𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── ʜ.ᴊ.ᴘ

22: 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗉𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾.

❥❥❥

𝗑𝗑𝗂𝗂. 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗉𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾.

"What did I say about kissing me at every chance you get?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Why didn't you tell me to cross out rule number six since we've basically broken it," said Y/n as she sat on Harry's desk a week later the mistletoe kiss. "We haven't even passed a month and now we've broken one rule."

"I don't see what the point of that rule was," shrugged Harry as he leaned against the wall beside her, studying the way she scribbled the rule out. "I mean I knew that we were going to break it at some point, one way or another."

Y/n looked up at him and raised one eyebrow. "You were never one to follow the rules, Potter."

"Back on the last name basis already?"

"I'm not calling you 'Harry.'"

"You just did, love."

"I hate you."

Harry laughed and swooped down to plant a small peck on her lips. He watched as she wiped the kiss off childishly once he had pulled away.

"Why'd you wipe my kiss away?" He pouted.

"Because you need to stop kissing me at every given chance you get." She turned back to the paper, trying to come up with another rule to replace the 'no kissing' one, but nothing came to her mind.

Over the past days, all Harry could do was just kiss her on the lips ever since they've broken that stupid rule of theirs. It was like he was addicted to her lips. I mean, who could blame him? Anyone who got to date Y/n before him was really lucky, and he was jealous of them.

⚡︎⚯⚡︎

"It's Christmas!"

Harry groaned into his pillow, rolling over as he lifted the blanket above his head, hoping that whoever was waking him up would just fuck off and go.

It was quiet for a moment until he felt himself get smacked by something. He quickly got up, mumbling curses at the person.

"Now, that's not very nice, is it, love?"

Taking his glasses from the bedside table and putting them on, he was met with the sight of Y/n standing on the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips, holding a pillow in one of her hands as she did so.

"What are you doing?" said Harry, sitting up fully.

"Waking you up, of course." she replied, putting the pillow back from where it came from. "Auntie Lily made breakfast. She said that we'll be opening gifts after."

But Harry wasn't paying attention to her words, he was paying attention to her, more specifically to what she was wearing. She was wearing a Quidditch sweater, but it wasn't hers or any other Quidditch sweater.

It was his.

His Gryffindor Quidditch sweater.

Words couldn't explain just how adorable she looked in his clothes, and he could only hope that she'll wear more of his sweaters, hoodies or shirts in the future.

Harry felt the heat rise up from his neck. "Where'd you get the sweater?" he asked, genuinely confused on where she got it from.

"Oh! This?" asked Y/n, gesturing to what she was wearing. "I found it in your closet. My dumbass forgot to pack some of my sweaters so I decided to steal yours instead. Hope you don't mind."