the chorus of 'Happy Christmas' that followed Hermione's. Sirius placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned on the spot, pulling them both into the cold crushing blackness.
An instant later, they appeared in the empty living room of Grimmauld Place. Harry blinked away his momentary disorientation and looked around the large room.
"Well, Harry," Sirius said, holding his arms wide in presentation. "Welcome to my home, drab as it is."
Harry revolved on the spot, taking in the sizable living room. To his surprise, it wasn't quite as big as the sitting room at the Delacour's, nor did it appear quite as…lived in, save for a well-worn chair in front of the fireplace with a messy table on its left. On the other side of the table sat another lounge chair in much better condition.
Each picture that hung on the wall was spotless, the bottom of every frame perfectly level to the floor. A large wall clock hung to the left of the chimney, its hands showing the normal time, rather than the specialized hands the Weasley's preferred.
"It's nice," Harry said. "Kinda dark though."
He would miss the giant windows that looked out to a forest of greenery and light.
"It is a townhouse, after all," Sirius said. "Not a lot of real-estate for windows. Come on, I'll show you to your room."
Harry readjusted his pack on his shoulder and followed Sirius up a long stairwell to the next floor.
"How many floors are there?" he asked, climbing the final few steps.
"Five," Sirius said, waving a lazy hand skyward. "From the outside, it looks like it has two though. I sleep on this floor now, even though my childhood room is on the fourth floor. I'm not exactly an old man, but climbing up and down four flights of stairs a couple of times a day sure makes me feel like one."
He gestured down the hall.
"Last on the left is yours, though you're welcome to any of them really. Mine is first on the left, and the one between us is a vacant guest room. Privy is opposite my room, and the door opposite yours goes to the library. You can go in there if you want, just be cautious. We've amassed quite the collection of dodgy literature over the centuries."
They walked to Harry's room, where Sirius opened the door with a dramatic swing of his arm.
The room beyond was somewhat sparse with a lot of empty space between furniture pieces. Weak winter light filtered through a window to his right, peeking through the cracks around drawn drapes. A bed that was somehow larger than his at the Delacours sat prominent opposite the window with a nightstand on either side. On the wall opposite the door was a bureau of drawers and the rest was just…empty.
"You can put your clothes in there," Sirius said, pointing. Then he looked at Harry's small pack. "Though it doesn't seem like you brought very many."
Harry shrugged self-consciously. He had only packed his pajamas and his best set of hand-me-downs. He had come to enjoy wearing the self-tailoring outfit and rarely wore anything else.
"We can get you some more," Sirius said, rubbing a thumb and forefinger against the stubble on his chin. "But after the holiday. It'd be a nightmare for the two of us to try and go out in a crowd like that. Anyway, get comfortable and join me down in the living room whenever you're done. I want to hear all about this mythical 'normal' year of yours."
It didn't take long for Harry to stick both pairs of clothes into one of the top drawers. After a moment's thought, he tucked the presents away in one of the bottom drawers. Sirius seemed the type to try and sneak a peek if the opportunity presented itself.
He found his godfather sitting in the rattier of the two chairs in front of a now-roaring fire. He held a copy of the Daily Prophet open in front of him. Harry slid into the vacant seat, sighing as the fire-warmed leather drove away the drafty chill.
Silence stretched between them, the only sound in the house the occasional pop of a log.
"This is…a bit weird," Sirius said, folding his paper. The firelight danced across his features, though Harry noticed his eyes weren't as sunken, nor as haunted.
"A little," Harry agreed. "It doesn't seem real."
Sirius let out a short laugh.
"You can say that again. Hard to believe we're sitting here after so long on the run." He smiled at Harry. "Go on then. I've been told I'm supposed to nag you about all the details of your school life."
Harry laughed then told what little there was to tell. He spoke of dull potions classes and intense Defense ones, Professor Polder doing her best to help build upon the less extreme knowledge Moody had eschewed. With chagrin, he mentioned that he had decided to skip Quidditch while being tutored by Dumbledore.
"How's that going, by the way?" Sirius asked, intrigued.
"Okay, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. "Dumbledore says I'm doing well enough. I'm showing Ron and Hermione too, though I needed to get help from Fleur to do it right."
Sirius's eyebrows shot up.
"Is she a student-teacher or something?"
"Er…not exactly."
"You snuck her into Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded mutely.
"Damn," Sirius grumbled. "We almost got expelled for trying to sneak some birds into school our sixth year. Couldn't get anything past McGonagall back then." He shrugged. "So long as it's for academic stuff, I doubt you'd be in too much trouble. Just be careful, yeah?"
Harry nodded his reply.
"How is she, by the way?" Sirius asked, his face sliding back into neutrality.
"Good. We met up in Hogsmeade a few times before we started the study group. She's working at the Ministry now and found her own place." He paused, realizing he hadn't mentioned his Christmas Eve plans. "We're meeting up on Christmas Eve. She wants to show me her flat."
"Are you?" Sirius asked with a slight smile.
"Er…yes?"
Sirius said nothing else, instead opting to just stare at Harry in amusement.
"Oh." He felt his face flush. "If that's okay, I mean."
"It's fine," Sirius said with a grin. "You're fifteen, Harry. I'm not going to try to police every little movement you make, but I do need to know where you're going and when. That's all."
"I understand."
"So, what will you two be doing?"
"Exchanging gifts and I'm making dinner," Harry said. "She wants to have a small Christmas at her place before the real thing the next day at her parents."
"Sounds fun," Sirius said, his grin growing even wider.
"What?" Harry asked, frowning at the strange expression.
Sirius faltered.
"I'm just saying. It sounds…you know," he gesticulated vaguely in the air for a moment before letting his hands fall. "Listen, did you bring something nice to wear, at least?"
Harry glanced down at the clothes he was wearing. Fleur had said she liked them.
Sirius let out a slow breath.
"It sounds like this is probably important to her, so you might want to dress up a bit. Nothing crazy, but not your day-to-day clothes either." He trailed off, thoughtful. "We'll probably want to look presentable for the Delacours as well…"
"But you said we couldn't go shopping," Harry pointed out.
"I've got plenty of clothes here," Sirius said, grimacing. "But for you…Kreacher!"
To Harry's utter surprise, a house-elf burst into existence in front of Sirius, two rude gestures prominently thrust towards Sirius. It paused when its large eyes caught sight of Harry.
"Master has kidnapped someone," the house-elf croaked. "Kreacher should report to the authorities. Then Master can return home to Azkaban."
"He's not kidnapped," Sirius snapped. "And don't go anywhere. This is Harry and he'll be staying with us for a while. You are to treat him with all the respect you keep from me and carry out any request he makes of you…properly too. None of your funny interpretations."
"Kreacher always follows Master's commands."
"Then listen up. Harry needs some nice clothes. I know you're able to pick out ones that look good, so I need you to pick up a few sets. Get ones with tailoring charms so you don't have to worry about sizing. If you do this well and to the best of your ability, you can have something from Regulus's room."
The house-elf's bulbous eyes went wide and he disappeared without a sound.
"Sirius, you don't have to-"
"Get used to it," Sirius said. "Once I have guardianship, it will be my actual responsibility to clothe and feed you. Consider this a head start."
Sensing that he wouldn't get anywhere, Harry let it drop, instead shifting topics to ask about the story behind Sirius sneaking girls into the school. Rather than elaborate, his godfather sprinted down a tangent of their last month at Hogwarts, and how they had almost gotten Professor McGonagall to quit teaching for good.
In return, he went into the finer details of his first two years at Hogwarts over dinner. It wasn't anything fancy, but Sirius had forbidden Harry from cooking on his first evening back from school…and the stew was passable.
Kreacher returned after dinner with four sets of clothes that, to Harry's utter surprise, he found he liked. The elf transported them to his room with a snap of his fingers, then vanished to retrieve his reward. Harry reluctantly agreed to wear the clothes for Sirius in the morning, though he had to admit that his godfather's sense of what would be proper to wear to Christmas Eve was likely to be far better than his own.
It was late when they finally waved their goodnights down the hall to each other and Harry fought against bone-deep exhaustion. He tugged off his shirt as he walked, depositing it in an empty drawer along with his trousers and socks. He slipped on his pajamas, the one set of clothing where its threadbare condition somehow made it more comfortable and then climbed into the massive bed.
He lay awake deep into the night, the unfamiliar sounds floating through Grimmauld Place occasionally making him jump, startling him out of his near-sleep. With agonizing slowness, his mind finally drifted away from the day's events, and off towards more relaxing thoughts.
Sky-blue eyes and crystalline laughter carried him into his dreams.
XxX
Harry set the plate down in front of his godfather, the clink of dinnerware on the table loud against the near-silent backdrop of the dining room. Sirius had adopted a somber air, part in jest at Harry's vehement insistence that he needed practice, and part in actual surprise as Harry spent nearly two hours crafting the meal.
Harry turned and loaded his own plate, then sat down to stare expectantly at Sirius.
"Well?" he prodded, making no move to eat his own. "It's better when it's hot, you know."
Sirius pursed his lips and tried to affect a smile. "I can't tell you the last time I had a homemade meal, Harry," Sirius said, staring down at the aromatic meal in front of him. "I'll savor it if I damn well please."
Harry nodded and took a bite of his own chicken, eyes narrowing in consideration. Satisfied, he nodded and cut off another large piece.
Sirius followed suit a moment later, trying to appear at least some semblance of civilized in front of his godson.
He failed utterly and began to rave about the meal.
XxX
Christmas Eve managed to sneak up on Harry in that paradoxical way of things that you're looking forward to.
How could it be possible that he was running out of time when he had been counting the hours for days?
He tugged the shirt down over his head and threw on the button up Sirius had selected for him. His vote had been for the bright blue shirt, but Sirius had vetoed it without hesitation. Instead, he was to wear a bright green shirt and black trousers. While the button-up was indeed festive, it was not a garish, overused green, but more the muted green of shadowed grass in a forest clearing.
He buttoned the buttons and pulled on his trousers, making sure to lift his legs so the charms could do their job. Once it had fitted itself to his body, he pulled open one of the drawers of his bureau and pulled out the wrapped rectangular box. He held it carefully in both hands, the box fitting neatly between his palms. He knew that what it contained wasn't fragile, but he found he couldn't help but treat it as though the whole thing were made of glass.
"Harry?" Sirius's voice preceded a knock at his bedroom door. "I've got the food ready that you said you needed. You're going to be late if you don't get a move-on."
"Coming!" he called back, hoping Sirius hadn't noticed the crack in his voice.
Why was he so nervous? Sure, he wanted her to like his gift and the food he made, but still…
'It's a big deal, Harry. It's normal to be worked up about things like that.'
Still. He wished he didn't feel like he was going to be sick.
He stuffed away thoughts of pleasant but impossible dreams and headed downstairs to double-check that Sirius had packed everything he was going to need.
Should he bring pots and pans? He should have asked. Maybe-
"Woah," Sirius said, plucking the roasting pan from Harry's hands. "You can always come back and get it if you need it. No sense in showing up with the whole kitchen."
"Right," Harry said nodding. He jumped when Sirius reached forward, then stilled himself.
"Sorry," Sirius mumbled, letting his hands fall. He tapped himself on the neck. "Don't do up that very top button unless you're going to wear a tie."
Harry fumbled with the button, breathing deep as the constricting feeling around his throat lessened.
"Do you have everything?" Sirius asked, nodding towards the sack sitting on the kitchen counter. "Excluding kitchenware, of course?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. Checking three times had probably been enough.
"Good. So. Back by two?"
Harry almost choked. "Two? It's almost six!"
"You want less time?" Sirius asked, frowning. "Eleven?"
"Two is fine!" Harry said quickly, earning a laugh from his godfather.
"Just don't stay out too late. I'm old and tire easily now. Plus, we want to be well-rested for tomorrow with the rest of her family."
"I won't," he promised.
It wasn't as though they had much more planned other than gifts and dinner. Maybe another French lesson? Even though they never planned much to do in their limited time together, he always found he was never quite satisfied.
He just hoped she didn't get tired of him after eight hours.
"Get going," Sirius prodded, holding out the bag of ingredients. "And have fun."
Harry took the bag over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder with his free hand. He tossed it into the flames and stepped into the warm green result.
"Fleur's apartment," he shouted, then braced himself against the disorienting pseudo-motion of floo travel.
With a lurch, the spinning stopped and sent him stumbling out of the floo into a dark but comfortable room. A pair of warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and helped him keep his footing.
"I have seen you trip your way through the floo at my parent's house often enough,'' Fleur teased.
She shifted her hands to his shoulders and directed him towards the only other source of light in the room other than the now orange flames.
"What do you think?"
The vibrant green pine tree was tucked into a corner of the room next to her desk, branches reaching far from its cozy spot while the top bent against the ceiling. Glittering ornaments dotted the surface, reflecting the firelight in little bursts of orange. Silver and gold tinsel snaked around the tree, peppered with soft white Christmas lights. He grabbed his gift from the bag and placed it under the tree atop a few others wrapped expertly in golden wrapping paper.
He stood and turned, feeling foolish for gaping instead of greeting Fleur.
He froze halfway up when he spotted her.
She stood next to the fireplace, hair tied with a loose bow at the nape of her neck, though long, slightly curled strands hung free, framing her face. The firelight flickered across her hair and bare shoulders, the reflective effect of her hair making her radiant in the partial darkness.
Rather than her usual loose, comfortable clothing, she wore an icy blue dress that fell just below her knees. Thin straps wrapped over her shoulders and the front was decorated with a wave of snowflakes frozen mid-gust.
While her dress and hair were beautiful, they weren't what dried his mouth and locked his brain.
It had been a year since he had seen her in her attractive ball-gown of deep green. In that time, he hadn't thought he had forgotten how breathtaking she was in anything even remotely form-fitting.
He had been wrong.
As was her penchant, the dress was not immodest, but it hugged her in a way that loose clothes purposefully did not.
A dim, almost imperceptible pinprick of thought needled its way to the forefront of his mind. Had he been staring for long? She hated when people looked at her like that. He shouldn't act like some idiot ensnared by her allure.
He rose to his feet and strained to focus on her nervous blue eyes. No comments on her appearance. She liked talking to him because she felt comfortable.
"How do I look?" she asked, twirling once in place.
A thousand words clamored to be released, most too mundane to describe someone like her. Some far too indecent.
"A-amazing," he finally managed. "I like the snowflakes."
A slow smile crept across her features alongside a faint dusting of pink. It wasn't one he had seen before. So close to the shy tilt of her lips whenever she opened up to him, yet broader, somehow more…inviting.
He wondered if she could hear his heart thundering in his chest.
What would she be sensing from him?
She seemed to shake herself and looked over to his bag of supplies.
"I am quite hungry and am looking forward to what you're going to make," she said. "But can we exchange gifts first? That has always been my favorite part."
Harry nodded slowly, his brain struggling to catch up to the present. The…food?
Right.
"The, uh…hens need to be refrigerated," he said, moving towards the bag. "But sure. I don't mind."
Fleur's eyes sparkled with delight and she snatched the bag from the floor and vanished down the hallway behind her in one fluid movement. He tugged on his shirt, saying a silent thank you to Sirius for insisting that he dress in something better than his normal clothes. He was nowhere near as…indescribable as she was, but at least he didn't appear a slob by comparison.
The clattering noises of Fleur putting the ingredients away snapped him from his thoughts. He took the opportunity, now that he wasn't as distracted, to finally check out Fleur's apartment. Now that he wasn't marveling at Fleur or her decorations, he discovered that it was a rather small living room. Opposite the fireplace was Fleur's desk from her bedroom at her parents sitting in front of a small window that looked out into a dark snowy night. He spotted the blanket he had gotten her as a birthday gift folded atop a gray love-seat that sat along the same wall as the hall Fleur had disappeared down.
He bent, grabbed the gift from beneath the tree, and waited for her to return.
He wasn't waiting long. She sped back into the living room, silvery hair trailing behind her with her momentum. Her eyes went wide when she saw him standing in the middle of the room, the gift in hand.
"Well, go on," she said, pointing to the small couch. "Sit down and get comfortable. You do not have to stand in the middle of the room."
She brushed past him towards the tree, spinning a warm burst of cinnamon through the air. It wasn't until it had faded but not disappeared, that he realized the whole flat smelled of the calming scent. A sudden feeling of intimate warmth rushed through him, traveling through to even the tips of his fingers.
He sat on the couch and watched Fleur bend at the knee to pull the gift from beneath the tree. The fair skin of her bare back shifted as she reached, the backless dress showing far more than he had initially thought.
If she noticed his slight breathlessness when she sat down next to him, she didn't say so.
She held a small rectangular package in her hands, though it was wider than his own. She bit her lip and thrust the gift towards him.
"I would like you to open yours first. I am excited to see what you have gotten me," she said, a small smile lifting the corners of pink lips. "Especially since you have known what to buy for so long. But I might lose my mind if I have to wait another second to see what you think of yours. It took me forever to figure out what I should get you."
He lowered the box to his lap and peeled back the golden wrapping paper. He lifted the lid of the cardboard box to expose the back of a picture frame about the size of his hand. He turned it over and stared awestruck at the scene depicted within.
A slight breeze rustled the leaves surrounding their clearing. The rocks sat in their circle in the middle and the grass was sprinkled with the tops of mushrooms. Sunlight shone from high overhead, out of frame, sending leafy shadows dancing across the forest floor. Another breeze blew through, tricking the light beneath two of the trees into morphing to a shimmering golden veil for a bare second, before resolving into dancing shadows.
"Someone…took a picture?" he asked, torn between pleasure at having such a tangible representation and disappointment that their special place had been intruded upon.
"It is a memory," she whispered, reaching out to run a finger along the decorative wooden edge of the frame. "My memory. Of our last time to that place."
"I remember."
He stared in silence for a moment before she began to shift and fiddle with the hem of her dress.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"I love it. I don't really have many pictures."
Relief was painted across her smile. "Then I will be sure to get you more."
He dared not look directly at the warm expression on her face, and instead busied himself with handing over her gift. She took it in her delicate hands, turning it slowly between her fingers.
His heart hammered as shreds of paper fell to her lap. Her eyes were locked on the gift, and her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she fiddled with a piece of tape with a fingernail. He took in a breath when she began to lift the lid, causing her to hesitate.
She glanced up at him with her head slightly tilted.
"You do not have to be so nervous," she said, then focused back on the box. "I am sure I will love whatever-"
She trailed off when she removed the lid, exposing a silky white ribbon folded inside the box. She reached in and carefully lifted the fabric, holding it up to the flickering firelight to examine the delicate lacework of leaves strung along the edges.
She turned it over in her hand, rubbing the silk between her forefinger and thumb, then gasped when it shifted to a bright sunny yellow, the color spilling down the length like ink in water.
"C'est beau," she breathed.
"I had the idea over the summer," he explained into the silence. "You wore so many different colors that I thought it might be nice to just need one. They said if you concentrate, you can change it to whatever color you want, then tap it with your wand to get it to stay."
As he spoke, the ribbon shifted to black, followed by emerald green, then settled on a dark blue.
"If you don't make the color stay," he continued when she didn't say anything, "it'll change with your mood, which I thought was kind of neat."
"It is wonderful," she said, fixing him with watery blue eyes. "It is perfect."
The ribbon shifted again in her hands, the dark ocean blue bleeding away into a gentle purple that spread from her hands in a slow crawl.
She followed his gaze down to the fabric and froze, eyes wide, breathing shallow and quick.
He tried not to worry as she sat in silence, staring unblinkingly at the ribbon held between trembling fingers.
After a few long moments, she smiled that new shy smile and lifted her hand to undo the ribbon already in her hair.
"I think lavender is a perfect color for tonight," she whispered, expertly weaving the ribbon through her fascinating silvery hair, rather than tying it in a bow as she had done before.
He stared in awe as she finished, pulling the finished loose braid over her shoulder, the lavender ribbon woven in throughout.
"You have to…tap it with your wand," he said, numbly mimicking the motion with his empty hand.
The intimate smile broadened.
"It will not change."