The First Year

Silent Night

'I love you...'

Harry didn't say anything, much to Ginny's initial chagrin. Instead, the corner of his mouth tipped up a little and he calmly reached around her, grasped the handle of the broom, and proceeded to direct it toward the ground. He stopped near the abandoned farmhouse and clambered off the broom, Ginny's hand still twined with his. Harry's other hand seemed to float of its own accord to tuck several wayward strands of hair behind her ear, while a shy smile spread over his features. His head lowered until his forehead just barely touched hers. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. This is a lot harder than I thought... Swallowing hard, he brushed his lips over hers, so lightly; it might have been one of the snowflakes that drifted down from the inky sky. 'I love you,' he murmured against Ginny's mouth, before he deepened the kiss.

'I never liked Christmas, really. Not until I went to school.' Harry tucked the edge of the blanket he'd conjured over Ginny's hands.

'Why not?'

Harry hesitated, torn over wanting to tell Ginny about how cheerless his Christmases had been before he'd been taken in by Molly and Arthur and his desire to forget the ten years he lived year-round with the Dursleys. He supposed Ginny probably had an inkling, if she was as precocious as he thought she was, and had managed to overhear her parents or brothers when she was younger, or if Ron had ever told her about the miserable excuses for gifts the Dursleys had sent him, but Harry thought he hadn't. 'It was just like every other day for me,' he said neutrally. 'Nothing special.'

'That's awful,' Ginny breathed.

'Were yours always like the one my sixth year?' Harry asked curiously.

'No,' Ginny admitted. 'Dad was making quite a bit more money by then,' she told him. 'And they were only having to pay for Ron and me in school that year. But we always had plenty of food and Mum usually cooked far more food than we could eat. And we all got something new, even if it was only the jumper Mum made. Especially for Ron, George, and Fred.'

'Was it happy?' Harry asked.

'Yeah. It's just been the last few years that it hasn't been really. Between Dad getting hurt three years ago, or Percy not speaking to the rest of us, the war last year, and now this year...' Ginny shook herself a little and leaned her head against Harry's shoulder. 'But this is nice,' she said softly. 'Ranks up there with the year Bill sent me a toy broom from Egypt,' she added lightly.

Harry nuzzled the top of Ginny's head, breathing in the scent of her hair. 'This one,' he murmured. 'This one's the best one...'

Ginny stiffened a little. 'Even with everything?'

Harry tightened his arm around Ginny's shoulders. 'What is it you told me over the summer?' he asked mildly. 'We're alive and the best thing we can do is remember them?'

'Won't make tomorrow any easier,' Ginny replied.

'No, it won't,' Harry sighed. 'But we have this...'

Neither of the spoke for a long time, until Ginny broke the silence. 'Do you think we ought to go back home?'

Harry laughed shakily. 'I don't even know what time it is...'

'Me, either,' Ginny said sheepishly. 'But if Mum's going round putting presents at the foot of our beds, she's bound to notice we're not there.' She grinned. 'We ought to have heard her if she's up and about.'

'Too right,' Harry muttered. He loved Molly like a mother, but his ears were still ringing from the hue and cry she'd raised last August the morning after Ginny's birthday. He stretched and regretfully slipped from under the blanket and bent to fetch the broom from the snowy ground. He held the broom out to Ginny and let her mount it first, then slid on behind her. 'It's all yours,' he said, indicating for her to take control of the broom.