"I'm freezing," I whisper to Mary as we walk back up to the castle. "I'm so cold, it's ridiculous."
"It's not my fault your scarf blew away, Lily," Mary smiles. Though covered with hats, our hair blows haywire because of the wind.
"It's your fault I came to watch you ride your stupid new broom!" I cry, pulling my cloak higher around my neck.
She pretends to be offended. I laugh as we trudge back up to the castle, wishing I'd had breakfast first. Instead, I'd been dragged out of bed by Mary at six thirty, woken by her yelling about her new Cleansweep 6. As if on cue, she adds, "Cleansweep Sixes aren't stupid, Lily. Just because you can't tell one end of a broom for the other..."
Before I have time to reply, my neck feels warmer. I look down. A Gryffindor scarf is wrapped around my neck. "Did you do that?" I ask Mary.
She looks up. "Do what?"
"Put the scarf on me."
She shakes her head, frowning. I finger the frayed ends of the scarf cautiously, wondering what is going on. "Look," she says, "lets just get back to the castle. Who cares who gave you the scarf?"
I shrug, but glance around anyway. It feels like somebody's there, but I can't see anybody. And then I understand. "You go on ahead," I say. "I want to check something."
Her expression is bemused, but she agrees. "Alright."
I watch her walk through the heavy wooden doors of the castle, then I speak. "I know you're there, James."
He whips off his Invisibility Cloak. "Hey, Lily."
"Thanks for the scarf." I motion at the accessory on my neck. He shrugs. "Why'd you follow me? You weren't spying on me, were you?" The last words come out sounding frantic.
He chuckles. "No, no. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Well, talk, then."
He ruffles his hair, like he always does when he's nervous. I try not to smile. "The, uh, date we had a week ago. It was OK, right?"
I try not to laugh at his nervousness. "Yes, James, it was OK. More than OK. I had a great time."
He visibly relaxes. "Do you reckon we could, y'know, do it again sometime?"
It's hard to watch James Potter being nervous. It's so unlike him to be worried about anything -- but suprisingly adorable.
"I'd love to," I say honestly.
"Well, good," he replies.
A mist of awkwardness is beginning to form between us. "Thanks for the scarf," I say again.
"S'alright," he shrugs.
"But you don't have one now," I continue.
"I'm fine," he says. "We're almost at the castle, anyway."
"Maybe," I suggest, "we could share."
He looks up, grinning. I wrap it around both of us, and it feels nice. "Merry Christmas, Lily."
"Merry Christmas, James."
He looks at me, and I look at him.
Who ever said you needed mistletoe to kiss on Chistmas Day?