The air behind Albus’ shoulder shifted; flooded with warmth, and the sweet pong of sugar cookies and sickly sweet candy canes. A hand stretched beneath by his waist, tugging a shiny golden door handle; beyond which, a sliver of light shrunk across the pale carpet. Albus melted into the unoccupied fingers that crept across his stomach. His shoulders moulded to his husband’s chest, thickened by a jumper as it was each cold, Christmas Eve, when the light breaths of their daughters were swallowed by the light thud of the door against the frame.
His eyes flittered closed in anticipation. The fluffy white pompom of his red Santa hat bumped his temple as Scorpius pressed his lips firmly to his cheek on the other side. Tingles began to flood through Albus’ blood, shrouding his heart in a cloud of glitter. He pressed his mouth together as fingers laced through his own, supported by a gentle tug encouraging them to pad along to the shadowed door of the Master Bedroom at the end of the hall.
He kept all whispers locked within his sealed lips until Scorpius flicked his wrist, his willow-wood casting a shield of silence over their shifting frames. “Fling me the boots.”
Scorpius wriggled in excitement. His fingers fell free of Albus’ as he stowed his wand into his pocket. The thuds of his prancing feet were nonexistent as he vanished into the wardrobe, weaving through the air as though performing a peculiar acrobatics trick. His fingers disappeared into the tall stacks of boxes on the highest shelves. Albus swayed on his feet to while away the time, grinning when Scorpius emerged with a large black shoe box.
“What did they leave for Santa?” Scorpius mused.
He lowered his handful into Albus’ extended fingers and turned, plucking a thin, silvery cloak from the preciously empty air inside the wardrobe. Tall stacks of gifts materialised among the shelves, wrapped in an assortment of patterned paper, some as tall as Scorpius’ hip whilst others were no taller than his ankle.
“Rosie’s rocky road,” Albus said. He flopped onto the edge of the bed, tugging thick work boots from the shoebox. He lowered his feet into the stuffed insides, which lessened the largeness of the boot on his significantly smaller foot. He smirked. “I may have persuaded them to leave a freshly baked cookie as well.”
Scorpius’ eyes glimmered, much like the lights stretched between the branches of the tall Christmas tree they’d tugged through their front door on the first of the month. “Really?”
“They took a bit of convincing given that Santa was having the first one, rather than you, but I told them that you’d tell Santa it was okay to break the rules this once.”
“As long as they don’t make a habit of it,” He winked.
“I’d never betray you,” Albus promised. “Even so — I’d never let them have the biggest, or the one with the most chocolate. Those solely belong to you.”
Scorpius beamed. Albus’ cheeks grew warm. He feigned preoccupation with his shoes, wondering if a Disarming charm would ever hit him harder than Scorpius’ smile. “How generous, my love.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Albus rocked to his feet. The thick soles of the boots pressed into the carpet, causing Albus to rise an inch further into the air. He lifted his wand from the nightstand, pleased to take ownership of the levitation of their eldest daughter’s Christmas gifts. He lingered, ensuring that Scorpius had stifled the thump of his footsteps before emerging from the room.
He walked on the tops of his toes as he crept across the landing, his wand clutched tightly as he guided the bobbing cloud of presents through the corridor. His fingers clutched tightly at the banister as he worked his way down the steps. His foot slid in the large boot. He ensured to place his feet well to keep from falling down the staircase. Albus arrived in the entryway, and turned to approach the tree pulsing with hundreds of small, glittering stars that twinkled identically to those painted across the winter sky. He guided the parcels beneath the lowermost boughs of the pine, immediately shielding the previous stash from view.
He took some moments to rearrange the gifts. Rainbows reflected over his tan hands, glimmering tinsel drawing spots over his skin. He breathed in the gentle crackling of the dying fire, which left the room bathed in a yellowish glow. Albus rose when a similarly-sized stack landed beside his own, accompanied by toes that nudged encouragingly at his calf.
He reached a hand over his shoulder, smiling when Scorpius pulled him up from his kneel. He spun, smirking when his husband span into his view, chomping at the thick edge of a gooey chocolate-chip cookie.
“This is your best work!” Scorpius struggled, his mouth full of steaming dessert. He painted his cheek with smudges of sugary brown, which Albus reached up to amend.
“Did you summon that from the kitchen?”
“Professor Clarke encouraged me to put my skills to good use!”
“So long as Santa doesn’t forget to drink his hot chocolate and take his drawings.”
Scorpius puffed his chest valiantly. The large, silver S stretched across his torso and the strings of tinsel woven into the woollen fabric glittered in the fairy lights. He waved his (now empty) hands before Albus’ face, guiding him to the wooden door at the entrance of the home.
A cold breeze engulfed the boys, bleeding through the thick fabric of their clothing. However, the chill melted when encountering their blood, which bubbled with delight as they barreled into the snow-sheathed front garden. The full moon glimmered overhead, painting the world in a white light that sharpened shadows and filled the world with a greyscale glow.
“I’m going to be devastated when they’re too old for all of this,” said Scorpius. “I was fourteen before I found out. Dad was devastated.”
Albus studied Scorpius in amusement. He trudged through the snow, his large boots leaving imprints that were quickly shrouded by a generous helping of glitter, which danced in the moonlight as it fell from the canister in Scorpius’ hand. “I was eight. Once James figured out, it was game over. He told me over breakfast the Christmas Lily received a cat under the tree. I already had suspicions, thankfully. For one, dad wasn’t nearly as unimpressed as he should have been.”
“Telltale signs,” Scorpius giggled.
He began to melt thick ‘sleigh tracks’ into the snow, accompanied by the ‘reindeer footprints’ Albus was peppering across the lawn. He waved his wand to clear their garden, which had been littered with handfuls of glittery oats earlier that evening when Scorpius had taken Aurora and Primrose outside to feed them.
“Do you think we go a bit over the top?” Albus pondered, studying the markings made by the heels of his boots, indents of Christmas trees visible above the heavier-set heel.
“Impossible,” said Scorpius proudly. “Once, my father left a bell on the lounge rug and convinced me it must’ve been dropped my a reindeer. I’ve still got it somewhere.”
“Our parents never did any of this,” said Albus. “At most, dad ate half of the carrot we left for Rudolph.”
“You didn’t leave enough food for everyone else?”
“…Santa got a glass of wine at my house one year, and a block of rum and raisin chocolate. Coincidentally, that was the year Lily got the violin that my mother gave to charity when Lily went to Rosie’s for a sleepover.”
Scorpius snorted, as if Albus’ explanation had explained everything. He carefully backed away from the markings they’d drawn through the snow, waving his wand to remove all evidence of his own footsteps.
“Almost done,” the blond sung.
After many moments spent creating unmelting, snowy footprints through the centre of their living room, which refracted with a familiar glimmer when illuminated by the Christmas lights, Albus sank onto the couch. He lowered the boots to the carpet, unphased by the residual snowflakes melting into the dark carpet. He was accustomed to the routine; after all, it was his third, and a little mess in comparison to the first year they’d attempted the trick. Scorpius had been overall too enthusiastic, and the powdered sugar had been an ambitious idea. However, Albus had proudly completed his duty ever since.
Albus ran his fingers through his curly fringe, pulling it free from the fluff of his cap. He bit back a smile when Scorpius flopped onto the springy seat to his left. He examined a large, crayon drawing as he sipped at the steamy cap of his hot chocolate, his face sparking in delight.
“Aren’t they talented?” He mused.
Albus studied the drawing through heavy eyes, examining the childish crooked lines and alternately shaped snowflakes that filled the page. “They’re learning from you.”
“Stop it,” Scorpius teased. His cheeks burned pink as Albus pressed his lips to them. “I’m hardly anything special.”
“Are you hearing yourself?” Albus asked, his jaw agape. “‘Hardly anything special?’. Your artwork is beautiful. They adore it. Prim was tracing one of your cartoons the other morning when making her card for Auntie Lily.”
Scorpius’ cheeks flamed redder than the Gryffindor-shaded bulbs glimmering among the pine needles. “I hope they learn to bake as well as you.”
“They will. I refuse for anything else.”
Lips brushed his temple, feather-light, yet warm enough to melt his eyelids closed. Albus curled upon the worn sofa, his knees pulled to his chest. He released a small sigh when fingers began to swirl in spirals over his jaw.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Scorpius whispered softly, his voice a sizzle in the quiet air.
“Merry Christmas, Santa.”