25. Chapter 25

In the afternoon, it starts to snow.

The timing couldn't have been better. Rey and her schoolmates gasp in delight as the first cold flakes hit their cheeks while they're filing out of the castle. Obi-Wan had announced over breakfast that it was a Hogsmeade day and all of the older students had jumped at the opportunity to buy last-minute presents and grab a pint at the Three Broomsticks.

First and second years aren't allowed to go on the Hogsmeade excursions and, although Rey had gotten her mother to sign the permission slip in her third year— saying that it was for a school field trip, which wasn't really a lie— she'd spent most winter breaks since then at either Finn or Rose's house. Thus, it'll only be her second time to while away Christmas Eve at the wizarding village.

Of course, her excitement also has a lot to do with the fact that there's a big chance Professor Solo— Ben— will be there as well.

Ben, Ben, Ben, Rey thinks happily, holding the name close to her heart as she clambers into one of the black carriages. He'd been in a rush earlier, saying that he had to go meet his parents before his Muggle father did anything stupid in magical territory, but he'd remembered to kiss her goodbye on his way out of the Room of Requirement.

By the time the school carriages roll into Hogsmeade, the snow is falling in copious, spiraling flurries that cover the thatched cottages in a layer of soft, pristine white. The powder-dusted trees twinkle with strings of enchanted candles, their cheery golden lights glinting off of the holly wreaths hung on every door.

It's the type of picture-perfect Christmas village that one might see inside a snow globe, and Rey is utterly entranced— even more so when she and Seff make their way to High Street, where all the shops are located, and it's just one bustling, radiant avenue lined with sparkling display windows that are all done up in red and green and purple and gold.

The first stop is Honeydukes. Rey stocks up on nougat, toffees, and her beloved sugar quills that are all marked on sale, and then— over her protestations— Seff treats her to one of the freshly baked gingerbread yetis by the cash register.

"Consider it a Christmas present," Seff tells her. "It's no trouble. Mum and Dad sent me a little extra this year— to make up for the impending divorce and everything, I guess."

"Now I feel bad for you and I have no choice but to accept," Rey grumbles, and Seff laughs.

She contentedly nibbles on the gingerbread yeti as they peruse the other shops. Gladrags is having a five pairs for one deal on socks, and Rey immediately decides that these will be her presents for her friends in lieu of the usual Christmas cards and candy that were all she'd been able to afford in the past. She leaves Seff at Scrivenshaft's, where he's poring over quills and ink pots, and slips into the wizarding apparel store to pick out socks for Finn, Rose, Seff, and her roommates. There's a lot to choose from— there are socks patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, another pair patterned with animated flying hippogriffs, socks that glow in the dark, socks that scream if they get too smelly, socks that give off a distinct whiff of pineapple, and so on and so forth.

Rey contemplates buying a present for Ben as well. She doubts he'll appreciate any of what Gladrags has to offer— they're too fun for him, for starters— but perhaps she can get him a book or something. She heads on over to Tomes and Scrolls; after half an hour of carefully browsing the shelves, though, she's forced to conclude that their wares are astronomically out of her budget.

What had she been thinking? Books are expensive.

Embarrassed, Rey slinks back into the clothing shop and purchases the safest pair of socks that she can find. They sport a garish orange and yellow paisley print, but nothing's moving and they don't make any strange noises. There's really no hope that Ben will like them, but he might at the very least appreciate the thought.

A cloth bag stuffed with gift-wrapped parcels dangling from her arm, Rey meets Seff outside the Three Broomsticks, as they'd agreed, and they shuffle indoors with several of their schoolmates.

The pub is smoky and crowded, but warm enough that it's a welcome respite from the December chill. Maz Kanata, the tiny, grizzled old witch who is the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks, bellows a greeting as the Hogwarts contingent elbow their way to the bar.

"Happy Christmas, you lot!" She goggles at the students through over-sized round spectacles. "What'll it be today?"

Although everyone else orders butterbeer, Rey's still a bit raw from her and Ben's conversation about her parents the previous day. She doesn't think she can stomach anything that even remotely resembles alcohol at the moment, so she settles on hot chocolate, and Maz has barely placed a large mug of the thick, frothy beverage on the counter in front of Rey when—

— the deepest, dearest voice rumbles—

"Four butterbeers, please."

"Coming right up, professor. You tell Chewie to stop by the bar for a chat before he leaves." Maz winks at the veritable brick wall of heat and sandalwood scent that's standing behind Rey before turning away to fill the requisite pints at the tap.

Rey has forgotten how to move. How to turn around. How to breathe. Ben feels so near that, if she takes just one step back, she will surely walk right into him.

But out of the corner of her eye, she sees her schoolmates whirling to face him and she knows that she has to follow suit or risk coming off as unforgivably rude. She spins on her heel, clutching her mug of hot chocolate like it's a shield against horniness, and there he is. Looking his long nose down at her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black peacoat. The rest of the world fades into mere wallpaper.

She barely hears Pamich Nerrro Goode chirp— in that excessively cheerful, painfully polite manner that one often adopts when encountering a teacher in the wild— "Wotcher, Professor Solo! Having a little drinkypoo, then?"

"Er— yes, Miss Goode. With my family." Ben gestures toward the back of the pub, but it's so crowded that Rey can only see Chewbacca over everyone else's heads, puffing away on a hand-rolled cigar the size of a hammer.

"Oh?" Pamich says in an agony of small talk, her smile so courteous that it's almost maniacal. "They're visiting you for the holidays? That's so nice!"

"I suppose that it is," Ben says levelly.

There is... a wealth of awkward silence, during which Pamich looks wildly at the other students for help and Ben seems to be looking everywhere but at Rey and Rey can't bring herself to stop looking at him. They're surrounded by her schoolmates. She is going to combust.

Maz saves the day by plunking down four heavy tankards on the counter. Ben reaches over to pay, his arm stretching out past Rey's shoulder and his breath stirring her hair as he mumbles, "Excuse me, Miss Niima."

She moves aside as best as she can, but there are several villagers clustered at the bar beside her so she doesn't get very far.

Merlin, he smells so good, is all that she can think, his hip brushing up against hers as he drops coins into Maz's waiting palm.

Then Ben is straightening up, waving his blackthron wand over the four tankards so that they rise into the air. He nods curtly at Rey's group. "Don't drink too much," he warns them.

"Yes, sir," they all automatically chorus, and he walks away with the tankards full of butterbeer trailing after him.

"Well, that was bloody awkward," Pamich humphs once Ben's out of earshot. "Fat lot of help you guys were..."

The students pick up their beverages and drift off into their respective cliques, looking for a place to sit down. Rey, Seff, Pamich, and Bazel Warv make it all the way to the back of the pub before finding four empty seats— unfortunately, right at the table where Ben and Chewbacca are seated, with two other people who can only be Ben's parents.

I'm not stalking you, Rey vainly tries to broadcast to him via a telepathic link that, if the universe is kind, will pop up right at this moment.

But the universe is not kind, and Ben solemnly drinks his butterbeer and avoids making eye contact, the tips of his ears turning just the slightest shade of pink as Chewie beckons the students over after a hurried exchange with Leia Organa.

Rey recognizes Ben's mother right away. The newspaper photos had not done her justice; she is beautiful and regal in robes of amethyst silk embellished with silver fastenings, her graying hair coiled in a series of elaborate braids. Her eyes are so much like Ben's, expressive and the color of brandy, and she wastes no time in telling Han and Ben to make room for the four teenagers.

"That's all right, ma'am," Pamich protests, sounding just as alarmed as Rey feels, "we wouldn't want to intrude—"

"Nonsense!" says the MACUSA president in an imperious tone that is uncannily reminiscent of Ben barking instructions at the class. "You all look like you've been running around in the snow all day— time to sit down and get cozy— Han, will you move, please?"

"Right away, Your Worship," her husband mutters, shifting his chair so that there'll be enough space for everyone at the table.

Han Solo is tall, with ruggedly handsome features and the leanness of someone who's just come out of a long hospital stay. He's bundled up in a ribbed sweater, a flannel jacket, and— Rey's heart squeezes when she realizes this— the same houndstooth scarf that Ben had been wearing yesterday. She imagines him grumping at his father for not dressing warmly enough, maybe arranging the scarf around Han's neck himself while saying something about how deadly British winters are...

"Rey! Go!" Pamich is nudging her forward. In the direction of the empty chair right beside Ben.

"What?" Rey hisses back. "Why me?"

"I'm not going to sit beside our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at a pub! Just take one for the team, will you—"

"Is something the matter, dears?" Leia asks. Seff has already made himself comfortable next to Han, with Bazel on his other side. The entire table is looking at Rey and Pamich expectantly— save for Ben, who's gazing into the depths of his tankard like it contains the arcane secrets of the universe.

Red-faced, Rey ducks her head and mumbles something to the effect that there's nothing wrong as she slowly, clumsily inches into the chair beside Ben, taking great care that no part of her body touches his. She'd been excited to go to Hogsmeade and maybe see him with his parents— maybe catch a glimpse of what he's like with the people that he loves— but this is quickly turning into a harrowing lesson on being careful what you wish for.

"So, Ben, Chewie— aren't you going to introduce us to your students?" Leia asks brightly once they've all settled down.

Rey sees Ben glance at Chewie, but the Hogwarts gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor has just put the cigar back to his mouth, and he gestures expansively at Ben to do the honors.

Ben clears his throat. "Mom, Dad, this is Miss Niima—"

"And here I thought we were in a bar, not your classroom," Han scoffs. "First names, please."

"They call them pubs here, Han," Leia reminds him. "But, yes, Ben, there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"Very well," Ben says through gritted teeth, glaring at his father, who merely sips his butterbeer and looks unrepentant. "This is Rey, Pamich, Bazel, and Seff. Everyone, these are my parents. Leia Organa and Han Solo."

It's pretty clear that Seff is starstruck by Leia, but he makes a valiant attempt at conversation. "And how are you finding Scotland, Madame President and, er— Mr. Madame President's Husband?"

One thing that Rey's noticed about a lot of Ravenclaws is that they rarely get tripped up but, when they do, it's a full-on face-plant. It would appear that Seff is no exception.

"It's just Han and Leia, dear. As I said, there's no need to stand on ceremony." Leia flashes Seff a gracious smile. "Scotland is wonderful! Although— it's very cold—"

"So damn cold," Han agrees. "Been freezing since we got off the plane."

Rey's surprise overcomes her shyness. "You flew?" she blurts out.

Han grins at her. A crooked, shit-eating grin that she has sometimes seen on his son's face. "Nah, kid. Like I said, we took the plane."

A whole three seconds pass before everyone else realizes that he's making a joke based on flew and Floo sounding alike.

It's Chewie who laughs first, hearty and roaring, and soon Rey, Seff, Pamich, and Bazel are following suit, while Leia and Ben just look faintly embarrassed.

"I've never been on an airplane before, but we discussed them in Muggle Studies," Bazel says thoughtfully when the mirth has run its course. "Portkeys and the Floo Network are so much faster for intercontinental travel, but planes are more comfortable, I imagine."

"There's a Muggle Studies class?" Han smirks. "Can I apply to teach it, I'm very qualified—"

"That'd make you and Ben coworkers," Chewie points out. "I'd pay to see that."

"I wouldn't," Ben deadpans, and Han laughs, his dark eyes twinkling fondly.

Rey is happier than she could ever have imagined to see for herself that there's someone in Ben's life who looks at him like that.

"To answer your question, Bazel, planes are definitely more comfortable," says Leia. "Han can't abide Portkeys or the Floo, they make him violently sick. It's a good thing I have a Muggle passport."

"I seem to recall you singing a different tune whenever we hit turbulence," Han quips. "You said you'd never forgive me for sticking you on this deathtrap if we crashed before you saw your son again—"

"Anyway, isn't it so nice that we're all here!" Leia airily cuts across, and Han jolts as if someone's just kicked him under the table. "Kids, you must tell me what Ben is like as a teacher. I hope he isn't being too hard on you."

There is a brief, uncomfortable silence. Rey practically inhales her hot chocolate so that she won't have to answer.

"Not— not in the least," Pamich squeaks. "Professor Solo is— very understanding and gentle— and tall—"

"He's so nice to us!" Bazel says emphatically.

"A paragon of kindness!" Seff adds with fervor.

Leia blinks and then casts a doubtful glance at Ben. "Really?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom," Ben drawls. "Obviously, they don't wish to offend and are being charitable."

Leia's mischief-tinged gaze falls on Rey. "Well, perhaps Rey has a less charitable assessment."

And Rey knows that she's being awfully quiet and the older woman is merely folding her into the conversation with a diplomat's ease, but she still can't help the guilt-ridden anxiety that crashes through her in waves. The pub is too loud all of a sudden, the various conversations at the other tables taking on a dull roar and the clatter of utensils and drink containers exploding like shockwaves. Everyone's looking at her— even Ben, she can see his pale face turned towards her at the periphery of her vision— but she only has eyes for Leia, who is so distinguished and so kind, who has no idea what her son does to Rey in the dead of night or in stolen moments during the day. Leia has no idea of the damage that will be wrought upon Ben's career and reputation with one wrong move, one badly timed kiss. No idea that there is a danger that the second chance she worked so hard to give him will come crashing down because of the girl she so blithely invited to sit with them on Christmas Eve.

Rey has no right to be here. She should just go. And she should also do Ben's sweet mother a favor and never touch him again—

And that's when she feels the side of Ben's thigh brush up against hers under the table— and stay there, a warm, comforting pressure through their respective jeans. She's too spooked to actually look at him straight on, but this reminder of his presence grounds her more than anything.

They're in this together.

She has to let his parents know how amazing he is. How hard he tries.

"Professor Solo is a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The most competent we've ever had," Rey tells Leia and, by extension, Han as he listens with undisguised interest. "He can be tough, but only because he wants us to do our best. To be our best. He emphasizes practical application while also making sure that we're grounded in theory. And he's one of the most brilliant wizards I've ever met. He's just—" Rey swallows— "he's doing a really great job."

Her schoolmates nod in silent agreement. Hans looks as pleased as punch, while Leia seems a bit misty-eyed.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the young pup's about to blush!" Chewie claps Ben on the back, and a few drops of the latter's butterbeer slosh out of the tankard that he's holding.

It's only then that Rey lets herself turn to look at Ben. His Occlumency is in place, she can tell from how remote his features are— and she can't begrudge him for it, not when they're sitting together under everyone's scrutiny— but his complexion is tinged pink. His thigh remains pressed against hers.

The small talk flows smoothly from there and is actually quite pleasant, even though Rey doesn't feel up to contributing to much of it. Han is a character; combined with Leia's gift for making people feel at ease, the whole thing isn't as awkward as it could have been. Rey also learns that Chewie, Han, and Leia are old friends thanks to Obi-Wan. Through it all, she's unable to fully relax, but she's slightly consoled by the fact that Ben can't, either. She feels the tension in his frame radiating against hers.

Eventually, her schoolmates start making noises about not wanting to get left behind by the school carriages. They stand up and so does Rey; as she rises from her chair, she lets her fingers trail over Ben's knee. The lightest of touches, the most subtle of farewells. Out loud, she bids a polite goodbye to him and to his parents and to Chewie, and, as she follows Seff, Pamich, and Bazel out of the Three Broomsticks, she has to clench her fists against the temptation to look back.

✨✨✨

"Did I really say that Professor Solo was 'understanding, gentle, and tall'?" Pamich shakes her head in mournful disbelief. "Why can't I talk like a functional human being when I'm nervous?"

"It wasn't that bad," Seff attempts to reassure her. "I mean, he's apparently 'the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had,' so—"

"Oi, I was nervous, too!" Rey snaps hotly.

"I like President Organa," Bazel muses. "She's not stuffy, unlike most politicians."

"Professor Solo's dad is great, too," Pamich adds. "He's so funny. But he looked a bit peaky, yes? Wonder if he's been ill..."

Rey clams up. Now that she can put a face to a name— now that she can fully envision what had happened in the Adirondacks— all she wants to do is to hug Ben. To tell him, see, everything's all right, you are forgiven, you are loved...

They pass by Zonko's Joke Shop on their way out of High Street. Seff and Rey had dropped by earlier so that the former could buy Frog Spawn Soap and slip it into the boys' bathroom in Ravenclaw Tower as revenge for his roommate serving him tea in a Nose-Biting Teacup last week, but now— with only a couple of hours left until closing time— there's a shop attendant standing outside and distributing free Father Christmas hats that will become obsolete the day after tomorrow.

Rey commits the grave mistake of making eye contact with the shop attendant. He bounds over to her and plops the red hat on top of her head. "A Happy Christmas to you, my good lady!"

"This wouldn't happen to be the prank hat that makes you grow a matching beard, would it?" she asks him suspiciously.

"Heavens, no— that was last year's model! You can always depend on Zonko's for fresh laughs!"

Rey doesn't trust people who punctuate every sentence with an exclamation point. As she and her group continue walking, she reaches up to whip the hat off— only for her fingers to grasp empty air.

"What the..." She looks around.

The hat is now on a very surprised Bazel's head.

Rey groans.

This is going to be a bloody nuisance.

✨✨✨

As it turns out, Rey's not the only student who'd been victimized by Zonko's attendant. Dinner that evening is marked by several red and white Father Christmas hats blinking in and out of existence up and down the Great Hall. They don't always Apparate onto someone's head; sometimes they end up on the chandelier, sometimes in the fod. Professor Hux has no less than five hats appear atop his ginger hair and then vanish moments later, growing more livid with each one.

"Come now, Armitage!" Rey overhears Obi-Wan telling him. "At least it's not the ones that make you grow a beard— although you pulled that look off really well last year, old chap..."

"It's a plague," Seff says, picking a hat out of his soup. "Zonko's are mad geniuses. I reckon that this sort of mass-produced charm will wear off in a couple of days, though. Maybe less."

"Still not soon enough," Rey declares.

The next morning, she wakes up to her accursed Father Christmas hat perched on top of the mirror. It doesn't Disapparate again for several minutes and she heaves a sigh of relief as she gets out of bed, thinking that the spellwork has faded.

However, the moment she exits her room, she feels that slight, telltale weight materialize on her head. Wonderful. She'd tried banishing it last night but it hadn't taken; she is this close to setting the thing on fire.

The Gryffindor common room is deserted. Rey checks the clock on the wall and realizes that she'd woken up far too early. There's already a fire crackling in the hearth, though, and the view beyond the windows swirls with fat snowflakes.

It's Christmas morning.

Still dressed in her pajamas, Rey sits down cross-legged by the colorful, glittering tree in one corner and eagerly rummages through the heap of presents at its base. There are parcels addressed to her from Finn, Rose, Chewie, and her roommates. She can give Chewie his socks after the Christmas feast and later she'll nip up to the school owlery to send packages to Tallie, Jess, and Jannah, but Finn and Rose will have to wait until they come back after the New Year. Rey can't afford the hefty fees for international mail.

One day, she promises herself. One day she'll be able to splurge on things like these.

Her gaze is drawn to what is easily the biggest parcel under the tree. Wrapped in fancy-looking gold paper bedecked with a sparkling, opalescent ribbon, it's longer than Rey is tall and vaguely Y-shaped. Curious, she leans in to examine the attached card.

And her heart skips a beat.

EURYDICE NIIMA. Printed in neat block letters, in silver ink.

Rey flips open the card. There's only one word scrawled on the inside. A question.

TONIGHT?

It's... well, it's not exactly the sweetest of Christmas greetings, by any means, but she understands that Ben does have to be careful in case someone else got nosy and peeked at the card. That's probably also why he hadn't used his usual cursive, which would have been too recognizable.

In any case, it doesn't really matter what he'd written. He'd gotten her a present. She taps her wand to the parcel and its wrappings vanish and, there, on the floor, is—

Rey hauls it across her lap, disbelieving, just as Gandris Dyun emerges from the boys' dormitory, yawning and also still clad in his pajamas. The moment he sees Rey and what she's just unwrapped, though, all trace of sleepiness disappears and he lets out a low whistle.

"Galloping gorgons..." the Chaser whispers, his tone reverent, "that's a— Niima, that's a Firebolt Supreme—"

"I know," Rey whispers right back, illogically afraid that speaking in too loud a voice will cause this dream to end. For what else can it be but a dream? She runs her trembling fingers over the broomstick's glossy ebony wood handle and its goblin-made ironwork, and then her gaze darts to the twigs at one end— hazel, for greater precision in turning, perfect for a Seeker who needs to follow the Golden Snitch's frantic, random path.

"That's the fastest broom ever made." Gandris walks over to her, every bit as utterly mesmerized as she is. "It can go from nought to one hundred and ninety miles per hour in ten seconds. It's got superb balance and precision and an unbreakable Braking Charm and it can take even the most adverse of weather conditions. That's a world-class broomstick, that is! That's what professional Quidditch players ride!"

Rey blinks back tears of piercing, poignant happiness. This is the finest thing she's ever owned and will probably ever own. But all she can see is Ben. Ben as he studies her features, as he talks to her, as he files bits and pieces of her away for reference in that brilliant mind of his. Ben as he pulls out snacks for her every time she drops by his office, as he holds her because she'd asked him to and when she doesn't need to ask anymore. Ben as he must have been the night he sent his Patronus to watch over her while she was in detention. Ben as he'd kissed the top of her head before drifting off to sleep.

She hugs the Firebolt Supreme to her chest, closing her eyes and wishing that she were hugging him instead.

"Bloody hell, Niima," she hears Gandris continue in what can only be described as awe, "who got you that for Christmas?"

Rey chooses to ignore him. In her mind, though, she answers. Someone understanding and gentle. A soft smile plays at the corners of her mouth. And tall.