** Fic: A Carrol for a Wassel Bowl ** for briony_tallis
Title: A Carrol for a Wassel Bowl
Author: lazy_neutrino
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1550
Character(s): Ginny, assorted Weasleys
Warnings: None
Summary: Past, present and future come together for Ginny on Christmas Day. Post DH, pre-epilogue.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas, briony_tallis! I hope you enjoy this. And a merry Christmas to my lovely beta reader.
--
Ginny poked a foot out from under the duvet and felt the bite of cold air on her skin. She lay still for a few minutes, savouring the chill, then pushed the duvet into the centre of the bed and slid out.
Harry was still fast asleep, flat on his back with his mouth open and his face scrunched up. Doing a fairly good impression of a pig. Ginny regarded him affectionately, then bent down and kissed the wrinkled nose. Harry grunted and threw out an arm in her direction.
Happy Christmas, darling. She closed the bedroom door quietly behind her. Muffled squeaks and giggles from across the corridor were a strong indication that the children were awake. Ginny shrugged. They knew better than to disturb their parents this early, even on Christmas Day.
She padded down the stairs, bare feet picking up every wrinkle in the ancient carpet. The Burrow had had the same stair runner for as long as she could remember. Mum would never get rid of it, Ginny knew: every stain and every rip was a piece of Weasley history.
At the bottom of the stairs she took her cloak from its hook and pulled it on over her nightie. Her woolly hat had seen better days, but she had spotted her mother looking critically at it the night before, so doubtless a new one would arrive at some point during their stay.
Thick socks and boots and she was ready. She picked up her posy, eased the front door open and slipped out. The December air hit her like a blast and she paused, watching her exhaled breath billow in front of her face like dragon fire.
The sky was a rich blue, with the Moon high and bright in the west and a few scattered stars twinkling between the drifting cirrus. The air was dry and crisp and the leaves crunching under her feet sparkled like diamonds in the morning frost. It was going to be a good Christmas. She set off down the muddy lane, detouring occasionally to stamp on a puddle and splinter the ice with her heel.
At the end of the lane she turned left, climbing a stile and crossing a field where the cowpats glimmered with frost. Ginny grinned. It was amazing how many things you could do with a frozen cowpat. She had played Quidditch here with Ron and the twins, using cowpats as Bludgers and hurling them at each other until they shattered. And there had been the Great Animated Cowpat Fight of 1989, followed by three days and nights confined to their rooms and casting Scourgify on their clothes
Nearly there. A skip and a jump took her over a brook, and she circled the graveyard until she came to the gap in the wall. Large stones lay tumbled on the grass, their faces green with moss. She squeezed through and made her way across the turf.
The black marble headstone was slick with dew. Ginny squatted in front of it, her eyes drawn to the lettering although she had no need to read the words.
‘It was never just about wizards,’ Harry had said. Dad and George had backed him, and here Fred lay, in the graveyard at Ottery St. Catchpole, under the shadow of the church tower, between an ancient yew tree and a crumbling wall. It was a pretty place. A peaceful one. Ginny hadn’t been sure what she wanted, but she knew this was right.
‘Hermione and Ron are coming over today,’ she told him. ‘With Rose and Hugo. You’d like Hugo; he’s a nightmare. He won’t do anything Ron says. Hermione says Crookshanks won’t go near him. Crookshanks is coming, too.’
She laid the posy on the grave and stood up. ‘I must be going. The children will be clamouring for their presents.’ She touched two fingers to her lips and then to the marble. ‘Happy Christmas, Fred.’
Several Muggles were out and about, although it was still dark. A few exchanged Christmas greetings in the road; others, like Ginny were walking through the graveyard. She nodded a greeting to an elderly couple carrying a wreath and went on her way.
Back home, she stripped off her hat, cloak and boots and pulled on a cardigan. High-pitched laughter came from the lounge. The children were up, then. From the kitchen came the smell of roast turkey and the squeak of the oven door opening and shutting.
Ginny headed for the kitchen. Her mother looked up as she entered, and handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
Ginny’s hands tingled as she took it. ‘Is everyone up?’
‘Just Arthur and the children.’
‘All the children, then.’ Both women smiled. Ginny blew on her hot chocolate to cool it. ‘It’s cold out,’ she said.
Molly nodded. ‘Fleur called. They’ll be here by eleven. Really, I don’t know how I’m going to fit everyone in.’
Ginny drained the mug and put it by the sink. ‘Yes you do, Mum. You always do.’ She put her arms around her mother and hugged her. ‘Happy Christmas.’
A shout from the living room. Ginny sighed. ‘I’d better go and have a look. What have they got?’
‘Just the little present. The Let Go.’
‘Lego.’
‘It doesn’t do anything.’ Molly frowned. ‘I’m glad I wasn’t a Muggle child.’
‘So am I. Do you need any help in the kitchen?’
‘Not yet.’ Molly squeezed Ginny’s arm as she let her daughter go. ‘You go through.’ Her voice caught as she turned away.
‘Mum -‘
‘I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.'
Ginny did as she was told.
--
The lounge floor was covered in brightly coloured pieces of plastic. Ginny picked her way across to where her father and eldest son were sitting, debating the precise destination of a yellow brick. Albus squatted by the fireplace, fiddling with something she could not see.
Ginny perched on the sofa. ‘What are you building?’
‘This is a pirate ship,’ James informed her. ‘But Santa brought Grandad a castle.’
Arthur beamed at her. ‘This is wonderful. Can you believe, there are hundreds of different shapes you can get?’
Ginny said drily, ‘Wait until you step on one. James, run upstairs and wake Daddy, will you? And fetch my slippers, please.’
Albus climbed onto the sofa and into her lap. ‘Merry Christmas, Mummy. Mummy, look.’
Obediently, Ginny looked. Her youngest son was holding a tiny Lego person. It had a bright yellow face, spotted with freckles. Red plastic hair streamed down its back and it was holding something that might have been a wand.
Albus handed it to her. It was slightly sticky. ‘It looks like you, Mummy.’
Ginny glanced across at her father and James, still engrossed in her model-making. She let one hand fall to her abdomen. A daughter, then? It was probably time to say something to Harry, before her eagle-eyed mother ferreted the secret out of her.
She scooped Albus into her arms and kissed him. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It does, rather. Happy Christmas, darling.’
--
Author: lazy_neutrino
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1550
Character(s): Ginny, assorted Weasleys
Warnings: None
Summary: Past, present and future come together for Ginny on Christmas Day. Post DH, pre-epilogue.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas, briony_tallis! I hope you enjoy this. And a merry Christmas to my lovely beta reader.
--
Ginny poked a foot out from under the duvet and felt the bite of cold air on her skin. She lay still for a few minutes, savouring the chill, then pushed the duvet into the centre of the bed and slid out.
Harry was still fast asleep, flat on his back with his mouth open and his face scrunched up. Doing a fairly good impression of a pig. Ginny regarded him affectionately, then bent down and kissed the wrinkled nose. Harry grunted and threw out an arm in her direction.
Happy Christmas, darling. She closed the bedroom door quietly behind her. Muffled squeaks and giggles from across the corridor were a strong indication that the children were awake. Ginny shrugged. They knew better than to disturb their parents this early, even on Christmas Day.
She padded down the stairs, bare feet picking up every wrinkle in the ancient carpet. The Burrow had had the same stair runner for as long as she could remember. Mum would never get rid of it, Ginny knew: every stain and every rip was a piece of Weasley history.
At the bottom of the stairs she took her cloak from its hook and pulled it on over her nightie. Her woolly hat had seen better days, but she had spotted her mother looking critically at it the night before, so doubtless a new one would arrive at some point during their stay.
Thick socks and boots and she was ready. She picked up her posy, eased the front door open and slipped out. The December air hit her like a blast and she paused, watching her exhaled breath billow in front of her face like dragon fire.
The sky was a rich blue, with the Moon high and bright in the west and a few scattered stars twinkling between the drifting cirrus. The air was dry and crisp and the leaves crunching under her feet sparkled like diamonds in the morning frost. It was going to be a good Christmas. She set off down the muddy lane, detouring occasionally to stamp on a puddle and splinter the ice with her heel.
At the end of the lane she turned left, climbing a stile and crossing a field where the cowpats glimmered with frost. Ginny grinned. It was amazing how many things you could do with a frozen cowpat. She had played Quidditch here with Ron and the twins, using cowpats as Bludgers and hurling them at each other until they shattered. And there had been the Great Animated Cowpat Fight of 1989, followed by three days and nights confined to their rooms and casting Scourgify on their clothes
Nearly there. A skip and a jump took her over a brook, and she circled the graveyard until she came to the gap in the wall. Large stones lay tumbled on the grass, their faces green with moss. She squeezed through and made her way across the turf.
The black marble headstone was slick with dew. Ginny squatted in front of it, her eyes drawn to the lettering although she had no need to read the words.
‘It was never just about wizards,’ Harry had said. Dad and George had backed him, and here Fred lay, in the graveyard at Ottery St. Catchpole, under the shadow of the church tower, between an ancient yew tree and a crumbling wall. It was a pretty place. A peaceful one. Ginny hadn’t been sure what she wanted, but she knew this was right.
‘Hermione and Ron are coming over today,’ she told him. ‘With Rose and Hugo. You’d like Hugo; he’s a nightmare. He won’t do anything Ron says. Hermione says Crookshanks won’t go near him. Crookshanks is coming, too.’
She laid the posy on the grave and stood up. ‘I must be going. The children will be clamouring for their presents.’ She touched two fingers to her lips and then to the marble. ‘Happy Christmas, Fred.’
Several Muggles were out and about, although it was still dark. A few exchanged Christmas greetings in the road; others, like Ginny were walking through the graveyard. She nodded a greeting to an elderly couple carrying a wreath and went on her way.
Back home, she stripped off her hat, cloak and boots and pulled on a cardigan. High-pitched laughter came from the lounge. The children were up, then. From the kitchen came the smell of roast turkey and the squeak of the oven door opening and shutting.
Ginny headed for the kitchen. Her mother looked up as she entered, and handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
Ginny’s hands tingled as she took it. ‘Is everyone up?’
‘Just Arthur and the children.’
‘All the children, then.’ Both women smiled. Ginny blew on her hot chocolate to cool it. ‘It’s cold out,’ she said.
Molly nodded. ‘Fleur called. They’ll be here by eleven. Really, I don’t know how I’m going to fit everyone in.’
Ginny drained the mug and put it by the sink. ‘Yes you do, Mum. You always do.’ She put her arms around her mother and hugged her. ‘Happy Christmas.’
A shout from the living room. Ginny sighed. ‘I’d better go and have a look. What have they got?’
‘Just the little present. The Let Go.’
‘Lego.’
‘It doesn’t do anything.’ Molly frowned. ‘I’m glad I wasn’t a Muggle child.’
‘So am I. Do you need any help in the kitchen?’
‘Not yet.’ Molly squeezed Ginny’s arm as she let her daughter go. ‘You go through.’ Her voice caught as she turned away.
‘Mum -‘
‘I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.'
Ginny did as she was told.
--
The lounge floor was covered in brightly coloured pieces of plastic. Ginny picked her way across to where her father and eldest son were sitting, debating the precise destination of a yellow brick. Albus squatted by the fireplace, fiddling with something she could not see.
Ginny perched on the sofa. ‘What are you building?’
‘This is a pirate ship,’ James informed her. ‘But Santa brought Grandad a castle.’
Arthur beamed at her. ‘This is wonderful. Can you believe, there are hundreds of different shapes you can get?’
Ginny said drily, ‘Wait until you step on one. James, run upstairs and wake Daddy, will you? And fetch my slippers, please.’
Albus climbed onto the sofa and into her lap. ‘Merry Christmas, Mummy. Mummy, look.’
Obediently, Ginny looked. Her youngest son was holding a tiny Lego person. It had a bright yellow face, spotted with freckles. Red plastic hair streamed down its back and it was holding something that might have been a wand.
Albus handed it to her. It was slightly sticky. ‘It looks like you, Mummy.’
Ginny glanced across at her father and James, still engrossed in her model-making. She let one hand fall to her abdomen. A daughter, then? It was probably time to say something to Harry, before her eagle-eyed mother ferreted the secret out of her.
She scooped Albus into her arms and kissed him. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It does, rather. Happy Christmas, darling.’
--