“Morning, family,” I called out in a lyrical voice when I pirouetted into the sixth-year common room, stopping underneath a rogue piece of hanging mistletoe to smack a loud kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “Morning,” everyone chorused back at me. He laughed, wiping my lip-gloss from his cheek. “What was that for, Baby Biggs?” “Check where you’re standing, pretty boy.” As soon as Patrick looked up and noticed the mistletoe, he took three safe steps to the left – and out of danger.
