I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day - Adult - Neville/Lavender, George/Pansy, Zacharias/Luna
Title: I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday (2/2)
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters do not belong to me. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: An encounter with a cursed object pulls three people into a never-ending Christmas Eve. Neville/Lavender, George/Pansy, Zacharias/Luna.
Word Count: ~16,000
A/N: Originally written for the nightfalltwen for the 2010 exchange. Thank you to csi_tokyo3 for the beta.
December 24th. Again. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
A scream nestled in Pansy's throat, ready to explode. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her feather duster, the feathers trembling and her knuckles turning white.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep doing this.
It was the same thing every day over and over. Nothing changed, from the song on the wireless that woke her up to the wizard who came into the shop looking for a present for his wife, of all people. Pansy had gone from suggesting beauty products and Patented Daydream Charms to sweets that would promote flatulence and the growth of warts.
Needless to day, the wizard had been less than impressed with the suggestions that she had given him.
Now, as she stared up at a photograph the most ostentatious and tawdry frame that she had ever seen in her life, all Pansy wanted to do was scream.
Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve, the grinning trio of George, Fred and Harry mocked her with their happy smiles and cheerful waves. This was, by her estimation, the seventeenth Christmas Eve that she had lived through. Every day, they seemed to just grin wider as she felt more and more like punching each of them in the photographic face. Even the gawping Ron Weasley at the edge of the image seemed to be looking at her with a knowing smirk.
Smug bastard, she thought bitterly. She narrowed her eyes at the photograph, not for the first time wishing that she could hex the whole thing out of existence. A headache seemed to focus behind her eyes, growing more and more intense.
"Hey, Pansy." George emerged from the workroom, wiping his hands on his apron. He stopped in his tracks, surprised to see such a glare on her face. "Er, are you alright?"
She gave a growl under her breath, only to gasp when smoke started to curl from the edges of the frame. The frame caught alight with a soft whoof of air, starting to crackle immediately, filling the shop with acrid green smoke.
"Whoa, there." George gave her a gentle push out of the way, raising his wand to quickly extinguish the flames. Face pale, he reached to pull it down from the shelf, hissing at the temperature and dropping it on the counter where several pieces fell off.
"I... haven't seen anyone do accidental magic for a while." Expression caught between shock and disappointment, he looked at Pansy.
For her part, she was trembling, her headache suddenly gone but not the emotions that had prompted the accidental magic. Now that the stopper on them had been released, they swelled dangerously within her. Her jaw twitched as she stared, horrified, at the mess that the frame had become. Fire damage did not improve it one iota.
"Sorry," she choked. Her eyes stung, she told herself, from the smoke.
Without stopping to collect her cloak, Pansy ran from the shop, magenta robes and all, and out into the street.
She couldn't keep doing this.
December 24th. Again. Gringotts, Diagon Alley.
Brown needed more concealer under her eyes, Pansy thought. Then again, maybe nothing would help her with those awful scars on display, too. What were a few dark circles when put up against that?
Pansy simply couldn't see the point. She tried her best to bury everything she could about the damned war, covering up the way she'd behaved and the more questionable things that she'd done.
No matter how she tried to cover them, though, people always seemed to know.
Perhaps it was the same with Brown's scars. She could wear a scarf or slather on make-up, but it wouldn't make the scars or what happened to her go away.
"Where's Smith?" she demanded.
Lavender regarded Pansy tiredly. "He got here over an hour ago."
"And?"
The Welcome Witch sighed. "And what, Parkinson?"
"Is there any news? To say that I'm getting tired of all this is the understatement of the century."
Pursing her lips, Lavender composed herself before saying, "If I knew, I'd say something. So would he."
Pansy scoffed. "He would not. He doesn't care about us, you know."
"He's not completely heartless."
"Looks like he is. He's leaving now." Pansy nodded towards him as Zacharias strode across the lobby, barely casting them a glance on his way to the exit.
Lavender frowned and called after him. "Zacharias." He turned, looking at her expectantly. "Have you found out anything?"
He sighed heavily enough for them to hear. "Guess." He rolled his eyes and continued on his way.
"See? I told you," Pansy crowed, smirking.
"Don't know what you're looking so smug about," Lavender said, turning on her. "Him being a selfish bastard isn't a good thing."
Pansy set a glare on her. "Maybe things are all Christmas carols and candy canes for you, Brown, but did it occur to you that getting emotional doesn't help everyone?"
Lavender pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just go."
"Gladly."
December 24th. Again. Zacharias' House, Kensington.
Zacharias Smith never wanted to have oral sex again.
At least, he was in no great hurry to receive it, when once it would have been one of the highlights of any sexual encounter. Merlin knows how much Luna seemed to enjoy using her mouth to bring him to his peak, always so wet and ready for him when she had been having her way.
Now, though, Zacharias' body and mind were in conflict. While his body was only too happy to receive the attention of her talented tongue when he awoke, just the tickle of her long blonde hair against his thighs was enough for Zacharias to start losing his erection. One of her many talents, though, was knowing just how to get and keep him hard, her slim fingers finding the exact place that always had him rock hard again almost immediately when she stroked there.
Waking up to that every morning, the same morning over and over again, had lost its novelty sooner than Zacharias would have liked to admit. It was always with a resentful groan that he pushed her away and a variation of, "I'm not in the mood."
"I think your cock would disagree," she said smoothly, eyeing him in a way that made him shiver.
"Yeah, well," he told her gruffly, pulling the covers back over himself, "that's just a perfectly normal reaction to have in the morning. Doesn't mean I want you going down on me."
Luna pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "I suppose. You don't normally say no, though."
Yes, I bloody well do, he thought, scowling. Zacharias held the covers down, willing his erection away. When it subsided enough not to be awkward, he clambered out of bed away from her. Yanking his dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door, he shivered against the cold and quickly tied the belt around the waist.
"I'm taking this to Gringotts to get a curse breaker to look at it," he announced, picking up the wooden box. Even simply sitting there it taunted him by its very existence.
Turning to look at Luna, who still sat nude on the bed, it wasn't confusion he saw on her face. The expression was one that he noticed more and more every time they repeated this morning. From something that he hadn't picked up on at first, the hurt in her eyes had grown to something that was impossible to miss.
"You don't even know what it is." Luna shifted onto her side, stretching out her pale legs and watching him closely.
He cleared his throat, looking down at the carpet. Beyond making sure that she was happy in his company and that the sex was good, her emotional well-being simply wasn't something that he normally concerned himself with. He'd never proclaimed to love Luna, after all, and he only dimly recollected her admission that she was fond of him from the first time he had seen this box.
Zacharias stared at the ornate carvings that covered it, the swirling patterns as nonsensical to him as some of the things that came from Luna's mouth. Every time he took it to Gringotts, he had the same fruitless conversation. Not even Megan Jones and her broad Welsh vowels could convince him that she really had no idea what the box was or how it was supposed to be doing what Zacharias told her it was doing. No matter how matter-of-fact she was in her tone, Zacharias refused to believe that there was nothing to be done and that there absolutely had to be some way of ending this curse that had dragged him into a never-ending Christmas Eve.
Along with Brown and Parkinson.
He had given them little thought over the last couple of cycles, turning up at Gringotts far earlier than the original meeting time in the hope that more time with Megan in the curse breakers' offices would help shed light on the matter.
Every time, Megan's eyes widened as Zacharias showed that he knew his way around the office perfectly. Just like the hurt in Luna's eyes, he'd come to recognise the slight purse in Megan's lips that told him she was holding back a comment. That just caused him further annoyance - he didn't want to know what people were thinking because if he started noticing then he was going to have to start actually caring about them more and being... considerate. He was fine just as he was, thank you very much. Compassion for people seemed to end up with someone getting hurt; he had taught himself that much during the war when he'd lost good friends.
As for Brown and Parkinson, they weren't friends. He wouldn't even talk to them if they hadn't been thrown together like this. Even now he barely spoke to them more than he needed to.
His eyes started to lose focus the longer he stared at the box. He blinked, snapping his attention back and realising that he didn't really know what went on for them in this repeating day. Sometimes they were at the bank, sometimes they weren't. But they were looking tireder, he was sure. He felt that tiredness, too, like an ache that seeped through his bones faster and faster every day.
It would be so easy to simply rejoin Luna in bed and sleep for the rest of Christmas Eve. He had no plans for the day, or at least none that he could remember after so many repetitions.
Zacharias only noticed Luna at his side when she gently laid her hand on her arm. He looked down at her. Luna raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Are you poorly? You should come back to bed."
"Yeah," he muttered. Would a sane man really turn down an offer like that from his very naked partner, especially one as attractive as Luna? But was he even sane anymore? Maybe he'd simply gone mad a few days ago and not noticed.
Looking down at the wooden box in his hand, a spark of anger flared in the pit of his stomach. Now this box had him questioning his own sanity. That was ridiculous. He wasn't going to be sent to the Janus Thickey ward by some cursed trinket.
Annoyed, he tossed it away.
The box barely touched the wall, just the lightest of taps, but it shattered into pieces. Splinters of wood bounced on the carpet, some disappearing under the bed.
Luna gasped at the destruction, covering her mouth. Zacharias, though, felt as though his stomach had been jerked from his body. He dropped to his knees. It was empty. Completely empty.
"Reparo."
Zacharias barely heard Luna's spell, but it didn't matter. The shards of wood didn't even twitch.
Crouching beside him, Luna gently stroked his cheek. "You're crying," she stated simply.
He touched his face, feeling the wetness there. "Nonsense," he protested, shaking his head and ignoring the way his hands were trembling. "Must have got something in my eye."
December 24th. Again. Lavender's Flat, London.
"Damon, you should sit down. There's something I need to tell you."
Lavender quickly flipped the switch on the wireless and it fell silent, its dial dimming. She gave a shaky sigh, curling back onto the sofa. However many times this day repeated, she had yet to actually hear the shocking announcement that had been promised for weeks by Days In Diagon.
If she didn't see him in the morning, Lavender could set her watch by Neville's arrival at her flat in the evening. Forever the same interruption, forever the same non-response. Tonight she didn't feel she had the strength to actually see him face to face. Whatever she said to him, it seemed to make no difference.
I've been offered a job and I don't know if I should take it.
I've been offered a job and I leave next week.
I'm leaving next week. The Ministry offered me a job and I can't say no.
What do you think about this job?
Her heart ached at the thought of another fruitless conversation. With a tired flick of her wand, she turned out the lamps, pitching the room into darkness. Closing her eyes, Lavender tugged the blanket from the back of the sofa over herself. She cuddled back into the sofa, a cushion clutched to her chest as she awaited the inevitable knock on the door.
Though she was expecting it, it still caught her by surprise, heart fluttering. She bit her lip, the urge to cast aside her resolve to stay quiet and hidden strong. But no. If she saw Neville, she thought she might cry.
"Lavender?"
She gripped the cushion tighter, face screwed up in concentration.
He knocked again. "Lavender?" he asked again, a little louder. "Are you home?"
Lavender shook her head. No, I'm not. Go away.
She should have gone out, she realised, and left the flat truly empty. There was nothing keeping her here, nothing stopping her from going out and finding someone who would listen to her or give her encouragement one way or another.
Neville, though, would have come here anyway. Just the chance to hear his voice left a warm feeling in her chest. Hope, maybe. Hope that he actually cared.
"Lavender?"
Neville shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground. Not a peep of light filtered out from the crack under the door. When he had looked up at the flat from the street, he had been sure that he had seen a light. Maybe he had been mistaken and spotted a neighbour's window instead.
His knocking roused no answer; Neville wrung hands anxiously. Where was she? He hadn't seen her all day and when she hadn't turned up for their designated breakfast, he'd hoped - albeit sadly - that she had merely forgotten. The excitement of Christmas and all that. But when he hadn't been able to find her anywhere, concern had set in.
He tried knocking once more, hoping that perhaps she was in the bathroom or her bedroom, somewhere she couldn't hear him. Still, there was no response.
His last knock was not a knock, but him banging his head fruitlessly against the door. He groaned, immediately wishing he hadn't done that. Neville couldn't think where else she would be. He had tried everywhere he could think of, even the hospital. If she were with his family, he couldn't interrupt that, but he knew she wasn't close to her family these days.
Pained, Neville realised that he didn't even know her plans for Christmas. Had she tried to tell him? If she had, he wouldn't be surprised if he had forgotten. His memory hadn't improved great deal over the years, but how a detail like that could have escaped him, he didn't know.
When they had been owling earlier in the week, Lavender had seemed excited and confirmed the details of their breakfast meeting with multiple exclamation marks. Date. Meeting. He wasn't quite sure what it was, what it was supposed to have been. Whatever he might call it, he knew he'd been looking forward to it.
He raised his hand to knock again, but simply let it fall at his side. This was pointless. He ought to go home, spend time with his own family.
Neville stared at the door. Maybe she was asleep. It was still early, though, far too early to sleep on Christmas Eve. He had known Lavender since she was eleven and if there was one thing he knew, it was that she got excited about Christmas. He remembered fourth year all those years ago. The whole castle had been brimming with excitement about the Yule Ball, the foreign guests, the excitement of everything. Lavender had been no exception. She'd stayed up until gone midnight, eating chocolate and eyeing the pile of presents awaiting them all. Neville had stayed up, too, teenage bravado stopping him from admitting that he was tired. They'd played board games into the small hours until finally creeping up their staircases to bed.
Even now, Seamus still complained that snakes and ladders would be a far more interesting game if there were magic involved.
The memory brought a smile to Neville's face, but only briefly. If he could better vocalise his concerns, maybe he would have found Lavender by now. Even when he wasn't with her, though, she had the uncanny ability to make him utterly tongue tied.
His hand slipped into the inner pocket of his cloak and he pulled out an envelope. It was slightly crumpled around the edges, but otherwise fine. Neville slipped it under the door and straightened up. He would just have to try and talk to her over the Floo tomorrow, he supposed.
Lavender peered through the darkness, just enough light seeping in from the corridor to allow her to see something flat pushed beneath the door. A moment later, she heard Neville's heavy footsteps leaving. Lavender bit her lip hard, hugging the cushion tighter to her chest as she tried to hold back exhausted tears.
December 24th. Again. Gringotts, Diagon Alley.
"You look like you're about to cry, Brown." Zacharias' lip curled as he looked over the witch in front of him. Did he look that bad? Merlin, he hoped not. But while he didn't feel close to tears, there was something reassuring about seeing the stress of this repeating day shown outwardly on someone.
Not to mention comforting that he was holding it together in public better than she was.
Lavender let out a shaky breath. "I'm just so tired of all this." She glanced around the lobby of the bank, the large space nearly empty. Unsurprisingly, considering the day. Blinking quickly to hold back her tears, Lavender clenched her teeth. "Actually, you know what? I can't be bothered with this today."
Unfastening her formal robes, she shrugged them off to reveal a knitted pink jumper with a snowman on the front and a miniskirt that Zacharias thought looked far too short for the late December weather. She shoved them into Zacharias' arms with an annoyed growl.
"You know where you're going. Just drop those somewhere. I'm going home."
"But you're meant to be working."
She ran her hand back through her hair and shook her head. "Not today. Like I said, I can't be bothered. Have fun with your curse breaker. I'm going to the pub."
December 24th. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Diagon Alley.
Emerging from his workroom, George rubbed at his cheek, feeling the slightly wet streak of ink that covered it. He pulled a far and wiped his hands on the apron.
"I've decided it's pointless staying open," he announced, tugging up his apron so that it didn't slip any lower on his hips and end up around his ankles. "I'm closing early."
Standing in front of the counter, he stopped. "Pansy?" he called cautiously, looking around for the familiar flash of magenta robes and not seeing even a scrap of them behind a display. "Pansy?" George raised his voice, hoping she hadn't got swallowed up by one of the displays.
A soft sob from behind the counter caught his attention. "Pansy?" Confused, he leant over the counter, but from that angle all he could see was the tips of her pointy silver shoes. She sobbed louder and, with a grunt, George jumped over the counter, crouching down beside her.
Pansy sniffled, mascara puddling under eyes. "I really, really fucking hate Christmas," she swore fiercely, her hands curled into tight fists. "I just need it to be over."
George regarded her in open-mouthed astonishment. "I..."
"And if I have to listen to Hippogryff Sleigh Ride one more time, I'm going to find the composer and punch them in the face." Her jaw set in vicious determination, Pansy aimed her glare at George.
He sighed and twisted, sitting down beside her with his back resting against the same shelf as hers. "I completely agree."
"It's not even a good song," Pansy grumbled, her fists loosening just a little at the discovery of an ally in her crusade against all things Christmassy.
"Yeah." He gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow. "I can't wait for Christmas to be over, either."
Pansy dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. Seeing her mascara on her fingers, she gave up and simply wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. There was no way that she could look any worse than she did right now, she decided. She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. "At least you have family to go home to. You know, my skanky little flat doesn't even have a sofa because I can't afford one."
"Um..." George hesitated for a long moment, then awkwardly put his arm around her slim shoulders. He let out a breath, slumping as the energy drained out of him with his confession. "I don't want to have a family Christmas. Everyone's just... they're so careful around me. Have been for the last few years. And that gets so bloody tiring."
He smiled wryly. "Almost wish I had a sofa-less Christmas. Better than everyone pretending that everything fine." George paused. "They don't even say Fred's name. Like he never existed."
Sniffing, Pansy's tears were now stemmed. "I'm sorry. All I want is for today to end and you..."
"Yeah. Well, he's not coming back. I just wish that the family would acknowledge him more. Families are complicated." Pushing his hair back out of his eyes, George studied Pansy closely. "Is this why you work so much? You'd rather be here than at home?"
Pansy stared intently at her shoes, avoiding his gaze as she scoffed dismissively. "You really think I'd be here in this multi-coloured nightmare than in the comfort of my own home?"
"Doesn't sounds very comfortable without a sofa," he remarked.
She pursed her lips. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "Being here is better. But don't tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Yeah, the witch who hates working for me but is here almost every waking hour. That's some reputation."
Her cheeks turned pink and Pansy turned her attention from her shoes to George. It took her a couple of faltering attempts to speak. "I suppose I don't exactly hate you."
"Yeah?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "Good to know." George rummaged in the pocket of his apron, producing a handkerchief that wasn't spotless, but as good as any handkerchief in George's possession would ever get. He offered it to her, Pansy wrinkling her nose but taking it, anyway. She wiped her eyes, sighing as she surveyed the black smudges of make-up on the material.
"Thanks," she said softly, dropping it onto his lap. "Sorry. Didn't mean to break down here in the shop."
George gave her a careful squeeze. "S'alright. Wouldn't be Christmas without a few tears."
Cupping her cheek with his free hand, George turned her face to look at him. "Cheer up. Another thirty-six hours or so and Christmas Day will be over."
"I wish," she said softly. Tomorrow would be today. The day after would be today. It was always going to be Christmas Eve.
George produced his wand and flicked it over his head. A familiar clacking sound signalled the sign in the window turning from open to closed. "Tell you what, you can stay upstairs tonight, if you want. We could go open a bottle of something, get pissed and complain about everyone else's Christmas cheer?"
Pansy smiled, heart racing. She leant forward and kissed him firmly, George left speechless when she pulled back. "That sounds perfect," she breathed, still smiling. Anything to make a little difference to this eternally repetitive day.
"You just kissed me," George said, blue eyes fixed intently on her.
"Yes," Pansy said, clambering to her feet and leaving George scrambling after her. "But don't worry. You won't remember tomorrow." She didn't know why that hadn't occurred to her before. If everything was simply going to default to Christmas Eve morning, she could do anything she wanted. No consequences.
Next time she woke up, she was going to find the composer of Hippogryff Sleigh Ride and carry out her threat. Pansy had never actually punched anyone before, but she was already looking forward to it.
"I dunno," George said dubiously. "That was pretty memorable."
His hand reached for her hip, Pansy's breath catching at the sudden memory of a distant Christmas Eve. Maybe it had been the first one, she couldn't be sure. It didn't nothing to slow the racing of her heart, Pansy licking her lips, conscious of just how close he was standing and how intense his eyes were. Now, that really wasn't fair, in Pansy's opinion. He somehow managed to look perfectly natural and charming with blue ink smudged all over his face, yet she was sure that she looked a complete state with mascara and foundation all streaky.
Pansy would deny that she ever launched herself at him, but George's arms around her and his lips pressing insistently against hers were a warm bliss that she hadn't experienced for quite some time, even when it wasn't Christmas Eve. The warmth spread through her and her fingers curled into fists again, though this time as she grasped at his robes.
She purred contentedly, body flush to his, as she drew away a little. "We could get drunk and do that more," she suggested lightly, a dizzying smile on her lips.
George pursed his lips in hesitation. "I'm your boss."
"But you kissed me back."
"It's, y'know, inappropriate."
"Oh, because you never do anything inappropriate," Pansy countered, brimming with a sort of confidence she hadn't known repeating the day ad nauseum could bring her. Her fingers deftly unfastened the tie of his apron and it fell to the floor around her feet. "Mr George Weasley, king of propriety."
"Proper my arse," George grumbled, lifting her up onto the counter just quickly, standing himself between her legs. Pansy simply grinned and kissed him again.
December 24th. Again. Lavender's Flat, London.
A short glass of firewhiskey sat on the coffee table. No ice, no embellishment, just firewhiskey.
Lavender sighed. The feeling that she had been here before was all too familiar to her now, just an idea in the back of her mind that she easily squashed down. It wasn't worth dwelling on it, not when it was once again Christmas Eve.
Almost as soon as she'd poured the glass of firewhiskey, Lavender found herself torn between wanting to drink it in one burning gulp or losing her appetite for it completely. Maybe she should have made cocoa this evening after all.
She shivered, the Christmas edition of Days In Diagon playing once again on the wireless. The clock on her wall ticked steadily towards seven o'clock as Lavender sat there, half-listening to the same fragment of conversation that she'd heard countless times. Only habit stopped her from not turning the wireless on at all.
"Damon, you should sit down. There's something I need to tell you."
"Miranda, you're scaring me."
She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, Lavender picked up the glass of firewhiskey and drank the shot down in one. A burn of courage ran through her from sternum to stomach, bracing her for what she knew was coming next. Neville would arrive shortly, just as he always did. She, however, was going to do something different. Dangerous, even. Knowing that the day would very likely repeat again still didn't dispel the butterflies in her.
Every experimentation and variation on this evening she'd tried since this had all began had ended with the same result - her waking up on Christmas Eve morning with the same crick in her neck, the same nearly-off bottle of milk in the cooler and the same... everything.
The first chance she got, she was redecorating.
Even going out and spending more than a month's wages on expensive shoes and dresses hadn't done anything to end this cycle, though Merlin only knew how much looking at receipts usually brought her down to Earth with a heavy bang.
At the first knock on the door, Lavender was on her feet and across the room. Her whole body warm from the firewhiskey, she pulled open the door with a wide smile.
His hand still up to knock again, Neville blinked. "Lavender?"
The rehearsals she'd had of this moment, the things she was going to say to him, all flew out of her head at once. His bemused expression, that slight furrow of his brow as he regarded her, left her speechless. The only thing left for her to do was pull him bodily through the door and kiss him firmly.
Lavender's arms wound around his neck. She pressed herself close to him, his cloak cold against the festive red dress she was wearing. Neville's gloved hands came to rest firmly on her slim waist and Lavender smiled inwardly as she felt him respond and not just stand there like a block of ice.
She drew back reluctantly, lips red. As she searched his face for some sort of positive response, Neville glanced upwards. "Is there mistletoe?"
Her arms slackened, expression falling. Lavender swallowed nervously. "Do you need mistletoe to kiss me?"
"I..." Neville's cheeks turned pink and he spluttered through the beginning of several sentences before finding one he could get his lips around. "No," he said stoutly and kissed her again. Lavender gave a squeak of surprise, one foot popping off the ground as she surrendered to his embrace. The chill of his body against hers started to fade, Neville taking another step forward into the flat and removing his hand from her briefly to close the door. The loud bang it gave surprised them both, Lavender breaking away with a soft laugh.
"Oh," she breathed, raising a hand to caress his cheek. "I've been wanting to do that all day." If she hadn't known better, Lavender might have thought that she was under the effects of a jelly-legs jinx; Neville was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
"You weren't at breakfast," Neville pointed out darkly. "I was worried. Where have you been?"
"You wouldn't believe the day I've had." Lavender licked her lips, gaze dropping from his face for a moment to start unbuttoning his cloak. "And I will tell you all about it another time," she said, wishing she could, "but right now I don't want to talk."
Neville raised his eyebrows. "You don't want to talk? That's new."
"Shush," she chided, silencing him with another kiss. Neville shrugged off his cloak the best he could, Lavender helping them, then tugged off his gloves and dropped them on the floor. As he swung her up into his arms, Lavender gasped. A smile spread brightly across her face and she pressed gentle kisses to his exposed throat as he carried her towards the sofa. Hearing Neville groan softly sent a shiver through her.
Every kiss stoked the fire that the whiskey had started within her, every touch new and exciting.
From hours of manual labour in the garden and greenhouses, his touch was far from gentle, but that didn't make it any less surprising. She gave a squeak, sitting up a little as she felt a sudden change of pressure across her chest. "Did you just...?"
Neville smirked, albeit it sheepishly. "Yeah," he admitted. Somehow, he had unfastened her bra clasp through her dress.
Both surprised and impressed, Lavender grinned, not sure what to make of this new development but liking it all the same. "I think I like the side of you."
Neville's large hand stroked down the smooth expanse of her back, Lavender shivering under his touch, her breath catching. "I like this side of you, too." He kissed her jaw, her neck. "Have you only been thinking about doing this all day?"
"Longer," she whispered. "But I wasn't sure."
He kissed her softly. "Sure of what?"
"If you... You know. Felt like this."
Neville pulled back a little, looking down at her carefully. His fingers gently stroked her side, always moving, teasing her through the fabric. "You're kind of intimidating," he admitted.
"Intimidating?" Lavender's brow furrowed. "I'm not -"
"Yes, you kind of are. To men like me." He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I didn't know how to ask you out."
"But..." Lavender licked her lips, thinking. "We have dinner together all the time." She nimbly unbuttoned Neville's shirt and he made no move to stop her.
"Thought you liked things just as they were," he admitted, struggling for a moment to kick off his shoes before he realised that it would easier if he removed his hand from where it was situated under the warm curve of her breast.
She laughed. "I must have been too subtle in trying to touch you and hold your hand."
"You're never normally subtle." Shoes off, Neville kissed her hard, pressing her back against the sofa. Lavender responded eagerly, discovering a battle for dominance as she did so. Hooking her leg around him, she gave a buck of her hips against his. Only intending to tease, the move surprised Neville. He tried to move back, but Lavender was so closely entwined with him that that ended up rolling onto the floor.
Though they narrowly missed the coffee table, the force knocked the breath out of Neville and he stared up in shock at her, trying to push her hair out of his face as he gasped.
Lavender gave a soft groan. If the magic hadn't been what it was, she would have worried about bruises on her knees in the morning. She broke into laughter, sitting up so she was straddling him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to do that." Lavender bit her lip, concerned about the dazed expression on Neville's gentle features until he smiled nervously and his hand found her breast.
She bit her lip, watching him with wide eyes. His fingers caressed the curve, exploring until they found her nipple, the peak stiffening under his touch. Even through her clothes, the touch made her squirm, breathing getting heavier.
Neville sat up, bringing him nose to nose with her as his fingers became bolder. His breath was hot against her face, Neville's eyes focused in concentration. A slight pinch of his finger and thumb made her whine in the back of her throat, the fire burning brighter and making her want more.
Fingers trembling with excitement Lavender smoothed the straps of her dress from her shoulder. She held her breath as she waited for Neville's reaction, feeling like she was smiling all over when he helped her tug the dress down. He chuckled over the tangle of her bra, Lavender laughing nervously.
As he put his free hand on her back, Neville looked at her curiously. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Lavender nodded, busying herself with removing Neville's shirt. "Yeah," she said, just a brief tremor in her voice. "Just... people don't normally see all my scars."
Neville frowned, only now looking closely at her pale skin. He'd always known about the ones that marred her neck and crept up onto her throat, but he'd never seen the rest. The purplish marks, still fresh-looking after all these years, had escaped his notice. "I didn't see them."
"Liar," she said, expression drawing pensive.
"Do you really think I'm looking at your scars right now?" he asked, hand gently squeezing her breast.
Lavender shrugged.
"Get up," Neville encouraged, helping her to her feet. As she did so, Lavender's dress pooled at her feet with a helpful shimmy of her feet. A moment later, she found herself up in his arms once more, putting aside her question of how Neville knew the way to her bedroom so well because his chest was deliciously warm and solid against her.
He dropped her gently on the bed, her breasts shaking from the momentum and Neville watching with a fascination that made her giggle. "Stop staring and get naked," she complained, laughing.
"And I thought you were a romantic." Neville swallowed thickly, though, when he saw her thumbs hook into the edge of her knickers.
"I'll be romantic another time," she promised, lifting her hips. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so bold if she hadn't thought that he would forget this soon enough. Arousal pooled low in her and she was determined to enjoy every moment of this that she could. Part of that was enjoying the view as she watched Neville remove the last of his clothes.
As he joined her on the bed, his hand slid up her side. Lavender shivered as she felt the length of his erection press against her hip. His kisses shy once more, Lavender wanted to coax out the bold Neville she'd had a glimpse of just now. Her leg curled around his, hand grasping his arse and making him groan against the hollow of her throat.
A fear of people seeing her scars and being scared away by them usually kept her quieter, hidden away with the lights off and covers hiding her body. Here, though, she was laid open to his every touch, his every kiss. Sighs and gasps tumbled from her lips, Neville's mouth exploring every sensitive spot she had and helping her discover a few more.
She exhaled deeply as he filled her, head tipping back onto the pillow. A sinfully good growl escaped from him and Lavender arched her back. The sound of his pleasure sent a thrill through her as strong as she sensations that rippled out from every thrust.
Neville kissed her gently with a smile, drawing her attention to him fully, Lavender's eyes half-closed. "All right?" he murmured, the long, deep strokes of his hips making her fingers dig into his back.
"Yes," she breathed, not able to formulate a response with more syllables than that. "Yes."
Beneath her hands, Lavender could feel every flex of his muscles and the gradual build of tension in his body that mirrored her own. The exquisite pressure between her thighs grew stronger and stronger, Lavender only able to manage gasps and moans beside his ear. Her teeth tugged at his earlobe; Neville hissed and gave a sharp buck of his hips. Her eyes widened, nails scraping his shoulder.
"Close," he grunted. Lavender's leg curled tighter around him, heel pressing into the small of his back. The slight change of angle put a little pressure on her clit and she trembled with the release that felt almost tangible, yet just out of reach.
Less steady in his thrusts than before, Neville lost himself in her with a shudder as he reached his peak. He flushed deeply, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Murmuring a word or two of encouragement, Lavender shifted her hips towards him. She clenched around him, breathing heavy and fingers shaking as she pulled his hand between their hot bodies. Neville's fingers slipped across the slickness of her arousal and it only took a flick of a digit across her clit to loosen every twisted inch of tension in her body.
Lavender held him close, breathless and her heart fluttering. As Neville plied her with soft kisses, she kept her eyes closed as she came back to herself. He teased her lips and she slowly looked up at him.
"Stay the night," she whispered, rendered all the more vulnerable with him still inside her. If she could fall asleep beside him and make this dream night last as long as possible, maybe it would make waking up in the morning with the same old crick in her neck all the more easier.
Neville rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. He stroked a curl from her face. "I don't think I could move if I wanted to."
She laughed, sighing tiredly. "Me neither."
December 24th. Again. Zacharias' House, Kensington.
Zacharias stirred slowly, woken once more by Luna's coaxing fingers slipping over his body.
He sighed, pressing his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes tight. Trying to take calm, slow breaths, he let Luna's precise, teasing touches work their magic on him for once instead of trying to fight it.
Growing increasingly weary of the hurt look that he drew from her every time he pushed her away, he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed the warm lips pressing to his chest and the provocative trail that she traced down his body. The way the silky strands of her long hair slipped through his fingers as he reach out was a revelation, bringing an unfamiliar smile to his face. Smiling was something he'd forgotten, too, a determined frown settled on his features for the most part.
Luna gave a soft laugh, lips closing swiftly around the length of his erection. Zacharias pushed the covers back, lifting his head just enough to simply watch her. At first, she seemed not to notice him, but then she looked up. As she pulled back, tongue stroking the underside of his cock in a slow sweep, her lips twisted into an impish smile.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully. Her fingers stroked his length expertly as she sat up, smiling happily. Zacharias swept his gaze over her, from her pert breasts to the birthmark almost hidden at the top of her thigh.
As she started to crawl over him, the ends of her long hair teasing his stomach, Zacharias put a hand on her shoulder. "No?" she asked.
Zacharias swallowed, her luminous grey gaze fixed so curiously on him that he couldn't look anywhere else. It had been a long time since he had spent so much time looking at him and a memory came to him in a flash of their first night together, the way he'd been drawn to someone so very different to himself. Somehow she'd made him do things in the bedroom that he had never even considered and words failed him as he thought of all those repeated mornings when he'd wanted to curse at the very idea of oral sex. He didn't hate it, not really.
If this had been just sex as he had assured himself, why would he have made plans for Christmas with her?
Luna stretched out beside him, feet nudging against his. "What are you think thinking about?"
He smiled wryly. "Sometimes I don't know what you see in me," he admitted.
She licked her lips. "At first it was because we had similar needs for intercourse. But I've grown very fond of you, Zacharias."
Putting his hand on her hip, Zacharias drew careful circles on her skin. With her so deliciously warm to the touch, a slew of things he wanted to do ran through his head. The first he acted upon, inclining his head to kiss her.
"I've grown very fond of you, too."
Zacharias glanced over at the dresser. As always, the carved wooden box sat there. It didn't glow, it didn't crackle with magical energy and today it wasn't going to go anywhere. He was going to take the time to remind himself of exactly what he'd been pushing away, the ethereal nymph he left in his bed every Christmas Eve morning. The world hadn't ended so far, so he was going to take a day off from trying to figure out this damn problem.
The box would still be there in the morning.
December 25th. Lavender's Flat, London.
Lavender gasped, woken by a loud snore beside her.
She turned over, then over again as she tried to get her bearings and locate the source of the snoring at the same time.
The covers twisted around her, dragging them off the sleeping body beside her. Despite the sleepiness straining at her, Lavender stared wide eyed at Neville. He was taking up three quarters of the bed, she thought a little grumpily.
She gasped again. Her heart started to thud faster; Lavender picked up the edge of the bed covers to peek underneath and make absolutely sure she wasn't dreaming.
Wow. Maybe she was dreaming about that.
Before she could go as far as pinching herself, Neville stirred. He gave a sleepy groan, peering at her through half-closed eyes. "Are you staring at my... stuff?"
Lavender dropped the covers down, cheeks turning pink. "No," she said quickly. "Um. What day is it?"
Neville yawned, covering his mouth. He snaked his arm across her waist, rolling onto his side. "What? Christmas Day."
She gave a squeal and Neville cringed, turning his head in towards the pillow. "Not so loud," he complained. "'S early."
Curling close to him, Lavender didn't give a flying fig that it was early. It could be three minutes after midnight or half past five or even seven in the evening. She didn't care. It was Christmas Day and that was the only thing that counted right now.
"Sorry," she murmured, grinning. Lavender kissed his cheek and Neville pulled her flush against him.
"Shh. Sleep."
"Fine." She tried not to grumble, sure that excitement would keep her awake. "But if you go back to sleep you won't get your presents."
Neville kept his eyes stubbornly closed. "You gave me my present last week. 'S at home under the tree."
"Hmm. Just thought of something else I could give you."
He opened one eye and she smirked at him.
"Yeah, all right, then," he agreed, stretching out. "Merry Christmas to me."
Lavender pushed him onto his back. "And Merry Christmas to me."
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters do not belong to me. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: An encounter with a cursed object pulls three people into a never-ending Christmas Eve. Neville/Lavender, George/Pansy, Zacharias/Luna.
Word Count: ~16,000
A/N: Originally written for the nightfalltwen for the 2010 exchange. Thank you to csi_tokyo3 for the beta.
December 24th. Again. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
A scream nestled in Pansy's throat, ready to explode. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her feather duster, the feathers trembling and her knuckles turning white.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep doing this.
It was the same thing every day over and over. Nothing changed, from the song on the wireless that woke her up to the wizard who came into the shop looking for a present for his wife, of all people. Pansy had gone from suggesting beauty products and Patented Daydream Charms to sweets that would promote flatulence and the growth of warts.
Needless to day, the wizard had been less than impressed with the suggestions that she had given him.
Now, as she stared up at a photograph the most ostentatious and tawdry frame that she had ever seen in her life, all Pansy wanted to do was scream.
Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve, the grinning trio of George, Fred and Harry mocked her with their happy smiles and cheerful waves. This was, by her estimation, the seventeenth Christmas Eve that she had lived through. Every day, they seemed to just grin wider as she felt more and more like punching each of them in the photographic face. Even the gawping Ron Weasley at the edge of the image seemed to be looking at her with a knowing smirk.
Smug bastard, she thought bitterly. She narrowed her eyes at the photograph, not for the first time wishing that she could hex the whole thing out of existence. A headache seemed to focus behind her eyes, growing more and more intense.
"Hey, Pansy." George emerged from the workroom, wiping his hands on his apron. He stopped in his tracks, surprised to see such a glare on her face. "Er, are you alright?"
She gave a growl under her breath, only to gasp when smoke started to curl from the edges of the frame. The frame caught alight with a soft whoof of air, starting to crackle immediately, filling the shop with acrid green smoke.
"Whoa, there." George gave her a gentle push out of the way, raising his wand to quickly extinguish the flames. Face pale, he reached to pull it down from the shelf, hissing at the temperature and dropping it on the counter where several pieces fell off.
"I... haven't seen anyone do accidental magic for a while." Expression caught between shock and disappointment, he looked at Pansy.
For her part, she was trembling, her headache suddenly gone but not the emotions that had prompted the accidental magic. Now that the stopper on them had been released, they swelled dangerously within her. Her jaw twitched as she stared, horrified, at the mess that the frame had become. Fire damage did not improve it one iota.
"Sorry," she choked. Her eyes stung, she told herself, from the smoke.
Without stopping to collect her cloak, Pansy ran from the shop, magenta robes and all, and out into the street.
She couldn't keep doing this.
December 24th. Again. Gringotts, Diagon Alley.
Brown needed more concealer under her eyes, Pansy thought. Then again, maybe nothing would help her with those awful scars on display, too. What were a few dark circles when put up against that?
Pansy simply couldn't see the point. She tried her best to bury everything she could about the damned war, covering up the way she'd behaved and the more questionable things that she'd done.
No matter how she tried to cover them, though, people always seemed to know.
Perhaps it was the same with Brown's scars. She could wear a scarf or slather on make-up, but it wouldn't make the scars or what happened to her go away.
"Where's Smith?" she demanded.
Lavender regarded Pansy tiredly. "He got here over an hour ago."
"And?"
The Welcome Witch sighed. "And what, Parkinson?"
"Is there any news? To say that I'm getting tired of all this is the understatement of the century."
Pursing her lips, Lavender composed herself before saying, "If I knew, I'd say something. So would he."
Pansy scoffed. "He would not. He doesn't care about us, you know."
"He's not completely heartless."
"Looks like he is. He's leaving now." Pansy nodded towards him as Zacharias strode across the lobby, barely casting them a glance on his way to the exit.
Lavender frowned and called after him. "Zacharias." He turned, looking at her expectantly. "Have you found out anything?"
He sighed heavily enough for them to hear. "Guess." He rolled his eyes and continued on his way.
"See? I told you," Pansy crowed, smirking.
"Don't know what you're looking so smug about," Lavender said, turning on her. "Him being a selfish bastard isn't a good thing."
Pansy set a glare on her. "Maybe things are all Christmas carols and candy canes for you, Brown, but did it occur to you that getting emotional doesn't help everyone?"
Lavender pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just go."
"Gladly."
December 24th. Again. Zacharias' House, Kensington.
Zacharias Smith never wanted to have oral sex again.
At least, he was in no great hurry to receive it, when once it would have been one of the highlights of any sexual encounter. Merlin knows how much Luna seemed to enjoy using her mouth to bring him to his peak, always so wet and ready for him when she had been having her way.
Now, though, Zacharias' body and mind were in conflict. While his body was only too happy to receive the attention of her talented tongue when he awoke, just the tickle of her long blonde hair against his thighs was enough for Zacharias to start losing his erection. One of her many talents, though, was knowing just how to get and keep him hard, her slim fingers finding the exact place that always had him rock hard again almost immediately when she stroked there.
Waking up to that every morning, the same morning over and over again, had lost its novelty sooner than Zacharias would have liked to admit. It was always with a resentful groan that he pushed her away and a variation of, "I'm not in the mood."
"I think your cock would disagree," she said smoothly, eyeing him in a way that made him shiver.
"Yeah, well," he told her gruffly, pulling the covers back over himself, "that's just a perfectly normal reaction to have in the morning. Doesn't mean I want you going down on me."
Luna pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "I suppose. You don't normally say no, though."
Yes, I bloody well do, he thought, scowling. Zacharias held the covers down, willing his erection away. When it subsided enough not to be awkward, he clambered out of bed away from her. Yanking his dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door, he shivered against the cold and quickly tied the belt around the waist.
"I'm taking this to Gringotts to get a curse breaker to look at it," he announced, picking up the wooden box. Even simply sitting there it taunted him by its very existence.
Turning to look at Luna, who still sat nude on the bed, it wasn't confusion he saw on her face. The expression was one that he noticed more and more every time they repeated this morning. From something that he hadn't picked up on at first, the hurt in her eyes had grown to something that was impossible to miss.
"You don't even know what it is." Luna shifted onto her side, stretching out her pale legs and watching him closely.
He cleared his throat, looking down at the carpet. Beyond making sure that she was happy in his company and that the sex was good, her emotional well-being simply wasn't something that he normally concerned himself with. He'd never proclaimed to love Luna, after all, and he only dimly recollected her admission that she was fond of him from the first time he had seen this box.
Zacharias stared at the ornate carvings that covered it, the swirling patterns as nonsensical to him as some of the things that came from Luna's mouth. Every time he took it to Gringotts, he had the same fruitless conversation. Not even Megan Jones and her broad Welsh vowels could convince him that she really had no idea what the box was or how it was supposed to be doing what Zacharias told her it was doing. No matter how matter-of-fact she was in her tone, Zacharias refused to believe that there was nothing to be done and that there absolutely had to be some way of ending this curse that had dragged him into a never-ending Christmas Eve.
Along with Brown and Parkinson.
He had given them little thought over the last couple of cycles, turning up at Gringotts far earlier than the original meeting time in the hope that more time with Megan in the curse breakers' offices would help shed light on the matter.
Every time, Megan's eyes widened as Zacharias showed that he knew his way around the office perfectly. Just like the hurt in Luna's eyes, he'd come to recognise the slight purse in Megan's lips that told him she was holding back a comment. That just caused him further annoyance - he didn't want to know what people were thinking because if he started noticing then he was going to have to start actually caring about them more and being... considerate. He was fine just as he was, thank you very much. Compassion for people seemed to end up with someone getting hurt; he had taught himself that much during the war when he'd lost good friends.
As for Brown and Parkinson, they weren't friends. He wouldn't even talk to them if they hadn't been thrown together like this. Even now he barely spoke to them more than he needed to.
His eyes started to lose focus the longer he stared at the box. He blinked, snapping his attention back and realising that he didn't really know what went on for them in this repeating day. Sometimes they were at the bank, sometimes they weren't. But they were looking tireder, he was sure. He felt that tiredness, too, like an ache that seeped through his bones faster and faster every day.
It would be so easy to simply rejoin Luna in bed and sleep for the rest of Christmas Eve. He had no plans for the day, or at least none that he could remember after so many repetitions.
Zacharias only noticed Luna at his side when she gently laid her hand on her arm. He looked down at her. Luna raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Are you poorly? You should come back to bed."
"Yeah," he muttered. Would a sane man really turn down an offer like that from his very naked partner, especially one as attractive as Luna? But was he even sane anymore? Maybe he'd simply gone mad a few days ago and not noticed.
Looking down at the wooden box in his hand, a spark of anger flared in the pit of his stomach. Now this box had him questioning his own sanity. That was ridiculous. He wasn't going to be sent to the Janus Thickey ward by some cursed trinket.
Annoyed, he tossed it away.
The box barely touched the wall, just the lightest of taps, but it shattered into pieces. Splinters of wood bounced on the carpet, some disappearing under the bed.
Luna gasped at the destruction, covering her mouth. Zacharias, though, felt as though his stomach had been jerked from his body. He dropped to his knees. It was empty. Completely empty.
"Reparo."
Zacharias barely heard Luna's spell, but it didn't matter. The shards of wood didn't even twitch.
Crouching beside him, Luna gently stroked his cheek. "You're crying," she stated simply.
He touched his face, feeling the wetness there. "Nonsense," he protested, shaking his head and ignoring the way his hands were trembling. "Must have got something in my eye."
December 24th. Again. Lavender's Flat, London.
"Damon, you should sit down. There's something I need to tell you."
Lavender quickly flipped the switch on the wireless and it fell silent, its dial dimming. She gave a shaky sigh, curling back onto the sofa. However many times this day repeated, she had yet to actually hear the shocking announcement that had been promised for weeks by Days In Diagon.
If she didn't see him in the morning, Lavender could set her watch by Neville's arrival at her flat in the evening. Forever the same interruption, forever the same non-response. Tonight she didn't feel she had the strength to actually see him face to face. Whatever she said to him, it seemed to make no difference.
I've been offered a job and I don't know if I should take it.
I've been offered a job and I leave next week.
I'm leaving next week. The Ministry offered me a job and I can't say no.
What do you think about this job?
Her heart ached at the thought of another fruitless conversation. With a tired flick of her wand, she turned out the lamps, pitching the room into darkness. Closing her eyes, Lavender tugged the blanket from the back of the sofa over herself. She cuddled back into the sofa, a cushion clutched to her chest as she awaited the inevitable knock on the door.
Though she was expecting it, it still caught her by surprise, heart fluttering. She bit her lip, the urge to cast aside her resolve to stay quiet and hidden strong. But no. If she saw Neville, she thought she might cry.
"Lavender?"
She gripped the cushion tighter, face screwed up in concentration.
He knocked again. "Lavender?" he asked again, a little louder. "Are you home?"
Lavender shook her head. No, I'm not. Go away.
She should have gone out, she realised, and left the flat truly empty. There was nothing keeping her here, nothing stopping her from going out and finding someone who would listen to her or give her encouragement one way or another.
Neville, though, would have come here anyway. Just the chance to hear his voice left a warm feeling in her chest. Hope, maybe. Hope that he actually cared.
"Lavender?"
Neville shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground. Not a peep of light filtered out from the crack under the door. When he had looked up at the flat from the street, he had been sure that he had seen a light. Maybe he had been mistaken and spotted a neighbour's window instead.
His knocking roused no answer; Neville wrung hands anxiously. Where was she? He hadn't seen her all day and when she hadn't turned up for their designated breakfast, he'd hoped - albeit sadly - that she had merely forgotten. The excitement of Christmas and all that. But when he hadn't been able to find her anywhere, concern had set in.
He tried knocking once more, hoping that perhaps she was in the bathroom or her bedroom, somewhere she couldn't hear him. Still, there was no response.
His last knock was not a knock, but him banging his head fruitlessly against the door. He groaned, immediately wishing he hadn't done that. Neville couldn't think where else she would be. He had tried everywhere he could think of, even the hospital. If she were with his family, he couldn't interrupt that, but he knew she wasn't close to her family these days.
Pained, Neville realised that he didn't even know her plans for Christmas. Had she tried to tell him? If she had, he wouldn't be surprised if he had forgotten. His memory hadn't improved great deal over the years, but how a detail like that could have escaped him, he didn't know.
When they had been owling earlier in the week, Lavender had seemed excited and confirmed the details of their breakfast meeting with multiple exclamation marks. Date. Meeting. He wasn't quite sure what it was, what it was supposed to have been. Whatever he might call it, he knew he'd been looking forward to it.
He raised his hand to knock again, but simply let it fall at his side. This was pointless. He ought to go home, spend time with his own family.
Neville stared at the door. Maybe she was asleep. It was still early, though, far too early to sleep on Christmas Eve. He had known Lavender since she was eleven and if there was one thing he knew, it was that she got excited about Christmas. He remembered fourth year all those years ago. The whole castle had been brimming with excitement about the Yule Ball, the foreign guests, the excitement of everything. Lavender had been no exception. She'd stayed up until gone midnight, eating chocolate and eyeing the pile of presents awaiting them all. Neville had stayed up, too, teenage bravado stopping him from admitting that he was tired. They'd played board games into the small hours until finally creeping up their staircases to bed.
Even now, Seamus still complained that snakes and ladders would be a far more interesting game if there were magic involved.
The memory brought a smile to Neville's face, but only briefly. If he could better vocalise his concerns, maybe he would have found Lavender by now. Even when he wasn't with her, though, she had the uncanny ability to make him utterly tongue tied.
His hand slipped into the inner pocket of his cloak and he pulled out an envelope. It was slightly crumpled around the edges, but otherwise fine. Neville slipped it under the door and straightened up. He would just have to try and talk to her over the Floo tomorrow, he supposed.
Lavender peered through the darkness, just enough light seeping in from the corridor to allow her to see something flat pushed beneath the door. A moment later, she heard Neville's heavy footsteps leaving. Lavender bit her lip hard, hugging the cushion tighter to her chest as she tried to hold back exhausted tears.
December 24th. Again. Gringotts, Diagon Alley.
"You look like you're about to cry, Brown." Zacharias' lip curled as he looked over the witch in front of him. Did he look that bad? Merlin, he hoped not. But while he didn't feel close to tears, there was something reassuring about seeing the stress of this repeating day shown outwardly on someone.
Not to mention comforting that he was holding it together in public better than she was.
Lavender let out a shaky breath. "I'm just so tired of all this." She glanced around the lobby of the bank, the large space nearly empty. Unsurprisingly, considering the day. Blinking quickly to hold back her tears, Lavender clenched her teeth. "Actually, you know what? I can't be bothered with this today."
Unfastening her formal robes, she shrugged them off to reveal a knitted pink jumper with a snowman on the front and a miniskirt that Zacharias thought looked far too short for the late December weather. She shoved them into Zacharias' arms with an annoyed growl.
"You know where you're going. Just drop those somewhere. I'm going home."
"But you're meant to be working."
She ran her hand back through her hair and shook her head. "Not today. Like I said, I can't be bothered. Have fun with your curse breaker. I'm going to the pub."
December 24th. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Diagon Alley.
Emerging from his workroom, George rubbed at his cheek, feeling the slightly wet streak of ink that covered it. He pulled a far and wiped his hands on the apron.
"I've decided it's pointless staying open," he announced, tugging up his apron so that it didn't slip any lower on his hips and end up around his ankles. "I'm closing early."
Standing in front of the counter, he stopped. "Pansy?" he called cautiously, looking around for the familiar flash of magenta robes and not seeing even a scrap of them behind a display. "Pansy?" George raised his voice, hoping she hadn't got swallowed up by one of the displays.
A soft sob from behind the counter caught his attention. "Pansy?" Confused, he leant over the counter, but from that angle all he could see was the tips of her pointy silver shoes. She sobbed louder and, with a grunt, George jumped over the counter, crouching down beside her.
Pansy sniffled, mascara puddling under eyes. "I really, really fucking hate Christmas," she swore fiercely, her hands curled into tight fists. "I just need it to be over."
George regarded her in open-mouthed astonishment. "I..."
"And if I have to listen to Hippogryff Sleigh Ride one more time, I'm going to find the composer and punch them in the face." Her jaw set in vicious determination, Pansy aimed her glare at George.
He sighed and twisted, sitting down beside her with his back resting against the same shelf as hers. "I completely agree."
"It's not even a good song," Pansy grumbled, her fists loosening just a little at the discovery of an ally in her crusade against all things Christmassy.
"Yeah." He gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow. "I can't wait for Christmas to be over, either."
Pansy dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. Seeing her mascara on her fingers, she gave up and simply wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. There was no way that she could look any worse than she did right now, she decided. She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. "At least you have family to go home to. You know, my skanky little flat doesn't even have a sofa because I can't afford one."
"Um..." George hesitated for a long moment, then awkwardly put his arm around her slim shoulders. He let out a breath, slumping as the energy drained out of him with his confession. "I don't want to have a family Christmas. Everyone's just... they're so careful around me. Have been for the last few years. And that gets so bloody tiring."
He smiled wryly. "Almost wish I had a sofa-less Christmas. Better than everyone pretending that everything fine." George paused. "They don't even say Fred's name. Like he never existed."
Sniffing, Pansy's tears were now stemmed. "I'm sorry. All I want is for today to end and you..."
"Yeah. Well, he's not coming back. I just wish that the family would acknowledge him more. Families are complicated." Pushing his hair back out of his eyes, George studied Pansy closely. "Is this why you work so much? You'd rather be here than at home?"
Pansy stared intently at her shoes, avoiding his gaze as she scoffed dismissively. "You really think I'd be here in this multi-coloured nightmare than in the comfort of my own home?"
"Doesn't sounds very comfortable without a sofa," he remarked.
She pursed her lips. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "Being here is better. But don't tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Yeah, the witch who hates working for me but is here almost every waking hour. That's some reputation."
Her cheeks turned pink and Pansy turned her attention from her shoes to George. It took her a couple of faltering attempts to speak. "I suppose I don't exactly hate you."
"Yeah?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "Good to know." George rummaged in the pocket of his apron, producing a handkerchief that wasn't spotless, but as good as any handkerchief in George's possession would ever get. He offered it to her, Pansy wrinkling her nose but taking it, anyway. She wiped her eyes, sighing as she surveyed the black smudges of make-up on the material.
"Thanks," she said softly, dropping it onto his lap. "Sorry. Didn't mean to break down here in the shop."
George gave her a careful squeeze. "S'alright. Wouldn't be Christmas without a few tears."
Cupping her cheek with his free hand, George turned her face to look at him. "Cheer up. Another thirty-six hours or so and Christmas Day will be over."
"I wish," she said softly. Tomorrow would be today. The day after would be today. It was always going to be Christmas Eve.
George produced his wand and flicked it over his head. A familiar clacking sound signalled the sign in the window turning from open to closed. "Tell you what, you can stay upstairs tonight, if you want. We could go open a bottle of something, get pissed and complain about everyone else's Christmas cheer?"
Pansy smiled, heart racing. She leant forward and kissed him firmly, George left speechless when she pulled back. "That sounds perfect," she breathed, still smiling. Anything to make a little difference to this eternally repetitive day.
"You just kissed me," George said, blue eyes fixed intently on her.
"Yes," Pansy said, clambering to her feet and leaving George scrambling after her. "But don't worry. You won't remember tomorrow." She didn't know why that hadn't occurred to her before. If everything was simply going to default to Christmas Eve morning, she could do anything she wanted. No consequences.
Next time she woke up, she was going to find the composer of Hippogryff Sleigh Ride and carry out her threat. Pansy had never actually punched anyone before, but she was already looking forward to it.
"I dunno," George said dubiously. "That was pretty memorable."
His hand reached for her hip, Pansy's breath catching at the sudden memory of a distant Christmas Eve. Maybe it had been the first one, she couldn't be sure. It didn't nothing to slow the racing of her heart, Pansy licking her lips, conscious of just how close he was standing and how intense his eyes were. Now, that really wasn't fair, in Pansy's opinion. He somehow managed to look perfectly natural and charming with blue ink smudged all over his face, yet she was sure that she looked a complete state with mascara and foundation all streaky.
Pansy would deny that she ever launched herself at him, but George's arms around her and his lips pressing insistently against hers were a warm bliss that she hadn't experienced for quite some time, even when it wasn't Christmas Eve. The warmth spread through her and her fingers curled into fists again, though this time as she grasped at his robes.
She purred contentedly, body flush to his, as she drew away a little. "We could get drunk and do that more," she suggested lightly, a dizzying smile on her lips.
George pursed his lips in hesitation. "I'm your boss."
"But you kissed me back."
"It's, y'know, inappropriate."
"Oh, because you never do anything inappropriate," Pansy countered, brimming with a sort of confidence she hadn't known repeating the day ad nauseum could bring her. Her fingers deftly unfastened the tie of his apron and it fell to the floor around her feet. "Mr George Weasley, king of propriety."
"Proper my arse," George grumbled, lifting her up onto the counter just quickly, standing himself between her legs. Pansy simply grinned and kissed him again.
December 24th. Again. Lavender's Flat, London.
A short glass of firewhiskey sat on the coffee table. No ice, no embellishment, just firewhiskey.
Lavender sighed. The feeling that she had been here before was all too familiar to her now, just an idea in the back of her mind that she easily squashed down. It wasn't worth dwelling on it, not when it was once again Christmas Eve.
Almost as soon as she'd poured the glass of firewhiskey, Lavender found herself torn between wanting to drink it in one burning gulp or losing her appetite for it completely. Maybe she should have made cocoa this evening after all.
She shivered, the Christmas edition of Days In Diagon playing once again on the wireless. The clock on her wall ticked steadily towards seven o'clock as Lavender sat there, half-listening to the same fragment of conversation that she'd heard countless times. Only habit stopped her from not turning the wireless on at all.
"Damon, you should sit down. There's something I need to tell you."
"Miranda, you're scaring me."
She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, Lavender picked up the glass of firewhiskey and drank the shot down in one. A burn of courage ran through her from sternum to stomach, bracing her for what she knew was coming next. Neville would arrive shortly, just as he always did. She, however, was going to do something different. Dangerous, even. Knowing that the day would very likely repeat again still didn't dispel the butterflies in her.
Every experimentation and variation on this evening she'd tried since this had all began had ended with the same result - her waking up on Christmas Eve morning with the same crick in her neck, the same nearly-off bottle of milk in the cooler and the same... everything.
The first chance she got, she was redecorating.
Even going out and spending more than a month's wages on expensive shoes and dresses hadn't done anything to end this cycle, though Merlin only knew how much looking at receipts usually brought her down to Earth with a heavy bang.
At the first knock on the door, Lavender was on her feet and across the room. Her whole body warm from the firewhiskey, she pulled open the door with a wide smile.
His hand still up to knock again, Neville blinked. "Lavender?"
The rehearsals she'd had of this moment, the things she was going to say to him, all flew out of her head at once. His bemused expression, that slight furrow of his brow as he regarded her, left her speechless. The only thing left for her to do was pull him bodily through the door and kiss him firmly.
Lavender's arms wound around his neck. She pressed herself close to him, his cloak cold against the festive red dress she was wearing. Neville's gloved hands came to rest firmly on her slim waist and Lavender smiled inwardly as she felt him respond and not just stand there like a block of ice.
She drew back reluctantly, lips red. As she searched his face for some sort of positive response, Neville glanced upwards. "Is there mistletoe?"
Her arms slackened, expression falling. Lavender swallowed nervously. "Do you need mistletoe to kiss me?"
"I..." Neville's cheeks turned pink and he spluttered through the beginning of several sentences before finding one he could get his lips around. "No," he said stoutly and kissed her again. Lavender gave a squeak of surprise, one foot popping off the ground as she surrendered to his embrace. The chill of his body against hers started to fade, Neville taking another step forward into the flat and removing his hand from her briefly to close the door. The loud bang it gave surprised them both, Lavender breaking away with a soft laugh.
"Oh," she breathed, raising a hand to caress his cheek. "I've been wanting to do that all day." If she hadn't known better, Lavender might have thought that she was under the effects of a jelly-legs jinx; Neville was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
"You weren't at breakfast," Neville pointed out darkly. "I was worried. Where have you been?"
"You wouldn't believe the day I've had." Lavender licked her lips, gaze dropping from his face for a moment to start unbuttoning his cloak. "And I will tell you all about it another time," she said, wishing she could, "but right now I don't want to talk."
Neville raised his eyebrows. "You don't want to talk? That's new."
"Shush," she chided, silencing him with another kiss. Neville shrugged off his cloak the best he could, Lavender helping them, then tugged off his gloves and dropped them on the floor. As he swung her up into his arms, Lavender gasped. A smile spread brightly across her face and she pressed gentle kisses to his exposed throat as he carried her towards the sofa. Hearing Neville groan softly sent a shiver through her.
Every kiss stoked the fire that the whiskey had started within her, every touch new and exciting.
From hours of manual labour in the garden and greenhouses, his touch was far from gentle, but that didn't make it any less surprising. She gave a squeak, sitting up a little as she felt a sudden change of pressure across her chest. "Did you just...?"
Neville smirked, albeit it sheepishly. "Yeah," he admitted. Somehow, he had unfastened her bra clasp through her dress.
Both surprised and impressed, Lavender grinned, not sure what to make of this new development but liking it all the same. "I think I like the side of you."
Neville's large hand stroked down the smooth expanse of her back, Lavender shivering under his touch, her breath catching. "I like this side of you, too." He kissed her jaw, her neck. "Have you only been thinking about doing this all day?"
"Longer," she whispered. "But I wasn't sure."
He kissed her softly. "Sure of what?"
"If you... You know. Felt like this."
Neville pulled back a little, looking down at her carefully. His fingers gently stroked her side, always moving, teasing her through the fabric. "You're kind of intimidating," he admitted.
"Intimidating?" Lavender's brow furrowed. "I'm not -"
"Yes, you kind of are. To men like me." He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I didn't know how to ask you out."
"But..." Lavender licked her lips, thinking. "We have dinner together all the time." She nimbly unbuttoned Neville's shirt and he made no move to stop her.
"Thought you liked things just as they were," he admitted, struggling for a moment to kick off his shoes before he realised that it would easier if he removed his hand from where it was situated under the warm curve of her breast.
She laughed. "I must have been too subtle in trying to touch you and hold your hand."
"You're never normally subtle." Shoes off, Neville kissed her hard, pressing her back against the sofa. Lavender responded eagerly, discovering a battle for dominance as she did so. Hooking her leg around him, she gave a buck of her hips against his. Only intending to tease, the move surprised Neville. He tried to move back, but Lavender was so closely entwined with him that that ended up rolling onto the floor.
Though they narrowly missed the coffee table, the force knocked the breath out of Neville and he stared up in shock at her, trying to push her hair out of his face as he gasped.
Lavender gave a soft groan. If the magic hadn't been what it was, she would have worried about bruises on her knees in the morning. She broke into laughter, sitting up so she was straddling him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to do that." Lavender bit her lip, concerned about the dazed expression on Neville's gentle features until he smiled nervously and his hand found her breast.
She bit her lip, watching him with wide eyes. His fingers caressed the curve, exploring until they found her nipple, the peak stiffening under his touch. Even through her clothes, the touch made her squirm, breathing getting heavier.
Neville sat up, bringing him nose to nose with her as his fingers became bolder. His breath was hot against her face, Neville's eyes focused in concentration. A slight pinch of his finger and thumb made her whine in the back of her throat, the fire burning brighter and making her want more.
Fingers trembling with excitement Lavender smoothed the straps of her dress from her shoulder. She held her breath as she waited for Neville's reaction, feeling like she was smiling all over when he helped her tug the dress down. He chuckled over the tangle of her bra, Lavender laughing nervously.
As he put his free hand on her back, Neville looked at her curiously. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Lavender nodded, busying herself with removing Neville's shirt. "Yeah," she said, just a brief tremor in her voice. "Just... people don't normally see all my scars."
Neville frowned, only now looking closely at her pale skin. He'd always known about the ones that marred her neck and crept up onto her throat, but he'd never seen the rest. The purplish marks, still fresh-looking after all these years, had escaped his notice. "I didn't see them."
"Liar," she said, expression drawing pensive.
"Do you really think I'm looking at your scars right now?" he asked, hand gently squeezing her breast.
Lavender shrugged.
"Get up," Neville encouraged, helping her to her feet. As she did so, Lavender's dress pooled at her feet with a helpful shimmy of her feet. A moment later, she found herself up in his arms once more, putting aside her question of how Neville knew the way to her bedroom so well because his chest was deliciously warm and solid against her.
He dropped her gently on the bed, her breasts shaking from the momentum and Neville watching with a fascination that made her giggle. "Stop staring and get naked," she complained, laughing.
"And I thought you were a romantic." Neville swallowed thickly, though, when he saw her thumbs hook into the edge of her knickers.
"I'll be romantic another time," she promised, lifting her hips. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so bold if she hadn't thought that he would forget this soon enough. Arousal pooled low in her and she was determined to enjoy every moment of this that she could. Part of that was enjoying the view as she watched Neville remove the last of his clothes.
As he joined her on the bed, his hand slid up her side. Lavender shivered as she felt the length of his erection press against her hip. His kisses shy once more, Lavender wanted to coax out the bold Neville she'd had a glimpse of just now. Her leg curled around his, hand grasping his arse and making him groan against the hollow of her throat.
A fear of people seeing her scars and being scared away by them usually kept her quieter, hidden away with the lights off and covers hiding her body. Here, though, she was laid open to his every touch, his every kiss. Sighs and gasps tumbled from her lips, Neville's mouth exploring every sensitive spot she had and helping her discover a few more.
She exhaled deeply as he filled her, head tipping back onto the pillow. A sinfully good growl escaped from him and Lavender arched her back. The sound of his pleasure sent a thrill through her as strong as she sensations that rippled out from every thrust.
Neville kissed her gently with a smile, drawing her attention to him fully, Lavender's eyes half-closed. "All right?" he murmured, the long, deep strokes of his hips making her fingers dig into his back.
"Yes," she breathed, not able to formulate a response with more syllables than that. "Yes."
Beneath her hands, Lavender could feel every flex of his muscles and the gradual build of tension in his body that mirrored her own. The exquisite pressure between her thighs grew stronger and stronger, Lavender only able to manage gasps and moans beside his ear. Her teeth tugged at his earlobe; Neville hissed and gave a sharp buck of his hips. Her eyes widened, nails scraping his shoulder.
"Close," he grunted. Lavender's leg curled tighter around him, heel pressing into the small of his back. The slight change of angle put a little pressure on her clit and she trembled with the release that felt almost tangible, yet just out of reach.
Less steady in his thrusts than before, Neville lost himself in her with a shudder as he reached his peak. He flushed deeply, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Murmuring a word or two of encouragement, Lavender shifted her hips towards him. She clenched around him, breathing heavy and fingers shaking as she pulled his hand between their hot bodies. Neville's fingers slipped across the slickness of her arousal and it only took a flick of a digit across her clit to loosen every twisted inch of tension in her body.
Lavender held him close, breathless and her heart fluttering. As Neville plied her with soft kisses, she kept her eyes closed as she came back to herself. He teased her lips and she slowly looked up at him.
"Stay the night," she whispered, rendered all the more vulnerable with him still inside her. If she could fall asleep beside him and make this dream night last as long as possible, maybe it would make waking up in the morning with the same old crick in her neck all the more easier.
Neville rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. He stroked a curl from her face. "I don't think I could move if I wanted to."
She laughed, sighing tiredly. "Me neither."
December 24th. Again. Zacharias' House, Kensington.
Zacharias stirred slowly, woken once more by Luna's coaxing fingers slipping over his body.
He sighed, pressing his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes tight. Trying to take calm, slow breaths, he let Luna's precise, teasing touches work their magic on him for once instead of trying to fight it.
Growing increasingly weary of the hurt look that he drew from her every time he pushed her away, he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed the warm lips pressing to his chest and the provocative trail that she traced down his body. The way the silky strands of her long hair slipped through his fingers as he reach out was a revelation, bringing an unfamiliar smile to his face. Smiling was something he'd forgotten, too, a determined frown settled on his features for the most part.
Luna gave a soft laugh, lips closing swiftly around the length of his erection. Zacharias pushed the covers back, lifting his head just enough to simply watch her. At first, she seemed not to notice him, but then she looked up. As she pulled back, tongue stroking the underside of his cock in a slow sweep, her lips twisted into an impish smile.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully. Her fingers stroked his length expertly as she sat up, smiling happily. Zacharias swept his gaze over her, from her pert breasts to the birthmark almost hidden at the top of her thigh.
As she started to crawl over him, the ends of her long hair teasing his stomach, Zacharias put a hand on her shoulder. "No?" she asked.
Zacharias swallowed, her luminous grey gaze fixed so curiously on him that he couldn't look anywhere else. It had been a long time since he had spent so much time looking at him and a memory came to him in a flash of their first night together, the way he'd been drawn to someone so very different to himself. Somehow she'd made him do things in the bedroom that he had never even considered and words failed him as he thought of all those repeated mornings when he'd wanted to curse at the very idea of oral sex. He didn't hate it, not really.
If this had been just sex as he had assured himself, why would he have made plans for Christmas with her?
Luna stretched out beside him, feet nudging against his. "What are you think thinking about?"
He smiled wryly. "Sometimes I don't know what you see in me," he admitted.
She licked her lips. "At first it was because we had similar needs for intercourse. But I've grown very fond of you, Zacharias."
Putting his hand on her hip, Zacharias drew careful circles on her skin. With her so deliciously warm to the touch, a slew of things he wanted to do ran through his head. The first he acted upon, inclining his head to kiss her.
"I've grown very fond of you, too."
Zacharias glanced over at the dresser. As always, the carved wooden box sat there. It didn't glow, it didn't crackle with magical energy and today it wasn't going to go anywhere. He was going to take the time to remind himself of exactly what he'd been pushing away, the ethereal nymph he left in his bed every Christmas Eve morning. The world hadn't ended so far, so he was going to take a day off from trying to figure out this damn problem.
The box would still be there in the morning.
December 25th. Lavender's Flat, London.
Lavender gasped, woken by a loud snore beside her.
She turned over, then over again as she tried to get her bearings and locate the source of the snoring at the same time.
The covers twisted around her, dragging them off the sleeping body beside her. Despite the sleepiness straining at her, Lavender stared wide eyed at Neville. He was taking up three quarters of the bed, she thought a little grumpily.
She gasped again. Her heart started to thud faster; Lavender picked up the edge of the bed covers to peek underneath and make absolutely sure she wasn't dreaming.
Wow. Maybe she was dreaming about that.
Before she could go as far as pinching herself, Neville stirred. He gave a sleepy groan, peering at her through half-closed eyes. "Are you staring at my... stuff?"
Lavender dropped the covers down, cheeks turning pink. "No," she said quickly. "Um. What day is it?"
Neville yawned, covering his mouth. He snaked his arm across her waist, rolling onto his side. "What? Christmas Day."
She gave a squeal and Neville cringed, turning his head in towards the pillow. "Not so loud," he complained. "'S early."
Curling close to him, Lavender didn't give a flying fig that it was early. It could be three minutes after midnight or half past five or even seven in the evening. She didn't care. It was Christmas Day and that was the only thing that counted right now.
"Sorry," she murmured, grinning. Lavender kissed his cheek and Neville pulled her flush against him.
"Shh. Sleep."
"Fine." She tried not to grumble, sure that excitement would keep her awake. "But if you go back to sleep you won't get your presents."
Neville kept his eyes stubbornly closed. "You gave me my present last week. 'S at home under the tree."
"Hmm. Just thought of something else I could give you."
He opened one eye and she smirked at him.
"Yeah, all right, then," he agreed, stretching out. "Merry Christmas to me."
Lavender pushed him onto his back. "And Merry Christmas to me."