Merry Kitschmas!
Merry Christmas all!
***
Over the years of marriage, Hermione had come to dread Christmas. She loved the season, loved the presents, loved the combination of cheerfulness and tension in the air that promised good will toward all and retribution against relatives best left seen only once a year.
But she hated what it did to her husband and her best friend. She knew Christmas was coming sometime in early October and not only because of every Muggle retail outlet’s steadily advancing army of Christmas supplies. Oh no. October first was when Harry brought out the drafting rulers, compasses, Muggle pencils and erasers and blue prints to the house.
Their son Sirius would stand next to the desk with wide eyes and watch. And for whatever reason -- Hermione wasn’t sure why (maybe it was a male bonding thing) -- it never got old to him. He had been four when it began and as he grew taller, he would go from looking up to looking down, slack jawed awe giving way to pointers and observations and generally encouraging and being encouraged despite Hermione’s ignored protestations.
It all began simply, as everything usually does, over a seemingly innocent Santa head.
Ron and his new bride, Pansy, had moved to Godric’s Hollow at the same time Harry and Hermione had moved into their new home shortly after Sirius’s birth. At first the quartet had thought it fortuitous (or at least Ron had; Pansy, Hermione was certain, was still on the fence about her and Harry). The first few Christmases had been like any other until Harry decided to decorate their front door with a glowing plastic Santa head, a bit faded with age, with a leering grin that, for whatever reason, had been popular in the mid-1970s. The head was charmed to light up at dusk and extinguish at dawn. It was tacky, a bit kitschy and something completely Harry.
That weekend there appeared a slightly tackier, less kitschy elf head on Ron’s door. Not one to be out done, Harry had found a life sized Santa that ho ho ho’d whenever anyone passed by and placed it proudly on the front lawn. Normally the hollow Muggle piece of plastic just ho ho ho’d but Harry decided to charm it to move so it twisted at its waist and waved its arm.
Shortly thereafter there appeared a similar Santa that sang “Jingle Bells” and performed a small jig on Ron’s front lawn. By the time Christmas was over that year, the Potter house had acquired a full roof of blinking multicolored fairy lights, a glowing reindeer to accompany the Santa, a plastic ginger bread house, and a haphazard array of toy soldiers and candy canes (all lit, all second hand, all a bit faded and, most importantly, all tacky of course) on their front lawn. Ron’s house, that year at least, was marginally tackier and therefore declared (at least in Ron’s eyes) the winner.
And thus it was that Christmas was to become Kitschmas (Luna’s term, though there was nothing kitschy about the lawn ornaments any longer) and to be dreaded.
“So are we going to beat Uncle Ron this year?” Sirius, now ten, asked, leaning his elbows on Harry’s desk and looking over at the schematics, lists, and various other pieces of parchment littering his father’s otherwise immaculately kept desk. Hermione knew she wouldn’t be seeing the top of that desk until at least New Year’s.
“You bet,” Harry replied with a manic gleam in his eye that he usually reserved for snitches and Hermione’s knickers.
Hermione watched from the doorway, silently sighing and bemoaning the fact that she most likely wouldn’t be seeing much of her husband either until at least Christmas Eve when Luna (the expert on tacky) would declare a winner.
“Daddy, you need to refresh the charms on at least half of your ornaments,” eight-year-old Monica called out, scooting past her mother.
Had she mentioned that Harry had sucked every single child into his mania?
“Oh and your Santa head for the door? Apparently that’s now considered ‘in’,” Sirius said, pointing to one of Harry’s schematics.
“Bugger. That was my favorite one too,” Harry murmured, crossing the Santa head off his list. “Well… I think this year can still be salvaged. I can replace the Santa head… with the… reindeer bum,” he muttered more to himself than to the kids. He made a few annotations to his list and a couple of alterations to his schematic before nodding, pleased. “Yes. Excellent.”
“Harry… are you… sure you want to…?” Hermione trailed off when Harry and her children, even four year old Jamie looked up at her with borderline mutinous expressions. “Fine.” Throwing up her hands like she did every year, she returned to her own office and beat her head against the desk. Over the years she’d become quite adept with healing charms.
****
“All right, ladies, you all know what time of year it is.” Hermione looked up from her ledger and primly crossed her legs. “Bets must be at least two Galleons and may not go any higher than fifteen. All monies must be paid up front; winner will receive her winnings on Christmas Day, blah blah blah. Okay! Who’s first off?”
“I’ll bet four Galleons on Ron with a second story fall due to a miscast hovering charm,” Luna piped up. “Aaaannd… three Galleons on Harry with another minor electrocution.”
“Put me down for the opposite, same amounts on both,” Ginny called out discretely stuffing her face. She was four months pregnant and already looking about six months along despite her reassurances to everyone that she wasn’t carrying twins.
“I will bet five Galleons zat Ronald sticky charms ze sleeves of ‘iz shirt to ze roof again and six Galleons zat ‘Arry will need two trips to Saint Mungo’s,” Fleur spoke up.
“Oh dear. I think that this is horrible, betting on their accidents. It’s positively morbid,” Mrs. Weasley fretted, wringing her hands as she hovered near the kitchen, quick to supply Gin (and the rest of the women) with a vast array of food. She said that every year, but still put in her Galleons. “I’ll bet on Harry winning this year though.”
Hermione, Luna, Fleur, Ginny, Pansy, and Katie Weasley nee Bell (George’s wife of only six months) all looked over at Molly with surprise. “Betting against Ron this year? That’s a first,” Ginny said, her eyebrows somewhere around her hairline.
Molly shrugged helplessly. “What can I say? Harry has tackier stuff.”
Hermione couldn’t help but wince. “That’s not supposed to be a good thing.”
“Pfft. You like it,” Ginny scoffed before popping a bite of scone in her mouth.
“On what planet?” Hermione replied incredulously.
“Hermione, you’re being distracted,” Luna replied, eyeing a corner of the ceiling with an expression that bordered on murderous.
The women froze and followed Luna’s line of sight to see a fly buzzing about the corner. “Luna, are you ok?” Pansy asked warily.
“I’m fine,” she replied, her expression clearing as suddenly as it had darkened and she took a sip of tea.
“Katie, do you have a bet?” Hermione asked, returning to the topic at hand as if nothing had happened.
“Put me down for my usual,” Katie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Your usual never wins. You do know this, correct?” Hermione felt compelled to point out. Every year since she and George had begun seeing each other, Katie would bet that neither would win. Which didn’t make much sense to Hermione considering there were only two people participating; it wasn’t as if there was a third to take away the “glory” of having the worst decorated house.
Hermione shrugged and jotted Katie’s name down on a piece of parchment.
“Ahem. Are you ladies finished?” Harry asked, poking his head around the corner from the living room where he, Ron, Bill, Adrian (Gin’s husband), George, Arthur and Dean were waiting with the children for their wives to finish betting on Ron and Harry’s demise.
“Just one more,” Hermione replied, holding up her quill indicating one more minute. “Pansy, do you have a bet?”
“Yes. I’d like to bet on Ron to win -“
“Thanks love!”
“But only by a small margin.”
“Oi! Where’s the love?”
“Slytherin, sweetie. You knew that when you married me.”
Ron sighed. “Are you finished now?” At their nods, he and the rest of the men and children followed him into the kitchen.
“Let the speeches begin!” Dean called out, settling next to Luna.
The speeches were a relatively recent thing, having only started two years before when Charlie had goaded Ron and Harry into a pissing contest. Hermione equated the “speeches” to two boxers bad mouthing each other at the weigh in before a fight.
“First off, I’d like to thank my lovely wife for all she puts up with our antics this time of year,” Harry began, saluting Hermione with beer in hand. Hermione grinned but it was more of a grimace to which Harry ignored. “But most of all I’d like to say this now so Ron can get used to the sound of it throughout the year, ‘Ha ha, my yard was better than yours’. And Ron, you may have won last year, but I can guarantee my victory this year. Thank you.”
“Brave words, little man. Brave words,” Ron began stepping in front of the group and taking the spot Harry had just vacated. “But my lawn will be the tackiest this Kitschmas, you’ll see. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves and a few new Muggle inventions. You’ve got some bold words, Potter, but that’s all you have. I will win yet again this year, that’s my guarantee.”
“And it will be a fair fight,” Harry hastened to add looking at the children gathered around. “We’re Gryffindors, are we not? Well… most of us are anyway, but even the ones who aren’t, all of us are true and honorable and would never think of cheating, yes?”
That elicited a chorus of agreements from the younger crowd.
“Then I officially declare the beginning of Kitschmas,” Luna spoke up as The Grand High Muckimuck, official master of ceremonies.
****
The weeks of careful planning and preparation went without incident as did the initial Setting Up of the Tacky Lawn Decorations. It had become a yearly tradition for Harry, Sirius, Monica, Teddy and since he could walk and sort of understand what was going on now, Jamie as well. The children looked forward to the bonding time and Hermione loved at least that part of Kitschmas even though she wasn’t entirely certain Harry and Ron weren’t giving off the wrong impressions. Yes, they preached fairness and good sportsmanship but they also set an example of a level of competitiveness that bordered on mania that Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted her kids or Ron’s to be subjected to. Not that she should’ve been surprised given the way they approached Quidditch.
Hermione would sit in the bay window of their living room and watch Harry and the children set up, ran or shine, the last two weeks of November. It would take them two weekends in a row to get everything perfect and Hermione wondered what would happen to the tradition when everyone slowly began to go to Hogwarts. Even now Teddy had missed the last few Kitschmas set ups because he was at Hogwarts and was really only around for the judging on Christmas day. Sirius would be next the following year and Hermione knew that missing that tradition would break his heart.
Shaking off such moribund thoughts, Hermione shifted her gaze over to her best friend setting up with his twins, Tracey and Molly, and their younger girls Lori, Sara and Holly. Just like his brothers and his parents, Ron seemed as prolific with children, but unlike his brothers and parents, he and Pansy seemed only able to have girls. Molly seemed to be in it only to humor her father, but Tracey was probably more into the event than Ron was. Lori and Sara loved it as well, following the example of their sisters, while Holly could barely walk so she just stayed on the porch on her wobbly legs and clapped every once in a while.
Hermione couldn’t help but sigh heavily when Harry brought out the reindeer arse and hung it proudly on their door as the piece de resistance of his horrifying menagerie.
****
“What is this?”
A very tasteful large red velvet bow landed on top of Hermione’s reports. The ribbon smelled faintly of cedar and traditional Christmases.
“It’s a bow,” she replied looking up at Harry as if he’d well and truly gone round the twist, off the deep end and was two shakes away from needing to have St. Mungo’s called.
“It’s tasteful,” Harry said, spitting the word out as if it were Voldemort’s name. “It looks like something you’d do.”
Hermione sighed. Paranoia was one of the common side effects of Kitschmas as well as bloating from too much eggnog, red eyes from staying up all night to watch his lawn (which caused the paranoia) and a perfectionism that rivaled, if not surpassed, Hermione’s. She just wished all that energy could be transferred to something more productive -- say, laundry.
“Love, I’ve put up with this for five years, please tell my why I would all of a sudden try to sabotage your display now? And besides, I love you and I know how much this means to you. As much as I don’t like it, I would never do anything as deliberately malicious as hurting your chances to beat the trousers off Ron.”
Faced with that logic and looking a bit contrite having all but accused his own wife of doing something he knew she’d never do, Harry sighed and sat on the edge of the desk. “My arse is gone.”
“And it was such a nice arse too,” Hermione teased hoping to lighten Harry’s glum mood.
“No, my reindeer arse. I found that - that bow hanging on the door where my arse should’ve been,” he muttered pouting.
Hermione frowned, looking at the velvet ribbon. It was one thing to take one of Harry’s decorations. It was another thing entirely to leave something in its place and something completely opposite of what Harry was striving for. It was like taking baby Jesus out of a nativity scene and leaving a stuffed devil toy. “That’s odd,” she mused. “Why would someone do that?”
“To make me look bad, that’s what! I bet you anything it’s Ron.”
“Ron would never do anything like that Harry. The both of you preach good sportsmanship and no cheating. Would Ron be that devious?”
“I like Pansy and all, but he is married to a Slytherin and he’s a Weasley. They’re all a suspicious lot,” Harry replied, his voice heavy with great portent. “It’s the ginger hair; it leaks into your brain and makes you do things.”
“Ok, that’s enough. You’re taking a nap.” Hermione stood and took Harry’s arm ushering him upstairs.
****
But Harry was right; something very fishy was going down. Later that day, Harry’s red and yellow lights on the roof disappeared to be replaced by white lights trimming the gutters. A few days later his large inflatable snowman next to the chimney was replaced with icicle lights wrapped around the chimney.
Slowly yet surely, Harry’s tacky ornamentation was being replaced by tasteful decorations. As Hermione watched with a certain amount of annoyance for Harry, frustration because she couldn’t catch who was doing it, and bemusement for actually getting her wish for once, Ron’s still robust yard of tackiness began to be thinned out as well.
Hermione suspected Harry doing a bit of sabotaging the suspect as well, but again, she couldn’t catch him at it. Six years of sneaking around Hogwarts had made Harry an expert at being invisible with or without his Invisibility Cloak. Instead of tasteful decorations though, whoever was sabotaging Ron’s yard was replacing his decorations with Puddlemere United cutouts, signs bearing their logos, blue and yellow banners and so on. Ron hated Puddlemere United especially when they had thoroughly and unrepentantly trounced the Chudley Cannons just as they were about to claim the National Cup, an honor that had been denied the Cannons for centuries.
If Ron was behind the tasteful décor he’d obviously made it personal and Harry had no qualms about hitting back where it hurt most.
Of course, there was no definitive proof of either one’s involvement. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around the Potter household had turned into a very stylish home that any one other than Harry would be very proud of (Hermione suspected Pansy was giving Ron pointers because Ron never would have thought to flock the evergreen bushes outside their home) and Ron’s home had turned into a blue and gold monstrosity no matter how many decorations either man took down and tried to put back up.
Everything culminated the day of the Kitschmas party where Luna would declare a winner. The doorbell rang and Hermione opened the door to an irate Ron. “Ron, the party isn’t for another -“
“What is this?” he demanded shaking a blue and gold banner in front of Hermione’s face.
“It’s a banner,” she replied dryly.
“It’s a Puddlemere United banner and I found it in YOUR yard!” Ron hollered. “Where is that git?”
“If you mean my husband, he is inside, but you’re going to have to think twice about setting foot in this house with that temper,” Hermione replied coolly.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, walking up behind Hermione.
“You’ve been stealing my decorations!” Ron shouted.
“Oh that’s rich coming from you! You’ve been swapping out my Kitschmas decorations with tasteful crap!” Harry yelled back.
“Unlike you, I have proof of your lying and cheating!” Ron looked fairly smug at that.
Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses before narrowing dangerously. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said in a quietly dangerous voice to Hermione.
“Don’t get hurt,” she sighed following Harry and Ron across the street with their brood plus Teddy and Andromeda following behind.
"What’s going on?” Andromeda asked as Harry strode determinedly around the house to the shed in Ron’s backyard.
“I think Harry just snapped,” Hermione replied. Pansy and the girls poured out into the backyard and watched with fascination as Harry, most likely acting with more confidence than he felt, cast an Alohomora on the shed door and flung it open.
Hermione groaned and dropped her head in her hands. The shed was empty save for a rusted mangled Muggle lawnmower that Arthur had given Ron as a house warming gift years ago.
Ron stood smugly nearby with his arms crossed over his chest. “Ha! You think I’d be stupid enough to hide your stuff in the shed?”
“Admission of guilt!” Harry crowed.
Hermione sighed. “Accio Harry’s decorations.”
While it had been a good thought, perhaps she shouldn’t have Summoned all of the stuff because a mountain of plastic tackiness came hurling out of Ron’s house nearly clipping Pansy from behind and dumped right on top of the two men.
“Accio Ron’s decorations!” Pansy called out.
All of the Puddlemere United paraphernalia (apparently transfigured from Ron’s ornaments which, Hermione had to admit, was pretty smart since there was no incriminating evidence and Harry could truthfully say he didn’t have any of Ron’s things) zoomed around the house and landed again on Harry and Ron who just stood there with growing murderous expressions.
Just at that moment, apparently drawn by the sight of disappearing decorations and the commotion, Luna, Dean, their two children, Gin, and Adrian walked into the backyard.
“Whatever happened to fairness and good sportsmanship, Ronald?” Harry asked, his jaw tightly clenched.
“Pot calling kettle black,” Ron growled back, his jaw clenched just as tightly.
“I was defending my stuff!”
“So was I! Call it a pre-emptive strike!”
Perhaps it was a good thing that at that moment Hermione kept her mouth shut about who gave Ron those books about Muggle wars.
Ron might have been the first to take the decorations but Harry hit first, landing a hard blow on Ron’s jaw. Ron reacted instinctively and took Harry down. Standing in shock, no one did anything at first as Harry and Ron rolled around on their tacky decorations, breaking and destroying them until Dean and Adrian leapt forward and hauled them apart.
“You boys should be ashamed!” Hermione scolded, her hands on her hips and her lips set in a thin line. “This was supposed to be fun and to teach the children a valuable lesson about sportsmanship but it’s just degenerated into a petty rivalry.
Harry and Ron stopped struggling and hung their heads in shame. “Sorry,” they muttered.
“Well… I think Katie won this year,” Luna spoke up, looking around at the mess.
“Wha-?!” Ron gasped.
“Considering Harry’s house looks as though it were straight from a catalog and you don’t have any decorations up at all, I’m going to have to declare that no one wins this Kitschmas,” Luna replied serenely.
Harry and Ron gasped and immediately turned toward each other. “YOU!”
“You’re so going down next year, Potter!”
“Not if I get to you first, Weasley!”
“I’m putting anti-cheating wards on the houses next year.”
“Merlin, I’m starving, where’s the food?”
“Beware of the nargles when you put your things away! There’s a lot of mistletoe around.”
“Merry Kitschmas!”
***
Over the years of marriage, Hermione had come to dread Christmas. She loved the season, loved the presents, loved the combination of cheerfulness and tension in the air that promised good will toward all and retribution against relatives best left seen only once a year.
But she hated what it did to her husband and her best friend. She knew Christmas was coming sometime in early October and not only because of every Muggle retail outlet’s steadily advancing army of Christmas supplies. Oh no. October first was when Harry brought out the drafting rulers, compasses, Muggle pencils and erasers and blue prints to the house.
Their son Sirius would stand next to the desk with wide eyes and watch. And for whatever reason -- Hermione wasn’t sure why (maybe it was a male bonding thing) -- it never got old to him. He had been four when it began and as he grew taller, he would go from looking up to looking down, slack jawed awe giving way to pointers and observations and generally encouraging and being encouraged despite Hermione’s ignored protestations.
It all began simply, as everything usually does, over a seemingly innocent Santa head.
Ron and his new bride, Pansy, had moved to Godric’s Hollow at the same time Harry and Hermione had moved into their new home shortly after Sirius’s birth. At first the quartet had thought it fortuitous (or at least Ron had; Pansy, Hermione was certain, was still on the fence about her and Harry). The first few Christmases had been like any other until Harry decided to decorate their front door with a glowing plastic Santa head, a bit faded with age, with a leering grin that, for whatever reason, had been popular in the mid-1970s. The head was charmed to light up at dusk and extinguish at dawn. It was tacky, a bit kitschy and something completely Harry.
That weekend there appeared a slightly tackier, less kitschy elf head on Ron’s door. Not one to be out done, Harry had found a life sized Santa that ho ho ho’d whenever anyone passed by and placed it proudly on the front lawn. Normally the hollow Muggle piece of plastic just ho ho ho’d but Harry decided to charm it to move so it twisted at its waist and waved its arm.
Shortly thereafter there appeared a similar Santa that sang “Jingle Bells” and performed a small jig on Ron’s front lawn. By the time Christmas was over that year, the Potter house had acquired a full roof of blinking multicolored fairy lights, a glowing reindeer to accompany the Santa, a plastic ginger bread house, and a haphazard array of toy soldiers and candy canes (all lit, all second hand, all a bit faded and, most importantly, all tacky of course) on their front lawn. Ron’s house, that year at least, was marginally tackier and therefore declared (at least in Ron’s eyes) the winner.
And thus it was that Christmas was to become Kitschmas (Luna’s term, though there was nothing kitschy about the lawn ornaments any longer) and to be dreaded.
“So are we going to beat Uncle Ron this year?” Sirius, now ten, asked, leaning his elbows on Harry’s desk and looking over at the schematics, lists, and various other pieces of parchment littering his father’s otherwise immaculately kept desk. Hermione knew she wouldn’t be seeing the top of that desk until at least New Year’s.
“You bet,” Harry replied with a manic gleam in his eye that he usually reserved for snitches and Hermione’s knickers.
Hermione watched from the doorway, silently sighing and bemoaning the fact that she most likely wouldn’t be seeing much of her husband either until at least Christmas Eve when Luna (the expert on tacky) would declare a winner.
“Daddy, you need to refresh the charms on at least half of your ornaments,” eight-year-old Monica called out, scooting past her mother.
Had she mentioned that Harry had sucked every single child into his mania?
“Oh and your Santa head for the door? Apparently that’s now considered ‘in’,” Sirius said, pointing to one of Harry’s schematics.
“Bugger. That was my favorite one too,” Harry murmured, crossing the Santa head off his list. “Well… I think this year can still be salvaged. I can replace the Santa head… with the… reindeer bum,” he muttered more to himself than to the kids. He made a few annotations to his list and a couple of alterations to his schematic before nodding, pleased. “Yes. Excellent.”
“Harry… are you… sure you want to…?” Hermione trailed off when Harry and her children, even four year old Jamie looked up at her with borderline mutinous expressions. “Fine.” Throwing up her hands like she did every year, she returned to her own office and beat her head against the desk. Over the years she’d become quite adept with healing charms.
****
“All right, ladies, you all know what time of year it is.” Hermione looked up from her ledger and primly crossed her legs. “Bets must be at least two Galleons and may not go any higher than fifteen. All monies must be paid up front; winner will receive her winnings on Christmas Day, blah blah blah. Okay! Who’s first off?”
“I’ll bet four Galleons on Ron with a second story fall due to a miscast hovering charm,” Luna piped up. “Aaaannd… three Galleons on Harry with another minor electrocution.”
“Put me down for the opposite, same amounts on both,” Ginny called out discretely stuffing her face. She was four months pregnant and already looking about six months along despite her reassurances to everyone that she wasn’t carrying twins.
“I will bet five Galleons zat Ronald sticky charms ze sleeves of ‘iz shirt to ze roof again and six Galleons zat ‘Arry will need two trips to Saint Mungo’s,” Fleur spoke up.
“Oh dear. I think that this is horrible, betting on their accidents. It’s positively morbid,” Mrs. Weasley fretted, wringing her hands as she hovered near the kitchen, quick to supply Gin (and the rest of the women) with a vast array of food. She said that every year, but still put in her Galleons. “I’ll bet on Harry winning this year though.”
Hermione, Luna, Fleur, Ginny, Pansy, and Katie Weasley nee Bell (George’s wife of only six months) all looked over at Molly with surprise. “Betting against Ron this year? That’s a first,” Ginny said, her eyebrows somewhere around her hairline.
Molly shrugged helplessly. “What can I say? Harry has tackier stuff.”
Hermione couldn’t help but wince. “That’s not supposed to be a good thing.”
“Pfft. You like it,” Ginny scoffed before popping a bite of scone in her mouth.
“On what planet?” Hermione replied incredulously.
“Hermione, you’re being distracted,” Luna replied, eyeing a corner of the ceiling with an expression that bordered on murderous.
The women froze and followed Luna’s line of sight to see a fly buzzing about the corner. “Luna, are you ok?” Pansy asked warily.
“I’m fine,” she replied, her expression clearing as suddenly as it had darkened and she took a sip of tea.
“Katie, do you have a bet?” Hermione asked, returning to the topic at hand as if nothing had happened.
“Put me down for my usual,” Katie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Your usual never wins. You do know this, correct?” Hermione felt compelled to point out. Every year since she and George had begun seeing each other, Katie would bet that neither would win. Which didn’t make much sense to Hermione considering there were only two people participating; it wasn’t as if there was a third to take away the “glory” of having the worst decorated house.
Hermione shrugged and jotted Katie’s name down on a piece of parchment.
“Ahem. Are you ladies finished?” Harry asked, poking his head around the corner from the living room where he, Ron, Bill, Adrian (Gin’s husband), George, Arthur and Dean were waiting with the children for their wives to finish betting on Ron and Harry’s demise.
“Just one more,” Hermione replied, holding up her quill indicating one more minute. “Pansy, do you have a bet?”
“Yes. I’d like to bet on Ron to win -“
“Thanks love!”
“But only by a small margin.”
“Oi! Where’s the love?”
“Slytherin, sweetie. You knew that when you married me.”
Ron sighed. “Are you finished now?” At their nods, he and the rest of the men and children followed him into the kitchen.
“Let the speeches begin!” Dean called out, settling next to Luna.
The speeches were a relatively recent thing, having only started two years before when Charlie had goaded Ron and Harry into a pissing contest. Hermione equated the “speeches” to two boxers bad mouthing each other at the weigh in before a fight.
“First off, I’d like to thank my lovely wife for all she puts up with our antics this time of year,” Harry began, saluting Hermione with beer in hand. Hermione grinned but it was more of a grimace to which Harry ignored. “But most of all I’d like to say this now so Ron can get used to the sound of it throughout the year, ‘Ha ha, my yard was better than yours’. And Ron, you may have won last year, but I can guarantee my victory this year. Thank you.”
“Brave words, little man. Brave words,” Ron began stepping in front of the group and taking the spot Harry had just vacated. “But my lawn will be the tackiest this Kitschmas, you’ll see. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves and a few new Muggle inventions. You’ve got some bold words, Potter, but that’s all you have. I will win yet again this year, that’s my guarantee.”
“And it will be a fair fight,” Harry hastened to add looking at the children gathered around. “We’re Gryffindors, are we not? Well… most of us are anyway, but even the ones who aren’t, all of us are true and honorable and would never think of cheating, yes?”
That elicited a chorus of agreements from the younger crowd.
“Then I officially declare the beginning of Kitschmas,” Luna spoke up as The Grand High Muckimuck, official master of ceremonies.
****
The weeks of careful planning and preparation went without incident as did the initial Setting Up of the Tacky Lawn Decorations. It had become a yearly tradition for Harry, Sirius, Monica, Teddy and since he could walk and sort of understand what was going on now, Jamie as well. The children looked forward to the bonding time and Hermione loved at least that part of Kitschmas even though she wasn’t entirely certain Harry and Ron weren’t giving off the wrong impressions. Yes, they preached fairness and good sportsmanship but they also set an example of a level of competitiveness that bordered on mania that Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted her kids or Ron’s to be subjected to. Not that she should’ve been surprised given the way they approached Quidditch.
Hermione would sit in the bay window of their living room and watch Harry and the children set up, ran or shine, the last two weeks of November. It would take them two weekends in a row to get everything perfect and Hermione wondered what would happen to the tradition when everyone slowly began to go to Hogwarts. Even now Teddy had missed the last few Kitschmas set ups because he was at Hogwarts and was really only around for the judging on Christmas day. Sirius would be next the following year and Hermione knew that missing that tradition would break his heart.
Shaking off such moribund thoughts, Hermione shifted her gaze over to her best friend setting up with his twins, Tracey and Molly, and their younger girls Lori, Sara and Holly. Just like his brothers and his parents, Ron seemed as prolific with children, but unlike his brothers and parents, he and Pansy seemed only able to have girls. Molly seemed to be in it only to humor her father, but Tracey was probably more into the event than Ron was. Lori and Sara loved it as well, following the example of their sisters, while Holly could barely walk so she just stayed on the porch on her wobbly legs and clapped every once in a while.
Hermione couldn’t help but sigh heavily when Harry brought out the reindeer arse and hung it proudly on their door as the piece de resistance of his horrifying menagerie.
****
“What is this?”
A very tasteful large red velvet bow landed on top of Hermione’s reports. The ribbon smelled faintly of cedar and traditional Christmases.
“It’s a bow,” she replied looking up at Harry as if he’d well and truly gone round the twist, off the deep end and was two shakes away from needing to have St. Mungo’s called.
“It’s tasteful,” Harry said, spitting the word out as if it were Voldemort’s name. “It looks like something you’d do.”
Hermione sighed. Paranoia was one of the common side effects of Kitschmas as well as bloating from too much eggnog, red eyes from staying up all night to watch his lawn (which caused the paranoia) and a perfectionism that rivaled, if not surpassed, Hermione’s. She just wished all that energy could be transferred to something more productive -- say, laundry.
“Love, I’ve put up with this for five years, please tell my why I would all of a sudden try to sabotage your display now? And besides, I love you and I know how much this means to you. As much as I don’t like it, I would never do anything as deliberately malicious as hurting your chances to beat the trousers off Ron.”
Faced with that logic and looking a bit contrite having all but accused his own wife of doing something he knew she’d never do, Harry sighed and sat on the edge of the desk. “My arse is gone.”
“And it was such a nice arse too,” Hermione teased hoping to lighten Harry’s glum mood.
“No, my reindeer arse. I found that - that bow hanging on the door where my arse should’ve been,” he muttered pouting.
Hermione frowned, looking at the velvet ribbon. It was one thing to take one of Harry’s decorations. It was another thing entirely to leave something in its place and something completely opposite of what Harry was striving for. It was like taking baby Jesus out of a nativity scene and leaving a stuffed devil toy. “That’s odd,” she mused. “Why would someone do that?”
“To make me look bad, that’s what! I bet you anything it’s Ron.”
“Ron would never do anything like that Harry. The both of you preach good sportsmanship and no cheating. Would Ron be that devious?”
“I like Pansy and all, but he is married to a Slytherin and he’s a Weasley. They’re all a suspicious lot,” Harry replied, his voice heavy with great portent. “It’s the ginger hair; it leaks into your brain and makes you do things.”
“Ok, that’s enough. You’re taking a nap.” Hermione stood and took Harry’s arm ushering him upstairs.
****
But Harry was right; something very fishy was going down. Later that day, Harry’s red and yellow lights on the roof disappeared to be replaced by white lights trimming the gutters. A few days later his large inflatable snowman next to the chimney was replaced with icicle lights wrapped around the chimney.
Slowly yet surely, Harry’s tacky ornamentation was being replaced by tasteful decorations. As Hermione watched with a certain amount of annoyance for Harry, frustration because she couldn’t catch who was doing it, and bemusement for actually getting her wish for once, Ron’s still robust yard of tackiness began to be thinned out as well.
Hermione suspected Harry doing a bit of sabotaging the suspect as well, but again, she couldn’t catch him at it. Six years of sneaking around Hogwarts had made Harry an expert at being invisible with or without his Invisibility Cloak. Instead of tasteful decorations though, whoever was sabotaging Ron’s yard was replacing his decorations with Puddlemere United cutouts, signs bearing their logos, blue and yellow banners and so on. Ron hated Puddlemere United especially when they had thoroughly and unrepentantly trounced the Chudley Cannons just as they were about to claim the National Cup, an honor that had been denied the Cannons for centuries.
If Ron was behind the tasteful décor he’d obviously made it personal and Harry had no qualms about hitting back where it hurt most.
Of course, there was no definitive proof of either one’s involvement. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around the Potter household had turned into a very stylish home that any one other than Harry would be very proud of (Hermione suspected Pansy was giving Ron pointers because Ron never would have thought to flock the evergreen bushes outside their home) and Ron’s home had turned into a blue and gold monstrosity no matter how many decorations either man took down and tried to put back up.
Everything culminated the day of the Kitschmas party where Luna would declare a winner. The doorbell rang and Hermione opened the door to an irate Ron. “Ron, the party isn’t for another -“
“What is this?” he demanded shaking a blue and gold banner in front of Hermione’s face.
“It’s a banner,” she replied dryly.
“It’s a Puddlemere United banner and I found it in YOUR yard!” Ron hollered. “Where is that git?”
“If you mean my husband, he is inside, but you’re going to have to think twice about setting foot in this house with that temper,” Hermione replied coolly.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, walking up behind Hermione.
“You’ve been stealing my decorations!” Ron shouted.
“Oh that’s rich coming from you! You’ve been swapping out my Kitschmas decorations with tasteful crap!” Harry yelled back.
“Unlike you, I have proof of your lying and cheating!” Ron looked fairly smug at that.
Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses before narrowing dangerously. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said in a quietly dangerous voice to Hermione.
“Don’t get hurt,” she sighed following Harry and Ron across the street with their brood plus Teddy and Andromeda following behind.
"What’s going on?” Andromeda asked as Harry strode determinedly around the house to the shed in Ron’s backyard.
“I think Harry just snapped,” Hermione replied. Pansy and the girls poured out into the backyard and watched with fascination as Harry, most likely acting with more confidence than he felt, cast an Alohomora on the shed door and flung it open.
Hermione groaned and dropped her head in her hands. The shed was empty save for a rusted mangled Muggle lawnmower that Arthur had given Ron as a house warming gift years ago.
Ron stood smugly nearby with his arms crossed over his chest. “Ha! You think I’d be stupid enough to hide your stuff in the shed?”
“Admission of guilt!” Harry crowed.
Hermione sighed. “Accio Harry’s decorations.”
While it had been a good thought, perhaps she shouldn’t have Summoned all of the stuff because a mountain of plastic tackiness came hurling out of Ron’s house nearly clipping Pansy from behind and dumped right on top of the two men.
“Accio Ron’s decorations!” Pansy called out.
All of the Puddlemere United paraphernalia (apparently transfigured from Ron’s ornaments which, Hermione had to admit, was pretty smart since there was no incriminating evidence and Harry could truthfully say he didn’t have any of Ron’s things) zoomed around the house and landed again on Harry and Ron who just stood there with growing murderous expressions.
Just at that moment, apparently drawn by the sight of disappearing decorations and the commotion, Luna, Dean, their two children, Gin, and Adrian walked into the backyard.
“Whatever happened to fairness and good sportsmanship, Ronald?” Harry asked, his jaw tightly clenched.
“Pot calling kettle black,” Ron growled back, his jaw clenched just as tightly.
“I was defending my stuff!”
“So was I! Call it a pre-emptive strike!”
Perhaps it was a good thing that at that moment Hermione kept her mouth shut about who gave Ron those books about Muggle wars.
Ron might have been the first to take the decorations but Harry hit first, landing a hard blow on Ron’s jaw. Ron reacted instinctively and took Harry down. Standing in shock, no one did anything at first as Harry and Ron rolled around on their tacky decorations, breaking and destroying them until Dean and Adrian leapt forward and hauled them apart.
“You boys should be ashamed!” Hermione scolded, her hands on her hips and her lips set in a thin line. “This was supposed to be fun and to teach the children a valuable lesson about sportsmanship but it’s just degenerated into a petty rivalry.
Harry and Ron stopped struggling and hung their heads in shame. “Sorry,” they muttered.
“Well… I think Katie won this year,” Luna spoke up, looking around at the mess.
“Wha-?!” Ron gasped.
“Considering Harry’s house looks as though it were straight from a catalog and you don’t have any decorations up at all, I’m going to have to declare that no one wins this Kitschmas,” Luna replied serenely.
Harry and Ron gasped and immediately turned toward each other. “YOU!”
“You’re so going down next year, Potter!”
“Not if I get to you first, Weasley!”
“I’m putting anti-cheating wards on the houses next year.”
“Merlin, I’m starving, where’s the food?”
“Beware of the nargles when you put your things away! There’s a lot of mistletoe around.”
“Merry Kitschmas!”