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Merry Ho-Ho, everyone! *dusts off journal*
I'm off to a bit of a late start, but here goes my Christmas story for the 2018 season. Hope you enjoy.
Title: In the Spirit – Part 1
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sesheta_66
Prompts used:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slythindor100’s early bird prompt 8: gorgeous man dressed in nothing but Christmas lights (picture under the cut) and dracoharry100’s prompts 9: untimely breakup and 10: sad Christmas songs
Word Count: ~1K
Rating: PG, for now
Warning: none
Summary: Harry had a rough Christmas last year, to say the least. But things are looking up this year, and he plans to embrace the season, even if he is still single.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for theslythindor100 Early Bird 25 Days of Draco and Harry and the dracoharry100 Christmas Challenge.
In the Spirit – Part 1
Harry stepped out of the Floo – he still preferred it to the squeezing feeling of apparition – and brushed himself off. On the floor were two envelopes that looked suspiciously like Christmas cards. He grinned as he picked them up, looking forward to the season this year. Merlin knew it had to be better than last year.
Tossing the cards on the table while he went about making a strong cup of tea, his thoughts drifted back to a year previous. He’d split up with Ginny a week earlier in spectacular fashion. They hadn’t meant for things to escalate, certainly he hadn’t, but escalate they had. As was the case in Harry’s very public life, there had always been someone right there, listening and watching. Add to that Ginny’s popularity on the Holyhead Harpies and, well, they ought to have known better.
The moment, they reflected later – much later, when they’d finally managed to speak to each other again – had been the culmination of a months-long build-up in which both of them had clung steadfastly to their denial, even if said denial was being worn away a little at a time.
They’d been in a run-of-the-mill store in Muggle London, of all places, to pick up a few things when a firefighters’ calendar had proved to be Harry’s undoing. To raise money for a children’s charity over Christmas, a team of French firefighters had stripped down to their skivvies – and in a couple of pictures, even less – and Harry hadn’t been able to look away. Ginny had, he’d thought, been a few aisles over, but as he’d continued to stare at the pictures, all manner of inappropriate thoughts bouncing around in his head, she’d sneaked up on him.
"Whatcha got there?" she’d asked as she snatched the calendar from his grip. The icy chill that had descended upon him at being caught had done nothing to cool his burning face, and from the daggers she’d shot him, Ginny hadn’t missed a thing.
"French?" she’d gasped, clearly at a loss for anything else to say. He’d stupidly laughed at the absurdity of her comment. I mean really. That was what she’d focussed on? He’d tried to cover with a cough, but the damage had been done.
She hadn’t laughed. Months later, yes, over a bottle or three of wine when they’d finally talked things through. At the time, however, she’d simply pressed the calendar against his chest and said, "Maybe you should spend Christmas in Paris this year." And she’d left.
He hadn’t seen nor heard from her for months after that. And, after reading the write-up in the papers the next day, Ron hadn’t spoken to him either. Harry had already been promoted to team lead of a new group of recruits, so they were no longer partners, but still. The tension in the Auror Department had been thick enough to cut with a knife.
The Prophet, Witch Weekly and Quidditch Quarterly had run multiple articles each, sure to keep the story alive for maximum value. Harry Potter was gay and had broken Ginevra Weasley’s heart. The golden couple was no more, and could this be the beginning of the end for him? Everything from his career to his favourite foods were analysed to death. They’d speculated about his past relationships with Dumbledore, Ron and even Kingsley, suggesting he’d only achieved what he had by ... well.
The continued press coverage had driven him into seclusion whenever he wasn’t at work. Oddly enough, however, his work hadn’t suffered. In fact, several closeted Aurors – male and female – had approached him and thanked him, as though he’d intentionally put the story out there. Robards and Kingsley had been supportive and eventually the whole thing had blown over.
But Christmas had been awful. Unable and unwilling to go to the Burrow, not to mention unwelcome, and with the overlap in his and Ginny’s friends, he’d spent the better part of the holidays at Grimmauld Place, alone. It had been the only escape from not just the public scrutiny but the endless barrage of sad Christmas songs that served to reinforce his newly single state. Unable to stop the flood, memories of Sirius had hit him from every corner and filled his days, plummeting him further into a state of, if not depression, something akin to it. He hadn’t felt that alone since he’d been locked in his cupboard under the stairs as a little boy.
Shaking off that memory, Harry added a splash of milk to his tea, grabbed some biscuits from the cupboard and sat down at the table. He scooped up the cards and recognised the writing at once. He opened Hermione and Ron’s card first, pleased to see the smiling family in Santa hats waving at him from the cover. Even little Rose gave him a gummy grin. Once more his chest ached at the lost time.
He hesitated opening the second card, clearly from Ginny. They remained on tenuous grounds, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. When at last he drew the card from the envelope, he laughed out loud, glad he hadn’t had a mouth full of tea. On the front was a man – a gorgeous man – wearing nothing but a string of Muggle Christmas lights. He opened the card and had to laugh again.
No calendar, but just so you know, France isn’t the only place with men who look like this.
Happy Christmas. Love, G.
He read it over several times and felt his tension slip away. Maybe they weren’t on such tenuous grounds after all. And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas would be a good one, even if – he drank in the cover once more – this was as close to a naked man as he would get.
Part 2
I'm off to a bit of a late start, but here goes my Christmas story for the 2018 season. Hope you enjoy.
Title: In the Spirit – Part 1
Author:
sesheta_66Prompts used:
slythindor100’s early bird prompt 8: gorgeous man dressed in nothing but Christmas lights (picture under the cut) and dracoharry100’s prompts 9: untimely breakup and 10: sad Christmas songs Word Count: ~1K
Rating: PG, for now
Warning: none
Summary: Harry had a rough Christmas last year, to say the least. But things are looking up this year, and he plans to embrace the season, even if he is still single.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the
slythindor100 Early Bird 25 Days of Draco and Harry and the dracoharry100 Christmas Challenge. Harry stepped out of the Floo – he still preferred it to the squeezing feeling of apparition – and brushed himself off. On the floor were two envelopes that looked suspiciously like Christmas cards. He grinned as he picked them up, looking forward to the season this year. Merlin knew it had to be better than last year.
Tossing the cards on the table while he went about making a strong cup of tea, his thoughts drifted back to a year previous. He’d split up with Ginny a week earlier in spectacular fashion. They hadn’t meant for things to escalate, certainly he hadn’t, but escalate they had. As was the case in Harry’s very public life, there had always been someone right there, listening and watching. Add to that Ginny’s popularity on the Holyhead Harpies and, well, they ought to have known better.
The moment, they reflected later – much later, when they’d finally managed to speak to each other again – had been the culmination of a months-long build-up in which both of them had clung steadfastly to their denial, even if said denial was being worn away a little at a time.
They’d been in a run-of-the-mill store in Muggle London, of all places, to pick up a few things when a firefighters’ calendar had proved to be Harry’s undoing. To raise money for a children’s charity over Christmas, a team of French firefighters had stripped down to their skivvies – and in a couple of pictures, even less – and Harry hadn’t been able to look away. Ginny had, he’d thought, been a few aisles over, but as he’d continued to stare at the pictures, all manner of inappropriate thoughts bouncing around in his head, she’d sneaked up on him.
"Whatcha got there?" she’d asked as she snatched the calendar from his grip. The icy chill that had descended upon him at being caught had done nothing to cool his burning face, and from the daggers she’d shot him, Ginny hadn’t missed a thing.
"French?" she’d gasped, clearly at a loss for anything else to say. He’d stupidly laughed at the absurdity of her comment. I mean really. That was what she’d focussed on? He’d tried to cover with a cough, but the damage had been done.
She hadn’t laughed. Months later, yes, over a bottle or three of wine when they’d finally talked things through. At the time, however, she’d simply pressed the calendar against his chest and said, "Maybe you should spend Christmas in Paris this year." And she’d left.
He hadn’t seen nor heard from her for months after that. And, after reading the write-up in the papers the next day, Ron hadn’t spoken to him either. Harry had already been promoted to team lead of a new group of recruits, so they were no longer partners, but still. The tension in the Auror Department had been thick enough to cut with a knife.
The Prophet, Witch Weekly and Quidditch Quarterly had run multiple articles each, sure to keep the story alive for maximum value. Harry Potter was gay and had broken Ginevra Weasley’s heart. The golden couple was no more, and could this be the beginning of the end for him? Everything from his career to his favourite foods were analysed to death. They’d speculated about his past relationships with Dumbledore, Ron and even Kingsley, suggesting he’d only achieved what he had by ... well.
The continued press coverage had driven him into seclusion whenever he wasn’t at work. Oddly enough, however, his work hadn’t suffered. In fact, several closeted Aurors – male and female – had approached him and thanked him, as though he’d intentionally put the story out there. Robards and Kingsley had been supportive and eventually the whole thing had blown over.
But Christmas had been awful. Unable and unwilling to go to the Burrow, not to mention unwelcome, and with the overlap in his and Ginny’s friends, he’d spent the better part of the holidays at Grimmauld Place, alone. It had been the only escape from not just the public scrutiny but the endless barrage of sad Christmas songs that served to reinforce his newly single state. Unable to stop the flood, memories of Sirius had hit him from every corner and filled his days, plummeting him further into a state of, if not depression, something akin to it. He hadn’t felt that alone since he’d been locked in his cupboard under the stairs as a little boy.
Shaking off that memory, Harry added a splash of milk to his tea, grabbed some biscuits from the cupboard and sat down at the table. He scooped up the cards and recognised the writing at once. He opened Hermione and Ron’s card first, pleased to see the smiling family in Santa hats waving at him from the cover. Even little Rose gave him a gummy grin. Once more his chest ached at the lost time.
He hesitated opening the second card, clearly from Ginny. They remained on tenuous grounds, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. When at last he drew the card from the envelope, he laughed out loud, glad he hadn’t had a mouth full of tea. On the front was a man – a gorgeous man – wearing nothing but a string of Muggle Christmas lights. He opened the card and had to laugh again.
No calendar, but just so you know, France isn’t the only place with men who look like this.
Happy Christmas. Love, G.
He read it over several times and felt his tension slip away. Maybe they weren’t on such tenuous grounds after all. And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas would be a good one, even if – he drank in the cover once more – this was as close to a naked man as he would get.
Part 2
