HP: harry/hermione: baby it's cold outside
Title: baby, it's cold outside
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Harry/Hermione
She catches his eye under the mistletoe, but nobody sees them. They smile at each other, politely saying “Excuse me” as he holds a bottle of wine out of harm’s way and she carries empty dishes into the kitchen. A slightly tipsy Ginny steps forward with her wineglass proffered, a headband with reindeer antlers sitting goofily atop her head and her cheeks rosy from the night’s festivities. Distracted, she slips by him easily and he uncorks the bottle to rousing cheers from the others gathered around the Christmas tree. Ginny leans in and whispers something, pointing up, and kissing him on the nose. He smiles and pecks her on the lips.
She smiles and turns away to wash the dishes in the sink.
-
She blames the spiked eggnog, even though she despises the stuff. Too creamy. Not enough rum. Her head feels too light. The shadows are dancing more than usual on the walls from the dim firelight. She takes another sip anyway, her tongue swirling around in her mouth, seeking more of that burning rum taste that she just can’t get enough of tonight.
He’s watching her, green eyes lazy and unfocused behind his glasses. He has demoted himself to simple Butterbeers, or at least he keeps telling them that. He raises his glass high, towards her, the word “Cheers” ringing in the air followed by a sly wink.
She blinks behind her now empty glass, staring at his raised glass speechlessly. He moves forward to refill her drink, his thigh grazing hers on the couch.
“Cheers,” he says again and this time, she raises her glass as well.
“Cheers,” she says, her voice almost as loud as the soft clink.
-
Everyone is going home. Ron stumbles out of Seamus’ flat, supporting an equally stumbling Ginny. The two of them are submersed in a brother-sister duet of “Sleigh Ride”, Ron ironically taking the part of soprano.
The winter air is crisp and biting. She can feel her senses sharpening a little when a wind blows. She ties her scarf around her neck a little bit tighter, the wool chafing against her skin. Suddenly, she feels an arm go around her shoulders. She chuckles and leans in closer to his added warmth, wrapping an arm around his waist as they follow Ron and Ginny, arguing over their harmony parts.
The both of them laugh, the sound bouncing off the deserted streets and mixing in with the noise of their boots crunching with every step. Together, they walk through the snow.
-
They reach his flat. Ron and Ginny, still slurring petty arguments over what verse comes next, immediately lay claim on the couches in the living room, falling asleep almost as soon as their heads touch the cushions.
“How about a cup of tea or coffee or something?” he asks.
She keeps her coat and scarf on and politely shakes her head. She can see clearer and her steps are a lot more even. Besides, she only lives a block away. He smiles, always the chivalrous one, and insists he walk with her. They throw blankets on the sleeping siblings and creep out the front door, closing the door silently behind them.
-
They reach her front door, the plain wood adorned with a bright and festive wreath. It’s not really her, he remarks, fingering a tiny bell, amused. It was her mother’s idea, she insists.
She fumbles for her key. It slides easily into the lock. She turns around to thank him, to kiss him on the cheek goodnight. Her lips meet his instead, a kiss that sends their blood pumping and their ears ringing. They don’t need mistletoe.
Her hand grasps the doorknob and turns. They almost fall into the apartment, but his fast reflexes catch her around the waist and hold her steadily against him.
-
She loves him when he sleeps. Unguarded, vulnerable, innocent, open. She traces his mouth, her fingers never grazing his skin, as the sky slowly lightens outside.
-
He’s gone when she finally wakes up.
A breakfast tray is left on her bedside table, a charm cast on it so it never grows cold. She watches the steam rise from her mug of coffee, the wispy swirls rising before fading into nothing. She takes a sip. He remembers how she likes it.
-
An unexpected knock on her door causes her to pause in her reading. She gets up and strides towards it, peeking through the peephole to see who it is. She opens the door, the tiny bells on her wreath ringing shrilly as she stares into his face.
He smiles shyly, offering a clumsily wrapped box. She smiles in reply, saying nothing, unsure of herself, of him, confused, yet also a little giddy.
“Open it,” he urges her, breathless, the words coming out in tiny puffs in the cold air.
She drags her finger along the edges of the wrapping, neatly peeling off the paper to unearth a simple box. She lifts the lid and sees a hastily scribbled note inside:
I love you.
She swallows hard against a lump that has formed in her throat.
“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods vigorously.
-
His lips are cold when she kisses him and she vaguely wonders how long he stood outside her door with this gift in hand. Tears begin to leak out of the corners of her eyes, but his gloved hands reach up and wipe them away.
Everything is new, everything is scary. She wonders if she is doing the right thing, then his tongue enters her mouth and coaxes a small moan from her mouth, and his hands hold her against him just the right way.
They break apart, foreheads touching, hands clasped, his gloved, hers bare. Her heart begins to beat faster. He holds her hands tighter and, she nods.
“I’m sure,” she answers herself.
end
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Harry/Hermione
She catches his eye under the mistletoe, but nobody sees them. They smile at each other, politely saying “Excuse me” as he holds a bottle of wine out of harm’s way and she carries empty dishes into the kitchen. A slightly tipsy Ginny steps forward with her wineglass proffered, a headband with reindeer antlers sitting goofily atop her head and her cheeks rosy from the night’s festivities. Distracted, she slips by him easily and he uncorks the bottle to rousing cheers from the others gathered around the Christmas tree. Ginny leans in and whispers something, pointing up, and kissing him on the nose. He smiles and pecks her on the lips.
She smiles and turns away to wash the dishes in the sink.
-
She blames the spiked eggnog, even though she despises the stuff. Too creamy. Not enough rum. Her head feels too light. The shadows are dancing more than usual on the walls from the dim firelight. She takes another sip anyway, her tongue swirling around in her mouth, seeking more of that burning rum taste that she just can’t get enough of tonight.
He’s watching her, green eyes lazy and unfocused behind his glasses. He has demoted himself to simple Butterbeers, or at least he keeps telling them that. He raises his glass high, towards her, the word “Cheers” ringing in the air followed by a sly wink.
She blinks behind her now empty glass, staring at his raised glass speechlessly. He moves forward to refill her drink, his thigh grazing hers on the couch.
“Cheers,” he says again and this time, she raises her glass as well.
“Cheers,” she says, her voice almost as loud as the soft clink.
-
Everyone is going home. Ron stumbles out of Seamus’ flat, supporting an equally stumbling Ginny. The two of them are submersed in a brother-sister duet of “Sleigh Ride”, Ron ironically taking the part of soprano.
The winter air is crisp and biting. She can feel her senses sharpening a little when a wind blows. She ties her scarf around her neck a little bit tighter, the wool chafing against her skin. Suddenly, she feels an arm go around her shoulders. She chuckles and leans in closer to his added warmth, wrapping an arm around his waist as they follow Ron and Ginny, arguing over their harmony parts.
The both of them laugh, the sound bouncing off the deserted streets and mixing in with the noise of their boots crunching with every step. Together, they walk through the snow.
-
They reach his flat. Ron and Ginny, still slurring petty arguments over what verse comes next, immediately lay claim on the couches in the living room, falling asleep almost as soon as their heads touch the cushions.
“How about a cup of tea or coffee or something?” he asks.
She keeps her coat and scarf on and politely shakes her head. She can see clearer and her steps are a lot more even. Besides, she only lives a block away. He smiles, always the chivalrous one, and insists he walk with her. They throw blankets on the sleeping siblings and creep out the front door, closing the door silently behind them.
-
They reach her front door, the plain wood adorned with a bright and festive wreath. It’s not really her, he remarks, fingering a tiny bell, amused. It was her mother’s idea, she insists.
She fumbles for her key. It slides easily into the lock. She turns around to thank him, to kiss him on the cheek goodnight. Her lips meet his instead, a kiss that sends their blood pumping and their ears ringing. They don’t need mistletoe.
Her hand grasps the doorknob and turns. They almost fall into the apartment, but his fast reflexes catch her around the waist and hold her steadily against him.
-
She loves him when he sleeps. Unguarded, vulnerable, innocent, open. She traces his mouth, her fingers never grazing his skin, as the sky slowly lightens outside.
-
He’s gone when she finally wakes up.
A breakfast tray is left on her bedside table, a charm cast on it so it never grows cold. She watches the steam rise from her mug of coffee, the wispy swirls rising before fading into nothing. She takes a sip. He remembers how she likes it.
-
An unexpected knock on her door causes her to pause in her reading. She gets up and strides towards it, peeking through the peephole to see who it is. She opens the door, the tiny bells on her wreath ringing shrilly as she stares into his face.
He smiles shyly, offering a clumsily wrapped box. She smiles in reply, saying nothing, unsure of herself, of him, confused, yet also a little giddy.
“Open it,” he urges her, breathless, the words coming out in tiny puffs in the cold air.
She drags her finger along the edges of the wrapping, neatly peeling off the paper to unearth a simple box. She lifts the lid and sees a hastily scribbled note inside:
I love you.
She swallows hard against a lump that has formed in her throat.
“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods vigorously.
-
His lips are cold when she kisses him and she vaguely wonders how long he stood outside her door with this gift in hand. Tears begin to leak out of the corners of her eyes, but his gloved hands reach up and wipe them away.
Everything is new, everything is scary. She wonders if she is doing the right thing, then his tongue enters her mouth and coaxes a small moan from her mouth, and his hands hold her against him just the right way.
They break apart, foreheads touching, hands clasped, his gloved, hers bare. Her heart begins to beat faster. He holds her hands tighter and, she nods.
“I’m sure,” she answers herself.
end