The Great Hogwarts Christmas Gift Exchange Debacle of 1996

~The Great Hogwarts Christmas Gift Exchange Debacle of 1996~

Part 3 of 5: Christmas Eve

CRACK!

Oh. You. Well, you've already gone and ruined my fun, haven't you? Honestly - stealing the 'perfect' gift for one's hopelessly self-involved crush from one's own brothers' fledgling shop! It's heinous, that's what it is. What's that? Didn't steal it?! Well, I beg your pardon, little miss smarty-pants, but it certainly didn't look that way to me! Now, since you've already got your gift, what do you expect me to do - tell you he'll like it? Oh, Merlin, I certainly won't do that, oh no, you'll just have to wait and see about that.

But there's someone else who is in much greater need of a gift from you than him, and make no mistake about that. Who? Well, who indeed! My job certainly is not to reveal all secrets to you and make your life easy as pie, is it? No, missy - you still have some work to do, on your own, if you want to find the person most deserving of your gifts. And no, it's not him, not by a long shot. Brush that red hair out of your face and broaden your mind, girl! That's it, there you go. No, broader than that. Broader. Broader...

*********************************************

The occupants of number twelve, Grimmauld Place slept late on the twenty-fourth, breakfasting in small groups that rotated through the kitchen in shifts over the course of the morning, then retreating to various corners of the house to pass the early afternoon playing Wizard's chess, reading, or preparing last-minute gifts.

Lupin awoke to find a note from Snape slipped under his door - Albus had been in touch early that morning, Shacklebolt needed some additional information about a suspected Death Eater in advance of his raid that night, not to hold dinner... and no, he hadn't forgotten, he'd speak to Ms. Granger the following day, and would Lupin mind terribly keeping his own hands off her until then... Lupin crumpled the note up and tossed it in the bin.

Late in the afternoon, they put on their best robes at Lupin's insistence, and gathered in the parlour over several vats of Festive Cheer - the virgin and non-virgin varieties both on hand - before dinner.

Ginny dressed herself carefully in her new robes, the shimmering blue fabric falling off her shoulders in a cascade of colour. She placed a dollop of gloss on her lips and twisted her long hair up in a loose pile on top of her head, fastening it with a silver clip and allowing a few wisps to fall down around her face. After checking all angles in front of the mirror and deciding she looked quite fetching, she headed downstairs with a small box in her pocket.

"Harry?" she said, approaching the object of her affection shyly from across the room.

"What? Oh - hi, Ginny." Harry fumbled with the sleeves of his robes, his eyes darting frantically around the room. They landed on Ron, who looked back, assessed the situation, and gave a helpless shrug - then resumed his attempt to give his gift to a very bored-looking Luna Lovegood.

"I have something for you," Ginny said softly, reaching into her robes for the palm-sized box. "Just something little, you know. Um, Happy Christmas." She blushed and pushed a stray auburn hair out of her face.

"Oh." Harry looked nauseous. "OK, um... thanks, Gin. But you really didn't have to..."

"I know. Just- would you open it?" She smiled up at him.

"Right," Harry managed, looking down at the box and picking the layer of wrapping paper away. He tossed it aside and lifted the lid to see a glittering golden ring lying inside. His stomach dropped to the floor, and he hesitantly raised his gaze to Ginny, forcing a smile. "It's, um- thanks, Ginny. It's nice."

She beamed, then quickly leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek. She pulled back and blushed furiously. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she repeated.

*********************************************

Bloody hell, Harry thought, taking a deep breath. A flipping ring?! What did this mean? Even though he would rather give Snape a personal shampoo than have a chat with Ginny about his utter lack of romantic interest in her, he knew that it had to be done. Now.

"Ginny," he began, his eyes surveying the crowded room. "Um, why don't we go into the kitchen for a minute? I- uh, I want to talk to you."

"Oh! Sure, Harry." Her robes swished around her hips as she followed him out of the room - unaware that Luna's gaze was trained on her back, a frown firmly etched on the other girl's usually placid face.

They reached the kitchen, and Harry shut the door firmly behind them before turning to her solemnly. "Look, Ginny," he began before he could lose his nerve. "I like you, I really do. You're really nice, and, I mean, we've been through a lot together, you know? You- you're really important to me. Like what you said last year that time? You were right: you're the only other person around here who understands what it's like to face Voldemort... and I appreciate that, I really do."

A closed expression fell across Ginny's face.

"But I just..." He sighed and opened the box again, staring helplessly at the shiny golden band. "I can't accept this, OK? A ring is just- it's too much. You're like a sister to me; I can't go out with you. And I definitely can't wear your ring. I- I'm really sorry." He pushed the box back into her hands and chanced a peek at her.

To his surprise, she wasn't crying, and didn't appear overly emotional in any way. Instead, her eyebrows shot up and she assumed a look of pure, bemused incredulity.

Without saying a word, she grabbed the box and pulled the ring out. A soft layer of packaging fell to the floor as the ring was followed by a long white string and an amber-coloured disc. She slipped the band onto the middle finger of her right hand and clutched the disc in her palm. Flashing Harry a loathing smirk, she opened her fingers and let the string unravel, the disc dropping nearly all the way to the floor before yanking itself back up again.

As it rose, a familiar voice sang from the core of it. "Oh my! Hard to get a read on this one... confused, definitely, and wait - is that a hint of embarrassment? Oh yes, there it is, and damned if it's not getting stronger. Pure, unadulterated humiliation, that's what we've got here, Fred."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, George," another voice chimed in. "Would you look at that? I simply didn't think it possible to actually turn the colour of a tomato, but look, he's done it..."

Oh, fuckity fuck, Harry thought in horror. A talking yo-yo?

Ginny deftly caught it again and hid it in her hand to muffle the voices. "It's one of Fred and George's latest inventions," she explained, smirking at him. "Gives you an emotional read on the person you aim it at. Great fun at parties. Reveals all sorts of things that people don't want... revealed." She cocked her head at him, eyes narrowed.

"Ah," said Harry. "Um, I'm sorry, Gin, I thought it was - "

"Yeah," she interrupted. "I know." She rolled the yo-yo up and placed it back in the box, then offered it to him again. "If you think you can accept it, that is," she added frostily.

Harry grimaced. "Yeah. Thanks, Ginny. Uh- do you think we can forget this ever happened?"

Ginny appraised him, arms folded over her chest. "No," she decided. "It needed to be said. Thanks for being honest, Harry." Before he could answer, she turned on her heel and swept out of the kitchen.

He let out a long breath and leaned against the counter, shaking his head miserably. "You're welcome," he muttered to himself, feeling quite like the greatest prat who had ever lived.

*********************************************

He spent several long minutes hiding in the kitchen, feeling sorry for himself and even sorrier for Ginny. Hopefully, he concluded, she would eventually forgive him and they could all move on with their miserable lives. Shaking his head, he gathered his courage and joined the others in the parlour.

He immediately spied Ginny sitting with Luna in a corner, no doubt relaying every detail of what had just happened. Hermione seemed to be consoling Ron on the sofa - and a hasty glance back at Luna confirmed that Ron's gift to her lay half-open on her lap, her attention completely captured now by Ginny and their conversation.

Snape, he noticed with a sigh of relief, was nowhere to be seen. Well, thank Merlin for small miracles.

A hand suddenly landed gently on his shoulder. "Harry?"

He turned to find Lupin watching him uncertainly. "Oh, 'lo, Remus. Happy Christmas," he mumbled. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why Lupin's continued kindness irritated him so much; all he knew was that if the man asked him over to tea one more time -

"I have something for you," said Lupin, bending to retrieve a shoebox-sized package from under the tree.

Oh, great - that Cracker had said that gifts would go to the one person to whom they each most wanted to give them this year... which meant that if Lupin had a gift for him, he must be that person for the man. Bloody hell. Why couldn't he just let it rest, and leave Harry the hell alone?

"It's not- that is... it's not from me," Lupin hurried to explain, as if sensing Harry's thoughts. Harry glanced at him in some surprise, and Lupin scanned the room quickly to make sure the others were occupied in their own conversations before continuing. "It's... from Sirius," he said quietly, dropping his eyes to the package.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Sirius? What do you- but, how?"

"He bought it a long time ago, Harry," Lupin explained, shifting his weight slightly. "He saw it back in the spring, and- and he thought you'd like it." He pushed the package into Harry's hands, suddenly looking very awkward without it.

Harry stared at it, his mouth agape. A thought occurred to him, and he raised his eyes to Lupin again, angry this time. "So you've had it all this time, and you didn't give it to me?"

Lupin looked stricken. "I- oh. Well, I knew it was for Christmas, Harry, so... I don't know. You're right. Maybe I shouldn't have waited till now - I'm sorry. Look, why don't you just open it? I think you'll like it."

Harry frowned and said nothing, but started tearing the wrapping paper away despite his reservations. He lifted the lid of the box and vaguely heard Lupin mutter a spell and caught a glimpse of his hand waving.

At once, fourteen tiny figures on broomsticks raced out of the box and positioned themselves just above the coffee table, half of them wearing miniature orange and black robes, the other half grey and white. Another figure followed them a second later, dressed in black and white stripes and clutching a box no bigger than Harry's thumbnail.

"Players, ready?" the tiny referee shouted, as he fumbled to unlock the box. The two teams flew into position and waited anxiously for the signal. "Let's... plaaaaay.... QUIDDITCH!" the referee hollered, drawing out each word dramatically, then tearing the lid off the box and releasing a tiny Quaffle, two Bludgers, and a truly miniscule Golden Snitch.

The parlour occupants had all stopped dead in mid-conversation at the appearance of the players, and now they watched, riveted, as a full Quidditch match unfolded before their very eyes.

"Bloody hell, Remus, it's the Cannons!" Harry's eyes were wide and a grin had broken out of his face. "Ron, look at this!"

"Bloody hell," repeated Ron slowly, eyes glued to the match.

"Each of the real players Charmed their piece individually, so the figures are spelled to play exactly like the originals," Lupin explained. "The opposing team is programmed with a standard spell, but the Cannons are player-specific."

Harry turned to him incredulously. "Really? How did he do that? Sirius never told me he knew Cannons players!"

"Oh, well, he didn't, really... er- just a few, friends of friends from school... it was mostly arranged through the shop - sports stars will do anything for money, you know..." Lupin smiled weakly.

"That must have cost a fortune, then!" Ron exclaimed, tearing his eyes from the match to look at Harry. "It's from Sirius?"

"Yeah!" replied Harry. Having recovered from his initial shock, he was now crouching before the coffee table, eagerly watching the tiny players zip through the air. "Look, Ron, there's Jenkins!"

"Fred and George will never believe this," Ron said, still wide-eyed.

"Nor Charlie," Ginny piped up, joining the boys on the floor in front of the table. "He's the original Quidditch fan. How long will they play for, Remus?" She looked up at him.

"As long as you want them to," he answered, then interrupted them briefly to demonstrate the spells needed to start and stop the match. When he crept out of the parlour a moment later, leaving the group on the floor to watch the spectacle, Harry didn't even notice he had gone.

*********************************************

"I mean, I'm no great chef either, but beans on toast - two nights in a row? Honestly. When the kids said they wanted to cook this week, I didn't think this was the only thing they'd know how to make!" Lupin shook his head sadly as he washed sudsy water over a pot and handed it to Arthur to dry. He paused to reach for his glass of whiskey on the counter and downed a shot before fumbling for another plate.

The other man chuckled. "Sorry I missed it. Molly wouldn't let me come to check on the kids till I'd eaten my share of her steak-and-kidney pie."

"Oh," Lupin moaned, collapsing dramatically against the sink. "Now you're just being cruel. Your wife is easily the best cook in the entire Wizarding World, mate."

"Quit your complaining," Arthur scolded. "Hermione said that if you hadn't been whining so much, she wouldn't have forbidden you from using magic on those dishes."

Lupin grinned despite himself. Hermione seemed an awful lot like Molly at times. After the enforced formality of the afternoon, he'd allowed the kids a casual supper - saving the traditional Christmas feast for the following day.

"And anyway," Arthur pointed out, "you're lucky the kids are here this year, so that Molly has an excuse to cook a goose for you tomorrow."

Lupin's face brightened. "Ah yes! Good man, sending your children to me so that I can lure your wife here to cook my Christmas goose." He furrowed his brow for a moment, then reached for the whiskey bottle. "That didn't sound good," he conceded. "But you know what I mean."

Arthur laughed heartily and took the bottle from Lupin, pouring them both another round. "That's quite all right, old chap. I'd venture a guess that you would much prefer your Potions Master to my wife any day, as far as any cooking of your goose goes?" He appraised Lupin knowingly as he raised the glass to his lips.

Lupin stared at him for a stunned moment, then groaned and threw the dishcloth into the sink with a splash. "How long have you known?" he moaned. "Does everyone know?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh gods, I'll never live this down..."

Arthur chuckled again, settling himself against the counter and sipping his drink. "Now, now, calm down, Remus. I don't think anyone else knows. You two are remarkably discreet."

"Then how..."

"Energy, I guess." Arthur shrugged. "I could just sort of sense it. I've always been quite good at things like that, you know, even back at school." He took another sip and looked thoughtfully at the countertop. "Let's see, there was James and Sirius, you and Snape, Alice and Frank, and even me and Molly - see, I knew she was the one for me, because - "

"Wait - " Lupin choked. "James and Sirius?!"

Arthur's mouth clamped shut. "Well, I don't know for sure! I mean, I have no proof, and maybe nothing ever happened, but those two definitely had that energy about them." He smiled and looked at Lupin. "Just like you and Snape have always had. You two weren't together back at school, were you?"

"Gods, no!" cried Lupin. "I hated him back then."

Arthur smiled again. "Oh no, mate, you didn't."

Lupin was silent for a moment, considering this, then he shook his head in disbelief and grabbed the bottle again, raising it straight to his lips. "To your intuition," he toasted Arthur before drinking deeply.

"Careful there, friend," Arthur warned good-naturedly. "I'd rather not carry you to bed." He winked at his friend, before dropping his voice to a more serious tone. "You do realise that he's mad about you, right?"

Lupin coughed. "Snape?" he sputtered. "We... we have a good time, that's all." His features closed off and he resumed his contemplation of the dishes. He did not need to pour his heart out to Arthur about how much Snape meant to him, and how little he figured he meant to Snape.

"It's none of my business," Arthur conceded, backing away slightly with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "But what I see isn't just 'a good time,' Remus. There's desire pouring off that man in buckets, certainly, and off you too, by the way. But it's also more than that. Much more."

Lupin stared into his empty glass, afraid of what Arthur would see on his face if he looked up.

"You should get some rest," said Arthur gently, placing a hand on Lupin's shoulder as he leaned in to put his glass in the sink. "Molly'll bring that goose over early afternoon, eh?"

Lupin smiled and clapped his friend on the back. "Thanks, Arthur," he said quietly. "Happy Christmas."

*********************************************

CRACK!

Well, let's see, then... who have we got here? Ah yes, I remember you, my dear, quite well, in fact. Oh indeed, we've met before - you don't remember? No, I suppose you wouldn't... you were younger then, just a child, a sad, heartbroken child. It was terrible of her to do it right before Christmas, really, very inconsiderate of her... what's that? Well, don't be silly, child, of course she meant to do it! She was a great witch indeed - no, she'd never gotten a spell wrong in her life before that one. Just never happy with herself, was she? Your poor father - he could never convince her that he loved her just as she was. She was certain she needed to change her nose, her hair, her clothes, everything. Always trying to reach some imagined ideal, wasn't she?

Well, at any rate, I can see already that you aren't like her, are you, dear? No, your father has done a fine job with you, raising a daughter completely oblivious to the seductive charms of that bandit known as self-doubt. Oh, you know exactly who you are and what you want, don't you? Yes, that's very clear to me. So, what are you waiting for? No, forget Diagon Alley - you don't need to spend money in shops to get the perfect gift. You already know what you want to give her for Christmas this year.

What's that? Well, no, you're right, I'm afraid - she's not ready yet. But she will be, my dear, she will be - and sooner than you think. Oh, yes indeed, much sooner. And when she finally realises it, oh! The mountains themselves may as well just collapse into the sea, for none shall ever reach higher than the two of you will, together...

*********************************************

Luna tiptoed quietly down the stairs, careful not to make a sound and alert Ron to the fact that she hadn't gone to bed early, as she'd told him. He and Harry seemed to be involved in yet another round of Wizard's chess, and in between the noise of their clobbering knights or whatever happens in those infantile boy games, Luna had heard the unmistakable sniffling of a distraught young woman trying to keep her sadness to herself.

She crept around the corner to the main sitting room, where the great tree and other decorations had been set up (after the carnage wrought by Ginny's miscast spell had been cleared away), and found Ginny huddled on the floor in the doorway, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face wet with tears.

Despite Luna's attempt at stealth, Ginny immediately sensed her presence and glanced up. She wiped a hand hastily across her face and forced a laugh. "Gods, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" she muttered.

Luna smiled as she settled herself down on the floor beside her friend. "No," she said softly. "You're anything but that."

"Well, go on, then," Ginny said to her bitterly. "Go on and tell me how stupid I am to let a ridiculous boy ruin my Christmas."

Luna laughed quietly. "Oh no, Ginny," she replied. "I couldn't do that. Boys have been ruining Christmases since the beginning of time. You really shouldn't think that yours is the first."

Ginny shook her head and chuckled. "You're so weird," she said fondly, looking up at Luna.

For her part, the episode with Harry had rattled Ginny more than she'd first thought. She hadn't counted on company tonight, but now that Luna was here, she couldn't imagine anyone she'd rather have console her. That girl had such a knack for understanding everything about Ginny, seemingly without even trying. She looked at Luna carefully now, taking in the long blonde hair hanging freely over her shoulders, the shorter wisps framing her round face and bright blue eyes. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree across the room gave the girl an ethereal glow, and Ginny found herself cocking her head to the side and just gazing at Luna's smooth golden skin for a moment.

"Thanks," answered Luna with ease, as Ginny's eyes snapped back down to her lap. "But Harry was a very bad choice," she added. "He's really quite self-involved. It's not surprising that he assumed you wanted to marry him."

Ginny let out a chuckle despite herself. "Yeah," she agreed. "You should have seen him. 'Uh, you're like my sister, Ginny,' " She did her best tongue-tied Harry impression. " 'Uh, why don't we go fight Voldemort together instead of dating.' " She began to giggle, and Luna joined her.

"See?" Luna said after a moment, cautiously resting a hand on Ginny's knee. "Boys are utterly ridiculous. No offence, but if your brother tells me one more Quidditch story, I might have to hex him."

Ginny snorted. "Yeah. I'd help you," she agreed, falling silent as her gaze dropped to Luna's hand on her leg. A tingling sensation had begun to radiate through her body, from the epicentre of her friend's light touch. She raised her eyes again to Luna's, neither of them speaking for a long moment. Ginny felt soft fingers begin to move against her knee and she gasped.

"You're not like a sister to me, Ginny," Luna told her calmly, pushing a golden strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. "And I definitely don't want to fight Voldemort with you. I just want..."

She trailed off and clamped her mouth shut as Ginny swallowed, her eyes suddenly drawn inexplicably to that mouth, to Luna's rosy lips, the bottom one held loosely between her teeth. "Luna...?" she breathed uncertainly, clasping her hand over top of the other girl's before she even knew what she was doing.

Luna moved her free hand to Ginny's cheek, cupping it softly.

"Maybe, um... maybe penises are overrated after all, yeah?" ventured Ginny nervously. Her stomach had suddenly fallen completely out of her body, and she felt compelled to keep talking. If she fell silent, if her mouth stopped forming words, she was certain she knew exactly what would happen - what her mouth would do.

Luna didn't laugh, but simply smiled knowingly and nodded. "I've been trying to tell you that," she pointed out, her voice matter-of-fact, but also tinged with a breathy whisper. She started to lean forward, then paused and glanced upwards - to the leafy garland hanging from the arch above the doorway - and grinned mischievously.

Ginny followed her eyes, and suddenly felt something snap in place inside her chest. She lowered her gaze from the mistletoe and appraised Luna with a new feeling of freedom racing through her veins. This wasn't like it was with Harry, not in the slightest... Harry had never looked at her like this... and she had definitely never looked at Harry this way, wanted Harry this way... why hadn't she realised this before?

When their fingers clasped together and their lips met at last, Ginny felt as though the skies had opened up and allowed a sheaf of sunlight through just for her, for them. She revelled in the warmth and golden luminosity, her other hand buried in Luna's hair, and without pause, without anxiety, without apprehension, she embraced the light and let herself fall... down, down, down, forever - never wanting the exquisite feeling to stop.

*********************************************

It was almost midnight by the time Arthur had left and Lupin had finished cleaning up in the kitchen, and the other occupants of the house seemed to be fast asleep. He headed upstairs on wobbly legs, the booze affecting him more than he would have thought.

"Whoa," he called softly to no one in particular, as he grabbed the banister to steady himself. He paused, Arthur's ridiculous words still swimming in his head. Snape, harbouring more than just desire for him? It had begun as just sex, to be sure. Incredible, bone-shattering, breathtaking sex - but just sex, all the same.

Every so often he thought that things had evolved past that, especially since the summer, since Sirius... Well. He hadn't felt much up to shagging right after that, so he hadn't really been surprised to find that Snape had disappeared from the radar. That abandonment might have hurt more than anything else, actually - not that he ever expected Snape to mourn someone he hated so much, nor to endure the tears of those who did.

But it had still taken a long time to forgive that, and only in the past few months had they really settled into an ease with each other that Lupin hoped was more than just sex, but couldn't be sure.

They had never actually talked about it.

Suddenly, standing in the middle of the staircase, clutching the railing as though it held him upright, Lupin felt an unbearable desire to go to Snape, right that second - to ask him, to kiss him, to touch him... to apologise for their stupid argument earlier. And above all, to look into his eyes once and for all and find out where he stood with the man. He knew Snape was here; he'd heard him come in after dinner and go straight upstairs.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a second in an effort to dilute the alcohol in his brain, he bolted up the stairs and turned towards the guest wing. They had sworn to keep their hands to themselves while the kids were in the house, but fuck it - they'd already broken that rule, and anyway, this was too important. He was suddenly possessed with a mad desire to tell Snape everything - to confess exactly how he felt about him, to admit that the man meant more to Lupin than anyone else ever had, and more than anyone else ever would.

He just wished he could remember which bedroom Snape had taken.

He crept silently down the corridor, counting doors. Yes, Harry and Ron were in that one, he decided, and Ginny and Luna were over there, third from the right. Yes! He found it - second door on the left, that must be Snape's. Yes - he remembered putting him as far from Harry as possible.

Whispering a silent prayer that he was about to find out that Snape felt the same way he did about their relationship, Lupin quietly turned the knob and slipped into the room.

*********************************************

CRACK!

Ah, my dear girl! Come here now, don't be afraid, I certainly don't bite - not unless you want me to, hmm? Ouch! That hurt, you over-permed vixen! What, a poor Christmas Cracker isn't allowed to compliment a beautiful lady these days? What's that? Well, of course it was a compliment! And in my day, sixteen was definitely old enough for a great many activities, if you can read between my subtle lines, now... Ow! Stop hitting me! Very well. But perhaps you wish to explain to me why you should be permitted to shamelessly chase a man twice your age, while I cannot pursue a lovely girl who is only... well, at the very most... er- one six-hundredth my age? Hmm? No, I thought not.

Well, then, let's have a look at you. Mmm... very nice indeed... oh yes... ahem. I was looking at your mind, you know, so stop assuming such lecherous things about me. Honestly. Now, where was I? Oh yes. So, we already know who your intended recipient is... oh. Haha. Hahaha. Hahahahahahahaha! Oh, dear me. Frankenstein? Surely you're joking! 'The monster within', I suppose? Oh, hahaha. No, it's not that he won't like it, it's just- hahaha. No, no, it will be fine, really. I'm sure of it. Haha. Off with you! Honestly. The things children come up with these days...

*********************************************

One thousand six hundred eighty-four. One thousand six hundred eighty-five. One thousand six hundred eighty-six. One thousand six hundred eighty-seven...

Hermione opened her eyes and pounded her fists into the bed. It was no use; even the old Muggle remedy of counting sheep was not going to put her to sleep tonight. It was Christmas Eve, for one thing - and yesterday she had invited Professor Lupin to come by and ravage her that night, for another. It was all she could do to maintain a façade of normalcy in front of the others last night and all day today, after she had discovered him and Professor Snape in the library last night, and learned that Professor Lupin had already opened the gift and was indeed quite favourably disposed towards it.

She giggled softly to herself as she thought of him. No, not Professor Lupin... it was Remus now. He let her call him Remus. She rolled the word around on her tongue, savouring its syllables. It was the most beautiful name she'd ever heard. She practiced whispering it out loud, her heart skipping a beat at the thought that she might soon be whispering it to him, calling for him, as he moved over her body...

She shuddered and pulled the blankets up to her chin, a flash of doubt streaking through her. Was this really what she wanted? Was she ready to have sex? With Remus? She'd done a fair bit of research on the issue, of course, and was quite certain she knew what to do, but what if she wasn't good enough for him? What if she did something wrong, and he concluded that she was just an inexperienced little girl with a crush? What if... her stomach rolled over... what if he already had some gorgeous witch his own age that he was seeing, that she didn't know about? What if he already had someone who knew exactly what he liked, how to please him?

No. She knew him well, she decided, from their time together in the library at Grimmauld Place. He had never mentioned a woman. And the way he looked at her... well, sixteen years old or not, she was certain that they had enough in common that they could make this work. She was very mature for her age, everyone knew that. She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. He would not laugh at her or dismiss her.

He would come to her tonight. She was positive of it. Hadn't he basically said as much, during that strange, veiled discussion about Frankenstein last night? He had winked at her, told her how much he liked the book... of course he couldn't say more than that, not in front of Professor Snape, but Hermione had sensed exactly what he'd meant.

She sighed and threw back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. This waiting was torturous. She lit a lamp over her bed and wandered over to the mirror in front of her bureau to check her appearance. It wasn't something she normally concerned herself with too much, but tonight was important. She had to look alluring for him. He had to want her.

She had debated getting herself some slippery piece of lingerie for the occasion, but had concluded that it would seem out of place, that maybe he would have second thoughts if he believed she was falsely trying to act older than she was. Instead, she had opted for a sexy-schoolgirl-pyjamas look that she hoped he would appreciate: snug-fitting crimson shorts that barely covered her, and a tight gold tank top that sat very low on her chest.

She regarded herself in the mirror from every angle, nodding with approval. She smoothed her curly hair out of her face and patted the back of it. It was too late to change anything now, she concluded. It would have to do.

Her heart started beating faster as she slipped back into bed and extinguished the torch. Where was he? she thought with impatience.

As soon as she thought it, she heard the door handle turn slowly, stealthily, and a silhouetted man crept wordlessly into her room.

*********************************************

It was happening, she thought with a thrill. It was him, he was here, it was happening.

He moved silently to the bed, his shadow looming over her with promise. "Shhhh," he whispered to her. "It's just me. I know I shouldn't be here, not with this house so full of potential gossipers, but I couldn't stay away. I had to see you tonight."

She pulled the covers up to her chin and nodded, too breathless to speak even if she'd wanted to.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over his face. "Don't say anything, all right? I just- I have some things that I need to say first."

She shivered at his proximity to her and nodded again. He was so warm, settled in beside her like this, so strong, so perfect...

"I need you to know how I feel about you," he began, his voice low and urgent. "I know you might think this is just about sex, but it's not - for me, it's not."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

"I know there's desire between us, we both know that - it's so strong it radiates off of us, apparently." He gave a small half-laugh. "I think everyone can sense it, it's that powerful. It's just... look, we both know that what we have is incredible, unique, unbelievable. But there's more than that - there's..." He took a deep breath. "There's also love."

Hermione gasped.

"Shhh - don't say anything yet. Please, this is hard for me. Let me finish." He sighed wearily and placed a gentle hand on the thick blankets over her stomach. "I love you. You're everything I want in my life, and I know we seem like an unlikely pair, but I don't care if people accept us or not. I'm tired of sneaking around, hiding how I feel. I want you - I want to be with you. And I need to know how you feel about me. We've never talked about this, in all this time, and I think it's something we need to do."

He paused, his hand roaming down to Hermione's thigh now.

"You, um- you can say something now," he whispered uncertainly. "Unless I've just gone and fucked this right up and scared you to death with my ill-advised emotional confessions." He forced a chuckle, but Hermione sensed his nervousness.

She tried to speak but found her throat had completely closed off. When she opened her mouth, all that came out was a low moan.

"I'll take that as a positive sign," Lupin said with relief, rising briefly from the bed. Hermione's heart stopped for about the fifth time that night as she watched him pull his jumper over his head, the midnight glow outside the window revealing an impossibly firm torso and powerful chest - but stopping just short of the bed, which remained in shadows.

He climbed back onto the bed, boldly now, straddling her thighs and trapping her body underneath him. All that separated them was the thick winter blanket. "Enough talk," he breathed, his voice low and trembling with desire. "Let me show you how I feel. I need you. I think I've been waiting for you my whole life."

"Oh, Remus!" Hermione exclaimed at last, finding her voice. She sat up and flung her arms around him, planting a deep, passionate kiss on his lips, her arms tight around his shoulders, her tongue slipping easily into his waiting mouth. She thought she would melt into a puddle of pleasure right there on the bed just from kissing him, from hearing his words, his confession of love for her. It wasn't just about sex! As much as she wanted him, she was also delighted to hear that he had fallen for her, for her personality, not just her body. He didn't want to take advantage of this night to have sex with her; he loved her, he wanted to be with her. It was the best Christmas present she could ever have received.

Until she was suddenly pushed back onto the bed as the man in front of her jumped clear across the room, shrieking with alarm. "Aaaaahh! Hermione?!" he cried incredulously. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Her eyes bulged. "I- what? What's wrong?" she stammered.

He fumbled against the wall for a second and Hermione heard him whisper, "Lumos!" The end of his wand ignited, bathing the room in a soft white light, and Hermione saw that his face was contorted into an expression of pure shock.

"Remus?" she asked tentatively. "Are you all right? Come back over here, love."

"Hermione!" he hollered. "What the fuck are you doing in this room?!"

"Professor!"

"This is no time for polite language, Hermione," he insisted, his breath coming rapidly. "I thought- I- you were supposed to be- oh, fuck." He leaned back against the wall and banged his head into it. "You- you kissed me!" he said accusingly after a moment's pause. "What the hell are you doing kissing me?!"

Hermione sat up in the bed, narrowing her eyes at him. "What the fuck - " she drew the unfamiliar word out pointedly - "are you doing coming into my bedroom at midnight, declaring your love for me, and taking your shirt off if you don't want to be kissed?"

"This isn't supposed to be your bedroom!" he cried, then covered his face with his hands. "Oh gods..."

Oh. Oh no. He meant to say... all those things... to someone else. Someone else in this house. Hermione felt a wave of nausea rise in her stomach. But who? Ginny? Luna? Good grief - Harry?? She gulped and pushed that thought way, way down. That was impossible.

"But you came because you got my letter," she whispered, wishing she could disappear right into the bed and never be seen again.

He lifted his hand slightly and peeked out. "Your letter," he repeated slowly, his mind obviously working very hard to place that item in his memory.

"My letter!" she cried angrily. "And the book - Frankenstein? Remember? You told me earlier how much you liked it! I thought that meant you were going to come tonight, like I asked you to in my letter!" She fell back against the sheets, tears stinging her eyes. What had happened? Why didn't he get the letter? And more importantly, who the hell else in this house did he want to confess his love to, if not her?

"Your letter," he repeated, comprehension dawning on him. He walked slowly back over to the bed and sat down, maintaining a careful distance from her. "Hermione," he asked gravely, "to whom did you address that letter?"

She looked up at him. "To you, you raving lunatic!" she sputtered. "Who do you think?"

"No," he said slowly. "What precise name did you put on it?"

Her mind raced. Had she not put his name on the blasted thing? Of course she had. "I- let me think. No, I wrote 'Professor' on it... you know, just because you always tease me about calling you that. I thought it would be funny." Her voice died away as she turned her face into the pillow again.

"Hermione," he began, taking a deep breath. "How many professors currently reside at this house?"

"What?"

"Think that one through. Technically, I should no longer be addressed as 'Professor.' Who, then, might have picked up that package if it was addressed to a 'Professor'?"

Hermione's bright eyes widened and her stomach turned over again. "Oh. Oh gods. Not- not - "

Lupin nodded wearily. "Professor Snape showed me that book just before you came into the library yesterday. That's why we were discussing Frankenstein. I didn't know it was intended for me - I didn't see the letter until after you'd left, and we thought it was meant for him. Hermione, I'm sorry about this, it's all my fault. I didn't mean to yell at you."

The tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. "Then you didn't mean to come here? You didn't want- you don't want to be with me?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Oh, Hermione," Lupin sighed, moving closer to take her hand gently. "I'm sorry, I truly am. It's all been a great misunderstanding, I'm afraid, but I never intended to hurt your feelings."

She sat up suddenly. "But you didn't tell me why you came in here." Her eyes narrowed. "Who were you looking for?"

He looked away.

"I think I deserve an answer!" she shouted, emboldened by the absurdity of the situation, and the fact that he was still sitting on her bed with his shirt off. "You come in here and say all those incredible things to me, and kiss me, and hold me, and come this close to having sex with me - "

Lupin winced.

" - and then you tell me that you didn't mean any of it, that you meant to say those things, to do those things to somebody else?! Somebody else in this house?!"

"Hermione, keep your voice down," Lupin urged. "Please."

"Who is it?" she cried. "Who is it?! I deserve to know, Remus, who is it?!" She started to sob again and before she knew what she was doing, her fists were beating against his chest. "I hate you!" she wailed.

"Shhh, please, Hermione, you're hysterical now, just calm yourself down, all right?" He used his most soothing voice as he grabbed her wrists to prevent her from hammering at him. "It's OK, I'm sorry, everything will be all right. We'll sort this out, OK?"

She let out a hiccoughing sob and lowered her head to his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry..."

He wrapped his arms around her and let her sob, stroking her hair with one hand. "Shhh, there there, you'll be OK."

But the odds of things actually turning out all right at that moment took an unfortunate plunge as a sharp knock came at the door, and a group of alarmed people burst in.

*********************************************

"Hermione! We heard you yelling - are you all right? What's wrong?" Harry stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes took in the scene before him, illuminated by Lupin's wand, which was lying on the bureau, still radiating light.

Ron was right behind him, and let out a well-timed, "What the hell is this?!" as he too appraised the scene - Hermione, is a revealing tank top, being cradled in the arms of her shirtless former professor, who was stroking her hair and whispering in her ear.

They jumped apart as the door flung open, but that only seemed to confirm their guilt. At least, that seemed to be the verdict of the third figure who appeared in the doorway after Harry and Ron, clutching a hastily-donned robe to his lanky frame.

Lupin jumped off the bed and glanced quickly at Hermione, himself trying to visualise how the scene must look to the newcomers, before turning desperately to the man at the door.

"Severus," he pleaded, striding across the room. "No, this is not what you think - this isn't anything! We were just talking, I was just - " Why did he have to have his fucking shirt off! He knew his arguments sounded ridiculous. There was no explanation for the situation that Harry, Ron, and Snape were witnessing. None at all.

"Nice work, Remus," Harry spat at him, as Snape continued his unbearable silence. "I don't ask for a whole lot from you, but keeping your hands off my best friend - a sixteen-year-old girl, by the way! - is a bit too much for you, I see. You're disgusting."

"Harry, for god's sake, you don't know what you're talking about!" Lupin cried.

"Hermione, are you OK?" called Ron, hurrying over to her.

"I'm fine!" she said in exasperation, wiping the tears from her face. "Would all of you please get out of my bedroom now? All of you?" She gave Lupin a pointed look.

Ron stopped in front of the bed and bent down, retrieving Lupin's jumper. "Is this yours, Professor?" he hissed, tossing it at Lupin.

The man caught it deftly and stormed to the door. Snape continued to block it for a moment, his ink-stained eyes cutting viciously through Lupin's. Then, without a word, he moved aside to let Lupin through.

Lupin paused to glance between the three of them, shaking his head angrily. "You're all fucking lunatics, you know that?" he spat, before pushing past them and out the door, hurrying down to the master bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

To be continued...