6th arrondissement of Paris.

Garland rose like a great creature waking from its slumber, showing its wingspan to the world. It settled upon the mantle with snug confidence, the watcher of candles and an old, gilt mirror. A subtle and suitable bit of holiday cheer. Baubles followed, headed for the tree, airy and graceful enough to make a ballerina envious.

As they quivered into place amidst the fresh pine and soft twinkle of lights, white-gold, silver, and elegant, Juliette reached into a newer, smaller box of personal additions: tokens to mark the years.

From it she plucked a charmed little bauble painted with a shoreline and palm trees, whose magic rustled them gently. The wind in the palms mimicked the ocean, providing that song of shells, a ghost whisper gift made only for those willing to listen. It's pretty eeriness was a jab of memory, sharp and overwhelming as a familiar smell.

Like a rush of muggle traffic to ears, only not ugly, Juliette saw vividly Landis with new sprouted freckles by dinnertime; smelled salt in his hair; heard his murmurs of delightfully dark protest at joining an overly cheery drumline who wind-chimed its way down the exquisite shore like weightless marionettes, despite the heavy instruments.

She even recalled the sting of sunburn with a smile, and eyes flickered from the painted memory to a jar of salve that had been a steadfast member of their relationship since that first shared venture in the laboratory. It, too, smelled of Landis, but in the way of home. Mint, not salt. Cold, clinical, a refined form of comfort with its own little burn.

Juliette hung the ornament with precarious delight, so that a hint of the tiny scrawled words, The Maldives, showed to passersby.

One such member of their party sat sentry upon the back of the armchair nearest the tree.

The creature was light gray, almost eggshell blue, with eyes like her new master’s. Not a kitten, but young for a cat-- and yet old enough to stare, bored and unimpressed, at Louis and his elaborate attempts to sway her emotions or allegiance. The dog had no influence on her ladyship. Stung by this apparent betrayal, he hung at Juliette's legs with head lowered, eyes raised, ears cowered and suspicious. As if he might convey the extent of the cat's crimes to his mistress by impersonating a puppy. As if Juliette might change her mind to defend his honor, and banish the cold bitch from their evolving family.

No such luck.

Perfect posture, the cat continued to sit tall and slim, tail swishing idly, regal neck collared with slim leather and a sprig of mint with holly. Unnamed, she waited for her new master like the sleekest box beneath the tree.

As this went on, Louis retreated to his favorite pair of Landis' shoes and lowered his head upon them with a humph, his chin claiming them for a pillow most dejectedly. It was a face to melt hearts, and yet all eyes were on the cat.

Juliette mostly ignored him and continued to hum some universally known Christmas song as she waved her wand with years of tradition. “Cheer up, Louis, there’s always wine.” For those who did not walk on all-fours. She tossed her head toward the cat and grinned. The creature was gorgeous, striking in color as the witch who gifted her. Landis might play hard to get with his canine pseudo-child, but Juliette was sure this would be true love, the sort struck by wizard and familiar. He would not need too terribly much wine to swallow the idea, she knew, whatever words left his mouth when he figured it out. "You just keep looking like that, and he'll leave me for you," she assured her needlessly... and then swept forward, lifted the creature easily into a secure knot of arms and loose red hair, and carried her toward the bedroom. The cat didn't protest, but instead caught sight of Louis and purred, rubbing her head lightly into Juliette's chest as they disappeared through a door.

Just as the witch re-emerged, closing the door behind her, Louis lifted his head: it was only half because she had returned catless. It was also because he heard the familiar workings of the locking charms at the apartments' great old entrance.

A light dusting of snow covered Paris, sparkling in the lamplights and crunching underfoot as Landis made his way to Juliette's apartment. He'd flooed in to the city and the soot he'd brushed from his woolen jacket was steadily being replaced by delicate flakes of snow. It was terribly appropriate Christmas weather. Though he wasn't prone to romanticizing Paris, he had to admit that it was pretty.

What awaited him in their shared apartment was even prettier. The flat was already adorned he noted as he shrugged off his overcoat, emptying his pockets of shrunken packages. Juliette had not waited for him before dressing the tree and mantlepiece in elegant metallics. It was perhaps for the best considering that she'd discovered the previous year Landis Morgan was severely lacking in festive decorating skills; it was a blemish upon his otherwise spotless resume.

He went to his wife and kissed her, ignoring the dog's skittering claws against the hardwood as Louis made a beeline to sniff his shoes. Louis was a fanatic with very expensive tastes; spitefully when visiting Landis avoided wearing his best Italian leather oxfords. Though it was equally possible that this time the dog was after the small platter Landis held, one-armed, courtesy of Hogwarts' enterprising elves.

"Happy Christmas," he said when they'd broke apart. "You look lovely." They were still after all newlyweds. There was something very appealing about coming home to Juliette after a weeks-long stretch at the castle without her. Landis was well prepared to be pleased - already in a good mood. After all, the best part about the holidays in Paris was that there were no students anywhere.

Juliette smiled into the kiss, pushing with a pleased hum of a noise into her favorite Welshman— before finally pulling back to appraise him. A pale finger taunted a strand of his hair, still damp and cold from poignant Christmas weather – the sort of gray-white-and-pine postcard over which tourists salivated. "And you even lovelier,” she teased. "Happy Christmas," she echoed.

Her words were followed by another grin, one of those coy, dancing smiles that were just a little maddening. Juliette liked to imagine that such baiting had ultimately (if stealthily) helped land band after prettily wrought ceremonial band upon her marriage hand. (That, and those distinct shared interests in the laboratory, the bedroom, and the wine aisle.)

"Don't worry, I saved some for you,” she promised, and she did not mean the wine this time.

Suddenly a fistful of Christmas ornaments jingled between them, flittering like hummingbirds in desperate need of Landis' decorating skills. There was another from the Maldives; a dog's head that looked remarkably like Louis, if Louis were a flat gingerbread biscuit; and glass bobble shaped like an open book, its pages a stage for a huge, peacock-like heart in a dangerous shade of pink… a gift from Cornelia Woolfolk, no doubt her idea of studious. “Don’t play with a girl’s heart, Landis," Juliette mused, knocking it gently toward his palm. It, like their honeymoon trinkets, had gone in the box of personal ornaments.

The faintest echo of a mew seemed to resonate beneath the sound of the bumbling ornaments.  Louis, still at Landis’ feet, attempted to mime something in that dog way. Juliette swished in front of him, long skirt obstructing him— a rarity for the witch, who was forever attempting to nurture a bond between her husband and her dog.

“How were things at the castle before you herded them onto the train?” She asked, her hand going to his waist, encouraging him toward the tree (and away from the bedroom) as she plucked an ornament from the air. Across the room, lengthy correspondence with the school was spread upon the desk. Though Juliette liked to surprise him, she knew better than to spring a job prospect on him out of nowhere. He was well aware that she had been in talks to rejoin staff.

He smiled at her, though an eyebrow did quirk at the non-sequitur. Juliette could have meant any number of things. He was disappointed when it turned out that what she'd saved for him were decorations in need of placement. It was a less pleasing outcome than, oh, literally anything else.

He didn't exactly scowl, but a certain flatness of expression soured the reception of the jingling ornaments. Landis regarded them without enthusiasm as they danced towards him. "Oh, Merlin. Why did you save that?" He did take hold of the last ornament as she knocked it towards him, though he closed his fingers over it very quickly as though to hide the glittering heart. It belonged in the rubbish; Woolfolk would never know. He glanced down at Louis at his feet, but it was likely a hopeless consideration. The dog's destructive tendencies were neither convenient nor available by command.

For an instant he thought he heard something odd, but the sound was indistinct and Juliette quick to distract him. Though she attempted to steer him towards the tree Landis first maneuvered the tray he held in one arm over to the bar, sweets and treats wrapped up for the working professionals. His own cooking was uninspired, as were his eating habits, and he could not decide if the unasked-for tray was simply Christmas generosity or the elves sending him a message.

"Chaotic," he replied crisply, "As usual. I'm ready for a month of adult company."

Juliette took more pleasure in the diminishing of Landis’ smile than a spouse should have legally been allowed: she couldn't help it that sternness so beautifully suited his face. Her own expression was alight with glee as plucked the blush-hued ornament from the space between them. If it was less fitting than frowns or sour looks, it was pensieve-worthy.

“Because it reminds me that there are children at Hogwarts who actually associate you with warm, fuzzy holiday traditions.” And it doubled as a Valentine’s gift. Juliette needn’t say that out loud, nor did she need to remind him that a Valentine’s gift doubled as an anniversary gift. Poor Landis had surely had enough warmth for one afternoon. “What did she give you this year?” She demanded, wondering if he’d come home with pockets full of Slytherin bribes. There was a little too much excitement behind Juliette’s words.

The guessing games of Woolfolk’s declarations of holiday cheer were an easy distraction from the distant mewing. Indeed, Juliette ignored the sound expertly and carried on, attempting to urge Landis toward the tree… and promptly giving up when he reached instead for indulgences. Juliette could forgive the pause in ‘tradition’ for some chocolate and alcohol. She was, after all, French.

“That makes two of us,” she hummed, bumping into the side of his arm and reaching up to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Fingers dusted at the ends of his fair hair, where the snow had long since melted and was nearly dry. “The garden gnomes on the window sill hardly count.” With her free hand, she plucked a Christmas sweet from the tray and took a bite, mmming even as she stood on tippy toes to force it toward his mouth. She swallowed, and added, “Though my clients are a little more mature than Todd and Pepper.” She fell back onto the flats of her feet and reached for a decanter. “But I do miss stealing your rightful detainees. You can’t hoard them all in detention. You'll make Ignan look like an angel, and then what will become of the school?” She needn’t throw a look at the Hogwarts-stamped letters on the desk. He knew that she wished to teach again.