Author: Thalia Kendall
Category: Vignette, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. Characters and situations are used without permission, no infringement is intended.
Summary: Four separate vignettes with different Ravenclaws on different holidays. Chanukkah, Christmas, New Year's Eve and Chinese New Year... and how Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws celebrate.
Author's Notes: Dedicated to Lyta, best Ravenclaw webmistress ever! Happy belated... lots of things!
* * *
That he invited her for the celebration was an honour that she hadn't quite expected.
Kirsten Bundy, rash Gryffindor tomboy, whose interests lay primarily in sending Bludgers cracking across the field at the opposition, always felt vaguely out of her league with him-- and it wasn't a usual sort of feeling for her. Meeting the soft-spoken, dark-haired Ravenclaw Prefect her sixth year hadn't been daunting, really. She'd been out late practicing, lost track of time, and subsequently had to run like the dickens to get back to her Common Room. She'd crashed into him in the hallway, apologised profusely, and helped him up. He'd chuckled, straightened his robes, and told her that she could slow down-- he'd not take points if she didn't crash into anyone else.
That had been the start of the strangest friendship that she'd ever had, with a bloke who had a mild fear of heights, of all things! No amount of cajoling had induced him to agree to go flying with her, but then again, she had never been the type of girl who employed feminine wiles extensively. Why flutter pale, stubby eyelashes when a well-placed glare and a not-so-subtle wave of a Beater's bat could be equally effective in getting good behaviour out of one of the gits whom she affectionately called teammates? He was sweet, though, in a bookish, distinctly Ravenclaw way, patiently explaining the finer points of her Arithmancy homework to her and reminding her gently to get some rest after particularly long sessions on the pitch as forcefully as she demanded that HE get some rest himself after particularly long sessions in the library. She didn't remember when he started opening doors for her like she were some actual lady, or when she started getting lost in her thoughts listening to him talk about arcane lore, distracted by the slender, slightly ink-stained hands folded up in his lap or the fall of dark hair over darker eyes. She was a little bit shocked when she realised that she loved him, of course, but there was nothing to it but to handle it with her usual aplomb... and take that secret to the grave. Everyone was expecting her to fall for McLaggen and produce tons of brash, arrogant Quidditch-obsessed offspring anyhow. And she had the niggling suspicion that he fancied pretty, genteel, intellectual Mandy Brocklehurst at any rate. In any case, he'd do far better with a girl who didn't have callused, nail-bitten fingers and a tendency to cuss like a sailor at the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Which was why she had no idea why or how he thought it fit to invite her tonight.
The owl had been simple enough, written in his usual small, neat print, saying that it wouldn't be right for him to light the menorah in his own place for the first time without someone there. He'd given her his address, since it would be the first time she'd be seeing him since he left Hogwarts, and effing hell, she was panicking over what to WEAR! Running one hand agitatedly through her blonde ponytail (WHY had she not paid any attention to the gossipy Patil twit in the year above her and her incessant chatter about ways to style hair?!), she rifled through the racks of jeans and jumpers that made up her winter wardrobe, contemplated appealing to her mum for emergency aid, decided against it on the basis that Marianne Bundy would take it as a hint that her coltish daughter was finally turning into a lady and become subsequently unbearable all through hols, and resignedly threw on a gray jumper with a cowl neck and the cleanest pair of jeans she found. She flooed to Anthony's new flat and gave him an abashed sort of smile as she dusted soot from her shoulders. "Hullo," she said quietly, trying to make herself look presentable. "I... I'm not late, am I?"
"No, you're perfect," he said sincerely, and she felt herself blushing, attributing it to the heat from the fire. He was smiling that sweet smile of his, and holding out a hand. "I'm glad you're here."
She laid her hand in his and glanced down at her scuffed trainers before meeting his eyes. "I've... missed you," she admitted with a bit of Gryffindor bravery. "I occasionally study with Ginny, or with Bryce Summerby from Hufflepuff, but it's just not the same."
His eyes softened, velvety brown in the light of the setting sun streaming through the window. "I've missed you too," he gave her hand a squeeze, and she felt a vague fluttering in her chest. "I suppose it's only right to admit that my mum's nagging me to get some sleep isn't nearly the same, either."
She laughed at that. "I'd hope that I'm too young to remind anyone of a mum!"
"Too young, and too pretty by half," he quipped, and she blushed fiercely. "My mum's scary. And has an evil eye to rival the Basilisk when I misbehave."
"YOU misbehave?" she asked with a mock-gasp, and he grinned, and neither of them seemed to notice that they were still holding hands. Kirsten looked around the flat, and saw a photograph of herself, along with various snapshots of family and a picture of him with Corner and Boot, on the mantel. She was in her Quidditch robes, bat in one hand, broom in the other, and she'd given it to him before he'd left Hogwarts. Feeling suddenly shy at the reminder of their differences, she cleared her throat.
"So, tell me about this holiday."
He led her to the settee and sat down next to her, his voice even and smooth and familiar as he explained the festival of lights to her, and she felt slightly distracted again. The sun dipped below the horizon then, and he stood, helping her up and walking with her towards the front window, where an unlit menorah sat in the very center.
Placing a taper in the candlabra's top-most slot, he recited a few words in a language that she didn't understand and lit it the Muggle way, and as the candlelight glowed a golden ball of light in the window, his face looked noble and serene and solemn. He used the first taper to light another, slightly smaller candle on the side of the candlabra as Kirsten watched silently. His voice was deep and melodic when he sang a few verses in that unfamiliar language, his eyes fixed upon the candlelight. She felt her lips curving upwards in a smile, and when he stepped back from the menorah, he returned her smile.
"It's not to light the house within, but to illuminate the house without. Remind everyone of the miracles of this time with its light," he explained, and impulsively, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist in thanks for letting her share it with him. She felt her embrace returned, wiry, surprisingly strong arms wrapping around her back. It was exhilarating in a way completely different from soaring up in the air on a broomstick at top speed.
"Happy Chanukkah," she whispered softly into his shirt, knowing vaguely that perhaps she should let go, but somehow unable to command her arms to do so quite yet. "You're lovely... to have let me come."
He unwrapped his arms from around her waist and used one hand to cup her cheek, and surely he MUST have felt the heat of her blush as he did so, but he didn't remark upon it. "I can't think of any other whom I'd rather have," he said softly, and when she met his eyes, the unguardedness in them called forward her own reserve of courage, and standing up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his lightly, idly wondering if he'd kiss even a girl like her as though she were a lady.
She felt fingers caressing her hair and feathering over her temple as though she were beautiful and fragile, and then when he deepened the kiss, she felt as though a candle had been lit inside of her to echo the one by the window, enveloping her with its heat and glow. His eyes glittered when they finally pulled apart.
"The festival lasts eight days," he told her, brushing his thumb over her dewy lips. "Come and celebrate it with me tomorrow night?"
"Of course I will," she nodded, smiling up at him as she reached for his hand.
"I don't want to be alone for the holiday," he said with a crooked smile.
"You won't be," she promised. Ever again, the thought suddenly occurred to her, and it should've alarmed her.
"I'll hold you to that," he smiled, giving her hand a squeeze before kissing her again. And really, it was simple, unfamiliar traditions and dissimilar hobbies and different houses and years notwithstanding. A boy and a girl and a kiss in candlelight. It was the simplest and loveliest thing in the world.