(no subject)
Title: Just One More
Author: texasmagic
Rating: Everyone
Summary: Ever wondered how Molly got started knitting all those Christmas jumpers?
Just One More
Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Knit one- damn!
“What was that dear?” my mother asked, looking up from her darning. Damn. Did I say that out loud?
“Nothing, mum. I dropped some stitches. Again,” I grumbled. I hate knitting. “Why can’t I wait to learn this until I go to Hogwarts? Then I’ll have a wand and I can use magic and won’t have to get all tangled up in- this!” I said in frustration, holding up the two skeins of scarlet and gold yarn.
“Now, Molly dear, we’ve been over this before. “ Mum replied, slipping the needle into her work and setting it down on the side table next to her chair. “You know where your father and I stand in regards to doing things properly. Knowing how to do a thing without magic strengthens your skill once you learn the proper spells. Many powerful wizards-“
“Have become completely helpless when they find themselves without a wand,” I finished for her. “Mother, please. When is that ever going to happen? I’ve never seen you without yours. Or Dad. The only time you ever put them away is when we go into Muggle London. I don’t fancy living near muggles, anyway.”
“Molly, that is enough,” Mum said sternly, cutting me off. “I will not have my daughter succumb to any of that pure-blood rubbish about being above completing ordinary tasks with her own two hands. Without a wand. Now, get going. You’ve almost completed the first one. A few more rows, and I’ll help you cast off,” she finished, officially ending the conversation.
“Yes, mum,” I grumbled under my breath, picking up the needles and trying to sort out the dropped stitches. Why does my mother have to be so old fashioned? None of my friends’ mothers make them sit and mess with this awful itchy string. It gets all tangled up around my arms, and then it drops on the floor and I have to go chasing after it, only to go back to my chair to find that a whole row of work has unraveled! I’d much prefer being outside, enjoying the fresh air, even if it is snowing. Instead, I’m stuck in here with my mother, making ruddy homemade Christmas gifts. “I swear, by the time I finish these mufflers, I’m never going to want to see another piece of scarlet or gold yarn again!”
My mother put her work down again, rose from her chair and came over to mine. Taking a look at my project, she said, “You’ll understand next year when you start Hogwarts, dear. The boys will love your gifts. They will be thrilled to get something in their house colors, and I daresay, if you have as much Prewett in you as they do, you will have plenty of scarlet and gold in your own trunk. Back to work, now. You’ve almost finished with Fabian’s. Then you can start with Gideon’s. It’s just one more.”
*****
“Here, Arthur, open this one,” I said, holding out the neatly wrapped but lumpy package. “Happy Christmas!” I hope he likes it. Fabian and Gideon always act as if they love theirs, but they’re my brothers. They have to act that way. This is different. I’ve never given anyone outside the family one of my knitting projects before. What if he doesn’t like homemade things?
“Wow, Molly, this is incredible. Is this- did you make this?” Arthur asked. I could only nod in reply. Before I knew it, Arthur was pulling the jumper over his head. “How do I look?” he asked.
“Very handsome,” I replied, smoothing down the mop of waves mussed up by the jumper. How funny that I managed to find a fiancé with the same flaming hair color as my own. It looks as though I chose the shade for the jumper wisely as well. The hours spent searching for just the right yarn were worth it. That chocolate brown brings out his eyes.
“Oi, Arthur! What did our little Molly get you for Christmas?” my brother Fabian called, coming into the sitting room. As always, Gideon was right behind him.
Coming over to our place on the rug in front of the fire, Gideon crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “She’s made him a jumper. Guess that means you're officially part of the clan then, Arthur. You thought the ring was a sign of being tied down. Just look at all the string she’s managed to wrap around you now!”
“She only makes those for the special men in her life, right, Molly?” Fabian added, leaning on the back of Mum’s rocker. “Used to be just Gideon and me. She started out with mufflers and mittens and such before she even started Hogwarts. Mum made her do them all by hand. Merlin, the fuss our little Mollikins put up. Suppose that means she’s decided to keep you.”
“You made this by hand? Without your wand?” Arthur asked me, rubbing the thick wool on his arm with the other hand. “The stitches are so even, so tightly woven. Just right for keeping out the damp night air. It’ll be perfect when I’m out on raids. My mum tried to make us some hats once, but they ended up looking like squashed quaffles. She could never manage something as nice as this, especially without magic.”
“Well, our family has a tradition of knowing the method behind the magic,” I answered, shyly, remembering my Mum’s words about having pride in a thing you could make with your own two hands.
“Well, I love it,” Arthur said, leaning across the brightly coloured wrapping to give me a peck on the cheek. “Nothing could be better than a beautiful jumper from my beautiful girl, especially on our first Christmas together. So it’s true that such nice things can be made by muggles without magic, then, eh? Just those pointy sticks? However did you find the time?”
“Well, like the boys said, I’ve been doing this for quite some time,” I answered. “Yours was just one more.”
*****
Click, click, click, rock. Click, click, click, rock.
The pattern of the needles and my rocking was soothing. I really didn’t care to be knitting jumpers. I really wanted to go upstairs, bury myself in my quilts and cry. I wanted to cry until I was numb. Anything was better than thinking.
But I couldn’t lock myself in my room. I had five young boys to care for. Oh, Bill was as dependable as they come. He knew I was hurting, and tried his best to help out. But a family needs its mother, and I had Christmas jumpers to make, so I had come to find the monotony of the needles clicking together a soothing substitute to breaking down. The smell of the new yarn, the warmth of the jumper at it took shape on my lap; both brought some measure of comfort to me.
“Almost finished, Mum?” six year old Charlie said, bounding in from the kitchen. “You’ve been working on those jumpers for ages. How many are your gonna make anyway? When are we going to trim the tree? Can I have a snack?”
“In a minute, dear. You and Bill will get to go cut the tree as soon as your father returns from work. Now, run along upstairs and play with your brothers. I’ll fix a snack as soon as I’m done,” I replied, shooing him along. Charlie was right. Somehow, my family knitting projects had evolved into a tradition. Here I was, surrounded by baskets of yarn, with a trunk full of jumpers ready to be wrapped and given out on Christmas morning.
Mum is probably laughing at you right now, Molly Prewett Weasley, what with all the fuss you put up about a few measly mufflers.
“And all without magic, just like she would have liked,” I said to little Fred and George in their play pen next to me. George smiled up at me, but Fred was busy trying to reach the cat’s tail through the grate. “And that, my dear,” I said, getting up out of my chair to distract him with a toy dragon, “is why I must cage you two up when there’s work to be done. Merlin, I don’t know how we’re going to keep you from destroying the tree this year. I’ve never heard of babies getting into as much mischief as the two of you, even though you’re barely crawling. Unless of course, you count your uncles, but as they were older than me, I only know that from your Grandmum.”
Thinking of Fabian and Gideon made me smile, but just as quickly, I felt the sting in my eyes as I fought back tears. My babies didn’t need to see me cry. They would never know their wonderful uncles, my brothers. We hadn’t exactly named the twins after them, more in honor of them. Although Fabian and Gideon weren’t twins, they were just as inseparable, even to the point of dying together.
If only I knew why. Why did they go to that house? We haven’t associated with that side of the family for years. They had the reputation of being highly elitist-“pureblood poppycock” as my own mum would have called it. So why had my brothers been found murdered on the edge of the forest surrounding the Black family summer home? I racked my brain, and couldn’t think of anything. Something kept telling me it had to do with where my brothers disappeared to every so often. They would never tell me where they went, or why they went missing for days on end. They would only say that it was important, and not to worry over them.
“Mum, Charlie is teasing Percy again,” said Bill, my eldest, running into the sitting room from the stairs. “He’s threatening to throw Percy’s toy owl into the pond.”
“Goodness!” I said, getting up from the floor. “Thank you for keeping an eye on everyone, Bill. You’re such a responsible young man. Go fetch them both. Tell them we’ll have hot chocolate in the kitchen. I suppose I’ve left you lot to your own devices long enough for one housebound winter’s afternoon,” I finished as he flew up the stairs.
“Almost finished,” I said, picking up the final jumper from my rocking chair. Leaning down, I picked up its match. Well, almost a match. One jumper had a golden “F”, the other a “G”. Again I fought back the tears. There should have been two more. Two more, larger jumpers, in blue to match my brothers’ clear eyes. One with ‘F’ and one with ‘G’.
There ought to have been just two more.
*****
‘Excuse me,” I said to the witch behind the counter. “I’m looking for something special. Can you help me?”
“Of course, madam. What can I do for you?” she asked politely, tucking a curl behind the sprig of holly pinned just over her ear.
“Well, I’ve been looking through your skeins of yarn, and I’m afraid I’m not finding what I’m looking for. They all seem to be a bit heavy for what I have in mind, not to mention dark,” I explained.
“Can you tell me about the project you’re working on, then? It might help me to locate something more acceptable to you. We have some lovely new Christmas prints,” said the saleswitch.
“Molly, what a surprise!” I heard. Turning, I saw one of our closest neighbors, Eleanor Diggory, with her little boy in tow.
“Fancy meeting you here, Molly! You’re looking well. Though I do imagine you needed a taste of freedom from that brood of yours. I suppose Arthur has grown proficient enough at changing nappies to allow a bit of a breather every now and then. How I wish I could say the same about Amos! Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s wonderful with Cedric, but he was rather hopeless at first. Oh, but listen to me prattle on. How are you doing?”
I smiled as I watched the saleswitch wander back to the counter to sort some newly arrived bolts of fabric. No doubt she realized that waiting on this conversation would keep her from other customers.
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to my friend. “I simply came to London to find some yarn. I don’t seem to be able to find what I’m looking for.”
“Still making those infamous jumpers, are you? I must say, I admire your determination. A personalized jumper for everyone each Christmas, isn’t it? Without a wand, too, I hear tell. I wish I had your skills at handiwork. Cedric will be lucky if we manage to get his name on his trunk when we send him off to Hogwarts. What is it you’re looking for, exactly?” Eleanor asked.
“Well, I do have a system of sorts established, a different color for everyone,” I explained.
“Well, I do imagine that comes in handy when sorting the washing, but now you have someone new to select for don’t you? Well, I understand your problem then. You’re in the completely wrong section. Follow me.” She took my hand and led me to a corner of the shop, past the bolts of fabric covered in falling snowflakes or flying reindeer. Stopping in front a display, she picked up a skein and put it in my hands. “I was in here the other day looking for some trimmings for my draperies when I saw these. I remember thinking what a wonderful infant’s jumper it would make if one only had the skill, which I daresay, you do.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, touching the soft thread with my fingertips. It was sturdy enough to be worn everyday, yet soft enough for a new baby. It was perfect.
“Well, problem solved then. So glad I could be of help. Aren’t you a little behind though, Molly? I mean, you have eight jumpers to finish. Christmas is just around the corner.”
“Oh, I’ve already finished a few,” I said with a smile, looking at the pink and purple yarn in my hands. It would be a nice change to work with something so fresh and pretty. “Besides, Ginny is so tiny, it will hardly take anytime at all. It really is just one more.”
*****
“Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl- damn!”
“Excuse me, young lady? I’ll not have you cursing in this house,” I told my daughter, biting my lip to keep from laughing at the absurdly familiar start to the conversation. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Do I have to learn to knit, Mum? You haven’t made any of the boys learn,” Ginny whined.
“Ah, but they do know how to mend their socks and trousers, and can prepare a square meal- without magic,” I added, anticipating her next response.
“But Mum, we hardly ever see Muggles. When would we ever be without a wand, once I get one that is.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Mother like daughter was never more true.
“Ginny, you know that magic isn’t the answer to everything. It’s simply a tool, and that tool is only as good as the person using it. Knowing how to fend for yourself without magic is more important now than ever. Your father says that more and more wizards are choosing to live in muggle areas. It’s good for him, as it keeps his department busy, but many of those wizards are completely lost when they first try to interact with muggles.”
“Still, I don’t see why I have to make a muffler for Bill. He works in Egypt, Mum!” Ginny replied, arms folded across her chest in a familiar way.
I had to laugh then. My daughter was a witty as she was head strong. “I suppose you have a point, dear. Why don’t you go on and check on your father in his shop. I heard him mention something about strings of muggle Christmas bulbs. We can’t have him setting fire to the shed this close to Christmas. I have to a bit to finish here,” I told her with a grin.
“Oh, thank you, mum!” Ginny cried, leaping up from her chair and upsetting the balls of yarn on her lap.
“Don’t think this means you’re done, young lady. We’re going to visit Charlie for the holidays, you know. It’s very cold in Romania!” I called after her as she grabbed her cloak and headed out to the shed in the garden, long red hair streaming behind her.
Settling back into my own chair, I picked up my last and final jumper of the season. How fun it had been to select a new color for this project. The emerald green was quite striking, yet still different from the deeper shade I usually use for Charlie.
I couldn’t believe it when Ron owled to tell us that he had become friends with the famous Harry Potter. I was even more surprised to find that Harry was the skinny little boy we had helped get onto the Platform at Kings Cross. My astonishment was complete when I received the owl from Ron asking if I could somehow send some Christmas gifts for young Harry along.
Imagine, growing up his entire life, not knowing who he was. And here we were raising our children on tales of the Boy Who Lived. Now it appears as if he was the Boy Who Was Neglected. All those years, not knowing he was magical. Poor thing. I suppose his first bursts of accidental magic were frightening indeed.
I finished the last little bit of the collar and cast off. All that remained was to put on the ‘H’.
What if he doesn’t want his initial on his jumper? I thought, smoothing it across my lap. He’s famous already. He probably doesn’t need anything to draw more attention. Yes, perhaps it would be better to keep the initials to members of the family. Still, we don’t yet have an ‘H’. It would be nice to do a new letter. Perhaps someday-
“Are you finished, love?” Arthur asked, interrupting my musings. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “I’m going into the ministry this afternoon to finish some paperwork, so if you need me to drop the bundle for Harry off at the post office, I can do that if you’re ready.”
“That would be lovely, dear,” I smiled up at my husband. “I just need to wrap the jumper and put some fudge in the parcel. This Harry seems to be a very nice young boy.”
“From what I understand, Harry is quite a fellow. The twins say he’s quite a flyer, too,” Arthur said, hanging his cloak on its hook by the door.
“I’m so very glad Ron has befriended him. If what Ron’s told us in his owls is true, the muggles he lives with must be truly awful. Imagine- Locking the poor child away in a cupboard!” Just thinking about such treatment of a child made my blood boil. “I have half a mind to speak to Dumbledore about letting Harry stay with us over the summer holidays. I would have asked him here for Christmas if we weren’t visiting Charlie in Romania.”
“Oh, Molly,” Arthur chided, his eyes twinkling as he came over to my rocker to kiss me on the cheek. “You’ll never change. As soon as one of the flock moves out, you’re ready to take in another. You’ll be making more than one emerald green jumper as the years go by, I reckon. With an ‘H’ on them, no less.”
Arthur was right. I had missed the chaos of my large family this year. While Ginny still managed to get herself into a fix fairly often, it didn’t compare to the years of frenzied activity. The house seemed strangely quiet now, as thought it were patiently waiting for the wonderful excitement to return. “I suppose you’re right, Arthur. It just seems to me that after all those years in that cold, uncaring house, young Harry could do to experience the love of a big family such as ours. We’ve always made our children’s friends welcome.”
“Ah, but how many jumpers have you made for the friends of Bill, Charlie, Percy or the twins? It seems to me as though you’re anglin’ to take Harry in.” Arthur always did know me best.
“Oh, love, I just couldn’t bear the thought of young Harry all alone at Hogwarts, not even expecting any gifts for Christmas. How much more would it be to take Harry in? He needs the love, we have the room. Besides, it’s just one more.”
Originally written for the Checkmated Christmas Past challenge in 2004. First person is bugger. Please let me know what you think!
Author: texasmagic
Rating: Everyone
Summary: Ever wondered how Molly got started knitting all those Christmas jumpers?
Just One More
Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Knit one- damn!
“What was that dear?” my mother asked, looking up from her darning. Damn. Did I say that out loud?
“Nothing, mum. I dropped some stitches. Again,” I grumbled. I hate knitting. “Why can’t I wait to learn this until I go to Hogwarts? Then I’ll have a wand and I can use magic and won’t have to get all tangled up in- this!” I said in frustration, holding up the two skeins of scarlet and gold yarn.
“Now, Molly dear, we’ve been over this before. “ Mum replied, slipping the needle into her work and setting it down on the side table next to her chair. “You know where your father and I stand in regards to doing things properly. Knowing how to do a thing without magic strengthens your skill once you learn the proper spells. Many powerful wizards-“
“Have become completely helpless when they find themselves without a wand,” I finished for her. “Mother, please. When is that ever going to happen? I’ve never seen you without yours. Or Dad. The only time you ever put them away is when we go into Muggle London. I don’t fancy living near muggles, anyway.”
“Molly, that is enough,” Mum said sternly, cutting me off. “I will not have my daughter succumb to any of that pure-blood rubbish about being above completing ordinary tasks with her own two hands. Without a wand. Now, get going. You’ve almost completed the first one. A few more rows, and I’ll help you cast off,” she finished, officially ending the conversation.
“Yes, mum,” I grumbled under my breath, picking up the needles and trying to sort out the dropped stitches. Why does my mother have to be so old fashioned? None of my friends’ mothers make them sit and mess with this awful itchy string. It gets all tangled up around my arms, and then it drops on the floor and I have to go chasing after it, only to go back to my chair to find that a whole row of work has unraveled! I’d much prefer being outside, enjoying the fresh air, even if it is snowing. Instead, I’m stuck in here with my mother, making ruddy homemade Christmas gifts. “I swear, by the time I finish these mufflers, I’m never going to want to see another piece of scarlet or gold yarn again!”
My mother put her work down again, rose from her chair and came over to mine. Taking a look at my project, she said, “You’ll understand next year when you start Hogwarts, dear. The boys will love your gifts. They will be thrilled to get something in their house colors, and I daresay, if you have as much Prewett in you as they do, you will have plenty of scarlet and gold in your own trunk. Back to work, now. You’ve almost finished with Fabian’s. Then you can start with Gideon’s. It’s just one more.”
*****
“Here, Arthur, open this one,” I said, holding out the neatly wrapped but lumpy package. “Happy Christmas!” I hope he likes it. Fabian and Gideon always act as if they love theirs, but they’re my brothers. They have to act that way. This is different. I’ve never given anyone outside the family one of my knitting projects before. What if he doesn’t like homemade things?
“Wow, Molly, this is incredible. Is this- did you make this?” Arthur asked. I could only nod in reply. Before I knew it, Arthur was pulling the jumper over his head. “How do I look?” he asked.
“Very handsome,” I replied, smoothing down the mop of waves mussed up by the jumper. How funny that I managed to find a fiancé with the same flaming hair color as my own. It looks as though I chose the shade for the jumper wisely as well. The hours spent searching for just the right yarn were worth it. That chocolate brown brings out his eyes.
“Oi, Arthur! What did our little Molly get you for Christmas?” my brother Fabian called, coming into the sitting room. As always, Gideon was right behind him.
Coming over to our place on the rug in front of the fire, Gideon crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “She’s made him a jumper. Guess that means you're officially part of the clan then, Arthur. You thought the ring was a sign of being tied down. Just look at all the string she’s managed to wrap around you now!”
“She only makes those for the special men in her life, right, Molly?” Fabian added, leaning on the back of Mum’s rocker. “Used to be just Gideon and me. She started out with mufflers and mittens and such before she even started Hogwarts. Mum made her do them all by hand. Merlin, the fuss our little Mollikins put up. Suppose that means she’s decided to keep you.”
“You made this by hand? Without your wand?” Arthur asked me, rubbing the thick wool on his arm with the other hand. “The stitches are so even, so tightly woven. Just right for keeping out the damp night air. It’ll be perfect when I’m out on raids. My mum tried to make us some hats once, but they ended up looking like squashed quaffles. She could never manage something as nice as this, especially without magic.”
“Well, our family has a tradition of knowing the method behind the magic,” I answered, shyly, remembering my Mum’s words about having pride in a thing you could make with your own two hands.
“Well, I love it,” Arthur said, leaning across the brightly coloured wrapping to give me a peck on the cheek. “Nothing could be better than a beautiful jumper from my beautiful girl, especially on our first Christmas together. So it’s true that such nice things can be made by muggles without magic, then, eh? Just those pointy sticks? However did you find the time?”
“Well, like the boys said, I’ve been doing this for quite some time,” I answered. “Yours was just one more.”
*****
Click, click, click, rock. Click, click, click, rock.
The pattern of the needles and my rocking was soothing. I really didn’t care to be knitting jumpers. I really wanted to go upstairs, bury myself in my quilts and cry. I wanted to cry until I was numb. Anything was better than thinking.
But I couldn’t lock myself in my room. I had five young boys to care for. Oh, Bill was as dependable as they come. He knew I was hurting, and tried his best to help out. But a family needs its mother, and I had Christmas jumpers to make, so I had come to find the monotony of the needles clicking together a soothing substitute to breaking down. The smell of the new yarn, the warmth of the jumper at it took shape on my lap; both brought some measure of comfort to me.
“Almost finished, Mum?” six year old Charlie said, bounding in from the kitchen. “You’ve been working on those jumpers for ages. How many are your gonna make anyway? When are we going to trim the tree? Can I have a snack?”
“In a minute, dear. You and Bill will get to go cut the tree as soon as your father returns from work. Now, run along upstairs and play with your brothers. I’ll fix a snack as soon as I’m done,” I replied, shooing him along. Charlie was right. Somehow, my family knitting projects had evolved into a tradition. Here I was, surrounded by baskets of yarn, with a trunk full of jumpers ready to be wrapped and given out on Christmas morning.
Mum is probably laughing at you right now, Molly Prewett Weasley, what with all the fuss you put up about a few measly mufflers.
“And all without magic, just like she would have liked,” I said to little Fred and George in their play pen next to me. George smiled up at me, but Fred was busy trying to reach the cat’s tail through the grate. “And that, my dear,” I said, getting up out of my chair to distract him with a toy dragon, “is why I must cage you two up when there’s work to be done. Merlin, I don’t know how we’re going to keep you from destroying the tree this year. I’ve never heard of babies getting into as much mischief as the two of you, even though you’re barely crawling. Unless of course, you count your uncles, but as they were older than me, I only know that from your Grandmum.”
Thinking of Fabian and Gideon made me smile, but just as quickly, I felt the sting in my eyes as I fought back tears. My babies didn’t need to see me cry. They would never know their wonderful uncles, my brothers. We hadn’t exactly named the twins after them, more in honor of them. Although Fabian and Gideon weren’t twins, they were just as inseparable, even to the point of dying together.
If only I knew why. Why did they go to that house? We haven’t associated with that side of the family for years. They had the reputation of being highly elitist-“pureblood poppycock” as my own mum would have called it. So why had my brothers been found murdered on the edge of the forest surrounding the Black family summer home? I racked my brain, and couldn’t think of anything. Something kept telling me it had to do with where my brothers disappeared to every so often. They would never tell me where they went, or why they went missing for days on end. They would only say that it was important, and not to worry over them.
“Mum, Charlie is teasing Percy again,” said Bill, my eldest, running into the sitting room from the stairs. “He’s threatening to throw Percy’s toy owl into the pond.”
“Goodness!” I said, getting up from the floor. “Thank you for keeping an eye on everyone, Bill. You’re such a responsible young man. Go fetch them both. Tell them we’ll have hot chocolate in the kitchen. I suppose I’ve left you lot to your own devices long enough for one housebound winter’s afternoon,” I finished as he flew up the stairs.
“Almost finished,” I said, picking up the final jumper from my rocking chair. Leaning down, I picked up its match. Well, almost a match. One jumper had a golden “F”, the other a “G”. Again I fought back the tears. There should have been two more. Two more, larger jumpers, in blue to match my brothers’ clear eyes. One with ‘F’ and one with ‘G’.
There ought to have been just two more.
*****
‘Excuse me,” I said to the witch behind the counter. “I’m looking for something special. Can you help me?”
“Of course, madam. What can I do for you?” she asked politely, tucking a curl behind the sprig of holly pinned just over her ear.
“Well, I’ve been looking through your skeins of yarn, and I’m afraid I’m not finding what I’m looking for. They all seem to be a bit heavy for what I have in mind, not to mention dark,” I explained.
“Can you tell me about the project you’re working on, then? It might help me to locate something more acceptable to you. We have some lovely new Christmas prints,” said the saleswitch.
“Molly, what a surprise!” I heard. Turning, I saw one of our closest neighbors, Eleanor Diggory, with her little boy in tow.
“Fancy meeting you here, Molly! You’re looking well. Though I do imagine you needed a taste of freedom from that brood of yours. I suppose Arthur has grown proficient enough at changing nappies to allow a bit of a breather every now and then. How I wish I could say the same about Amos! Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s wonderful with Cedric, but he was rather hopeless at first. Oh, but listen to me prattle on. How are you doing?”
I smiled as I watched the saleswitch wander back to the counter to sort some newly arrived bolts of fabric. No doubt she realized that waiting on this conversation would keep her from other customers.
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to my friend. “I simply came to London to find some yarn. I don’t seem to be able to find what I’m looking for.”
“Still making those infamous jumpers, are you? I must say, I admire your determination. A personalized jumper for everyone each Christmas, isn’t it? Without a wand, too, I hear tell. I wish I had your skills at handiwork. Cedric will be lucky if we manage to get his name on his trunk when we send him off to Hogwarts. What is it you’re looking for, exactly?” Eleanor asked.
“Well, I do have a system of sorts established, a different color for everyone,” I explained.
“Well, I do imagine that comes in handy when sorting the washing, but now you have someone new to select for don’t you? Well, I understand your problem then. You’re in the completely wrong section. Follow me.” She took my hand and led me to a corner of the shop, past the bolts of fabric covered in falling snowflakes or flying reindeer. Stopping in front a display, she picked up a skein and put it in my hands. “I was in here the other day looking for some trimmings for my draperies when I saw these. I remember thinking what a wonderful infant’s jumper it would make if one only had the skill, which I daresay, you do.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, touching the soft thread with my fingertips. It was sturdy enough to be worn everyday, yet soft enough for a new baby. It was perfect.
“Well, problem solved then. So glad I could be of help. Aren’t you a little behind though, Molly? I mean, you have eight jumpers to finish. Christmas is just around the corner.”
“Oh, I’ve already finished a few,” I said with a smile, looking at the pink and purple yarn in my hands. It would be a nice change to work with something so fresh and pretty. “Besides, Ginny is so tiny, it will hardly take anytime at all. It really is just one more.”
*****
“Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl- damn!”
“Excuse me, young lady? I’ll not have you cursing in this house,” I told my daughter, biting my lip to keep from laughing at the absurdly familiar start to the conversation. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Do I have to learn to knit, Mum? You haven’t made any of the boys learn,” Ginny whined.
“Ah, but they do know how to mend their socks and trousers, and can prepare a square meal- without magic,” I added, anticipating her next response.
“But Mum, we hardly ever see Muggles. When would we ever be without a wand, once I get one that is.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Mother like daughter was never more true.
“Ginny, you know that magic isn’t the answer to everything. It’s simply a tool, and that tool is only as good as the person using it. Knowing how to fend for yourself without magic is more important now than ever. Your father says that more and more wizards are choosing to live in muggle areas. It’s good for him, as it keeps his department busy, but many of those wizards are completely lost when they first try to interact with muggles.”
“Still, I don’t see why I have to make a muffler for Bill. He works in Egypt, Mum!” Ginny replied, arms folded across her chest in a familiar way.
I had to laugh then. My daughter was a witty as she was head strong. “I suppose you have a point, dear. Why don’t you go on and check on your father in his shop. I heard him mention something about strings of muggle Christmas bulbs. We can’t have him setting fire to the shed this close to Christmas. I have to a bit to finish here,” I told her with a grin.
“Oh, thank you, mum!” Ginny cried, leaping up from her chair and upsetting the balls of yarn on her lap.
“Don’t think this means you’re done, young lady. We’re going to visit Charlie for the holidays, you know. It’s very cold in Romania!” I called after her as she grabbed her cloak and headed out to the shed in the garden, long red hair streaming behind her.
Settling back into my own chair, I picked up my last and final jumper of the season. How fun it had been to select a new color for this project. The emerald green was quite striking, yet still different from the deeper shade I usually use for Charlie.
I couldn’t believe it when Ron owled to tell us that he had become friends with the famous Harry Potter. I was even more surprised to find that Harry was the skinny little boy we had helped get onto the Platform at Kings Cross. My astonishment was complete when I received the owl from Ron asking if I could somehow send some Christmas gifts for young Harry along.
Imagine, growing up his entire life, not knowing who he was. And here we were raising our children on tales of the Boy Who Lived. Now it appears as if he was the Boy Who Was Neglected. All those years, not knowing he was magical. Poor thing. I suppose his first bursts of accidental magic were frightening indeed.
I finished the last little bit of the collar and cast off. All that remained was to put on the ‘H’.
What if he doesn’t want his initial on his jumper? I thought, smoothing it across my lap. He’s famous already. He probably doesn’t need anything to draw more attention. Yes, perhaps it would be better to keep the initials to members of the family. Still, we don’t yet have an ‘H’. It would be nice to do a new letter. Perhaps someday-
“Are you finished, love?” Arthur asked, interrupting my musings. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “I’m going into the ministry this afternoon to finish some paperwork, so if you need me to drop the bundle for Harry off at the post office, I can do that if you’re ready.”
“That would be lovely, dear,” I smiled up at my husband. “I just need to wrap the jumper and put some fudge in the parcel. This Harry seems to be a very nice young boy.”
“From what I understand, Harry is quite a fellow. The twins say he’s quite a flyer, too,” Arthur said, hanging his cloak on its hook by the door.
“I’m so very glad Ron has befriended him. If what Ron’s told us in his owls is true, the muggles he lives with must be truly awful. Imagine- Locking the poor child away in a cupboard!” Just thinking about such treatment of a child made my blood boil. “I have half a mind to speak to Dumbledore about letting Harry stay with us over the summer holidays. I would have asked him here for Christmas if we weren’t visiting Charlie in Romania.”
“Oh, Molly,” Arthur chided, his eyes twinkling as he came over to my rocker to kiss me on the cheek. “You’ll never change. As soon as one of the flock moves out, you’re ready to take in another. You’ll be making more than one emerald green jumper as the years go by, I reckon. With an ‘H’ on them, no less.”
Arthur was right. I had missed the chaos of my large family this year. While Ginny still managed to get herself into a fix fairly often, it didn’t compare to the years of frenzied activity. The house seemed strangely quiet now, as thought it were patiently waiting for the wonderful excitement to return. “I suppose you’re right, Arthur. It just seems to me that after all those years in that cold, uncaring house, young Harry could do to experience the love of a big family such as ours. We’ve always made our children’s friends welcome.”
“Ah, but how many jumpers have you made for the friends of Bill, Charlie, Percy or the twins? It seems to me as though you’re anglin’ to take Harry in.” Arthur always did know me best.
“Oh, love, I just couldn’t bear the thought of young Harry all alone at Hogwarts, not even expecting any gifts for Christmas. How much more would it be to take Harry in? He needs the love, we have the room. Besides, it’s just one more.”
Originally written for the Checkmated Christmas Past challenge in 2004. First person is bugger. Please let me know what you think!