#christmas request

"Little help?" You asked Fred who was sat on the sofa in your little home, tinkering with a string of lights that just didn't seem to want to work. He looks up and starts chuckling at your pathetic attempts at getting up and stretches his hand out for you to take. He lifts you with ease, something you're very impressed by factoring in your current size and giggle when he places a delicate kiss onto your nose. His hand wraps around your waist, his palm pressed against the curve of your belly with his thumb stroking the stretched skin through your T-shirt.

"Did we wrap anything for Fred jr?" He asks, smirking at you with those mischief filled eyes that you love so much.

"No. Mainly because there is, and will be, no such person."

"Oh come on sweetheart, don't you want a tiny little me running around?" His eyebrows jump up and down for effect, fingers still lovingly stroking your bump.

"I'm hoping for a George," you deadpan, breaking into a laugh when he suddenly pulls you gently towards him by tickling your side. "Anyway, she's a girl."

"Oh yeah? Mother's intuition?" Fred teases, his eyes gazing over your bump as if he's trying to see something that's not there, like an obvious clue of what gender your baby will be.

"Something like that," you smile, reaching up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his smiling lips.

Suddenly, you pull away from Fred with a brief push to his chest, showing your panicked face and the tears that are starting to well in your eyes, all glimmer of happiness gone.

"Princ-."

"I didn't get her anything!" You suddenly cry out, cutting Fred off as he notices the rather sudden change in your demeanour, your voice trembling as the feeling of complete grief consumes you. "What if she comes early and we didn't get her anything? She'll think that we don't love her! Or she'll think that Santa forgot her!"

Tears are streaming down your face now, your breaths coming quicker and quicker as guilt and shame fill your mind. What kind of mother doesn't buy her own baby a Christmas gift?

"Between the cot, the pram and the clothes we've bought for them, plus not to mention the entire house we bought after finding out they were on the way, I'd say they've had enough."

The glare that you shoot at Fred is enough to silence him instantly, the venomous look in your eyes rivalling his own mothers as he quickly realised this is not a time to make jokes.

"This little one isn't due until after Christmas," he says with a much gentler tone now, placing his hand back onto your bump. "They don't need a Christmas present, they'll already have everything they need when they pop out." He regrets his choice of words the second your eyes shoot up to his, knowing that 'pop' made it sound like an easy thing to do, which he'd been warned from almost every female member of his family that it was far from easy.

"When our baby's born," he says, trying again. "They'll have me and their beautiful mummy. And a whole family that loves them, what else could they need?"

Surprisingly, his words do offer comfort and a wave of relief washes over you as you feel calmed by the idea that the baby really did have everything they would need.

"Sorry," you say, feeling a fresh wave of shame taking over you at your slight overreaction, but Fred steps in again to give you a tight squeeze.

"Already the best mum," he whispers, rocking you gently as you stand holding each other, the Christmas lights illuminating the room in a magical display. You feel a little wiggle in your tummy and smile to yourself, your hand slipping down to cradle the spot where you could feel your little one stretching and rolling.

Everything was set for your arrival at the Burrow in the morning, the suitcase was packed with a mixture of your clothes and Fred's, everything down to your spare toothbrush. The gifts were wrapped and the cookies you'd baked earlier that mornings had been placed into a cute metal tin with a bow, placed on the table beside the front door so that you wouldn't forget them.

"Want me to load the car now?" Fred asks, poking his head around the bedroom door.

"I can help," you offer, only to be shut down a moment later by your husband.

"You will do not such thing," he says firmly, though his eyes are soft. "You are going to park your gorgeous little bum down onto the nearest, softest surface and rest."

"But."

"Doctor's orders princess," he winks, making you smile and relent, though you were hardly going to turn down the offer of sitting down for a while before bed, knowing you'd have an early start in the morning. Your back was twinging with discomfort, a crampy feeling radiating between your pelvis and your hips that made you curse yourself for the stupid idea of wrapping presents on a hard floor.

You walked downstairs to grab a warm drink and sit on the sofa with the hope of a warm fire and a Christmas film, stopping to peek out of the Christmas light filled window to watch Fred trying to fit all the presents in the boot of the car. Since you were so far into your pregnancy, almost every magical transportation option was now deemed unsafe, leaving you with only a handful of options for reaching the Burrow. Percy had very graciously secured a ministry car for you to borrow over the holidays, a fact that he was insistent upon repeating whenever it was even vaguely mentioned in conversation, including the precarious nature of securing the car during the ministry's busiest season. Regardless of your brother in laws self importance, you were thankful for his gesture and though the drive would be long, you were actually looking forward to it. You'd prepped snacks, both muggle and magical, had ensured to the point of obsession that the radio was fixed upon the muggle Christmas station so that your entire drive down would be filled with only the cheesiest Christmas songs and you'd even prepped some hot chocolate for the drive, placing two matching Christmas travel cups beside the kettle ready to make just before you left.

A loud crash pulled your attention right back to Fred as you watched him scrambling onto his feet, an array of once neatly wrapped packages on the floor around him. He looks around nervously before catching sight of you in the window, eyes widening, before he attempts to pick up the dropped presents.

Instantly you were moving to the door, your mind spiralling at the idea that they might be broken or wet from the snow, or if Fred was hurt in the skirmish.

"Are you okay?" You ask slightly breathlessly as you scramble to the door, trying to place your shoes on as quickly as you could.

"Sweetheart stay inside, it's icy and you're not coming out here until I can clear it," he says holding up a hand, eyes fixed on your bump as if you accentuate his words.

"What happened?" You ask, trying to steal a glance around his body to look for any damage to the presents that he was slowly picking up, stacking them high in his arms as he attempts to talk to you through a vision blocking stack of presents.

"Well I was trying to balance these ones and the bottom one slipped."

"You can't stack that many! No wonder they bloody fell!" You say, anger simmering under the surface as you watch more and more presents dangerously wobbling in his arms, swaying with the wind and from every movement he makes. "Stop stacking them so high."

"I can do it."

"Obviously you can't!" You snap, feeling the anger rising now from his obvious lack of care to the gifts that you had so painstakingly picked out and wrapped. "What if they're all broken?!"

"They're not all broken," he snarks.

"All? You mean there's broken ones?!" You exclaim, hardly able to push down your anger anymore. You and Fred hardly every argued, but when you did it was almost always a big one that lasted no more than five minutes before you were making up, sometimes longer if he was in the mood to sulk. Uncaring about the ice, you step outside and rush over to the back of the car where Fred continues to pick up the last of the presents from the ground, cringing at what follows when he picks up the very last one.

The telltale sound of damaged box fills your ears at a painfully ironic moment, the sound so obviously being something broken, shattered with the pieces rattling about inside. You gasp as you look upon the misshapen box, seeing the distinctive green wrapping paper all torn and wilted from the snow, knowing instantly what was inside, undoubtedly shattered beyond repair.

You're completely heartbroken at the sight before you and more angry with Fred than you ever remember being.

"You stupid git!" You say, hitting his arm as he turns to you with a look of apologetic shame, though you don't even remotely fall for it, too enraged to give a single thought to his feelings. "I told you that you couldn't carry that many! Now look what you've done!" The box falls from his hands again and lands in a heap on the floor, an ominous rattling crying out all the way down until it crashes upon making contact with the snow.

"It's just a present," he mumbles, trying to downplay the situation as he turns back towards the car, away from your body. His words and aversion to the situation only fuel your anger in the moment, seeing visions of his younger self so uncaring for the consequences of his actions even if it both directly and indirectly affected others.

"It's not just a present you git! It was Fleur's only Christmas present! You have no idea how long it took me to find it," you say, tears welling up in your eyes again as the anger turns to sorrow.'you knew how much she adored snow-globes, something from her childhood that she'd told you about in great detail one night at the Burrow. You'd gone searching around muggle antique stores for something within the brief and had been completely overwhelmed by the beauty of the snowglobe you found for her. It was a little over the budget but you didn't care, knowing how much she would love the beautifully ornate pink and gold filigree on the side, the tiny carousel horses inside that spun around with fine gold glitter covering the beautiful scene. It was decadent and beautiful, and now shattered in a box on your front drive, the glittery water leaking out of a large crack in the box and onto the snow.

"Just give her one of Ginny's," he says defensively, the hint of a shrug ghosting his coat-covered shoulders.

"Oh yeah perfect, because I'm sure she'd love a mug that says Mrs Potter to be!"

You march away from him in a foul mood, stomping your way back into the house as you close the door with a resounding slam, the wreath on the door quivering with the force.

It was the evening before Christmas Eve, you didn't have anything else to give her and you certainly couldn't show up empty handed for only one person, especially one that had become a good friend to you and who had admittedly struggled to fit in with the family at first. You felt wretched and suddenly wanted to stay at home, the idea of going to the Burrow now making you feel physically sick.

You winced as the pain in your back suddenly increased, making you grab ahold of the table beside the door for support as you felt it radiate through your back and settle into your pelvis.

"Look, why don't we just drop by somewhere on the way to mums? See if we can get a replacement." Fred says as he steps through the door, inevitably trailing snow throughout the hallway. You straighten up, recovering from the cramps and turn to him in disbelief, fresh annoyance consuming you again.

"It can't be replaced it was antique!"

"Well something similar then," he mumbles. You don't even fight his words, realising that he didn't have any semblance of idea of how hard you'd worked to make everything perfect for Christmas.

"You haven't even apologised," you huff, kicking off your shoes and wandering towards the kitchen, cringing at the pain that still remains in your lower back.

"What for?!" He asks, sounding mystified. "Hardly my fault I slipped, ice is icy funnily enough."

"Oh piss off Fred, you know it wasn't the ice," you spit out, reaching for a mug as you flick the kettle on again.

"I've had enough of this," he says angrily, marching right back out of the hall towards the front door that slams shut behind him. The silence that follows is almost suffocating as you stand looking at the place he stood only moments before.

The tears flowed freely now, though the gut wrenching sobs had stopped eventually. It had been around half an hour since your argument with Fred when you walked over to the door to attempt to reconcile, not wanting the stupid argument to ruin the last night in your home before tomorrows journey. It was getting late and you wanted to go to bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally and knew that stopping off somewhere tomorrow for a replacement gift for Fleur would only make your wake up call earlier. You sucked in a sharp breath when you stood up from the sofa, feeling a sharp pain shoot right up your pelvis and down your leg right to your toes, the cramping immediately resuming. You let out a few steady breaths and grabbed hold of your bump as if to help calm the pain and waddled towards the door.

When you saw that the car was no longer outside, with no sign of Fred anywhere and only tyre marks in the snow as proof, you knew instantly that he had left. Tears began to prickle at your eyes and you closed the door slowly with a weak shove, the tears coming once again. Fred had never left during an argument, had never just upped and decided to flee. You felt miserably guilty for your overreaction, even if it did seem deserved, and wished more than anything that you could just fix it and go to bed.

You went to make another cup of tea, needing the warmth and the comfort from the drink, the fire having long since died and the room feeling uncommonly chilly. A sharp pain suddenly radiated through your lower abdomen, like a crushing pain that tightened around your hips like a belt that was too small and you gasped, clutching hold of the counter as you waited for it to disappear. During your scramble to reach out for something solid to rest upon, the mug had been knocked to the side and you watched as your favourite mug tumbled to the floor, splintering at your feet into little ceramic shards.

The pain was increasing rather than disappearing and you felt the tightness all over your bump now. When it finally began to abate after a few seconds, your legs felt wobbly and you felt shaken, heart pounding and breathing unsteady as you tried to calm yourself. You barely managed to make it over to the sofa when the pain started again, radiating through your body with increasing intensity that felt like a wave slow building until it crashed upon the sand. You gripped the arm of the sofa as the apex of the pain consumed your body again, this time lasting even longer than before.

When the pain peaked, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the sofa, you realised with a sheer sense of panic that you were completely alone. You couldn't use the floo, couldn't apparate and now you also had no car to get you anywhere or to anyone. Your owl was delivering a message to the Burrow and still hadn't returned, clearly having flown to Wheezes instead, leaving you owl-less. You took long steady breaths when you could, relishing in the few moments of relief that came between your pains. It couldn't be labour, it just couldn't, even though logically you knew that it was more than possible as babies came when they were ready, not when you wanted them to.

You sighed when you felt another wave of pain starting in your extremities, rapidly increasing to a crushing pain around you back and in your last parts. The pain made you breathless and you could hardly believe how quickly things had escalated as you knelt on the floor trying to keep yourself calm but failing miserably in the middle of what you absolutely would not believe, but logically knew, was labour. You choked on a sob when you thought of Fred, that he'd left you at your most vulnerable time, that he'd miss the birth of your child and that you'd have to do this all alone. The plans you'd made for your birth were now completed ruined and you would no longer have the support of Molly, who had been overjoyed at being asked to support you. She was more than just your mother-in-law and after birthing seven children, there was no one else you trusted to guide you through labour. But now completely alone and trapped at home, would you survive? Women died in childbirth all the time, especially when birthing alone. What if the baby didn't survive? What if the cord was around their neck and you didn't know?

Almost like a switch had gone off in your mind, you focused on the task at hand, pushing all fear inducting thoughts out of your head and focused instead of what would be needed if you were going to do this alone. Warm towels, water, somewhere comfy for you to labour, somewhere warm and soft for the baby, baby clothes and a multitude of blankets. You looked towards the stairs and took a deep breath, trying your hardest to time yourself so that in the brief moments of reprieve you could climb the stairs to fetch what you'd need.

It took much longer than expected to collect everything you'd need, having to stop multiple times to cling onto the nearest surface and ride out the wave of pain that you could tell was getting worse and closer together. You'd barely made it down the stairs when another wave of pain hit you, making you stumble down the last step. You cried out at the searing pain that shot through you at the inadvertent step you'd taken, a lighting bolt of agony coursing through your pelvis, around your bump and settling deep in your groin. Your breath was shaky as you tried to recover from the pain but it didn't wane this time and instead focused purely in the centre of your pelvis. You notice by chance that it's past midnight now, the jingle of the little Christmas-themed muggle clock taunting you as to the announcement of a new day. Christmas Eve and you were alone, left to give birth entirely alone.

It takes everything you gave no to cry out, focusing instead on taking deep breaths and emitting a low groan as a way of vocalising your pain. You eventually make it back to the sofa, surrounded by all the things you'd need and allow yourself a little sob as you look at the equipment surrounding you, like an ominous scene of foreboding. Whatever motivation and strength you had previously momentarily slipped away and you allowed yourself to cry, both for the unrelenting pain and for your heartbreaking situation.

You let out another cry when a pain much stronger and more direct than before hits you full on, a crushing feeling from the inside that makes you feel lightheaded. You scramble to look down when you suddenly feel something wet beneath you, bringing your hand up to your legs to try and decipher what had caused it. You fight through another pain to pry off your wet bottoms and cast them aside, praying that you don't see any blood between your thighs. It's clear, the liquid that drips down your thighs, small sudden gushes turning to small drops as you battle to get a towel underneath you.

You're on all fours again, trying your hardest to take stabilising breaths when you hear the sound of the front door open.

"Fred!" You cry out in hope and desperation, the wail that falls from your lips an accumulation of the physical and emotional pain. It's the scream that you had wanted so desperately to let out as your body burns internally.

He's beside you in seconds and couldn't have been quicker if he'd apparated between the door and the living room. Your head falls forward as another contraction takes over, the sudden need to push consuming every instinct within you.

"I'm here sweetheart, I'm here it's okay," he coos, his hand instinctively reaching for your lower back as you circle your hips, trying desperately to bring relief.

You look up into his eyes and can see that he looks completely torn, eyes washing over your form as his mind whirls trying to formulate a plan. He looks completely overwhelmed under the surface, as much as he's pretending to be calm, panicked by the sudden chance in circumstances.

"Look sweetheart, I need to fetch mum, I'll be back in five minutes tops, I'll apparate right there and right back, can you handle that?"

He barely gets the words out before you scramble to reach out for him, clutching the bottom of his shirt desperately as you cringe from the movement of your torso.

"No please Freddie, please don't leave me alone again," you beg, already crying from the thought alone as you cling into him, tears streaming down your face. You're terrified of being alone again, desperate for him to stay by your side. You're scared and in pain, unable to think clearly.

"I won't leave," he says with a nod, trying to calm you, his brows knitting together as he tries to think of a backup. It's too late to drive you to St Mungo's and there's no way to side along apparate with you safely, especially now that labour had begun.

He does the only thing he can think of and pulls out his wand to cast his patronus, watching with a dwindling sense of hope that it would reach its destination quickly.

He pockets his wand again and turns his full attention back to you, trying to push some pressure into your back to relieve the pain in anyway he can, gently reminding you to take slow and deep breaths. There's so much that he needs to say to you, to apologise for, but that can wait until later, knowing that his focus had to be on you right now.

"Fred I need to push," you say with staggered breaths, a thin sheet of sweat covering your forehead.

"I know sweetheart, just a couple more minutes okay?" He says, still squatting down beside you. He prays to Merlin and to anyone else that might be listening for this to go well, for his patronus to have worked and failing that, for it to be an easy birth. He wasn't prepared for this, just a prankster turned businessman that had no knowledge of women's bodies beyond putting the baby there... getting it out was a completely different matter. 

"That's it sweetheart, you are doing so well, I'm so proud of you," he says, pushing back your hair that had stuck to your sweaty head, reaching for one of the little hand towels towels and enchanting it so that it was wet and cool before rubbing it softly over your forehead. You moan out and he hardly knows if it's because of the cooling sensation or because of the pain, but when you pull his washcloth holding hand back up to your forehead, he's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You are so strong princess, you're doing so well," he coos, trying his hardest to support you in your time of need. Truthfully, he was baffled how your body was doing this. You looked like you were in excruciating pain but yet you still carried on for the sake of the baby, your strength and resilience astounding him.

He jolts when he hears the telltale roar of flames in the fireplace and his heart leaps at the thought, had his patronus worked?

"Where is my, oh my dear!" Molly Weasley steps out of the floo induced flames of their fireplace and directly into the living room, giving herself a good shake as she spots her daughter in law on all fours in obvious labour. She pulls out her wand and casts a spell over herself that cleans off any sign of fireplace soot, then blasts the fireplace so that the regular flames resume to heat the home.

"Oh my dear," she rushes over, moving to kneel beside her daughter in law whose face scrunched up in pain, a silent scream of anguish falling from her lips.

"You should have got me sooner!" She points an accusing finger at her son who looks equal parts guilty and mortified as she strikes your hair out of your face, her eyes flicking between concern and anger between the two of you.

"I... I told him it wouldn't be yet," you stammer, hardly able to form the words. "I need to push!"

"Fred make yourself useful! Just like your father sat idly about, fetch some more towels and pillows from the bed, honestly you men." Molly surges into caring mode and for once Fred does exactly as she says without any backchat or hesitation. Her very presence is reassuring to you and you feel instantly calmed just by having her by your side.

"Well I have to say it, you do make beautiful babies," Molly coos as she looks at the three of you huddled together on the bed. Fred looks tired but peaceful, his arm wrapped protectively around you as your new baby stays latched on to your breast, bundled in soft blankets that her grandma had knitted especially for her. You're exhausted but overwhelmingly happy, and perhaps a little bit shocked by how quickly everything had progressed throughout the day and night.

"Right I'm off, as long as you're all okay? Oh I can't wait to tell your father he'll be overjoyed! I'm only an owl away if you need anything and I mean that, yes?"

"Thank you, for allowing me to experience this. I have a feeling this little one will be my favourite yet," Molly smiles as she leans down to glide her fingers across the little one's cheek lovingly. She looks up to you and smiles warmly, leaning down to give you a kiss on top of your head. "And very well done dear, you did brilliantly."

Fred walks his mother out, knowing that she had never liked apparating and would be using the floo to get home. You can hear their voices as they go downstairs but you can't hear what's being said and you look down at the cooing baby in your arms, watching her closed eyes and quick but steady breaths. She really is perfect, her little button nose, long lashes and tuft of distinctive red hair that was currently hidden beneath her little hat. 10 fingers, 10 toes and a striking resemblance to her dad that after the intense labour you'd just endured felt like a hilarous but tiny smack in the face.

When Fred returns, he's beaming. He pauses, leaning against the doorframe as he looks at the sight before him, his girls.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?" He asks, gently climbing onto the bed beside you.

"Exhausted," you say with a laugh, trying hard not to jiggle the little one too much with your laughter. "But I'm happy."

"Me too. Here, let me take her so you can get some rest."

You want to protest but you're worried your eyes will close at any second even though you're trying your hardest to keep them open, your body just too exhausted. You hand Fred the sleeping baby, passing her over gently like she could shatter at any moment from being so fragile and within moments of your head touching the pillow, you're out like a light.

"Wait till you meet your uncle George, and auntie Ginny, and uncle Percy, and Ron, and Charlie and Bill... there's a lot of them to remember I know, but it's mainly uncle George and Auntie Angelina you have to remember kid. Don't even get me started on the others, aunt Hermione, uncle Harry, auntie Fleur and then there's your granny and grandad."

"Trying to bore her back to sleep with your family tree?" You smile, noticing Fred and your little girl cuddled together in the little armchair in the corner next to her bassinet. He huffs a laugh, turning to you with so much adoration in his eyes that it momentarily leaves you breathless.

"Just getting her up to speed," he smirks, reaching down with his hand to grab her hand gently, "you going to say good morning to your beautiful mummy?" He gently manipulated her hand so that she gives you a little wave and you laugh, sitting up in bed with a slight wince.

"So I guess Fred Jr is off the table now eh?" He says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he stands up from the chair, bringing your daughter over to you, her face a perfect picture of contentment.

"It was never on the table," you say with a smirk, greedily reaching for your daughter.

"Well you surprised us little one," Fred says to his daughter as she begins to stir. "Thought we'd be naming you something new yearsey, but you're a little Christmas Angel."

As if the concept of time and days had just returned to you, you realise that your daughter was born on Christmas Eve, your own little Christmas miracle.

"Holly?" Fred suggests, your nose scrunching up at the suggestion, not liking how obvious it was.

"What about Evangeline?" You ask, looking down at the sweet face, trying to weight up what name suited her the most. "Nickname Eve or Evie?"

"Evangeline Weasley..." Fred muses, as if trying it out for himself, "I love it." He beams, as if the missing puzzle piece has just slotted in to place.

You had a strange relationship with the man. On one hand you thought he was irritating and rude but on the other he was handsome and surprising selfless. You’d been working with both Keir and Devlon to enact various reforms passed down by Rhysand and Feyre. Keir had been virtually impossible to work with and refused to meet any of the High Lord and Lady’s demands. Devlon resisted at first, mostly out of spite, but eventually came around. He’d been more aggressive in stopping wing-clipping and had the females on a training schedule to integrate them into the fighting forces. You gave each other a hard time but in the end you respected one another. Still, Devlon’s contempt for everyone in Velaris had the ability to ruin the celebration.

You sat in the library at the House of Wind, waiting for the arrival of Court members. The latest installment in Nesta’s favorite romance series just came out and you were attempting to finish it so you could discuss with her. Unfortunately, it seemed that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

The doors to the library opened and Cassian approached the chair you were sitting in. From the look on his face, you could tell what he was going to say. “They’ve arrived,” he said glumly. He already looked annoyed and it had only been a few moments. His jaw clenched tight and he stomped around the room.

Slowly, you closed the book and set it aside before getting up. Walking up to Cassian, you patted his arm. “Let me handle it and try not to kill anyone will you,” you said with a pleading look. For some reason, Keir tolerated you better than most members of the Inner Court so it was best him and Devlon were left to you.

Cassian sneered at the thought of Keir and Devlon. “I make no promises.” You simply rolled your eyes at him before exiting the room. Cassian’s stomping footsteps followed after you.

You walked into the foyer and they were already arguing with one another. It had been so long since Keir and Devlon had been together that you’d forgotten how much they truly loathed one another. The contempt they had for one another surpassed their hatred of Rhysand.

Keir’s lips were pulled back into a snarl. Devlon strained so hard to keep control that the muscles in his neck bulged. “The fact that you,” Keir, eyes filled with hatred, surveyed the other Illyrians, “vermin were even invited is an outrage.”

Devlon’s siphons flickered in rage but you stepped in between the males before anything further could happen. “Now Keir, Rhysand has already stated that any provocations or fights will be met with the most severe punishment,” you said calmly, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

“It isn’t me you should be worried about,” Keir spat, “it’s that brute.” He nodded over your shoulder at Devlon.

“I think we both know that isn’t true,” you said. Once you figured Keir out, he was relatively easy to handle. The one thing Keir loved, being perceived as a threat. “If you make your way to your quarters, a lovely spread of Velaris’ finest delicacies has been prepared for you.” With a one last glare to Devlon, Keir reluctantly headed off to his quarters.

You watched Keir leave before turning around to address Devlon. You expected to meet his eyes but they were staring below your eyes and directly at your chest.

“What are you looking at,” you questioned Devlon.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” He nodded toward the sweater you were wearing. You’d donned the ugly Christmas sweater Feyre had purchased in an attempt to be festive.

“What? It’s my Christmas sweater,” you said proudly displaying the sweater.

He quirked his eyebrow and continued to look at the sweater, then he burst into laughter. “Oh shut up,” you said as you slapped his arm, “it’s a tradition.” You simply stood there glaring at him while he continued to laugh for another minute.

Walking in the opposite direction of Keir, you escorted Devlon to his quarters. You’d decided to put Devlon in the same hall as your room. Mainly, to keep Keir and Devlon separated.

“Well the party begins at 7pm. Try not to be late,” you said as you turned to leave.

Devlon lightly touched your arm, stopping you from leaving. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. You nodded and continued out of the room. The journey to your room was incredibly short since it was right across the hall from Devlon’s.

The party was in full swing. Couples were dancing. People were drinking. Food was passing by on plates effortlessly floating through the air. It had taken days, but you’d made enough cookies to feed the entire party and then some. Trees decked with ornaments and lights were placed around the room. One giant tree stood at the front of the room. Feyre and Elain had decorated it all morning in red and green ornaments. Golden lights twinkled between the branches.

Devlon stepped up beside you, two cups of hot chocolate clasped in his hands. “Here,” he said as he handed you one of the drinks.

You shot him a smile as you took the hot chocolate. It had a slight hint of peppermint when you took a whiff of the sweet scent. You looked up at him surprised. “You remembered?”

A few months ago, you and Devlon were working late on expansion plans for Windhaven’s housing. He’d offered to make some hot chocolate as a treat once you finally finished. You had requested a few drops of mint oil in yours since that’s what you’d loved as a child. You hadn’t expected him to remember that little bit of information.

Devlon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal,” he said with a wave of his hand. Your chest felt warm and it wasn’t from the hot chocolate.

Hours flew by without you even noticing, you were so engrossed in Devlon. There was an ease in talking to Devlon. You always knew what you were gonna get, he was consistent that way. There were a few surprises that night though, like the fact that he walked you back to your quarters. Yes, his were right across the hall but he walked closer than normal, his fingers constantly brushing yours.

He stopped you when you arrived outside both your quarters. He looked nervous. His hands were clammy when they brushed against yours and he kept mussing his hair. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a small black box.

“Um, I got you something,” he said before placing the box in your hand.

A silver ring in the shape of a bat sat in the center of the little box. Stunned you said, “I love it…”

Devlon studied your face for a moment. “No, no you hate it,” he said. “Pretend this didn’t happen,” he said as he turned to enter his quarters.

“No,” you yelled as you grasped his arm, “you misunderstand.” He turned back to face you though he looked ready to bolt at any moment. “Back home, if you give someone a ring it means a little bit more. Marriage.”

Panic flashed in Devlon’s eyes. “That’s not wha—”

“I know. I was just surprised at first that’s all. I really do love it, thank you,” you said reassuringly.

Devlon threw his head back and let out a loud sigh. “What’s that,” he said pointing upwards at something on the ceiling.

Sprigs of mistletoe hung, suspended from the ceiling by a red bow just above your heads. “Mistletoe,” you murmured.

“What’s mistletoe,” Devlon questioned.

You felt your face heat at his question. “Well, traditionally, when two people stand below it they are supposed to kiss. It’s a silly traditi—.” You were cut off by Devlon’s lips pressing against yours. Momentarily stunned, it took you a second to comprehend what was happening. Devlon, the fierce Illyrian commander was actually kissing you. While you surely hadn’t been expecting the night to go this way, you couldn’t say you were upset by the turn of events. You quickly sank into the kiss, wrapping your arms around Devlon’s neck. He reached around and gripped your waist, pulling you in closer. Eventually, you pulled away breathless. Devlon set his forehead gently against yours.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile,” he said through deep breaths, his chest heaving. You nodded in agreement before giving him a light peck on the lips.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a present too but it was delivered to your house in Windhaven,” you said.

Devlon quirked a brow at you, silently asking you what it was. “I got you a punching bag modeled in the likeness of Keir.”

Devlon’s lips were on yours once again but this time for only a moment. “You’re amazing,” he said.

Walking into the Great Hall, you see Sirius picking glumly at his food. The Hall was relatively empty because everyone had gone home for christmas. You, sirius and two third year hufflepuffs were the only ones left at the school.

You sit down on the bench next to him in silence. A few minutes crawl by, you grow extremely bored of it. “Wrackspurt got your tongue?” you say out of the blue. He finally looks at you, eyes glittering in amusement. “Wrack-what?” You wave away the question, answering with one of your own.

“Why are you alone? Where are the rest of the boys?”

He sighed and went back to picking at his food. “They had to go home. Their families wanted them to spend some time at home.”

“Oh.” You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and open your mouth to say something, before Sirius speaks over you. “Tell me, why aren’t you at home?” You laugh aloud at that.

“I thought I wasn’t going home this christmas, so I didn’t catch the train. Turns out I am, so my parents had to arrange with Dumbledore for another one.”

Sirius stares at you intently before asking another question. “What time does your train leave?” “11am tomorrow.” He nods his head in understanding, offering you some of his untouched plate. Picking up a small piece of toast you pop it into your mouth. “Say” You speak through the food in your mouth. Sirius takes one look at you and makes a revolted face. You laugh and quickly swallow before continuing where you left off.

“My family has a spare bedroom, if you want to come over for christmas! They wouldn’t mind!” Sirius’ face lights up in poorly contained excitement. “Really?! You mean it?” He grabs your hand, bouncing up and down in his seat, making you laugh. “I gotta warn you though, my family can be very crazy and loud.”

...

The two of you stood outside Hogsmeade station, waiting for the train. Sirius was feeling more nervous than he cared to admit. ‘What if her family didn’t like him? What if he messed everything up? What if -’ “Hey!” You say, interrupting his thoughts, “feeling nervous?”

He smiles weakly, grateful for the distraction. “Just a little bit.” “Don’t worry” You give him a friendly shove, “I’m sure my family’s gonna love you.”

By the time the train rolled up, you were frozen to the bone. Running onto the train, you instantly sigh with relief when the hot air hits you. Sirius follows behind, looking green. “Who knew the guy who has won Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup for the last 6 years would be nervous to meet a girls family?”

He looks away, pouting “Shut up..” he mumbles.

Shaking your head, you take him by the hand, dragging him the compartment you and your friends normally sit in. “Did you bring anything to do?” You inquire. “It’s gonna be a long 8 hours.” He spreads himself out on the seat opposite you. “I figured I would just sleep most of it.” You pull out your book and settle into your seat. “You do that then.”

Even though Sirius said he was going to sleep, he goaded you into playing a few games of chess. Needless to say, he was an extremely sore loser. “You cheated. Go to jail.” “But that's Monopoly” “Yeah, there’s a jail now. Go to it.” Then he flipped the board. You discontinued playing.

Halfway through the ride, He decided to run up and down the train to stretch. Of course fell over and almost broke his arm. So he just lay there for the rest of the way and slept.

When the train pulled into Kings Cross Station, you stepped on him to wake him up. He tried to grab your foot to pull you down, but he just succeeded in injuring his hand even more. He finally got up, complaining.

As soon as you stepped off the train you felt almost every bone in your body crack. “Try and sound more like a glowstick there love.” Sirius remarked, walking next to you. You just stared him down and cracked your neck.

You turn away before he could retaliate, looking around for your parents. They were in the corner, looking as nervous as the first day they brought you here. “Mum! Dad!” You run up to them, wrapping them in a big hug. You turn back to Sirius and grab his hand to pull him closer. “This is my friend Sirius, he didn’t have anyone to go home to so I brought him home with me.”

Sirius felt even more nervous than before, struggling to meet their eyes. When he did look up, he found them smiling broadly at him. Your mum stuck out her hand to Sirius “I’m Marie Deverport but please just call me Marie, my husband is Samuel.” Sirius hesitantly shook it, absolutely filled with butterflies.

“We’re happy you’re spending Christmas with us! Though, we would’ve liked a little more of a heads up before.” She looked pointedly at their daughter, who hung her head in shame. “But now matter now” Samuel said, waving you and Sirius through the barrier. “Let’s get home.”

When you arrived at your house, Sirius started staring at it in wonder. “It’s so small… small and cosy-looking.” He rushed up the drive, eager to investigate. As soon as it opened, three little kids ran out, screaming at the top of their lungs. They surrounded you, smothering you in hugs and kisses. They kept glancing back at Sirius, whispering stuff which you just laugh off, blushing a little.

Marie let Sirius into the house, telling Y/n to show him around. You walk up to him, hair frazzled and panting a little. “Sorry, my siblings are a handful.” He smiles down at you “I love them.” You smile back at him and lead him up the stairs to his room.

You lean against the doorframe, as he inspects his room. “Christmas Day is a few days. It’s gonna be hectic around here. Sorry about that.” He turns to wink at you “You know I thrive on chaos” you laugh and shove yourself off the frame. “I’ll leave you to unpack now.”

...

Sirius was loving every minute he spent here. From making burning gingerbread cookies, to showing your siblings how to skate. He wished he could stay in this Christmas forever.

Soon, Christmas Day came. Sirius woke up to you frantically dancing around his room singing ‘it’s Christmas’ all in one note. Once he was awake enough for you, you dragged him down to the tree where the two of you and your siblings covered the floor with wrapping paper.

He was overwhelmed by the gifts he got from both his Hogwarts friends and your family. He stood up and asked if he could stand outside for a bit. Outside he drank in the fridged air. Eyes closed, face tilted up towards the cloudy sky. The snowflakes tickled his face, but he didn’t care.

Yeah sure, he had the boys. He had Hogwarts. He had Potter Manor. But never in a million years did he think that a small, mostly muggle family would accept him. Someone who’s family had been killing their kind for centuries. These last few weeks had been so calm and simple for him. For the first time in his life, he lived without magic and saw the beauty in it.

He heard the front door and close softly from behind him. He hastily wiped off the few tears he had on his cheeks. You walked up to stand next to him in the falling snow.

“You okay Siri?” “Yeah, just… overwhelmed.” You snort a little “Overwhelmed by what?” “Just how a simple muggle family can accept me, someone who has come from the longest line of dark wizards and witches.” “Yeah, but you’re not them Sirius.” “I know.” “So stop thinking you are and Just be Sirius. No pure-blood, no Black. Just one of the infamous Marauders.”

The words cut deep, making him emotional again. He looked at you, the snow was in your hair and caught in your eyelashes. You looked ethereal. He blushed a little. When did you start looking this beautiful?

He opened his mouth to say something to distract himself, but you beat him to it. “Let’s go inside now yeah? I don't want to catch a cold and I want you to enjoy the rest of Christmas with me.”

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