Chapter Text
"A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."
—Garrison Keller, Leaving Home.
Harry was late.
He ran at breakneck speed through the gates of Hogwarts, scattering a group of first-years talking excitedly about the latest broomstick model. Running down the long path to Hogsmeade, the cold wind battered his face to the point of numbness. He sidestepped Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas as they playfully attempted to tackle him, and he vaulted over the Hogsmeade turnstile, stumbling on landing but regaining his footing without losing too much of his precious momentum.
Forcibly and abruptly slowing to a jog, Harry ducked behind a large oak tree as Professor McGonagall passed by on the other side.
"There's no need for that, Potter," he heard her say, "I'm not your mother; you may run where you wish."
He peeked around the tree and saw McGonagall standing on the other side, dressed in a heavy tartan cloak, a stern but amused frown on her lips. He grinned and she sighed deeply at his sheepish demeanour. Then he rushed off again, his feet sinking into the ankle deep snow, his socks becoming hopelessly soaked. His winter cloak billowed out behind him in the wind, and his scarf slapped against his face unforgivingly.
Still Harry ran on.
The choir in the street sang as he flew by—it may have been Deck the Halls, but Harry's heart was beating hard and loud in his ears and he could barely hear their voices.
Finally, he skidded to a stop in front of the post office, spraying snow onto the postman's sled door. Harry bent over, huffing and puffing and trying to get his beathing under control.
"'S'all good," he mumbled to himself, "you made it… she's not even here yet… take a minute… rest… maybe keel over and die…"
Harry sucked in a huge breath, straightened up and looked into the window of the post office. It was dark inside and he could see his reflection in the glass. He straightened his scarf and brushed snow off his winter cloak, debating whether to take it off; he was sweating profusely. His hair—as ever—was hopeless. The girl standing beside him seemed to agree. She was observing him with a pitying but irritated expression, her arms folded and her bushy brown hair seeming to amplify her dour frown and raised eyebrows—waitaminutethat's—
"Agh!" Harry jerked away and almost fell over. He spun around to see the reflection's real-life counterpart standing a foot away. He fell back against the post holding up the shelter in front of the post office.
"Hermione," he gasped. "Hullo… fancy that…"
"Hello, Harry," said Hermione coldly.
She was wearing a long blue coat and beanie that were peppered with thin snowflakes. Protruding in curls from under the beanie, her hair was damp and frizzy and her face was pale from cold. Her lilac gloves held at least a dozen letters and small parcels.
"You look beautiful," said Harry.
"And you look a mess," she replied.
"I'm your mess," said Harry, straightening his glasses.
Hermione sighed—but he caught a flicker of a smile cross her lips—and unfolded her arms, which she then used to embrace him.
Harry hugged her back, but he evaded the chaste kiss she tried to give him—he was still out of breath and sweaty, and while he knew Hermione wouldn't care, they had only been dating for a month or two and he still wanted to present himself well.
"You're my late mess," said Hermione, letting him go and looking him up and down, smoothing down his shirt collar under the scarlet and gold Gryffindor scarf. "What held you up this time?"
"Ron threw up, he's real sick," said Harry.
Hermione frowned. "But I just saw him at the Three Broomsticks."
"Ginny lost her Charms book," Harry tried.
"But I was just helping her with her homework, and she had it."
"I—I had detention with Professor McGonagall," Harry invented lamely.
"But I just passed her—she asked me who I was waiting for. And when I told her, she did that thing she does, you know, presses her lips real tight to prevent herself smiling, and said, 'Well, Potter better not keep you waiting much longer, or I'll have to take points from my own house.'"
"Damn!" said Harry. "You get around… fine, I was—well, I was trying to use a potion to get my hair to sit flat on my head, and things went… badly."
Hermione leaned in, intrigued, her eyes darting to his hair. "How badly?"
"Let's just say you're lucky I knew the counter-charm, or you'd be doing your Christmas errands today with a slightly-more-handsome Draco Malfoy."
Hermione giggled. "Oh, Harry. You're silly."
"I am a little. And so is my hair."
"Well, I love it," said Hermione.
And I love you, Harry thought. But instead of saying this, he said, "Well, shall we?"
Hermione nodded, and pushed open the door to the post office. They stepped in, nodding a greeting to the store owner. Hermione went over to the packaging shelf and Harry followed.
"You know, you could just borrow Hedwig," Harry suggested.
"I know," said Hermione, "but it's a long way up to Hampstead and I would have to send her to multiple addresses… I know you still want to send that book to Sirius, too, so it's just easier for us if I use the Hogsmeade post."
She quickly and deftly double-wrapped a book, a stationary set and an intricate photo-frame within a matter of seconds. They went to the counter, Hermione paid for postage and selected the three fastest-looking barn owls, and then they went back outside into the cold.
Hermione took out a pen and pad from an inside pocket, and ticked something off. They began walking—Harry had no idea to where—but somehow Hermione was steering the both of them towards the centre of town.
"A list?" asked Harry.
"A list," Hermione confirmed. "This Christmas, I'm determined to do everything in one fell sweep. No loose ends, no forgotten relatives or friends… Everything is happening today. Then I can get it out of the way, which leaves me the next few days to get my studying done, and then I can enjoy the rest of the holidays."
Harry frowned. "That's impossible. You'd need days to get all this Christmas stuff done. Not to mention more arms than you have."
Hermione put the pad back in her pocket. "That's why I have you."
"Ah."
"And I'd have Ron, too, if he hadn't been busy… do you know anything about this 'secret club' he's in charge of?"
Harry stifled a grin and assumed an expression of unknowing innocence. "Club? No, I have no idea."
"Hmph."
"What's next on the list?" Harry asked.
"A new bow-tie for Remus."
Harry felt a guilty squirm in his stomach. "You know… I hadn't thought about getting something for him… any chance that could be from both of us?"
Hermione sighed. "Fine. But it'll have to be a really nice bow-tie."
"The best," Harry agreed. "Who's after Remus?"
"Mr and Mrs Weasley," said Hermione. "Any ideas?"
"I was just going to get Mr Weasley some mad Muggle stuff," said Harry. "You know, a remote control, an extension cable, he loves that stuff."
Hermione begrudgingly nodded. "A little lazy, but acceptable. And Mrs Weasley?"
Harry thought. "I was thinking… she always knits these sweaters for us, right? Well, what if we made one for her? She doesn't have one, because she's always the person making them."
Hermione's eyes were shining with excitement. "Harry, that's—that's just amazing! And that'll be such fun to knit together, I can teach you all about it!"
Harry shrugged modestly. "Just an idea."
Hermione got out her pad and scribbled something down. "A brilliant idea. Okay, so we need to buy wool. That's that… Excellent, that saves us the five minutes I had planned for figuring out what to buy, and makes up for the additional five of the ten minutes you kept me waiting, so we're back on schedule! On to Gladrags!"
Harry shook his head in amazement as he watched her hurry off through the snowy Hogsmeade street.
"That's my girlfriend," he said in wonder.
And he followed Hermione through the bustling crowd, wiping snow off the lenses of his glasses. This was going to be an interesting day…