Three People, a House Elf, and a Cat by ebonyquill

"Damn cat," he says.

I stare at him from across the room. When he catches my eye, he grins. I give him my best glare while I think of poverty, rage, and worldwide epidemics. Then he gives me that innocent crooked smile and I have to look away before I crack and smile back. I pick up some of the holiday greeting cards as he scratches his head, wondering what to do about the long gone tree branches.

"Honestly, I think we've gotten a lot done today," he tries to convince me. I'm not the kind of person to fall for such childish cons.

I give him my best eye roll and make sure to do it very slowly so he can comprehend that I really am mad at him even though I'm not. Then I say to myself, with the single intention of having him overhear me and for him to feel horrible about himself, softly I'll say, "So immature."

I know that that kills him. I know that whenever I reflect back to the days when he was a bully, he cringes and listens to everything I say. I know that everytime I refer to the 'dark ages,' he fears that he's going to loose me because he knows thatI absolutely can't tolerate immaturity. I know that his hazel eyes will darken with sadness and he'll plead with me as if he's already lost me. I know that because I know him.

I don't understand why I enjoy being so mean to him. I really don't. I'm not even that cruel because every time I say something like that, I give him a look. I'll stare at him like he's the most repulsive thing in the world. Then I'll smile and he'll know that everything is okay. His chest will release itself from its knots that it's created for itself and he'll breathe smoothly once again.

The second we hear the door click, we both start to panic. We look at each other and understand that we have to keep our stories straight. Our bodies stiffen and we stand up appropriately. When the door opens and hear the shrill of her voice, our bodies become wooden. Our breathing coincides with each other. It is sparse and quickened. Our heartbeats coincide with each other. They're beating harder than tribal drums.

"Whose fault is this?" the tired woman asks.

He mutters quietly, breaking our alike respiratory patterns, "You'd never believe us."

"Try me," the shrill of her voice reminds me of an ostrich. I've never heard an ostrich, but if I did, I'm sure it would sound just as she did in this moment. If I had heard an ostrich I'm sure that tiny shocks would have inched up my spine and that my throat would have tightened in the same way.

Merlin. There it is. That innocent crooked smile. When I see that familiar smile in this unorthodox situation, my body finds peace with itself and all is calm.

"We were attacked, Professor," he sighed, nodding in agreement with the nameless who sympathizes him.

She narrowed her eyes. "Is this a game? How could you possibly have been attacked?"

"It was the House elves, Professor," the silly boy sighed again, "Quite vicious."

By the look on our dearest Professor's face, I knew that she didn't buy it. You'd think she'd believe us. She stares at me. She thinks she can count on me to give her the truth or the die look. I give her the truth look. When she pauses, I wonder if my credibility is enough. It always has been, but now that I'm dating the class clown, my credibility is somewhat damaged.

"Enlighten me, Potter, what exactly happened in this Common Room tonight?" she says, rubbing her temples.

He starts to tell her about how he might have teased the House elves and how he might have tried to give them presents and how he might have not expected for one of them to actually take a present. I try to hold back a laugh as he explains that in those presents were some horribly knitted red and yellow socks and how he would have never put the socks to good use and then he explained that even House elves got cold feet.

I knitted those socks and I have never been so proud of them.

"Miss Evans, what happened after that?" She looks at me with a great amount of trust in her eyes.

I start to fidget under her strong stare. I purse and unpurse my lips in a split second. I wonder what would happen if I told her a complete lie. I'm almost positive that she'd see right through me. Almost positive is good enough for me. So I tell her the truth, "I suppose the House elves saw it fit to gain revenge. I convinced James that what he did was wrong. . so we were writing apology notes to them on the Christmas cards on the floor," I pointed to the ones I had picked up and almost thrown away.

The stupid boy sniggered because he knew the rest of the story. It's not fun telling stories to people who already know the ending.

"But then we found a tray of fruit and caramel dressing and cranberry sauce. . so we started eating that. And then I found this," I picked up a charred yellow sock with hints of red, "Except when I found it. . it was still on fire. I wasn't quite thinking at the time and I sort of . . threw it towards the Christmas tree. . and then I sort of thought that the Christmas branch would extinguish if I rolled it around on the carpet. . because you know. . Muggles always say, 'stop, drop, and roll'. . but then the holiday cards caught on fire."

He just had to laugh. It's stated somewhere in stone that he has to laugh at the most inappropriate moments or else he'll implode. I've noticed something. His laugh is contagious because just then, Professor McGonagall started laughing hysterically.

Honestly, on the inside, I felt a little better because she had laughed at what I said and not what he said. I've been dating a Marauder for too long. I don't know if the innocent humor rubbed off on me or if he just enhanced it a bit. Whatever it was, I'm glad it happened, because all she said was,

"Well - alright then. Just clean up the mess. Enjoy the rest of your holiday." And then she left.

I sighed in relief. "I hope she doesn't think our House elves are evil now."

"Lily, she thinks I'm evil. She thinks House elves are funny, but most of all, she thinks you're adorable," he says as he lazily drapes his head on my shoulder and leads me to the couch where we plop down and sit in complete bliss. "What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve for the last time in Hogwarts."

"I'm glad you think so," I smile and nestle my head into his neck.

In this moment, he knows that I'm his. I don't even regret giving him that self-satisfaction. By the uneasy settlement in his throat, I can tell he's thinking about something. I open my mouth to ask him, but end up silently blaming him for not breaking the silence. I try to stare into his eyes from my position, but I can only see his long black eyelashes. I start to worry about him and my quiet anger disappears.

I'm so messed up that I could be angry for a minute and no one would ever know.
Then he senses that I'm staring at him and I see him crack his little innocent crooked grin and when I see that his hazel eyes aren't troubled and that he looks happy on the outside and on the inside, I can't help but grin back at him.

Meow.

"The cat came back," James looks at the cat and then looks at me.

I laugh and look at the feline that perched itself up on the couch beside myself and my boyfriend. This Christmas, no one will know that a cat almost ruined our Christmas. I stare at him and then take his face in my hands and kiss him. He looks surprised.

"Did I put any mistletoe up?" He looks around with alarm in his facial expression.

I shake my head. "That was for taking the blame for my cat."

He grins. "Who knew the Hogwarts House elves also considered student's pets to be their masters? Did Twinkle give it back?"

Twinkle was the House elf who gave us the tray of fruit.

And almost on cue, my cat starts chewing on something. A completely unharmed red and yellow sock.

Author's Note: Caffeine plus my first Scrivenshaft challenge plus midnight boredom equals this story. Honestly, I'm quite happy with it. Review and make my day. :)