HPHM Christmas Headcanons Pt. 1/2
Making hot cocoa bombs with Penny in the Potions Classroom on Christmas Eve.
“Penny, I don’t have to ask but I’m going to anyway. Why are we in Potions instead of the Kitchens?”
Penny waves you away, eyes twinkling with unrestrained Christmas joy. “It’s about the ambience, the atmosphere! Don’t you feel the Christmas Magic?”
You chuckle lightly, eyeing the murky potion bottles stacked on the shelves around you and the Lionfish Spines and whatnots tucked in the dark corner. “Oh yes. I feel it so much here… It’s absolutely bursting with Christmas energy, isn’t it?”
The both of you had made enough for all your friends, flavours and hidden toppings ranging from peppermint to candied chilies. You packed a Dungbomb for Tulip and Tonks each alongside the real cocoa bombs. You figured you’d get a good laugh early in the morning.
“Don’t you think this is a little too much?” You point at your little note that says, “To Rowan. For always knowing what to say, especially when you don’t have to say anything at all. Merry Christmas, from MC and Penny.” You look over at Penny expertly packaging them into small tins.
“Oh come on now, we agreed to be sweet and sappy this year-” You cut her off, “I did not agree to that.” She pats your cheek lightly, perhaps as a way to calm you down, “A small handwritten note is both of those things.” Penny winks at you as she says this before tying a neat bow around the tin. It’s perfect. “There, this one is for Merula. What did you write for her?”
You grin slyly before flourishing your note dramatically, “To Merula, the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts. May you live on your dream as it will not be your reality anytime soon or ever. Merry Christmas, from MC and Penny.”
“MC! Get rid of that!” Penny slaps your arm lightly and you roll your eyes. “I jest, Penny. I won’t actually say that. If I did, it would be to her face.”
She frowns, crossing her arms around her chest and you huff, lighting the note on fire. “I jest, again.”
Staying up late with Rowan reading Muggle Christmas stories by the fire in the common room.
“A Kidnapped Santa Claus... sounds delightful.” Rowan’s voice is heavy with sleep, they’re barely, just barely awake, having spent the earlier evening with you alone, engaged in a friendly yet very competitive snowball battle. You were victorious of course, showing Rowan mercy in the name of, as Rowan had put it, being on the nice list. You couldn’t care less if it was the nice list or not, but the poor thing looked like Mrs. Norris during a bath.
Rowan rubs their eyes forcefully when they catch themselves dozing off, readjusting their glasses now and again. You don’t say anything as they continue to read to you, hitting all the right notes and accents, Rowan’s delivery is nothing short of amazing.
“In spite of the second rebuff, the Daemon of Hatred thought he would try to influence Santa Claus. So the next day he entered the busy workshop and said: "Good morning, Santa! I have bad news for you."
"Then run away, like a good fellow," answered Santa Claus. "Bad news is something that should be kept secret and never told."
"You cannot escape this, however," declared the Daemon; "for in the world are a good many who do not believe in Santa Claus, and these you are bound to hate bitterly, since they have so wronged you."
“Even Nicholas had it hard…” You whisper and Rowan hums before continuing, the sounds of the crackling fire, the soft purr of your pet cuddled in your lap and the flip of the next page has you sinking deeper into the blankets. It faintly reminds you of a lost memory, one you keep locked away.
It reminds you of late snowy night-ins with Jacob in the winter, huddled by the fire and wrapped in heavy blankets. Jacob makes sure to never let your mug stay cold or empty, always refilling it to the brim of any hot beverage. Chili cocoa with peppermint was your favourite, and Jacob delivered. You both read a story together to each other every night, it didn’t matter what it was, from how the skies were formed to what spirits listened to your dreams at night or even a simple Muggle story. What mattered to the both of you, was that you made time for each other and Jacob made sure that he was the last person on your mind when you drift off to sleep, because that’s what older brothers do, right? They protect you if they could, if they can... but nightmares back then were nothing compared to the ones you have now.
“MC?” You blink twice before humming in response and Rowan nudges you in the shoulder. “What is it? Too sleepy?” Rowan nods guiltily and you smile softly at them, before nodding. “Well yes, that and we ran out of tea a pretty long time ago.”
“Oh.” You stare at the insides of your tea cup and the dried leaves at the bottom, sighing wistfully. “Well, let’s go back to bed then. I’ll race you.”
Ugly Sweater Competition with Bill and Charlie.
Tucked in a secluded corner of the library by the window, the three of you watch as the snow gently floats and falls, Hogwarts had never looked more magical, you thought. Bill is the first to break the comfortable silence, he takes note of his sweater, well, your sweater now.
“You never wear that.” He says it nonchalantly but Charlie frowns at his brother and you follow suit. “What are you going on about, of course I do.” Bill shrugs but you can tell it bothers him, so you do whatever a normal person would do: you tease him.
“Oh William, I just can’t possibly keep it in me anymore. This sweater is absolutely horrendous. I can’t be seen wearing this atrocity.” Bill gasps at this and Charlie laughs quietly, eyeing for Madam Pince around the corner and you continue at a whisper. “But alas, it was a gift. I tend to cherish things of a sentimental value, for I have a heart still, no matter how cold.”
Bill rolls his eyes good-naturedly at you and you shrug, falling dramatically onto his shoulder, clutching at your chest. “Why William, won't you gift me another? Or perhaps, Charles my seemingly partner-in-crime that does not involve dragons, won’t you?” You swing your legs up to rest on Charlie’s lap and he grins.
“Dragon sweaters? Or normal sweaters, like a boring person?” Charlie pulls out a piece of parchment and immediately begins to start doodling. “Are those ugly sweater ideas? Will you knit one for me?” You ask and Charlie pats your leg in return, “Only if they’re dragons.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t want anything else on my soon-to-be favourite sweater.” Bill sighs at the sight of both of you and you poke his ribs, “Are you going to get into this dragon action or not? We can even make it into a competition.” Bill pulls at a loose thread on your sweater, “You make everything a competition, MC.” You swat his hand away, confident in making sure the sweater lasts for a lifetime. “That is completely untrue, but ugly sweaters are a different kind of competition. No one really loses and we have fun. More sweaters the better.” Charlie hums in affirmation, voicing out his opinion without saying much. You find him biting his tongue in concentration, and you sneak a glance at his parchment. He’s talented, alright.
You whisper to Bill, motioning him to lean down and he raises his eyebrows slightly but follows through. “I actually knitted him a dragon sweater already. Don’t tell him that though. I just wanted to see if my design could stand a chance against whatever he’s got going on over there.”
“You know he’ll love anything you give him. Ugly sweater or not.” Bill smiles warmly as Charlie hums out a tune you don’t recognize. You let a few a moments pass by, watching the snow fall again, moving your legs against Charlie just slightly so it doesn’t fall asleep nor does it bother him. Bill’s breathing beside you is even, relaxed, welcoming and the warmth radiating from him rivals that of a hearth.
“Bill?” He hums, motioning you to continue, “You know I wear this all the time, right? So much so that I’m afraid I’ll wear it out too soon.” Bill turns slightly to face you, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips.
You shrug, like it’s no big deal. “It gets chilly in the dorms. They’re my pyjamas but you’ll see more of them now it’s winter again.”
“And here I thought it was because you hated being seen in them.” He laughs, a little nervously at first but eases when you pat his hand.
“It definitely won’t win the ugly sweater competition, that's for sure.”
