Christmas at the Potters' was always a grand event. While the outside of the estate was left bare, strung up inside were dozens of Christmas lights. All the same warm white, of course -- Effie would have a heart attack if it was an explosion of vibrancy -- but God, was it beautiful.

During their Christmas-Eve dinner, a vast buffet of all sorts of food, there was a faint knock on the front door.

It had been James to offer to get it, adjusting how his hat sat on his head as he slipped from the room, excusing himself from his conversation with Sirius. He didn't care—he was far too intent on stuffing his face with as much food as humanly possible, and James's parents, Euphemia and Fleamont, were conducting some sort of orchestra by charming the bells and wreaths on the wall. It was a monstrous sound -- but they were having fun. The Potters always had fun during Christmas time.

James had opened the door with that stupid lopsided grin on his face, having been looking over his shoulder towards the chaos before acknowledging who was there. His smile faded as he saw you, his beautiful love -- your pitiful expression, the way you'd been soaked by the rain. It switched to a frown instantly.

"{{user}}?"