for [personal profile] jadelennox: Vampire Diaries. Any character (though I vote Bonnie, because of Katarina Graham) who has at least one Jewish parent and decides to celebrate Hanukkah.

“Hanukah? Really?”

Bonnie considered inventing a spell to deal with the tone of amused contempt in Damon’s voice. Other than striking him mute, it would be hard to remove, but oh so satisfying. “It’s a story about survival, against overwhelming odds. We could use a little of that in Mystic Falls.”

“Because God is listening to your prayers,” he said, with even more smugness.

She shrugged, flicking the lighter one last time to melt the bottom of the final candle for that night so that it would stay in place in the menorah. Grams had taught her that trick, for all that Grams had never been a hundred percent comfortable with her granddaughter’s embrace of that side of her heritage. “I don’t know if there is a God Who listens to our prayers. But I don’t do it for that. I do it for me.” Once upon a time it had been something she did with her dad, and maybe at first she’d been pretending that he’d pay more attention to her if she kept on with the tradition. But now it was hers, another difference that no one commented on but everyone seemed to know about. This one, at least, was hers to announce: fulfilling the mitzvah by putting it in her window.

“Aren’t you just going to wiggle your nose?” Damon asked when she lifted the lighter to the shamash. “I thought that was the witchy way.”

She opened her mouth to ask him why he was here, again? Then she reconsidered. Stefan, Caroline and Elena were off gathering intel on Klaus’s latest scheme, which had somehow nearly gotten her killed by a witch-hunting pack of werewolves. Damon was probably here as a bodyguard, though he’d never admit it. And she could do this alone, but it was better with company. Even Damonic company. “The rabbis haven’t ruled on whether fire generated by witchcraft is an acceptable method of lighting,” she said instead. “Now be quiet.”

And since he did in fact shut up while she lit the candles and said the prayers, she rewarded him by telling him the story, the way her father had told it to her, and by not requiring him to eat any gelt.

She was going to keep the gelt in mind, though. Maybe a curse that made him crave it instead of alcohol, next time he misbehaved.

No, there was no guarantee that God was listening, in whatever form. But it never hurt to get a reminder that, sometimes, if you fought hard enough and trusted in your friends and family, you got a miracle at the end.
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