Drabbles: Holiday Prompts Set One
Well, since Becca and Erica are the only ones to have given me prompts so far, they get their drabbles now. You can still give me prompts, you know. It's never too late for drabbles.
For sunnyrea, who requested either a sad Harry/Ron or Narcissa/Lily, close yet far apart
"Blue Christmas," a Harry/Ron.
"Come away from the window, Ronald, staring at it like that isn't going to make anything happen," Hermione said irritably, watching the redheaded boy stare blankly at the frost-covered glass he'd been sitting by for a good half-hour.
Ginny waded through the mess of wrapping paper still littering the floor of the Burrow and handed her brother a mug. "Here, I made the twins promise that there's nothing funny in it."
"Y'know, you'd think he'd take his best friend with him," Ron mumbled, wrapping his hands around the mug of hot chocolate. "But nothing. Not even a half-arsed excuse why he left without telling."
Hermione shrugged, picking up one of her new books. "I'm sure Harry has his reasons."
Fleur minced in, a damp letter pinched between two fingers. She held it out at arm's length so it wouldn't drip over her. "Ron, Charlie said zis just blew eento ze back fence. I sink eet's for you, but ze writing ees razzer smudged."
Even sopping wet and horribly smudged, Ron could recognize the handwriting. He tore into the envelope, finding the letter inside spelled dry against the elements.
Ron, it read, Happy Christmas. I hope this letter finds you all right, Hedwig's running another errand for me so I had to use local post. I'm really very sorry for leaving so abruptly, and you can tell Hermione I said that. But, as I told Ginny back at Dumbledore's funeral in spring, I didn't want you getting hurt. I don't want to lose anyone else I love. I don't know how much longer I'll be away, the search has taken much longer than I'd anticipated and I've run into a few...problems...along the way. I'm fine, don't worry. Just know that I'm thinking of you, and would much rather be there at the Burrow eating your mum's pudding than out here in No Man's Land. This letter contains all the love I can spare and more. Keep your chin up, don't let Hermione boss you around, win a few Quidditch games for me, and don't let me hear you've been sleeping with Seamus while I'm gone. I've got my spies, Ron, I'll know. Love always, Your Harry. PS: I owe you a Christmas present.
"What is it? Is it from Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to read over his shoulder.
Ron folded the letter and stuck it down his shirt. "Jeez, Hermione, why d'you always have to be so nosy? Can't a bloke read his mail in peace? Honestly..."
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and made a sound like a constipated erumpent. "Boys. They're so...argh. C'mon Fleur, Ginny, let's go see if..." There was the crash of dishware breaking and a mixed string of curses and apologies. "...Let's go see if Tonks needs any help."
Ron sighed, turning back to the window. "Happy Christmas, Harry. Come home soon."
For jeminigrl87, who requested any pairing and mistletoe
"A Clever Game," a Sirius/Gideon
(Well, she said any pairing, and I wanted balance between Old Era and New.)
After seven years at Hogwarts, it really wasn't a surprise anymore that girls (and the occasional boy) would be doing their damnedest to try and get Gideon under the mistletoe, strategically placed throughout the castle. Who wouldn't want to snog the Gryffindor Golden Boy? He'd gotten avoiding the stuff...and the girls for that matter...down to a science.
It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss all those girls, but as Head Boy, he had to draw the line somewhere. Besides, he knew a certain fifth-year Gryffindor who got very jealous very easily.
Said fifth-year Gryffindor, meanwhile, was executing his own Yuletide plot. He'd bought a bit of mistletoe off of Frank Longbottom...Frank had cultivated a nice, healthy strain of it in the Greenhouses and was selling it off at a sickle a sprig; with the money that was rolling in off his mistletoe crop, he could afford to buy his sweetheart Alice something particularly nice that year. But Frank's a different story altogether.
"Sirius, it's below freezing outside and it's barely sunrise. What the fuck are you doing up?" Remus grumbled to his roommate one particular Saturday morning.
The dark-haired boy shrugged into a pair of long johns and thumped around for a warm jumper. "Early morning Quidditch practice, my dear Lupin. Just roll over and go back to sleep."
"Quidditch was cancelled because of snow," James' sleep-muzzled voice came from across the room. "Didn't you get the message?"
Of course he had. He'd been the one to send the message around, a perfect forgery of Gideon and McGonagall's handwriting. Of course, the captain himself didn't know about such a cancellation and would be out on the pitch shortly.
"I'm going out anyways. Can't get fat like you, Potter," Sirius retorted, tucking his mistletoe into the rolled-up brim of his cap. He threw on his warmest cloak, jammed his feet into boots and hands into gloves, picked up his broom, and stalked out to the pitch.
When Gideon arrived ten minutes later, he found one lone Beater zipping around the snow-dusted pitch, practicing feints and dives. "Black, where is everybody?"
"Guess they decided to sleep in this morning. Hey, I'll play you one-on-one, get up by the goalposts," Sirius called back, summoning a Quaffle into his hands.
Confused by the absense of his team members, Gideon finished a quick warm-up and flew over to the posts, hovering around the center ring. Sirius sped over, a blur of red and gold. Just as he was about to make a shot, he dropped the Quaffle and let it hit the ground.
"What was that for? I know you're not that bad at Chasing," Gideon scolded.
Sirius pulled his broom close to the older boy's. "Look up and then tell me."
Gideon looked up. The little bastard had hung mistletoe from all three rings on both sides of the pitch.
"Gotcha," said Sirius with a rosy-cheeked grin as he pulled his boyfriend into a midair kiss.
Gideon frowned. "A clever game by far, Black, but rest assured, you'll get yours for this one."
"I'll be counting on it."