for blue, because i love her and she truly deserves a merry christmas. it's only logical, since she's sweet and adorable and brilliant all the time.
prompt: snowy nights
She won't be getting a Christmas present this year, that's for sure. Since Parvati is still in a coma in the hospital, with her twin constantly by her side, and Seamus has run off to fight crime in Ireland because he can't face the fact that his best friend died in the war, and she drove off every other person who tried to care over the years with her petty personality, she's alone. Normally in this sort of situation, she'd rely on her looks to charm some unsuspecting male into getting her a present, but she can't even use those any more.
So she sits on a park bench, rocking back and forth and giving off the impression that she's yet another crazy homeless lady to all of the little children running around the place. Even when the snowflakes start falling, she sits, because 'character' and 'courage' and all of the lovely 'gifts' that her scars have given her (according to her stupid therapist) can't save her and she's not sure if she even wants to be saved. It occurs to her that maybe it's getting a bit cold and that maybe she ought to find her way back to the apartment, but her joints are frozen to move and sluggishly the thought makes its way into her brain that she's going to die.
It's been there once before, back when the werewolf attacked her, so she's not really as afraid as most people would be. But still, she's a Gryffindor, dammit, and she's not going to sit there and give in. If Neville Longbottom can grow a pair, so can she. "Help!" she shouts. "Help me!"
For a few moments, she thinks it's hopeless, but then strong (male, she decides) arms pick her up from behind and begin to carry her through the storm. She looks up to see who her savior is hesitantly, not wanting to burden him with her face, but the man does not even blink at her heavily scarred forehead. "You're not disgusted," she says quietly.
"Eh," he shrugs, "we get wounds worse than yours on the reserve all the time. One of my best mates got half his head scorched off, and his left foot to boot." He smiles charmingly at her. "Actually, I reckon your face is prettier than his, anyway."
She blushes, actually blushes, and wonders where this man is from. His accent is strange, it's definitely similar to what she's used to, but it has a foreign sounding lilt to it. "Who are you?" she asks, and it's a bit of an awkward question, but he thinks she's pretty so she thinks it's a lot better than something else that might have come out of her mouth.
"Oh, right," he says with a grin. "I'm Charlie Weasley. Who are you?"
She blushes and doesn't respond, because she doubts he'd find her half as attractive if he knew that she was the one who dated his brother. "I live right over here," she mumbles, and though his smile fades slightly, he amicably changes course and brings her up into her apartment and lays her down on her couch (the side of her that's been trained by the war decides to get stronger charms on the locks, because Alohamora shouldn't work that easily).
"I'm staying at my parents' house in Ottery St. Catchpole, if you need a friend to talk to," he says, standing up awkwardly. "Do you need anything before I go? Are you warm enough?"
She smiles and shakes her head, already feeling the warm temperature of her apartment setting in and causing her to be sleepy. As he walks out the door, she decides that even if she didn't get a tangible present, she'd be perfectly fine if someone slapped a bow on his head.