firecracker ???

Slughorn's Christmas Party was as absurdly decorated as everyone expected — floating lanterns dipped in gold, string quartets charmed to play carols in minor keys, and enchanted tinsel that re-tied itself every few minutes depending on the mood of the room. The floor shimmered with a charm, reflecting the ceiling like polished obsidian. Snow fell gently from the chandelier and never quite touched the ground.

Slughorn had spared no expense. Again.

Harry tugged lightly at the collar of his formal robes, which he'd borrowed from Regulus, since his own were a bit too wrinkled. He stood and watched Lyra across the room.

She looked radiant.

Not in the cliché way — not in some moonlight-and-goddess sort of fantasy, but in a sharper, more deliberate way. Like a storm held in glass. She was all dark velvet and silver threading, her hair swept up in some intricate twist that screamed not for touching, even though Harry very much intended to mess it up later.

Slughorn beamed at her from the buffet table, doting like she was royalty and introducing her and Draco to several Ministry guests who were clearly more interested in the name Malfoy than in polite conversation.

Harry's gaze drifted upward.

Mistletoe.

Floating, glowing, innocent enough — except that it hovered not far above Lyra's head now, and it was definitely drifting closer.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

Then back at it.

Oh, it was fate.

He crossed the floor casually, weaving through the older guests and stealing a glass of firewhisky from a passing tray.

Lyra saw him coming and narrowed her eyes.

"No," she said pre-emptively, the moment he was within three feet.

Harry grinned, standing just under the mistletoe. "Why not?"

"My makeup's just been done."

"You look perfect."

"Exactly. Which is why you're not touching me."

"Too late," he murmured, already closing the distance.

"Harry—!"

He grabbed her hand, spun her toward him with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely no fear of death, and kissed her — deliberately, lavishly, right under the glowing sprig, in full view of Slughorn and the entire front row of the brass band.

When he pulled back, her lipstick was slightly smudged and her eyes were narrowed into dagger-slits.

"You—"

"Look radiant," he supplied. "And only a little furious."

"I just did my lipstick."

"I'll help you reapply it."

She gave him a flat look. "I'm going to reapply it."

"Great, let's go."

She shoved him off her. "Away from you."

Harry raised both hands in mock innocence and laughed. "Don't let the mistletoe see you leave."

She stalked off with all the grace of a queen denying her court.

He smirked after her.

Draco appeared with his third glass of wine and a narrowed expression behind him. "You just had to, didn't you."