Somewhere in the back of his mind Alfie registered that the brief press of her lips against his could not have possibly taken more than a few seconds. Unfortunately that much more rational part of his brain was being soundly drowned out by the feelings in his chest which had no concept of time or the passage thereof, and were allowing him to experience this in a hazy, pleasantly frozen moment so wonderfully crafted he would have sworn more magic than the mistletoe possessed was at work.

He counted one heartbeat and thought only of how tiny Gemma was, and how he had never truly noticed before, though he didn't mind stooping one little bit. He counted a second thrum and caught a scent on the air, freshly clean hair and an undercurrent of something earthy that reminded him, bizarrely, of Quidditch. By the third heartbeat it was over and he heard the crackle as the mistletoe retreated, it's work done.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, to say anything at all, but Gemma was still so close, and so pretty that his mind would not supply him with anything. Instead it screamed at him to do the thing he most wanted and, without any mistletoe in sight, Alfie leaned in and kissed her again.