It was Christmas Eve at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harry was helping Hermione put up decorations in the drawing room. The house was hardly recognizable by now – with all the glittering garland and magical adornments plastered floor to ceiling, from carpet to chandelier, and on every railing of staircase and rim of doorway – and was becoming more so by the moment as the whole of the household was busy putting the finishing touches in preparation for the next day.

Harry thought they had quite outdone themselves, in fact, as he stood back to admire his handiwork. The once dull, drab, and very dirty drawing room was amazingly spotless and sparkled from all the baubles and ornaments adorning it. The dreary atmosphere had been totally transformed into a "winter wonderland" – complete with magical snow in tranquil, towering piles bordering the edges and sweeping the corners of the room.

Harry was standing by one such pile (which he’d noted curiously was not cold), near a window he had been trimming. He turned around and looked at Hermione, who was across the room working on lighting a miniature tree.

"Almost done?" he called to her. "I think Ron wanted our help in the kitchen."

She nodded, still eyeing her tree, her head cocked just slightly sideways.

"Nearly finished," she muttered, arranging and then rearranging one branch that was being particularly fussy with her. (Or rather, it was the fairy on the branch that was being fussy.)

Her glance swept over to Harry as she added, "One guess as to what Ron is doing in the kitchen."

Harry grinned at her.

"Maybe he’s helping Mrs. Weasley decorate cookies. Didn’t she say she was baking some?"

"Mmm. More like he’s helping her eat them," said Hermione, smirking.

"See then? If we don’t hurry, they’ll be all gone," said Harry, not really caring about the cookies.

Hermione was still fussing with the tree.

"I can’t understand what’s wrong with these fairies," she said, stretching out one hand and poking a blue one with her finger. "I can’t get them to light."

"Maybe they only light up when they want to," suggested Harry, though he honestly didn’t know much about fairies and their tree-lighting habits.

"Hmm… I don’t think so. It says in Fantastic Beasts—Oomph!"

Harry had scooped up a bit of magical snow in his hand and tossed it at Hermione, where it had promptly hit her in the head and exploded into a thousand tiny diamonds in her hair. The effect was a pleasing, if not surprising, one.

"Ooh," gasped Hermione, a glint of mischief in her dark eyes. "You’re going to pay for that one, Potter!"

But as Hermione turned to set her assault on Harry, her body jerked backward as though she had walked into a brick wall. Stunned, she tried moving forward, her hands out in front of her like that of a blind person. Harry watched in disbelief as she stumbled once more. Again she tried – and again – but no matter which way she turned, no matter what step she tried to make, she could not move from the spot where she was standing. It was if she was encased in glass or trapped in an invisible box. The only thing she seemed able to touch was the tree and only because it was near a wall where she could have walked no further had she tried.

Hermione looked at Harry, wide-eyed and questioning.

"Hermione?" he gasped, and peered down at the snow near his feet and then up again at the flakes still glittering in her hair. "Did I—?"

She glanced at the pile for a moment, but then a thought seemed to have struck her – as if she had suddenly remembered something important – and she looked up at the ceiling above her.

"Oh," she said angrily, her fingers forming into fists. "I am going to kill Fred and George!"

Harry walked a few steps forward, gazing up at what was dangling above Hermione’s head.

Mistletoe…

"What have they done now?" he demanded, craning his neck to see the little plant.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry could see her jaw clenching and unclenching.

"I overheard them telling Ginny about their new product for the holidays. ‘Sure to be a hit at every party,’ they said. ‘Right good for—’"

She broke off for a moment and cleared her throat, before adding (looking almost embarrassed, Harry thought), "Well, isn’t it obvious?"

Harry peered up at the ceiling again. It was not quite so obvious to him. But then he was trying to forget the last time he’d been under mistletoe…

Hermione buried her face in her hands just as the drawing room door swept open and Fred entered it, with George trailing behind him.

"Come on, you lot. You’re wanted downstairs," said Fred.

"Yeah," added George. "As much time as it’s taken you, you’d think—"

He halted his words, eyeing Hermione – who still had her face hidden under hands – with curiosity.

"What’s up?"

"Yeah?" echoed Fred. "What’s wrong?"

They both looked at Harry, who shrugged back at them.

"Hermione can’t move," he said. "Did you two… er… do something to that?"

He pointed up at the fake plant extending from its green ribbon.

"Oi!" yelled Fred, and he jabbed his elbow at George.

"That’s our Very Merry Mistletoe!"

Harry really did not want to ask, but Hermione had not raised her head in three minutes.

"What does it do?"

Besides making a person steadfast as a boulder, Harry thought, eyeing the twins uneasily.

George gave him a grin.

"Easy, mate. No problem. She’s not in any real trouble."

"Well, that depends on how you look at it," added Fred, a mirror-like smile on his face.

"It’s simple really. Hermione can move as soon as someone kisses her. You know the routine – with mistletoe and that, mate?"

And George winked at Harry.

"We just made the tradition a bit more permanent, if you know what I mean?"

Both of the twins roared with laughter, though Harry (and obviously, Hermione) did not.

"Are you telling me," asked Harry with a touch of incredulity, "that Hermione can’t go anywhere until somebody kisses her?"

Fred and George looked at each other.

"Yep."

"That about sums it up."

"Brilliant idea, really."

"Yes, I quite agree."

"If you two would stop congratulating yourselves," interrupted Harry, "you could help Hermione out of this mess. You did create it, after all."

The twins stared at Harry, a little aghast, while Hermione’s hands finally dropped from her face.

"Oh, thanks a lot, Harry!"

He stared at her.

"What do you mean? Er… I—I…" he stuttered, while the twins just stood there chuckling.

"We can’t kiss her, mate," said Fred. "We’re the inventors. And you two are the – shall I say willing or unwilling – what say you, George?"

"Seems unwilling – not unusual – but… yes, quite so."

"Anyway, you two are the lucky subjects who get to be the first to try the thing out. Er… besides myself and George, of course."

Harry and Hermione both raised their eyebrows at the twins.

"Quite reluctant experimentation, I might add. But it had to be done for the good of our careers."

"Yes, quite so," repeated George.

"Don’t look at me like that, Potter," said Fred, and George nudged Harry whispering, "Angelina volunteered."

"Oh," said Harry, nodding his head.

"I didn’t see you looking put-out when Alicia agreed to help you out," added Fred, a gleam in his eye as he looked at George.

"Ah, well," said George, shrugging in Harry’s direction. "Like I said—"

"Like I said," said Fred, grinning. "For the good of our careers."

Hermione rolled her eyes, glaring at the lot of them.

"Will somebody get me out of this? Isn’t there a counterjinx or something you two can do?"

Fred looked at George, who shrugged.

"I knew we’d forgotten something."

Hermione eyed them angrily.

"Ooh, you did not! You just want to torture people, as usual!"

"Hermione, I’m shocked you would think that of us," said Fred, hand on his chest.

"I quite agree," added George, appearing equally offended.

And they both turned suddenly, George clapping his hand on Harry’s shoulder before heading for the doorway.

"Go to it, Harry."

Harry felt an odd, flip-flopping sensation in his stomach as he watched their retreating backs.

"Me?" he asked, and he did not look in Hermione’s direction (for he could feel her glaring at him still), but kept his eyes fixed on Fred and George.

Fred turned and smiled at him.

"Who else, mate? Unless you want Hermione to be stuck here all day? Although I’d wager if we fetched ickle Ronniekins, he would—"

"No, don’t get Ron!" Harry cut in swiftly, and he could feel Hermione’s eyes boring into him further.

Fred and George both raised their eyebrows at him.

"Good man!" said Fred, and George gave Harry the thumbs up. "Always knew you had it in you, Potter."

And this time, it was Harry who covered his face with his hands.

"Yep, it’s just like you, mate, to save the poor damsel in distress," added George. "Excepting this time, it’s a bit of a happy chore, wouldn’t you agree, brother?"

"Quite right. Now, Harry," said Fred with mock seriousness. "Don’t try to be a gentleman, because it won’t work."

"Nope," added George. "No friendly peck on the cheek will budge her even an inch."

"Nope, not an inch," echoed Fred, grinning. "Don’t be too long, kiddies."

And laughing abundantly (or a bit over-abundantly, in Harry’s opinion), Fred and George swept out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Harry could hear Fred’s voice echoing down the hallway, "I had hoped Ron would stumble across it first, but I think it’s rather better this way…" as George agreed with him. He did not look over at Hermione until their voices faded away completely.

"Well…" said Harry, "Er… well…"

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry!" cried Hermione indignantly. "Just kiss me and get it over with!"

Looking at Hermione, red-cheeked and angry, the humor of the situation finally hit Harry full-force, and he laughed loudly.

"Just what are you laughing at, Mr. Potter?" she asked accusingly, her lips frowning.

"Well, you have to admit. It is pretty funny. Ingenious really."

"Oh, fine. Let’s give Fred and George an award for their brilliance!"

And Hermione pounded her fists in the air to no avail. Her frustration was evident, and Harry was surprised when he saw a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Harry, please…"

It was so unlike her to beg of anything and the smile immediately left Harry’s lips.

"I’m sorry, Hermione."

He moved to within a few feet of her, just out of arm’s reach, staring at her warily.

"It’s just that this… er… I mean… you and me…"

He didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words, but apparently that was unnecessary. Hermione seemed to understand what he was saying because she nodded solemnly.

"I know," she whispered.

They eyed each other uncomfortably for several seconds, Harry teetering to-and-fro on his toes.

"Alright then… I guess we should… er… I mean I should…"

He broke off uneasily.

This is no big deal, he thought. But Harry could not bring himself to move forward.

Instead, he said, "The last time I did… er… this – kissed somebody, I mean – you know it didn’t go very well."

He thought back to when Cho Chang had kissed him under the mistletoe in the Room of Requirement. The first thing he had thought – when he had told Ron and Hermione about it – was how "wet" it had been (due to the fact that Cho had been crying, of course). It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience; not that it had been entirely unpleasant. But it had been an embarrassing encounter at best. New and strange and confusing…

But kissing Hermione would be…

Well… it would be new and strange and confusing with a twist.

Hermione was his best friend. And therein lay the difference.

Harry rolled back onto his heels, shifting his arms nervously at his sides.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.

"Harry, despite what you may think, you are not a bad kisser," she said, a touch of a smile on her lips.

"How do you know?" inquired Harry, echoing Ron’s words.

"I just do. And anyway, I guess I’m about to find out for sure," said Hermione quickly, her cheeks growing slightly pinker. "Let’s just call this a test for next time. I can give you an unbiased opinion."

"Um… yeah. Okay," breathed Harry, not sure of this at all.

For next time…

Next time?

But Harry didn’t let his thoughts linger there.

"Well, I’d better get on with it then," he said awkwardly, unwilling to meet her eyes.

He shuffled his feet again, but braced himself.

I can do this, he thought, taking a deep breath. No big deal, no big deal…

One thing was bothering him though.

Raising his eyes to her face, Harry reached out a hand, advancing a step as he did so, and brushed his finger against Hermione’s cheek, taking the remnants of that single tear away with him.

He was about to take another step toward her when Hermione suddenly grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward.

Before he knew what was happening, his lips were locked with hers. His eyes widened before they shut completely, but nearly as swiftly he opened them again. The kiss was firm and fast and… wonderful… (And over almost before it had begun). But it was not at all what he had expected from Hermione.

As soon as she released him, he staggered back a step.

She tried to follow him, but Harry watched – astonished – as she hit the invisible barrier again and fell backward.

"It didn’t work," she moaned, her hands flat against whatever spell was holding her in place. "Why didn’t it work?"

Harry thought on this hard, trying to make his mind work. He was still reeling a bit from her kiss. Whether it had been from desperation (or – dare he think it? – passion) on Hermione’s part, Harry felt like he’d been dealt some sort of powerful blow – but one in which he was not at all familiar.

Then Harry realized… She had kissed him! To break the spell, he had to kiss her. He had to make the first move, and though it had been his intent to kiss her, she had interfered with that by advancing at him.

Hermione seemed to have caught his line of thinking and groaned again.

"Oh, that Fred and George! If I ever get my hands on them…"

She looked at him squarely.

"We have to do this again."

It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded.

"Pretty clever of them," he acknowledged somewhat sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Clever indeed!"

But Hermione’s eyes were very serious.

Harry sighed and then took a deep breath again.

"If you’ll let me do this properly…"

He walked slowly toward her once more, stopping just inches away. This time she didn’t touch him, but simply waited for him to make his move.

Her cheeks were pink and there was still snow, glittering like tiny jewels, in her hair – and Harry was reminded that magic snow didn’t melt in the same manner as real snow. The effect made him think of how similarly Hermione had looked that time she’d come storming up to Buckbeak’s room – and had finally been the one to entice him out of it – but her cheeks had been pink from the cold then.

He didn’t know about Hermione, but Harry was feeling very warm – and more nervous about kissing her for a second time than he had the first. Of course, she had caught him so unaware that she hadn’t really given him much time to be apprehensive about it. Now that he was the one in control again, he was surprised to find that he was considerably less calm about the whole thing.

"Harry, you don’t have to be nervous," said Hermione softly.

"I’m not," he replied defensively.

She arched an eyebrow, but said nothing in return. Instead, she reached up and gently removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose. Surprised by this action, he watched as she folded them up and put them in her pocket.

"I thought that might help," she admitted as last. "That way you won’t have to see me too clearly. And I’ve always thought your eyes were rather beautiful. Christmas green."

She smiled at him, and Harry had to admit, he was a bit awed at her words.

Speaking of beautiful, he thought…

And Hermione was quite wrong – for once. Harry could see her clearly enough; and the only the thing she had managed to do by removing his glasses was to create a more softened, subtle-looking self, as if there were a misty aura or halo of light surrounding her entire visage. The whole effect was more charming than anything else and only added to his feelings – far from taking them away…

Why had he never noticed before how she was beautiful? Well, he had perceived this a bit at the Yule Ball, but that didn’t count; he had barely recognized her then. How had it escaped his attention how brightly and deeply her eyes shined, or how her hair danced when it was touched by light? The gems of snow in her hair were making her whole countenance sparkle. Her skin was glowing, slightly flushed, and her lips, still smiling, were full and beckoning to him.

"Harry, it’s just me," she said barely audibly.

"Yes," he breathed.

Just Hermione…

Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it at her waist, pulling her toward him ever so slightly. She looked surprised by this, but didn’t protest.

Her sweater was warm and woolen against his fingertips.

Feeling just a touch more confident, Harry raised his other hand to her face, cupping her cheek against his palm. He was surprised when she seemed to lean into him involuntarily. (Or maybe it was voluntarily; Harry didn’t know.)

All right, he thought. I can do this. It’s only my friend. My best friend…It’s only Hermione…

Harry leaned forward at last and pressed his lips gently against hers. And all of his thoughts vanished from there.

From that moment, from that light, almost fleeting contact, grew something that was beyond thought between them. Harry didn’t know anything except the feel of Hermione’s lips against his: the warmth of them, the taste of them, the sheer explosion that was bursting forth within him – from his stomach to his toes – and shooting back up again…

Something was happening beyond a kiss. Every nerve fiber in Harry’s body was on end – ignited, like a flame – burning through him as he deepened the kiss. And as Hermione responded, as she pulled him nearer – one arm around his middle, her other hand on his chest beneath his frantically beating heart – Harry found his hands moving, too – from her cheek to her hair, from her waist to her back – as he tried to get nearer to her still.

He wondered briefly what was coming over them – and why they were behaving in such an unrestrained manner – but what little thought he had was swiftly swept aside when Hermione’s lips parted beneath his. Shocked to find their tongues touching, Harry made a sound between a gasp and a moan, but kissed Hermione still – rising to some challenge that hadn’t been present a moment earlier.

They kissed and kissed – for what duration of time, Harry had no idea – but he was surprised and breathing heavily when Hermione finally broke away from him.

"Wow!"

Had he said it aloud or merely thought it? Harry pondered before he realized it had been Hermione who had spoken.

Harry backed slightly away from her, though his arms were still around her, and he realized then that both of her hands were still at his waist.

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to catch his breath.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Harry had the funny notion that the world seemed brighter somehow. Everything looked different; Hermione included, as if it had been colored more vibrantly by their kiss.

Hermione broke eye contact first. She looked down, blushing, and released him. And Harry followed suit, though his body – he found curiously – was a bit reluctant to let her go.

"Well…" she muttered, her voice trailing off.

"Well…" he repeated, running a shaky hand through his already unruly hair.

Hermione cleared her throat and then looked up at him, and there was something different in her eyes, like she had internally flipped a switch – though it appeared it had taken her some effort to do so – and Harry saw his best friend again. There was little trace of the girl he’d held in his arms a moment ago – the only things lingering as a reminder were Hermione’s red lips and cheeks and a slight glint of something in her dark eyes if he searched hard enough – and Harry wondered if he should be happy about this change or not.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat again, "Let’s see if it worked."

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what she was talking about, but then he remembered why he’d kissed her in the first place.

"Right," he said, finding he still had a voice. "Let’s see if it worked."

Harry fancied he had said this in a bit of a disappointed tone and spoke up again to cover up for it, "Can you move alright?"

Hermione backed away from him – though not before handing his glasses back to him, their fingers lingering against one another’s just a bit longer than necessary – and strolled casually a few feet across the room.

"Seems so."

She walked another couple steps and spun around, smiling at him in an odd sort of way – like she hadn’t meant to smile at him, but her lips hadn’t obeyed her.

"Good," said Harry.

And he found his "good" had little feeling behind it.

"Great," said Hermione, the strange, faint smile still on her face.

There was a long pause where they just stared and stared at each other without speaking.

Finally, Hermione said, "We’d best go downstairs. I’m sure they’re all wondering where we are."

"Right," said Harry, but he didn’t move.

"Who knows what Fred and George told them? We may need to do a bit of damage control."

Harry hadn’t thought of that.

"I doubt they said anything. Not with their mother in the room anyway," said Harry, hoping he was right.

Hermione shook her head and walked a few steps toward him, her look suddenly all seriousness. The traces of her smile had vanished.

"Let’s not tell Ron."

Harry nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly. The last thing he wanted was to confess to one best friend that he had just kissed the other – even if he had been "forced" into the matter. (And even that was questionable at this point.) Besides, thinking of Ron just now gave Harry an odd, regretful twinge of feeling he couldn’t put a finger on, but he was quite sure it was a sentiment he should not be having.

"I don’t think he would understand," added Hermione quietly.

I don’t even understand it, thought Harry, but he didn’t say this aloud. Instead, he nodded at her again.

"Shall we go down then?" he asked, surprising himself when he held out his hand to her.

She took it, and this time it was a genuine smile that lit her face.

Just before they left the room, Harry stopped and cast a sideways glance at her.

"What?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.

"You still have snow in your hair," he said, grinning at her.

"Oh!"

She started to shake it out, but he stopped her.

"No," he said. "I like it. Very much."

"What will the others think?" she asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Let them think what they want," he said, realizing he meant that statement in more ways than one.

Hermione smiled again and, rising up on her toes, planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Then she put her lips near his ear and whispered, "By the way, I think you’re a wonderful kisser."

And as she pulled away, Harry noted she left her hand in his as she opened the door.

Very Merry Christmas, indeed! Harry thought, and he glanced over his shoulder once at the dangling "plant" that had made the evening so unexpected, never noticing the little tree in the corner, twinkling with lights and burning brightly, winking at him from a distance