Note: It's 10:21 PM, December 25, 2006. Meaning its still Christmas where I live so I'm not late :-P.

Note #2: lol can't think of a better title sorry. OH and this is un-betaread as per usual lately. Oyy. But still, at least its not late! Still Christmas for a good hour and a half!

- - -

“I love you, Hermione,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Funny, how you only seem to say that when I'm doing your homework. Or waving food in your face. Or - “

“- giving us one of your famous bluebell flames in the middle of a blizzard?” Harry interrupted, warming his hands on the jar Hermione had given him. “Seriously, Hermione, you're brilliant and we love you for it. Absolutely, bloody brilliant.”

Hermione's blush was lost on her rosy cheeks. They were all shivering cold, and even the magic on their charmed tent was starting to wear off. They had been on the horcrux hunt for what felt like months already, and since then the once crimson and gold curtains had faded to pale red and yellow. Their fluffy pillows and blankets had gone thin and crisp, after their failed attempts at cleaning spells. What they missed the most, however, were the heating charms. In fact, their magical tent was now little more than just a regular Muggle camping tent.

“Bluebell flames are easy,” Hermione said humbly, taking the warm jar from Harry and spilling its contents over the frozen sticks and twigs they had collected from the outside. She had been doing them since first year. She had used it to set Snape's robes on fire while Harry was Seeking in his first Quidditch game ever, and when she had gone with Harry to find the Philosopher's Stone and gotten trapped in that Devil's Snare. It was odd, how Hermione was now thinking of those times as the good old days.

The tiny flame spread over the frosty firewood and blazed as bright as a warm summer sky. The smokeless fire seemed to instantly warm the entire tent. Ron had tried casting regular fire inside the tent earlier, to Harry and Hermione's horror, but they had gotten the black smoke out rather easily with magic. Unfortunately, a thin film of black soot still coated the floor.

“I knew we would need bluebell flames eventually, we're so far up north.”

“Oh, bloody hell, that feels good, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Ron sighed as he lay back on his slightly soggy blanket. Hermione shook her head in annoyance and took a seat on the floor next to Harry. They had been trekking through the frozen country side for two whole days, and found themselves without a town in sight. When they had chosen their camping site, they hadn't anticipated the blizzard.

“Stop hogging the fire.” Harry shoved Ron over lightly.

“Hey, now you're hogging the horfire.”

“You're not starting that again, are you?” Harry groaned.

“Starting what again? Budge over, there's a horblizzard going on and I'm freezing my bum off.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes again. Really, in all the time she had spent with Ron on this quest, she'd rolled her eyes so much that she wondered if her eyes would lose their grip completely and just fall out. Hermione shuddered. There was a nice thought.

At the beginning of the quest, Ron had found it vastly amusing that they were after horcruxes. Since then he, and Harry on occasion, had been adding the prefix “hor-“ to everything they came upon. According Ron, they were on a Horquest looking for horcruxes in the middle of a horblizzard in a hortent. They had seen a herd of horpogriffs, a crowd hormentors, and been attacked by horferi. It was just something Hermione had no control over. Even she had found herself calling it a Horquest. She knew she should have nipped it in the bud when she had had the chance.

“Thank you, Hermione. Seriously,” Harry repeated. Hermione blushed even harder, but noticed triumphantly that Harry's shivering had eased up and the pink on his face was no longer because of biting wind.

“Just consider it an early Christmas present,” she shrugged. At least, she assumed it was early. They hadn't had contact with another human being for a few weeks. Hufflepuff's cup was hidden in a place heavily concentrated with known Death Eaters, and they didn't want anyone else to risk their lives. They'd successfully found the cup, the “Hufflecup” as dubbed by Harry, a few days ago and sent owls back home to let everyone know they were all right, but the blizzard must have delayed the response.

Ron jerked suddenly.

“Hang on...” Ron sat up and pulled his shrunken trunk out of his pocket. He enlarged it and began to pull scores of rubbish out, tossing them about haphazardly. It wasn't long before Harry and Hermione were practically buried in empty Chocolate Frog boxes and Quidditch magazines.

“Wow, Ron, you were clearly prepared for our journey to destroy the embodiment of evil.” Hermione scowled, shaking a Quidditch catalog off her head. “We should have gone to him, Harry, instead of worrying about where to put all the water, food, money and clothing. I completely forgot about the fifty Nimbus 3000 coupons we would so desperately need!”

Harry laughed, something that Hermione had dearly missed in the past few days. She smiled. She loved his laugh. It was a hearty, sincere laugh that completely masked the fact that he was fated to destroy the strongest wizard in the world, or die trying. He didn't get to do it, genuinely, often enough.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I, uh, have something on my face?”

Hermione jumped and quickly looked down at the floor, trying to hide her reddening face. She hadn't even realized she'd been looking at him.

“Oh, well, yes, you've got a bit of something on your cheek,” Hermione lied, deciding that was better than admitting she had been gazing dreamily at his heartwarming smile.

Harry raised a finger to wipe his cheek. Unfortunately, a bit of Ron's stupid Chocolate Frogs had gotten on it, and Harry smeared a small streak of chocolate across the right side of his face.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, yes,” Hermione said quickly, without thinking. She mentally kicked herself, but figured that it was only her, Harry, and Ron in the tent. There weren't any mirrors and Ron wasn't likely to care about chocolate on Harry's face, since his own usually had traces of breakfast still stuck to it anyway.

Just then Ron tossed something that looked like a scrap of parchment out of his trunk and Harry's eyes widened. He shot his hand out and grabbed it with all the reflexes of a Hogwarts champion Seeker.

“Harry, what was that?” Hermione asked, not missing a thing. Harry and Ron knew that whenever Hermione got that look, they would never get away with anything. Unfortunately for them, Hermione knew it as well.

“What was what?” Harry answered weakly. Hermione narrowed her eyes, weighing her options. Harry was stronger and faster than she was, and he definitely looked it now, but that was beside the point. No way could she ever wrestle it from him.

Good thing she was a witch.

“Accio parchment!”

“Hey!” Harry yelped. Caught off guard, the parchment slipped from his fingers and sailed into Hermione's waiting hands. She flattened the crumpled ball out and stared in shock.

“Quidditch plays!?”

“I didn't do it.”

“Then why does it say `Copyright 1997, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley'?!”

“Er…”

“We've been tracking the fragmented shards of an evil megalomaniacs soul trying to save the world and you two found time to sit around and draw Quidditch plays?!” Hermione cried, outraged. She was sure they were impressive plays, the two boys were very good at those despite her efforts to concentrate their brain power into something more useful like Arithmancy or putting the toilet seat down, but they were still very inappropriate.

”I, uh…” Harry flinched as an empty Chocolate Frog box was absently chucked into his face. “Ron, you git, is there a point to this?” Harry demanded, picking up the box and preparing to throw it back at him. The wizard card fluttered to the floor. Harry read it, and his eyes widened the slightest bit before he tried to discreetly stuff it into his pocket.

“Oh, don't you change the subject, Harry, what is - Ron, what is that?”

Ron finally revealed another crumpled bit of parchment and brandished it like it was Gryffindor's sword.

“If you are about to show me more Quidditch plays I swear, by Merlin, that I will - “

“It's the log I've been keeping!”

Hermione and Harry stared at him, then at each other. Ron kept a log? Ronald “I-Can't-Write-A-Sentence-About-Pudding-Without-Going-To-Hermione-For-Help” Weasley was keeping a log of their Horquest? Hermione struggled to wrap her brain around it, but for some reason she ended up short.

“What?”

“It's a log,” Ron repeated, taking care to the smooth it out on the floor. Harry and Hermione gathered around to peer over his shoulder in disbelief.

“Hermione, have you even been keeping a log?” Harry asked the question that was on both their minds.

“Er, no…” Hermione admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed. Truth be told, that was really a Hermione thing to do, keep the records. It was a shameful, really, that Ron had taken the role of historian while she had fallen short with her unspoken duties. But they had been so busy, and she had been so tired that she just didn't have the time or energy. Apparently, Ron had found plenty, plus time to help copyright a few Quidditch plays.

“Now who's the genius?” Ron crowed.

“Really, Hermione, the day Ron out-Hermione's you…” Harry shook his head playfully. “We might as well end this Horquest right now and just wait for the world to implode on itself.”

Hermione was thinking along the same lines, grabbing Ron's parchment.

“Wait, that's not a log!” Hermione cried, squinting at the parchment and trying not to sound too triumphant. At first she had thought it was Ron's tiny, unreadable penmanship, but after a few seconds of observation, she deduced that Ron had written absolutely nothing at all. “It's just a bunch of quill scratches!”

Harry looked down. “Ron? She's right. You drew a bunch of lines.”

“Well what did you think? That I'd write every little thing we did every day or something? Please,” Ron scoffed.

“Ron, you are the thickest - “

“Hang on,” Harry placed a hand on Hermione's arm. She didn't like being showed up, even fake-showed up, and Harry knew it. “Ron, what the bloody hell is that?”

“It's a log of how many days we've been on this quest,” Ron told them, pointing at his chicken scratch. “Each row has twenty marks. Eight rows, plus another eighteen marks. That makes a hundred and seventy-eight marks total.

Again, Hermione found herself struggling with Ron's logic. Admittedly, she was somewhat impressed with his arithmetic, but still. She looked over at Harry and felt a little stupid when she saw the look of comprehension on his face. She scowled.

“What? What is it?”

Harry was grinning widely now, as was Ron. They were both looking at her expectantly, as if she was just supposed understand their moronic thinking.

“Think, Hermione.” Ron prompted. This made her even angrier.

“Think what?! Why aren't you guys just telling me what's going on?” Hermione demanded. “So what if Ron scratched a hundred and seventy-eight lines into a piece of paper? It's not like he formed actual words or something else that makes the slightest bit of sens - “

She stopped. They had left on the quest at the beginning of August over four months ago. One hundred and seventy eight days to be exact. That would make the date approximately, no, exactly -

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” Harry said, upon her look of shock.

“Oh!”

“Happy Horquestmas!” Ron whooped. “Well, I think this calls for a little celebration, don't you?”

“I can't believe you just called it Horquestmas,” Hermione gasped. “That's - Ron!”

Ron pulled a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey from his trunk. Harry's eyes grew round.

“Where'd you - ?”

“Nicked it from Bill's wedding reception,” Ron explained. “It's the good stuff. The best.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

“Bill said so.”

Hermione frowned, looking at the bottle. “I really don't think we should…”

“Why the hell not?” Ron insisted, conjuring up three cups and ignoring Hermione's disdainful look, both at the Firewhiskey and at his language. He handed one to Harry. “You'll drink up, eh, Harry?”

Harry looked back and forth between Ron's eager grin and Hermione's distasteful frown. Hermione sighed to herself, knowing that when it came down to it, Harry usually just sided with Ron. She just couldn't believe the prat brought alcohol. Chocolate, Quidditch, and alcohol. Good grief.

“No thanks.” Harry turned down the offer. “Maybe some other time. New Year's, maybe?”

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry caught her expression and offered her a tiny smile that made Hermione go red all over again.

“Suit yourselves,” Ron shrugged. He took a large gulp and cringed as it burned down his throat. Then he blinked, confused, and stared at the bottle. “Hey…”

“What?” Harry asked. “Burned too much?”

“No, it didn't burn at all,” Ron said, turning the bottle over in his hands. Hermione reached over and grabbed it from him to read the label. She laughed.

“Ron, where'd you say you got this from again?”

“Bill's wedding. In the kitchen.”

“And were Fred or George around?”

Ron furrowed his brow and Harry snickered.

“What'd he just drink Hermione?”

“Says here its `Ogey's Ole Sleeping Potion: Guaranteed to shut that bothersome blind date up for eight full hours'.”

“Oh…bollocks..,” was all Ron get out before he swayed in his spot and fell backwards onto his mass of blankets. He was snoring before his head hit the pillow.

“Nice,” Hermione commented.

“That was kind of cool.”

Hermione tugged a blanket out from underneath Ron and draped it over him, his empty Frog boxes, and Quidditch literature. She turned around and was surprised to find Harry look away quickly and stare at the floor, hoping she didn't notice.

“Just making sure he's comfortable,” Hermione said, trying to pretend she wasn't pleased at Harry's fleeting glance. “What, do I have something on my face?”

Harry looked like he was starting to sweat. “I, uh, no, I…no. Nope, you're good.”

Hermione couldn't help but snigger to herself. She at least handled that better than he did. At least, that's what she thought. Maybe she didn't. Oh, God, if she was that awkward when he -

“So…” Harry cleared his throat noisily. “Happy Horquestmas?”

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” Hermione said, indignantly.

“Oh, all right. Happy Christmas,” Harry smiled again, and Hermione wondered why lately his smiles weakened her knees and made a goofy, most likely unattractive expression emerge onto her face.

“I feel like we have to do something to celebrate,” Hermione said finally. “I'm thinking Ron was on the right track with the firewhiskey. To an extent, anyway.”

“I'm sorry I haven't got you a present,” Harry said regretfully. “If I had known it was anywhere near Christmas - “

“I haven't got you anything either, don't worry about it,” Hermione said quickly. Harry sat there, looking quite sad, when suddenly his face brightened up.

“Hang on - “ Harry enlarged his own trunk and began sifting through it. Hermione braced herself for the onslaught of Honeydukes chocolate and Quidditch supplies, but none came. Instead, Harry pulled out a large, crumpled ball of parchment.

“What is it with you two and crumpled paper?” Hermione wondered out loud. “Don't you boys do anything neatly?”

“Nope,” Harry grinned cheekily and handed the ball of paper to her. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

“Oh…thank you…” Hermione said in a strained voice. Harry was being adorable, so she prepared herself to be polite and open-minded about the Quidditch playbook or whatever the wad of parchment was. She carefully and slowly unwrapped it, stalling for time as she wracked her brain for a more gracious-sounding way to say “thank you”.

“You know, its just parchment,” Harry mused. “It's not real wrapping paper. You don't have to unwrap it carefully and fold it perfectly like you do with all your other presents.”

“It's called being economical,” Hermione said defensively. “Waste not, want not, as my mother used to - oh!”

She had unwrapped the gift. In her hands lay silver chain with a silver pendant, shaped like a raven's claw. The talons were curled around a deep, cobalt-blue stone that captivated Hermione. The stone seemed to have facets inside that caught the light and moved themselves as she turned it in her hand. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And she had seen it before.

“Harry, is this…Ravenclaw's necklace?” Hermione breathed. “The horcrux that we destroyed a month ago?”

“We didn't destroy it,” Harry said, looking very pleased with himself. “Your spell just destroyed Voldemort's soul. The necklace came out fine.”

“And you had this all this time?” Hermione whispered, still in awe. Her mind felt completely blank.

“Well, yeah. I don't know what I was keeping it for…” Harry shrugged. “But who better to wear the necklace of the smartest witch in history than the smartest witch of…uh, now.”

“Th-thanks, Harry. Thank you so much.” Hermione said, her brain becoming slightly less numb after his stumbling compliment. “It…it looks so much prettier than before.”

“That's probably because Voldemort's not in it,” Harry told her. “The stone was black before. Now it's blue…I think that was the original color. It would…I think…I think it would look really nice on you.”

Hermione's brain began to freeze again, but she shook it off and smiled weakly at him. It was pretty much the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

“You…you think so?”

“Yeah, I do. Here…” Harry crawled over Ron's sleeping body and took the necklace from her. Hermione felt her entire body warm up, as he unclasped it and placed it around her neck.

“Err…”

“Oh, sorry!” Hermione yelped, holding up her mass of bushy brown hair. Leave it to her untamable mane to ruin a potentially special moment between the two of them.

“Don't be sorry. I love your hair,” she heard him say firmly. “It's really soft, and there's a lot of it…and um, yeah I like it. A lot.”

It sounded kind of like a compliment, so Hermione just smiled in return.

“Oops.” The necklace fell and Hermione grabbed it before it slipped down her shirt and created a very awkward situation that she would probably never live down.

“It's okay, I got it.” Hermione turned to hand it back to him.:

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, so that Hermione could barely hear him. “Leave it to…clumsy fingers…special moment…”

“What was that?” Hermione turned around again. She hadn't caught half of Harry just said.

“Nothing, never mind,” Harry said hastily. “There. All done. I just wish I had a mirror.”

Hermione ran her fingers along Ravenclaw's necklace and Harry watched, seemingly mesmerized.

“Whoa.”

“Is it really that nice?”

“Understatement of the decade.”

“I guess I'll just have to take your word for it then,” Hermione hugged Harry tightly, despite Harry's nervous look and her own rapidly beating heart. “Thank you so much, Harry.”

“It's really no problem. It was sort of, um, free,” Harry laughed anxiously.

Hermione sighed. “I really wish I had something for you. Unfortunately the only other horcrux we've got on us is the HuffleCup.” She reached into Harry's trunk and pulled out their latest horcrux. It still housed a piece of Voldemort's soul, but it looked and felt like a smaller version of the Goblet of Fire, without the telltale flames. It was horribly unremarkable, unlike Ravenclaw's extravagant necklace. The wood had been worn smooth notched deeply by centuries of careless handling.

“I think I'll pass on the wooden cup of evil,” Harry snickered, taking it from her and putting it back in the truck. “Maybe after we've chased out Voldemort's soul.”

“I suppose. I mean look what happened to Ravenclaw's necklace after we destroyed the soul fragment,” Hermione said. “I can just imagine what that might look like.”

“Yeah. What was the name of that potion again?” Harry said, as he took out a loaf of bread and a can of tuna. “The one we have to pour into the cup to destroy the, uh, soul?”

Hermione crawled over to help him prepare their Christmas feast.

“It doesn't really have a name,” Hermione said, slicing the bread with a cutting spell as Harry struggled to force open the can. His look of concentration was so endearing that Hermione had to look away before she sliced her own finger. “It's a combination of potions I've just been hoping would work. Here, give me that.”

She took the can of tuna and used her wand to open it with one simple spell. Harry rolled his eyes.

“You can invent potions using ancient magic, and I can't even open a can of tuna,” Harry said, taking it upon himself to at least prepare the sandwiches.

Hermione stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “Don't say that. I hate when you do that, put yourself down. You can do anything.” She paused. “As long as you have me around to open up the cans.”

Harry laughed again, and Hermione realized just how many times Harry had laughed in the past hour or so. If she didn't believe it was Christmas before, she definitely did now. It was truly a Christmas miracle.

“Here you go.” Harry handed her a sandwich. Hermione watched him as he ate. Ron always ate like food was air and it needed to be inhaled down into his stomach. Harry was a little more reserved, with slightly more manners. Only slightly. The savior of the wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived, rarely got away from a bowl of soup without a small drip on his shirt.

However, tonight was different. He was eating slowly and carefully, taking small bites that would have no doubt alarmed Ron had he not been passed out on the floor. Hermione frowned.

“So, Hermione, what's missing from the potion again?” he asked, obviously making sure he didn't have any food in his mouth before he spoke.

“I don't know. One of the potions I've been referencing is really obnoxious,” Hermione told him, still unnerved by how he was using his napkin properly. “The last and most important ingredient is written in some kind of riddle and I'm completely lost.”

It was Harry's turn to frown. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Hermione shrugged. “I only got to the end of the list yesterday. Then we got lost this morning, and then vampire stole all of Ron's underwear, and then the goat gave you that bruise on your - “

“Okay, okay,” Harry blushed at the memory. “I just want to make sure you know that Ron and I can help with…whatever. We can help.”

“Look who's calling the kettle black.””

Harry shrugged sheepishly. “I guess we both have that issue, huh?”

“Suppose so.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying their Christmas feast. Hermione took the time to think to herself. She wasn't stupid, and she knew Harry far too well to lie to herself. Hermione Granger was never one to make excuses and live in denial. She liked Harry. That much was obvious. Harry seemed to like her a little as well, which was less obvious, but Hermione had a strong hunch. It was all a matter of thinking about this logically, step-by-step,

Harry was her best friend. That was the most important factor in this above all else. Whatever happened, they had to always be best friends.

Then again, Hermione just didn't know how Harry felt. That unknown variable was what was throwing her off. Was she kidding herself, to think that Harry might…like her?

She thought hard, about how he had looked at her when she wore the necklace, and how he snuck those glances at her when she thought she wasn't looking, and how he seemed to be as nervous as she did. Then her mind wandered to the past school year and how mystified his expression was when he discovered Hermione considered his words worthy of a memorization spot in her brain. And the year before, Harry had been so upset when he found out Hermione and Ron had spent so much time together without him. Was that…jealousy? Or was Hermione just grasping for straws? Then there was fourth year, that amazed look he gave her when he saw her in the dress robes…

Hermione just wasn't sure. People always saw what they wanted to see. Maybe Hermione just wanted so badly to have something that she was starting to see things that weren't there.

“So, let's have it.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“The last ingredient. Let me see if I can help figure it out.” Harry clarified.

“Ohh. All right then…” Hermione furrowed her brow. “It went…

`And now the most important part

A seasonal parasite of the heart

Used to murder a great divine,

Hung with purpose over cheer and wine,

Can give couples unwed a spontaneous start'.”

Harry stared at her. “You memorized it?”

“Sure, why not?” It wasn't very long, after all, and she'd read it over and over about a million times. And then there was the fact that it was a limerick, which was just plain odd.

“Never mind. A heart parasite?” Harry frowned. “I feel like that would be a bit difficult to get out hands on.”

“It doesn't have to be literal,” Hermione said, trying not to make it too obvious that she had actually spent a while thinking about the riddle by herself. Harry had looked genuinely distressed when he found out she was trying to do it alone. Though it was nothing compared to how distressed she had been when she caught Harry trying to sneak out of the Burrow and do the Horquest by himself. “These ancient wizards are always riddling about things. It could be anything that hurts the heart. Like cholesterol or something.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Cholesterol? The most important ingredient in destroying a seventh of Voldemort's soul is cholesterol?”

“That was just an example!” Hermione said indignantly.

“Oh, good, because I don't think I'd fancy telling people that we McDonalds'ed Voldemort to death,” Harry said with a straight face.

Hermione allowed herself to crack a hint of a smile.

“How did it go again?” Harry asked. “Killed a divine? What?”

“Here, I'll write it down.” Without realizing it, Hermione had sidled up close to Harry and wrote the riddle on his napkin. Harry leaned closer to read it, and Hermione realized that she could practically feel his breath on her neck…

It smelled like tuna. Hermione refrained from cringing, and instead took great notice in the fact that his hand was resting on the floor right behind her. If she scooted so much as an inch backwards, he would basically have his arm around her. Hermione sat up straight, bolting herself fast to the floor. Sod thinking logically. Harry's body warmth was popping every reasonable thought in her head like a hyperactive child with an endless roll of bubble-wrap.

“What's that `murder a divine' part talking about?” Harry wondered. “Divine is talking about gods, right?”

“Yes, that was my first guess.” Hermione said.

Harry took the napkin Hermione had written on and read it silently. Hermione watched him. As he read, her eyes wandered on their own from the top of his messy-haired head, right over the scar that had become practically invisible as their friendship grew stronger, and down his worn sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley. He treasured those sweaters like they were a vault full of galleons. She imagined they made him think of home, and Mrs. Weasley's warm, tight hugs. Hermione frowned slightly, wondering what her own parents, the Weasleys, and everyone else was doing right then.

Suddenly something caught her eyes. A Chocolate Frog card sticking out of Harry's pocket.

“Why did you take Ron's Chocolate Frog card?” Hermione asked, reaching out to take it.

“What Chocolate Frog - oh!” Harry tried to shift away, but Hermione already had it in her hand.

“Jose Felipiano? Inventor of the floating mistletoe charm!?” Hermione gaped, practically feeling the neurons in her head firing rapidly. It was like someone had stuck a livewire in her ears. “Floating mistletoe?”

Harry went so red that the shade could have easily been called purple. “That's - I was just…”

“Harry!”

“I just wanted to keep it because it seemed like a good thing to know.” Harry babbled frantically. “I didn't want to, I don't know what you're thinking. I didn't want to jump you and snog you or whatever. I swear, I - “

“That's it!” Hermione cried excitedly, taking out her trunk and pulling out her Potions kit. It was quite large, as most Potions kits were, but Hermione's contained several illegal substances to which Harry and Ron intelligently turned a blind eye.

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Mistletoe!” Hermione slammed down a wooden box so loudly in front of him that for a moment she thought she had woken Ron up from his guaranteed 8-hour slumber. He stirred, mumbled something about double-bacon cheeseburgers, turned over, and began to snore again.

Harry stared at the wooden box as Hermione opened it. Inside were three small sprigs of what was obviously mistletoe.

“Umm…”

“Mistletoe is a parasitic plant!” Hermione explained animatedly. “The heart bit is probably talking about how people kiss under it. That last line as well. The seasonal reference is obvious, of course, it's the Christmas season. `Hung with purpose of cheer and wine'?”

Harry was mystified. “What?”

“And the divine murder thing. Of course! It's referencing Norse mythology! The god Baldur was killed with mistletoe dart to the heart! Oh, maybe that's what the `parasite of the heart' means. Or that line could have a double meaning, that's also very possible. But either way, God, Harry, you're brilliant! The last ingredient is mistletoe!”

Harry was opening and closing his mouth wordlessly as Hermione poured over all her notes. Her mind was racing and everything blurred past as began drawing up her new potion. That was it! The solution to the Hufflecup horcrux!

“This all makes so much sense now! The mistletoe will of course counteract the properties of the spristletwig. The Narjhan potion was faulty, but with the neutralization of the…”

With a loud bang that echoed inside her head for a good several minutes, Hermione then realized what Harry had said before her brain went into overdrive. She looked up from her notes, her hand and quill frozen in place, and stared at him.

“So, mistletoe, huh? Good going, Hermione,” Harry said, patting her heartily on the back. “Brilliant!”

“What did you say?” Hermione asked quietly. “I mean, why did you keep the wizarding card. I remember now, while Ron was flinging his stuff like a monkey in a zoo. I saw you pocket it.”

Harry dug his toe into the floor of the tent, looking quite like he wanted to dig himself a hole and smother in it. “Look, okay, it's not like I'm some kind of…pervert…”

“What?!”

“This is all coming out so wrong,” Harry groaned. “But okay, Hermione, I wasn't just looking for a quick snog, okay? I'm not like that. I mean, okay, who doesn't like a good snog? But - “

Harry realized what he'd said. “Oh, Merlin, no. I mean, er, I don't want to just snog you, okay?”

“Oh…”

“No! I don't mean I don't want to snog you,” Harry corrected himself hastily. “I'm just saying, I'm not shallow or anything. I don't check out girls and, I don't know, their bodies - no, no, I mean I do! But just not in a randy, meathead way! I mean, um, okay, oh Hermione, you know I'd never look at you like that!”

“…oh…” Hermione was still staring at him, not quite sure what he was talking about.

“No! No, of course I look at you! I mean yeah girls have nice bodies and stuff, but you - “

Hermione was pulled out of her daze and at least had the dignity to bristle and take offense.

“Oh, God, I don't mean it like that! I mean okay, you have a body. A real nice one!” Harry blabbered on. “It's just that unlike everyone - all the other - Hermione you've got a head on your body! Oh, crap, and now you're thinking I don't see girls and I just see a bunch of headless bodies. It's not like that. I see heads it's just that, okay, okay your face is the only one that really matters. Like, I don't care about the others, even though I definitely see them, I just care about yours. Because you're…pretty…and…uh…”

Harry trailed off, looking completely and utterly lost. He also looked absolutely horrified at what his mouth had just dared to spew at her. Hermione took a few moments to process the information, a few moments that Harry spent wringing his fingers and staring hard at the threads of the blanket he was sitting on.

“Harry?” Hermione said suddenly.

“Um…yes?”

“I think…I think that you like me.”

There it was, out in the open. Hermione had taken it upon herself to gather that bothersome Gryffindor courage and just spit it all out in the most succinct and to-the-point manner she could achieve. If the sentence had been a word longer, Hermione was sure that she would have ended up babbling like Harry just did. So she said it, and crossed her fingers tightly, biting her lip until she thought she tasted blood. She knew that she shouldn't get her hopes up, but her hopes were bubbling to the brim with the explosive desire to be right. Hermione couldn't help it.

“I…I think I do too,” Harry said slowly. He cleared his throat and dared to look her in the eyes. Hermione cracked one eye open and found Harry looking at her hesitantly. She opened the other eye and her look was all Harry really needed.

But she was Hermione. She always had something to say.

“Well, then I guess it's a good thing I l-like you too. I'm pretty sure I'm the only girl in the whole world who would take everything you just said as a compliment.”

The tension was broken. They both cracked up, tears practically trickled out as they laughed about the ludicrousness of the situation. They were two teenagers on a quest to save the entire wizarding world, trapped in the middle of a blizzard with a vessel of unspeakably concentrated dark magic on their left, tuna sandwiches and illegal potion ingredients in front of them, their snoring best friend in a drug-induced slumber to their right, and a blue fire that danced wildly as if laughing with them at their backs. Their breath reeked of tuna fish and Harry had a long streak of chocolate down the side of his face. It was the center of all insanity and for some reason that was where the world suddenly made sense.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said when the laughter finally died down. They lay side-by-side on the backs, staring up at the shaking ceiling of their tent. “I'm sorry that I'm not very good with words.”

“Don't be sorry,” Hermione insisted. “You're fine with words.”

“I sounded like a pervert. A stupid one, at that.”

“Well, yes, but that's only because you were nervous,” Hermione reassured him, turning to her side and propping herself up on one elbow. “So nervous that I had to go in and save you. What's up with that, Mr. Hero?”

Harry laughed. “Well, since you made the first move I guess it's only fair that I make the second one.”

Hermione's eyes widened. “And what's that?”

Harry sat up and began to rummage around. Hermione sat up as well and watched him as he held up the Jose Felipiano's Chocolate Frog card.

“Phoradendron Leviosa.”

A sprig of mistletoe popped out of thin air and fluttered over their heads like a butterfly. Hermione giggled, in spite of herself.

“Happy Horquestmas?” Harry touched a tentative finger to her cheek as their lips came closer together. Hermione snickered softly.

“Happy Horquestmas, Harry.”

- - -

THE END :-D

3^rd Note: I hope that was okay. I'm not gonna bore you over and over about how I never like my fics and blah, blah, blah…but I just really wanted to upload something for Christmas :-) and I hope you all had/are still having (because this is totally not late) a very good holiday!!! :-D!!!

4^th Note: Jose Feliciano = guy who sang Feliz Navidad. I love that song. Hee!

5^th Note: Oh yeah, this was inspired by a fanart I saw a looong time ago. Harry and Ron sitting around one of Hermione's bluebell flames with Hermione conspicuously absent :-( Hopefully someone knows what I'm talking about?