Like a baby blinking its eyes at the world for the first time, Corrine slowly cracked her lids open Christmas morning. Crystalline light reflected from a window flooded her vision. She squinted, oddly uncomfortable and wondering what sort of squashy thing she was lying on.
Then it all came flooding back.
Father.
Dead.
Seamus.
Corrine stirred in his arms, afraid to wake him up, and looked up to see his straightforward hazel eyes staring down at her. He grinned sheepishly, turning pink. "Er…morning," he greeted her tentatively.
"Happy Christmas, Seamus," she told him softly.
His gaze altered, fell, mirroring his sadness. "I've thought of happier ones," he responded somewhat bitterly.
Corrine shook her head desperately, trying to forget. "Oh, please, Seamus. Just for this morning, let's not talk about last night. I want to open my presents and talk with you and eat breakfast first. And then maybe we'll go back to it. But…not this morning…it's supposed to be cheerful…" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat self-consciously.
Seamus opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, giving in. "Your choice," he conceded somewhat grimly. He shifted under her; it was only then that Corrine remembered that she lay on top of him.
"Oh!" she gasped, embarrassed. "I, er…sorry."
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "But would you, er, mind?"
Corrine rolled off him obligingly.
Seamus stood and stretched, joints resounding in a cacophony of pops and cracks. Corrine winced.
"Shall we to the presents, then?" Seamus asked with fake animation.
Corrine nearly smiled. "All right."
The house-elves, clever and discerning as they were, had not laid the gifts in the two dormitories, but rather had piled them on a nearby reading desk. Seamus's heap was somewhat larger than her own, but Corrine didn't mind.
"One from Loretta, one from my auntie, one from…" Corrine paused and collected herself. "One from my dad, one from my mum, and…oh, Seamus, you really didn't have to."
Seamus blushed furiously. "Well, I just – I mean – it's not really much of anything, really, I don't think you'll like it anyway…"
"I'm sure I'll love it," Corrine protested firmly. "I feel guilty, though, I don't have anything for you. Not like I could go skip off to Hogsmeade and buy anything, and there's nothing of mine that you want."
"Are you sure?" Seamus said quietly, so quietly that Corrine was not entirely sure she'd heard it. Her unromantic heart defiantly skipped a beat anyway. In the awkward hesitation that followed –how often this seemed to happen with them in the past week – an idea germinated and took root in her mind. It would be so easy, and a good Christmas present for both of them…
"Well, are you going to open them?"
Corrine blinked confusedly for a moment, then recovered. "Oh, right. Let's see, then."
The gifts from Loretta and her aunt, prosaic and predictable, were nonetheless welcome in their own way. Corrine had been running low on quills; and what budding Transfigurations expert wouldn't want the complete philosophy of a Transfigurations expert?
The gift from her mother was a little more touching: a set of robes in the exact shade of her outgrown Yule Ball outfit, a silvery color that her father said made her look like a fallen angel…
Corrine sniffed once, then set them aside and picked up the gift from her father. Seamus said nothing, only watched in concern.
She caught his gaze and twisted her mouth into a mockery of a smile. "Here goes nothing," she whispered, and tore the paper.
A flat rectangle of silver peeked out. Corrine opened it fully. For a moment, she could do nothing but try to breathe.
It was a picture – not just a picture, but their picture – the last picture of them as a real, happy family. Corrine sat at her father's feet, leaning against his leg, while her mother peered over her husband's shoulder, arms thrown around his neck in happy, careless abandon. The words around the silver frame read "Family," in a plethora of different scripts.
Corrine buried her face in her hands, surrendering to quiet tears that trickled through her fingers and pooled to form hot puddles in her palms. A light touch on her shoulder reminded her of Seamus's presence.
"You're all right?" he murmured gently in her ear when she took her hands away.
She inhaled deeply, shuddering. "I'm fine. Open yours now."
The line of concern between his brows deepened even further with added worry. "Cori — "
"Seamus." She stopped him. "Let's just…keep going." Her smile was shaky but corporeal. "That's what Gryffindors do, right? We keep going in the face of danger…we are not afraid to admit our fear, but instead of hiding behind it, we do something about it…"
Seamus nodded slowly. "Right. That we do." With a deep sigh and another long look, he picked up a box and began shredding the paper.
She didn't really pay attention to the gifts themselves, only watched blankly and laughed mechanically when he did so. The notion of previous moments was growing, spreading its branches and coming into full being.
There would be no going back. She knew that and accepted it. She was taking a chance, a very large risk to her ego alone, but a risk all the same. After all, it had only been about a week.
No. No cold feet. Seamus had told her that she was strong by nature. This was a chance, albeit small, to prove her bravery.
Seamus chucked the last present aside. "That's enough of that. What say we go down for — ?"
"Wait," she interrupted him gently. "I forgot. I do have something for you."
Seamus merely looked at her obliquely, eyes narrowed with bewilderment. He made no motion to speak or stand.
Corrine took a deep breath, then slowly reached across the desk, never taking her eyes off of Seamus, only groping blindly with one hand for what she knew was there. Her hand met leafy resistance. She clutched her prize and offered it to Seamus.
He accepted it blankly, turning the leathery green leaves with their waxy white berries over and over in his fingers. Finally, he opened his mouth and produced a very undignified sound that was probably supposed to be a word but couldn't quite make it.
Corrine wrung her hands nervously only once, then stopped. Why was she waiting for any reaction from him? The ball was in her court; indeed, it had never gone anywhere near his.
Edging forward until they were knee to knee, Corrine started to lean forward, thanking her lucky stars that she'd thought to offer around mints in the course of opening presents.
His face was so close…his lips…
On hers in a gentle touch, lighter than a dove's sigh, softer and sweeter than a warm bed at the end of a long winter's day. Slight pressure, breathing in the clean boyish scent of him, feeling the slight chafe of his chapped lips under her quivering ones.
Just when Corrine began to fear that she'd taken a wrong step, he reacted, breaking the kiss only to gasp in shock and then pull her back for another embrace, cradling her head in his hands and smoothing her hair under his fingers.
The power of mistletoe…
Seconds – minutes – days later, they mutually managed to disengage their mouths, but stayed close together, foreheads touching, noses but a butterfly's wing apart.
"You can't understand — you — I love you, Cori," Seamus whispered raggedly. "I really, really do. Since the end of fourth year."
Cori smiled crookedly, uncommonly happy, despite the news of her father. "I win, then. Since second year or so, I've fancied you outrageously."
Seamus grinned, bashful but apparently pleased. "Funny how this all works out," unconsciously echoing his words from the week previous, when they'd first talked in the library. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
Corrine arched an eyebrow. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me?"
Seamus grinned, now unabashed. "Fair enough. I'll admit it, there's a bit of a cowardly streak in even the truest Gryffindor. And the Sorting Hat did want to put me in Hufflepuff." He shrugged. "The fear that you might laugh in my face, I suppose. I thought I could stand anything and everything but that. Turns out I was wrong." His face took on that drawn, melancholy expression it wore when he was thinking about his parents.
Corrine squeezed his hand sympathetically, causing him to look up and grin. "You're a miracle, Cori," he murmured. "This is what I love about you. Even though you have just as much to be upset about, you're comforting me. I feel like a rude arse now," he added reflectively.
Shaking her head slightly, Corrine said, "It's nothing. Besides…you've lost both your parents. I still have one left. And you. I have you."
"We have each other," Seamus reiterated. He squinted at his watch. "And I don't know about you, but I'm feeling hungry myself. What say we head down for breakfast?"
Corrine smiled. "Perfect."
They stood. She moved to leave, but Seamus caught her around the waist first and kissed her again, easing his mouth over her own. Corrine felt her knees slowly melt with the absolute joy of it.
It took them awhile to permanently separate, as they kept returning for just one more kiss. When they finally did so, Seamus smiled down at her and said, "You know, Cori, you're the only girl I know who could possibly think of giving mistletoe for a present after hearing such terrible news as you did."
Slightly chagrined, Corrine dropped her gaze to her feet, grinning foolishly. "You know me, Seamus. I set the sadness aside and try to focus on something happier. I'll be upset later."
He regarded her, the laughter absent from his hazel eyes. "Cori, I worry that one day the weight of your forgotten worries will crush you."
She waved it off. "Later, Seamus. Come on, let's go."
They trotted down to the Great Hall, inexplicably finding their hands twined together. Corrine caught her reflection in a shining, festive suit of armor and realized that she was smiling like a Cheshire Cat.
"That's the Christmas spirit, dearie," a portrait on the wall commented. "But oh, my, we don't need mistletoe, do we?" The woman in the picture winked suggestively.
Seamus scowled deeply. "Bugger off."
A warm welcome was not precisely what they received at the Great Hall, but rather a concerned one.
"Oh, Miss Wayward, there you are," McGonagall said, striding up to them. "I'm terribly sorry to hear of your loss, what a tragic event."
Corrine shrugged, shoulders hunched and lips pursed, clear signs that she didn't want to talk about it. "It's all right, Professor, but it's nice of you to say so."
"Yes, well, your mother has sent a letter, saying that the funeral is tomorrow. We'll send you off tonight, if that meets your agreement."
"It'll have to," Corrine replied grimly, already mentally preparing herself for this trial.
Seamus stepped forward, almost protectively, and folded his arms. "I'm going with her."
McGonagall stared at him. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Finnigan."
"It'll have to be," he all but growled, clenching his fists. Corrine placed a hand on his arm; his temper subsided a bit, but Corrine could still sense his inner seething.
McGonagall seemed to realize that neither would budge an inch, and gave up with a sigh. "I shall see what I can do. He'll be welcome?" she asked Corrine.
Her chin shot up. "Of course."
McGonagall laid a brief hand on Corrine's shoulder, then disappeared.
The two watched her leave. "Ill tidings," said Seamus, echoing a phrase from a book they'd both read.
"Bring naught but trouble," Corrine finished the quote. "What now?"
"Eat breakfast," Seamus finished promptly.
Corrine sighed. "And then…let's enjoy the rest of our Christmas as best we can. Let tomorrow bring what it will."
Seamus smiled softly. "Deal."
And so they did.
The chill December wind whipped her black dress around her knees. I watched her with my hands clasped in front of me, stealing glances out of the corner of my eye. As she must have done at my parents' funeral. Beyond her, Mrs. Wayward, now a widow, sobbed and wailed, supported only by her equally distraught sister.
Pearly tears slipped down Corrine's cheeks. I wanted to wipe them away, but restrained myself.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, I heard the little catch in her breath, and looked over her in full. She was staring at the ground, shock and horror battling for supremacy on her face, the tears coming in quick gasps.
I knew it would happen: all her emotions, pent up over the years, were pouring out of her in a rush at the catalyst. There was only one thing to do. I stepped over and took her into my arms.
"Be a Gryffindor, Cori. Be brave and cry."
Carry on, you will always remember
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor
Now your life's no longer empty
Surely heaven waits for you…