Chapter Text
A snowflake danced gently from the demiguise-like clouds hovering above; twirling and leaping, waltzing through the air; it frolicked down to the soft ground, the colour of daisy petals in mid-spring; there it lay to rest, marrying into the waiting snow; in the sky, yet more flakes fell through the same cycle.
There the snowflake stayed, untouched and unmoving. A boot came down next to it, barely sparing it.
The boot was tall, buckled, and black, going as high as the knee; it belonged to a boy of about seventeen, give or take a few months; it didn’t stay next to the snowflake for more than a second, for the boy wasn’t there to dilly-dally; he had somewhere to be.
Footslogging across the little village, the boy huffed heavily, snickering as the air before him became thicker, giving him the look of a heavy smoker (which he wasn’t). It wasn’t that it was a long journey from Hogsmeade to the house- after all, all one had to do was to apparate from here to there and back again; it was only that, after having visited Hogsmeade, the boy had remembered that he was meant to visit the market in the village square- so that he had done; he had taken the food back to his great-aunt, as he was instructed; it was then he thought how nice it would be to turn up at the house with some treats; and so he apparated once more to the market, only to realise he had splinched the tip of his fingernail on his ring finger. The boy knew it would be unwise to try again with his low-level energy; better travel on foot than risk losing a body part that couldn’t be regrown.
So that was how he came to be trudging through the fresh-fallen snow, lugging two quite weighty bags with him; he had, whilst at the market, picked up a variety of ingredients and sweets; alongside the presents he had originally travelled for, all were sure to please his sweetheart. One gift in particular, one which had kept him out all day trying to find the perfect one, was sure to be the cream on top of the cockroach cluster; at least, the boy hoped it would.
Having been quite lost in thought, the boy was vaguely thrown off to find himself standing in front of the door to the house.
It wasn’t exactly his house, per-se; it may as well have been, given the amount of time he spent there, but it wasn’t. The houses in the village looked much the same to most, although there were plenty of distinctions (many which seemed obvious once one thought about it); this particular house, for instance, had honeysuckle vines draped around a single window- the window which jutted out of the roof, crooked and off centre; inside, through the closed curtains, the boy could see the weak glow of a candle. A dull thud sounded, followed by a silvery laugh. The boy smirked to himself. He raised a fist and knocked on the door, one of his bags banging against it too.
It took only a few seconds. There was a cluttering from upstairs, murmuring and sighing, followed by two sets of footsteps. The first came swift and lithe, eager in their way, the second set rather clumsy, trying desperately to keep up.
The front door was wrenched open, and the boy beamed. For there were those twinkling blue eyes he so loved; the long, auburn hair, wavy and thick, pulled back into a lazily done bun, strands falling out as he watched; the freckles, littered lightly across ivory cheeks (although the boy knew there were more across the lower back, thighs, and chest); the wand tucked behind the ear (as it so often was), the bitten-down nails, and the slightly crooked nose; the scratched hand (the result of stress or, sometimes, simply boredom), the creases between thick eyebrows, and the soft, dewy lips that the boy knew so very well.
“Albus,” he croaked. He hadn’t spoken for hours, having been out all day, and had quite almost forgotten what it felt like.
“Gellert!” said Albus. He wrapped an arm around Gellert, sweeping him in through the door.
The warmth hit Gellert like a dragon falling from the sky. Ariana closed the door behind him and took his bags, setting them aside on the floor; Albus took his cloak, dried it with a flick of his wand, and hung it on one of the hooks.
“You get your shoes off- socks too, actually, they’re probably soaked through,” Albus said, arms around Gellert’s neck, trying not to stand too close before his sister. “Then I’ll get you up to the bedroom. We’ll warm each other up, yeah?”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Gellert, his voice still raspy.
Albus turned to his sister. “Ariana, your lessons are over for today.”
“Oh, thank the goats!”
“Do you mean gods?”
“No,” said Ariana. “I’m not utterly dim. It’s just Aberforth likes goats and I miss him.”
“Well,” said Albus, “Aberforth will be coming back from Hogwarts tomorrow. Until then, we’ll have to cope without him. Not that it’s all that hard.” The last part was spoken deliberately low, so that only Gellert might hear him.
“Can you make me a hot cocoa, please Albus?” Ariana jumped up and down at the sheer brilliance of the idea.
“I suppose it won’t hurt.” Albus squeezed Gellert’s shoulder, running his hand down the length of his arm, letting it linger on Gellert’s own hand. He left for the kitchen, waving his wand this way and that; although he was hardly graceless in his wand movements, it had to be noted that Albus always became so much more haphazard in Gellert’s presence; Gellert had seen the difference himself: if he thought himself alone, Albus was as gentle and seamless as a Patronus could be; put Gellert in the same room as him, however, and he was far likelier to trip over his own feet, or to set fire to a glass of water.
Once she had downed her hot cocoa, it didn’t take Ariana long to fall into a deep sleep. Albus crept downstairs to make himself and Gellert some hot cocoa too, and was hardly surprised to find Ariana snoring slightly in her favourite armchair. A fire crackled across the room, which neither he nor Gellert had lit. He hastily made the drinks, then, grasping the mugs in one hand, his wand in the other, he levitated Ariana up to her bedroom. After tucking her in, he renewed the charms around her (so that he might be alerted if she had a problem in the night), set a dull, warm ball of light in the far corner of the room (because it wouldn’t do to have Ariana wake up in complete darkness), and, finally, closed the door as he left.
Finally, Albus dragged himself up to his own bedroom. He tiptoed through the door, locked it, set down the drinks, placed his wand back behind his ear, and grinned at Gellert, who was sitting on the bed expectantly.
“Are you going to bring me my cocoa, or shall I have to walk across the room to reach it myself?” he teased, smiling.
“Get it yourself, lazy,” said Albus, flumping onto the bed next to him. “Maybe get into your nightclothes first.”
“Oh, right,” said Gellert. “I sort of forgot about that. You know I-”
“Come on,” Albus interrupted. “You’ll get an awful chill laying around in those clothes.”
“You just want me to take my clothes off.”
“Maybe so.”
Without much more talk, they changed into their nightshirts. Gellert’s was relatively standard: it was white, and it fell down to his knees, hemmed at the bottom, and soft as a puffskein. Albus’ nightshirt would have looked near identical, had it not been the victim of an angry Aberforth’s severing charm the week before he had gone back to Hogwarts. Because of this, it reached only halfway down Albus’ thighs- it could have been easily fixed, of course, but Albus had the sneaking suspicion that Gellert preferred it at this length on him.
Gellert flicked his hand towards the fireplace. Both he and Albus were, as they so often reminded people, incredibly talented at magic, so it surprised neither of them when a sudden flame began to play on the logs. He then plumped the bed’s many pillows, set them into a nest-like look, and nestle into the bed; he shifted up to the right side, pulled the covers back on the left, and moved the pillows slightly more.
Albus beamed at Gellert, eyes twinkling. He slipped into the bed and cuddled up next to his sweetheart; Gellert summoned the mugs to them, hot cocoa now only warm, yet perfect for drinking.
“How is it you took so long shopping today? I hardly saw you,” said Albus, contentedly moving his foot up and down Gellert’s leg.
“I put a lot of thought into my Christmas gifts,” Gellert said simply.
“If they’re as good as the gifts you bought for my birthday,” Albus said, “I’d be inclined to believe you.”
“Let’s hope they live up to your expectations then, Ally.”
“Don’t call me that,” Albus whined.
“Why ever not? I’ll stop if you like.”
“No! I mean-” Albus huffed. “I do like it. A lot. It’s just I don’t want you to get too used to it. If you called me that in front of Aberforth I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Maybe you’ll finally have an excuse to kill him,” joked Gellert.
Albus tittered.
The boys lay there in bed, a comfortable silence falling over them. They sipped their hot cocoas slowly, enjoying the moment. Gellert moved his fingers through Albus’ hair, pulling it out of the bun. He carefully moved the wand out from behind Albus’ ear, sending it to rest on the bedside table, next to his own wand. He played with Albus’ hair for a while, keeping it up as he levitated his mug to the desk across the room. Albus soon finished his drink too, his mug following Gellert’s.
Steadily, Gellert let his hand creep down from Albus’ head. It came to rest around his waist; his other hand fell to Albus’ freckled cheek, which was growing redder by the second.
Albus turned his face to Gellert’s, smiling to himself. He lifted his chin up and, as their lips met, they closed their eyes.
Albus brought his hand up to Gellert’s face, stroking his thumb back and forth; Gellert’s skin was coarse, a scar on his cheek from a duel at school, but no less beautiful for it; his breath was warm from the hot cocoa, his lips cracked from the cold; he smelt like Firewhisky (so he had probably been places besides shops that day) and his hand was tender on Albus’ cheek, his grip gentle on his waist.
Gently, he brought his leg across Albus’ body, not stopping the kiss. Albus parted his lips as their needs grew, slipping his arms around Gellert’s neck, drawing him closer as Albus lay under him.
As the night grew older, the boys grew faster. Clothes had been slipped off; Gellert had, at some point, placed a pillow against the headboard; muffling charms had been put around the bed, and sheets grew dirtier. Night passed to early morning and, when the boys finally fell into sleep, Godric’s Hollow fell into silence.