Twelve Days: Part 6
Summary: On Christmas Day, Neville receives a mysterious gift... Set during DH. A twelve-part serial, plus epilogue. Chapters vary in length from about 500-1000 words. Gen. PG-13.
The Sixth Day
'It's just stupid,' Ginny grumbled. 'How are we supposed to get any practice if there are extra hoops all over the pitch? By the twelfth day, there'll be what, thirty, thirty-five, no, forty extra hoops. We can't take the practice sessions seriously if there are forty-six hoops on the Quidditch pitch.'
Neville, who had never understood why anyone took Quidditch seriously anyway, said nothing.
'And I had an owl from Charlie yesterday. He says Mum's still not speaking to me.'
'She can't speak to you if you're not there.'
'You know what I mean.' Neville gave a loyal nod. 'He says Apolline has been most charming about the hens - twelve, now, I suppose - and keeps saying how quaint the English Christmas is, with its focus on livestock. She won't let it go. Charlie says Mum's starting to look a bit ragged around the edges. She dropped a hundred and eight stitches on Dad's new jumper. Mum never drops stitches.' Ginny scowled into her orange juice.
It was not just Mrs. Weasley, Neville realised, who was beginning to look a bit ragged around the edges. Seamus had given up waking Neville with obscenities and had pointedly moved his four-poster bed into the Gryffindor Common Room. Romilda had developed an unbecoming rash on her face and hands and a permanent sniffle, and McGonagall had not been seen since yesterday morning.
Beside him, Ginny said softly, 'Whoever it is, I am going to get them for this. Are you coming to Hogsmeade?' He nodded. 'See you at the front later.' She stood up, glanced down at him and frowned. 'What's that white stuff on your shoulder?'
Neville twisted round to squint at his shoulder. 'Damn,' he mumbled. 'I thought I'd got it all off.'
--
'Next!' Neville shuffled up to the front and presented his wand to Amycus Carrow.
'Good boy.' Carrow shoved the wand into a velvet bag, coughing and wheezing as he did so.
From across the entrance hall, his sister sniggered. 'You've been getting too close to that girl's pigeons, Amycus dear!'
'Wouldn't mind getting close to her.' Amycus Carrow leered. Neville took a step back. 'Not you,' Carrow told him. 'Not my type at all. That redhead, though - ' His laugh turned into a wheeze and he doubled over, cackling. His hands trembling in the pockets of his robes, Neville bolted.
--
'This is awful.' Romilda waved a hand at the deserted streets. 'I don't know why they let us come.'
It was awful. Instead of the usual Christmas lights and decorations, the village gave off an aura of neglect and decay. The Three Broomsticks was in darkness; its sign hanging wonkily from one chain and a hastily scribbled note on the door which read Closed Until Further Notice. Madam Rosmerta, Neville remembered, had been somewhat outspoken in her condemnation of recent licensing legislation which made it illegal for non-humans to enter any public place serving alcohol. Idly he wondered how The Hog's Head, with its varied clientele, was coping.
The Post Office was almost empty, with only a dozen or so miserable looking owls instead of the usual three hundred. They sat on their perches looking bored, as if it had been a long time since they had been given a letter. One of them gave Neville a hopeful look as he walked past and he resolved to bring some treats next time he came.
'I hope Honeydukes is open,' Seamus said. 'I brought me Galleons. I want some of that fudge. And a Peppermint Toad.' He pulled out a leather pouch and shook it till it jingled like sleigh bells.
But Honeydukes was not open, or not to Seamus at any rate. Light shone from within and sweets glistened in the leaded windows. Seamus yelped in delight and ran towards the entrance. To everyone's astonishment, the door slammed shut in his face. Seamus skidded to a halt, leaving long tracks in the snow.
A letterbox snapped open and a goblin's nose poked out. 'Oo are you?'
'Seamus,' Seamus said indignantly. 'Seamus Finnigan.'
The nose withdrew and the letterbox slammed shut again. A moment later it reopened. Two bulging eyes were visible. 'You're not on the list,' a muffled voice said. 'No name, no entry.'
'No name, no -'
'Purebloods only.' The eyes swivelled to survey the group. 'Any Purebloods?'
Seamus stepped back from the door, his shoulders slumped. He was about to put his money away when Romilda went up to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. It was impossible to hear what she was saying, but after a brief exchange Seamus shoved the pouch into her hands, and trudged away in the direction of the castle, kicking up snowy swirls as he went.
--
It was almost a relief after that to find Madam Puddifoot's unchanged. They poured in, stamping the snow from their boots, and settled around a huge table in the corner furthest from the door. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling with golden cherubs loitering between their lamps, ready to empty their buckets of confetti upon the unwary. Everything else was pink. The walls were the colour of bubble-gum; the table-cloth a deep fuschia. Shocking pink roses floated in cerise bowls, circled by pale pink swans.
Ginny looked around the tea-shop and sniffed. 'It's like being trapped in Lavender Brown's sponge-bag. 'She picked up a menu. 'Look. Pink writing on pink paper. Honestly! It's impossible to read.'
--
An hour later they tramped home, full of pink biscuits and little pink cakes with pink icing. Each girl carried a pink rose and everybody was covered in pink confetti. Collecting their wands, they split up at the entrance and wandered towards their respective common rooms.
'Deserted.' Neville poked his wand in the general direction of a candle sconce. Light flared from the candle, throwing huge shadows around the room.
'Neville? Is that you?' The voice was too high-pitched for Seamus. Neville strode over to the four-poster bed and threw open the curtains.
Colin Creevey smiled up at him. 'I've been waiting ages.'
'What is it, Colin? What's wrong?' Ginny crossed the room to stand beside Neville.
'You're Harry's friends,' Colin said. 'I knew you would know what to do. He's in the fourth-year dormitory.' He swung his legs over the side and trotted off. Exchanging puzzled glances, Neville, Ginny and Romilda followed.
At the dormitory door, Colin scowled. 'I don't want her.' He pointed at Romilda. 'She's not Harry's friend.'
'It's all right, Colin,' Ginny told him. 'Romilda's all right.' Neville looked down to see if Ginny had her fingers crossed, but she seemed perfectly sincere.
'I put an Imperturbable Charm on the door.' Colin pushed it open. 'It's all right, they're quiet now. Look!'
He stepped into the fourth-year dormitory and pointed. Dennis Creevey was fast asleep in bed. Surrounding his bed, eyes closed and breathing stertorously, were six enormous geese.
Colin brandished his camera. 'I got a picture,' he said.
--
part five
part seven
The Sixth Day
'It's just stupid,' Ginny grumbled. 'How are we supposed to get any practice if there are extra hoops all over the pitch? By the twelfth day, there'll be what, thirty, thirty-five, no, forty extra hoops. We can't take the practice sessions seriously if there are forty-six hoops on the Quidditch pitch.'
Neville, who had never understood why anyone took Quidditch seriously anyway, said nothing.
'And I had an owl from Charlie yesterday. He says Mum's still not speaking to me.'
'She can't speak to you if you're not there.'
'You know what I mean.' Neville gave a loyal nod. 'He says Apolline has been most charming about the hens - twelve, now, I suppose - and keeps saying how quaint the English Christmas is, with its focus on livestock. She won't let it go. Charlie says Mum's starting to look a bit ragged around the edges. She dropped a hundred and eight stitches on Dad's new jumper. Mum never drops stitches.' Ginny scowled into her orange juice.
It was not just Mrs. Weasley, Neville realised, who was beginning to look a bit ragged around the edges. Seamus had given up waking Neville with obscenities and had pointedly moved his four-poster bed into the Gryffindor Common Room. Romilda had developed an unbecoming rash on her face and hands and a permanent sniffle, and McGonagall had not been seen since yesterday morning.
Beside him, Ginny said softly, 'Whoever it is, I am going to get them for this. Are you coming to Hogsmeade?' He nodded. 'See you at the front later.' She stood up, glanced down at him and frowned. 'What's that white stuff on your shoulder?'
Neville twisted round to squint at his shoulder. 'Damn,' he mumbled. 'I thought I'd got it all off.'
--
'Next!' Neville shuffled up to the front and presented his wand to Amycus Carrow.
'Good boy.' Carrow shoved the wand into a velvet bag, coughing and wheezing as he did so.
From across the entrance hall, his sister sniggered. 'You've been getting too close to that girl's pigeons, Amycus dear!'
'Wouldn't mind getting close to her.' Amycus Carrow leered. Neville took a step back. 'Not you,' Carrow told him. 'Not my type at all. That redhead, though - ' His laugh turned into a wheeze and he doubled over, cackling. His hands trembling in the pockets of his robes, Neville bolted.
--
'This is awful.' Romilda waved a hand at the deserted streets. 'I don't know why they let us come.'
It was awful. Instead of the usual Christmas lights and decorations, the village gave off an aura of neglect and decay. The Three Broomsticks was in darkness; its sign hanging wonkily from one chain and a hastily scribbled note on the door which read Closed Until Further Notice. Madam Rosmerta, Neville remembered, had been somewhat outspoken in her condemnation of recent licensing legislation which made it illegal for non-humans to enter any public place serving alcohol. Idly he wondered how The Hog's Head, with its varied clientele, was coping.
The Post Office was almost empty, with only a dozen or so miserable looking owls instead of the usual three hundred. They sat on their perches looking bored, as if it had been a long time since they had been given a letter. One of them gave Neville a hopeful look as he walked past and he resolved to bring some treats next time he came.
'I hope Honeydukes is open,' Seamus said. 'I brought me Galleons. I want some of that fudge. And a Peppermint Toad.' He pulled out a leather pouch and shook it till it jingled like sleigh bells.
But Honeydukes was not open, or not to Seamus at any rate. Light shone from within and sweets glistened in the leaded windows. Seamus yelped in delight and ran towards the entrance. To everyone's astonishment, the door slammed shut in his face. Seamus skidded to a halt, leaving long tracks in the snow.
A letterbox snapped open and a goblin's nose poked out. 'Oo are you?'
'Seamus,' Seamus said indignantly. 'Seamus Finnigan.'
The nose withdrew and the letterbox slammed shut again. A moment later it reopened. Two bulging eyes were visible. 'You're not on the list,' a muffled voice said. 'No name, no entry.'
'No name, no -'
'Purebloods only.' The eyes swivelled to survey the group. 'Any Purebloods?'
Seamus stepped back from the door, his shoulders slumped. He was about to put his money away when Romilda went up to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. It was impossible to hear what she was saying, but after a brief exchange Seamus shoved the pouch into her hands, and trudged away in the direction of the castle, kicking up snowy swirls as he went.
--
It was almost a relief after that to find Madam Puddifoot's unchanged. They poured in, stamping the snow from their boots, and settled around a huge table in the corner furthest from the door. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling with golden cherubs loitering between their lamps, ready to empty their buckets of confetti upon the unwary. Everything else was pink. The walls were the colour of bubble-gum; the table-cloth a deep fuschia. Shocking pink roses floated in cerise bowls, circled by pale pink swans.
Ginny looked around the tea-shop and sniffed. 'It's like being trapped in Lavender Brown's sponge-bag. 'She picked up a menu. 'Look. Pink writing on pink paper. Honestly! It's impossible to read.'
--
An hour later they tramped home, full of pink biscuits and little pink cakes with pink icing. Each girl carried a pink rose and everybody was covered in pink confetti. Collecting their wands, they split up at the entrance and wandered towards their respective common rooms.
'Deserted.' Neville poked his wand in the general direction of a candle sconce. Light flared from the candle, throwing huge shadows around the room.
'Neville? Is that you?' The voice was too high-pitched for Seamus. Neville strode over to the four-poster bed and threw open the curtains.
Colin Creevey smiled up at him. 'I've been waiting ages.'
'What is it, Colin? What's wrong?' Ginny crossed the room to stand beside Neville.
'You're Harry's friends,' Colin said. 'I knew you would know what to do. He's in the fourth-year dormitory.' He swung his legs over the side and trotted off. Exchanging puzzled glances, Neville, Ginny and Romilda followed.
At the dormitory door, Colin scowled. 'I don't want her.' He pointed at Romilda. 'She's not Harry's friend.'
'It's all right, Colin,' Ginny told him. 'Romilda's all right.' Neville looked down to see if Ginny had her fingers crossed, but she seemed perfectly sincere.
'I put an Imperturbable Charm on the door.' Colin pushed it open. 'It's all right, they're quiet now. Look!'
He stepped into the fourth-year dormitory and pointed. Dennis Creevey was fast asleep in bed. Surrounding his bed, eyes closed and breathing stertorously, were six enormous geese.
Colin brandished his camera. 'I got a picture,' he said.
--
part five
part seven