How the Granger Won Christmas

You know that expression, every time a bell rings, two difficult people find each other?

No? Never heard that one?

Okay, back up.

*

James Potter turned four-years-old today.

This was why Hermione Granger found herself unironically wearing a conical party hat whilst snapping photo after photo of the kid trying and failing to successfully extinguish the four candles atop his multi-tiered triple chocolate cake.

"That's it. Work it. Work it," she said as James made love to the camera in the adorably narcissistic way only toddlers can pull off. The kid was a total attention whore, but Hermione was only too happy to play the part of dutiful godmother, and rapt audience member as the mini-copy of her best friend cheesed it for the camera.

This was the perfect dosage of child. Play with them, laugh with them, buy them presents, allow them to shower you with affection and totally ignore their parents when you were in the room, then leave the minute it was bedtime so you wouldn't have to do anything resembling discipline.

Ginny, who was visibly, audibly, and otherwise blatantly bored watching her son fail at candles, lost her patience with Britain's Next Top Model. "James, stop hamming and blow out your candles so we can all have cake. You do want cake, don't you?"

Ginny was eight months pregnant, and she wanted cake. Sue her.

"Cake!" Albus, the one-and-a-half-year-old, enthusiastically started clapping in agreement that it was high time they all had cake.

"Cut him some slack, Gin," Hermione said. "His birthday is on Christmas Eve. His life is hard enough as it is."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "His present pile is slowly becoming the Eighth Wonder of the World. He's fine."

The doorbell rang.

"I wonder who that could be," Ginny said with the subtlety of a thousand trolls on roller skates.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought that her red-headed friend could ever possibly think her over-the-top smirk and bounce in her step was fooling anybody.

After Ginny darted away to answer the door, Hermione shot Harry a scathing look. "I'm guessing there's a thousand percent chance that whoever is at the door is yet another single guy I'm destined to despise."

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Harry said, mindlessly sipping his beer.

"If I also had to guess, I'd wager that the phrase, 'thought you two would really hit it off,' will be whispered into my ear within the first couple of minutes." It was a classic, and yet Ginny had never been right in this supposition. Hermione sincerely doubted that Ginny had the foggiest idea as to her taste. "She's worse at this than my mother."

Harry sniggered. "You mean 'Mrs. I Know Seventy Single Male Dentists Under Fifty Who Would Be Perfect For You?'"

Hermione considered him for a moment as he chuckled into his drink before thumping him hard on the forehead.

"Ow, you bint!"

"Bint!" Albus screeched.

Hermione smirked at Harry. "If you can convince your wife to get rid of whatever boobie just rang your doorbell, I won't tell her you taught Albus that word."

"Harpy," he said tonelessly.

"Harb-ee!"

Harry facepalmed himself. "Fucking hell, that kid."