Chapter Text
On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me…
Rachel jumped at the loud banging of Professor DeWard’s gavel. She wasn’t sure what it was with arts instructors and blunt objects, but the gavel was his signature. The students of Contemporary 20th Century Performance all stopped and turned to him. It was their final performance of the semester, which doubled as their audition for the pop show in the spring. The Christmas spirit had descended, however, and the cranky instructor had suffered through five renditions of Mariah Carey’s everlasting hit, All I Want for Christmas Is You. He had, apparently, had enough.
“So...let me get this straight,” he grumbled into the auditorium mic. “None of you coordinated with each other to figure out which songs you were auditioning with?”
There were grumbles of dissent. Rachel tried not to laugh - of course they hadn’t. Every one of them were competitive scrooges, and no one wanted to give away the song that would blow all the others away.
“So we have five of you who think you can do a good enough rendition to win a spot in Popapalooza?” he asked, glaring around at them. “Thank you, Dennis, you may take your seat.”
The forlorn Dennis exited the stage, not even having gotten to finish his version of the song. It was too bad, Rachel thought. His had been a stripped rendition with just his guitar.
“Is there anyone who didn’t pick that song?” DeWard asked. He looked around as about seven hands went up, including Rachel’s. “Anyone not pick a Christmas song?” Rachel’s was the only hand up, and he nodded at her. “Fine. Rachel, you’re up.”
She took the stage, confident that her choice was at least going to be a favorable break from the monotony. Nodding at the pianist, she took a breath and began.
With every passing moment
Thoughts of you run through my head
Every time that I'm near
I realize that your heaven sent, baby
I think you're truly something special
Just what my dreams are really made of
Let's stay together, you and me boy
There's no one like you around, oh baby
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
It could be that way you hold me
It could be the things that you say
(That you say)
Oh I'm not sure what it is boy
But I know I like feeling this way
I think you're truly something special
Just what my dreams are really made of
Let's stay together, you and be boy
There's no one like around, oh baby
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
I really like
What you've done to me
I can't really explain it
I'm so into you
The auditorium rang with applause as Rachel took a bow. DeWard was even standing as he clapped. She made a mental note to thank Santana for getting her into 90s R&B when they got home that evening.
“Excellent work,” DeWard called. “And an unexpected choice. That’s the kind of ambition I want to see,” he lectured. “It doesn’t always mean belting the biggest song in your arsenal - sometimes it’s stepping outside of your comfort zone and doing something different well. Right, let’s have one of the wannabe Mariah’s next….”
*
An hour later, Rachel had packed her things and was wandering through the halls of the building, looking for room 356. The New York College of Arts and Magic was a normal looking building on the outside, but the inside was a labyrinth if you didn’t frequent certain sections a lot. By now, sophomore year, she could basically find her way through the Department of Magical Studies, as long as she had the room number in mind.
Smells of potions and latent magical spells and materials wafted through the air. To Rachel, it always seemed pleasant at first, but cloying after about thirty minutes. She tried not to spend too much time over in the magical half of the school, but she always stopped by at the end of her day to say goodbye to Santana. When she made it to the side door of the lecture hall, she spotted her girlfriend immediately.
Santana was watching someone’s presentation, but must’ve seen movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Rachel through the small window of the door, smiled, and blew a kiss.
A small breeze of purple magic floated through the door, and Rachel felt a tiny peck on her lips. It had taken her a while, when they’d first started dating, to get used to the sensation of a magical kiss, but now she loved it. She mouthed, “See you at home,” and waved goodbye.
*
The neighborhood wasn’t one to do full blown lights displays around the holidays. The apartment buildings and random industrial warehouses wouldn’t really work for that sort of thing. Here and there, splashes of holiday flavor were peeking through the typical New York drudgery. The bakery on the corner had “wreaths” of sweetbread. Ol’ Miss Jenkins had wrapped some lights around her balcony railing. The bodega had their hood-renowned Purple Bell Ringers outside. They’d kicked Salvation Army to the curb after the bodega owner’s son had come out as trans, and had instituted ringers in purple who donated people’s loose change to the local homeless youth center.
All in all, it may not have been the suburban splendor of Christmas, but it was home. It was New York. And by the time she got home, Rachel was definitely feeling the spirit.
She shot a quick text to Santana to let her know she was home. She wasn’t expecting anything back, but got a response almost immediately.
There’s something for you on your desk. ;)
Rachel dropped the rest of her stuff on the couch and rushed through the loft to their “office”. It was a desk in the corner with a two chairs, but Santana insisted on calling it an office. She immediately saw her present - Santana had cleared off the desk and left a little shelf of small boxes there. The shelf was green on the outside, red on the front, with little star handles on the drawers. Rachel smiled brightly, and spotted another note from her girlfriend.
Here’s your Christmas present - or should I say, presents. This is an advent calendar - you get a present each day up until Christmas. Some are small, some are big, some are dates. Oh, and some are magical. Like this first one. See you tonight when I get home! ~S
Rachel pulled out the little drawer with the number one on it. There was a small purple potion bottle inside. In reality, there was no need for the old school potions bottles with cork stoppers. A tupperware container would work just as well. However, after the blue eyebrows incident of 2012, Santana went with the witch aesthetic, and no longer repurposed old tubs and bottles. This bottle fit perfectly in Rachel’s hand, and had instructions with it.
“Pour into hands, rub hands counter-clockwise, open hands like book,” she skimmed quickly. She took the stopper out of the bottle, poured the shimmering lotion into her hands, and rubbed them together.
Nothing happened.
She tried again. Still nothing.
As it always did at times when Santana tried to bring Rachel into her world, a sneaky little suspicion crept into the back of Rachel’s mind. Everyone was born with the capability to do magic - just as, theoretically speaking, everyone was born with the ability to play some type of music. But just as someone might find that they sing every note flat or can’t find a beat to save their lives, some people just weren’t cut out for magic. Rachel had a feeling she was one of those people. But she took a breath, and remembered that Santana had told her that magic was about 75% patience at any given time.
She tried again. This time she was careful to make her motions slow and deliberate. And this time, when she unfolded her hands, a sparkling tree swirled up in between them - complete with a star on top. She squeaked a bit with happiness. When she put her hands down, the tree disappeared. She tucked the little bottle back in its drawer, wondering what other surprises Santana had in store for that December….