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Bellamy is feeling really confident about his Christmas gift for Clarke. It can’t go wrong, he thinks. He’s a competent wizard, and he’s developed photos before. And she’s very into her art, always keen to decorate her dorm with a painting or a photo, so he's sure she'll like it.
There’s more than that to it, though. He thinks it will be cute to get her a cheesy photo of just the two of them, perhaps sharing a friendly hug. She’s been very firmly describing him as her best friend over the last couple of months, and he can take a hint. He knows that means she doesn’t love him quite the same, head-over-heels romantic way he loves her. So he’s decided that by giving her a best friends photo for Christmas he can sort of wave goodbye to those silly dreams he had, once, of being more than a best friend to her. This can be the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship - one in which he devotes himself wholeheartedly to being her polite, platonic best friend.
Yes. Well. If he so much as thinks the words best friend one more time he fears he might vomit.
All the same, he’s decided that this is the perfect idea. Even Clarke herself couldn’t come up with a better, more strategically sound plan.
He even manages to do it subtly. He gets his sister to take the picture, asks her to oh-so-casually walk up to them and snap one during a Hogsmeade weekend. He and Clarke are laughing together in the snow, and she’s pulling at the ear flaps of his dorkiest hat, and it’s all very jolly and friendly.
He develops it right away with the special potion which makes a wizarding photo move. And when it’s done he puts it straight into a pretty silver frame, wraps it carefully, then stores it in a box under his bed. He wants to be well-prepared, doesn’t want to rush this precious gift at the last minute.
And then he just… leaves it. For five whole weeks he simply leaves it under his bed and waits for Christmas to roll around.
…….
Christmas Day dawns bright and cold. Both Bellamy and Clarke are spending the holidays at Hogwarts. Bellamy and his sister have no other family, no other home to go to. And Clarke has only her mother, who has just remarried, so she’s chosen to stay here for most of the holidays lately.
They exchange their gifts in the Gryffindor common room, because Clarke doesn’t like to take him to visit the Slytherin one. She always says self-consciously that it makes her feel more snake, and he’s never quite sure what to say to that. He knows she’s a Slytherin. He loves her anyway. Hanging out with her in a green dungeon isn’t going to change that.
But he’s not about to tell her that - at least not in exactly those words - so he lets it go and sees her in his own common room instead.
She insists that he’s going to open his gift from her first. She’s absolutely firm about it - she sits there in a worn leather armchair and refuses to take no for an answer.
It’s everything he loves about her, honestly. The way she’s so fierce about doing kind things for people, the Slytherin and the compassion, all tangled together.
That’s why he’s already smiling before he’s even opened his present. That’s why he can’t stop grinning at her, in fact, as he tears into the wrapping paper.
“It’s a hat.” He announces, because that’s certainly what it looks like.
“Not just a hat. It’s another one of those ones with the ear flaps - but this one has a warming charm on it.”
“Another ear flap hat? Just like my other one?” He asks, a little puzzled. Clarke normally buys very thoughtful gifts. This just seems like… a duplicate hat, honestly.
“But with a warming charm.” She reiterates firmly. “And - you know - I thought it couldn’t hurt to have another similar one, since it suits you so well. You know, with your curls and the ear flaps and - yeah.”
She stumbles to a halt, flushing red. Bellamy can’t believe his eyes, honestly. Is that Clarke getting all flustered and embarrassed from talking about his hair and his taste in winter hats?
He pushes his luck. He puts the new hat onto his head, ruffling his curls as he goes so a few peep out past the ear flaps.
“Does this one suit me too?” He dares to ask outright.
She nods, flushing more deeply than ever. “Yes. Perfect. Great. Suits you.”
“No one’s ever told me I look good in a hat before now.” He tries, because really, he can’t leave well enough alone. He just can’t bear to drop this fabulous, fascinating and unexpected conversation.
“Well - you do.” She says, short and a little tense.
“Thanks.” He says, deciding he probably ought to stop before she actually implodes.
At least this has given him plenty of food for thought. It’s given him a dangerous feeling of optimism, too - and that, coupled with his Gryffindor bravery, has him almost tempted to kiss her here and now.
Then, of all things, she leans in to adjust his hat a little. She reaches for his left ear, untucks a couple of curls, running her fingers through them as she goes, by the feel of it.
He could swear he forgets how to breathe.
But then, all at once, she’s done. She’s sitting back deeply into her chair, holding her own Christmas gift aloft like a very small shield.
“Right. Well. So shall I open this one?” She asks.
He almost laughs. She might as well have lifted a huge sign saying she wants to change the subject, he thinks. He’s never seen her look so flustered in his life.
This is new, and he likes it. He might have to wear hats, and talk about hats, and invite her to adjust his hat more often.
“Yeah. Go for it. It’s not much but I hope you like it.” He offers.
“I’m sure I will. You always get really thoughtful gifts. That’s what makes you the perfect best friend.” She says, enunciating each word carefully.
Too carefully, a silly little optimistic voice in his head whispers. She’s saying that like it’s a line she has to keep telling herself to keep her cheeks from reddening.
No. No - he mustn’t get his hopes up. They’re just friends, for three hundred and sixty four days of the year. The Christmas spirit must just be getting to her.
He watches, utterly absorbed, as she unwraps the photo. She looks sort of softly happy to begin with, he thinks. That’s a good sign.
But then all at once her jaw drops open, her eyes growing wide, as she gapes down at the framed photo in her lap.
“Clarke?” He asks, because he can’t take the suspense.
“Bellamy.” She says, as if that’s any help.
“It’s a photo of us.” He offers, desperately wondering what’s gone wrong, here.
“Yes.” She swallows loudly. “It’s a photo of us kissing.”
He jumps from his chair, dives towards her to take the offending photo safely out of sight. But she doesn’t make it easy for him. She’s stretching away, as if she wants to keep hold of the gift, thank you very much.
“Why did you give me a photo of us kissing?” She asks mildly, looking up at him with thoughtful eyes.
“We weren’t kissing when Octavia took the photo. Obviously we weren’t kissing - we’ve never kissed.” He points out, because that’s one thing he’s absolutely certain of. “So I guess something must have gone wrong with the developing process.”
“No.” A voice which is perfectly like Clarke’s - and yet somehow not Clarke - issues from the photo frame.
Clarke herself is visibly startled, as she drops the photo back in her lap.
“What was that?” Bellamy finds himself asking.
“I said no.” Photo-Clarke repeats firmly. “It wasn’t a problem with the developing process. You know that. You’ve mixed that potion a hundred times or more before now.”
“Then what - how -” He breaks off, tries again. “Why are you kissing?” He asks, because frankly asking a portrait a personal question is quite common at Hogwarts.
“Because we want to.” Photo-Bellamy says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“And because we’ve had a lot of time sitting here with not much to do.” Photo-Clarke adds. “With no other distractions all this sexual tension was bound to get out of control sooner or later.”
“Sexual tension?” Clarke asks, her voice sounding rather fainter than usual, Bellamy thinks.
“Obviously.” Photo-Clarke bounces back at her.
“You know he’s in love with you, right?” Photo-Bellamy adds.
And that does it. That’s the moment when Bellamy regains control of himself, and of the situation - at least to some extent. He reaches for the photo frame, grabs it, lifts it away out of Clarke’s reach and -
“Give that back.” Clarke says, calm and deliberate. “You gave me that gift, Bellamy. You can’t take it back just because things got a little - ah - complicated.”
“It’s not complicated at all.” Photo-Bellamy pipes up. “Just kiss each other already.”
A beat of silence. Bellamy looks at Clarke, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what’s going on. She hasn’t run screaming out of the room. That’s a start.
But he mustn’t read too much into the behaviour of their photo likenesses. The witches and wizards in portraits are not quite real. They only have some of the same traits - like a shadow of a personality.
The silence stretches on. It stretches on too long to be comfortable or normal, too long to pretend this isn't a big deal. Too long to pretend his world isn't teetering right on the brink of falling apart.
At last, Clarke clears her throat. “So - just hypothetically speaking - how would you react if I did kiss you?”
He swallows hard. “Well - hypothetically, if that were to happen, I’d definitely kiss you back.”
That’s it. That’s all she needed, it seems. All at once she’s here, kissing him hard and fast, her hands coming up to tug at the flaps of his hat and bunch in his hair.
Huh. He wonders if anyone has ever had a smoking hot first kiss in a winter hat with ear flaps before now.
No. Now is not the time to focus on that. Now is the time to kiss her back, to bring his hands to her waist and hips and hold her tight against him.
Suddenly there’s a loud crashing sound, and the two of them leap apart. Bellamy looks around him, confused and surprised, wondering what’s going on.
Oh. Right. There - the photo he gave Clarke. He must have dropped it when they started kissing, and now it’s fallen to the floor and the glass of the frame has shattered.
“Sorry.” He mutters, frustrated with himself. Way to ruin the moment.
Clarke looks strangely distressed, he thinks. She’s frowning hard and her lip is trembling and he could swear there are tears in her eyes.
He doesn’t get it. Clarke is usually so straight-laced and level-headed.
“Clarke?” He asks, concerned.
“Can we fix it? Can we gather up all the glass and do a reparo over it? Sorry - I know it’s stupid - I just - I really like it. It’s a photo of us kissing.”
“It’s a photo of us in Hogsmeade but apparently we decided to kiss.” He reminds her, because he’s never going to miss a chance to argue with her.
“Bellamy -”
“Of course we can. We can fix it. Sure thing.” He babbles. It’s pretty cool that she’s that attached to a photo of them kissing, isn’t it? It makes him feel quite special, to know he brings out this much emotion in her.
She wilts in relief. “Thank you. Here - let’s get started.”
He does as she asks. He bends to the ground, starts carefully picking up fragments of glass without cutting himself.
But he can’t resist a chance to best her in an argument, just one last time.
“You know this is unnecessary, right? You could get a photo of us kissing any time you like, if you want. You could skip the photo part and just kiss me any time you want. You could -”
She does. She leans in to kiss him, there and then, as they both crouch on the floor trying to repair the damage he has done.
He kisses her back for a long time. He kisses her until he starts to ache from crouching, regardless of the glass around their feet.
Kissing Clarke has suddenly become his all-consuming priority, in the last few minutes. The rest of the world can wait.