(no subject)
Title: Latent Maniacal Tendencies, or the Tale of Nackles the Christmas Werewolf
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Many, many OCs and Augustus Rookwood
Rating: PG-13 for general cruelty
Summary: It is December 24th, 1937, and Edwina Espis, daughter of millionaire arms dealers Clovis and Idunn Espis, is convinced she's worked out how Father Christmas delivers all of his presents in one night. As she's trying to convince her acquaintance Augustus of the truth, her werewolf uncle crashes the party. Things go downhill from there. 6159 words.
Author's Note: This is for thinkatory for Christmas. It is a day late but hopefully not a dollar short. Further notes are after the fic, since large chunks of the fic are based on ideas that are neither mine nor JK Rowling's, but I will note here that Rookwood's characterization is a poor imitation of the one thinkatory writes. Oh, and since she's usually my beta? Unbeta'd.
Edwina Espis knew she was clever, which was probably why she had no friends. She had heard a lot of talk about Father Christmas not existing -- mainly from her nanny, Miss Snodgrass -- but she knew she was cleverer than Miss Snodgrass, who was probably just trying to brainwash her. Father took her into London sometimes on his business trips, and every December it was quite evident from the signs in Diagon Alley that Father Christmas had got some quite lucrative marketing deals. Quality Quidditch Supplies even had a bad likeness of him in their window, having replaced his reindeer with the brand new Comet 180.
And so, when she'd got into the argument with the boy next door, she felt she had to defend the good Mr. Kringle's honor.
After Miss Snodgrass had pulled the two brawling eight-year-olds apart, she treated Augustus for bruises and told Ed to stop scowling or her face would stay that way forever. Ed pointed out that if it did, her mother would most certainly have Miss Snodgrass sacked, and that made her shut up.
When Miss Snodgrass had finally given up on Ed ever making friends and sent Augustus home to his parents, Ed decided that she was going to have to examine the facts of Father Christmas. So she made her way to the library.
She quite liked the manor's library. It was large, full of books, and there was hardly ever anybody there. Father spent all of his time in the laboratory, working out new ways to blow things up, and Mother was usually away in the States on business, or at Gringotts, or reading the newspaper. She knew they were doing good things, of course -- Father's explosives would protect the world from bad people, and Mother's friends were keeping Muggle children in Chicago from getting rickets, but she still wished she didn't have to spend so much time with Miss Snodgrass.
But onto more important matters.
Father Christmas, as she understood it, traveled all around the world delivering presents to good children, and good children only. If the children had been bad, he would beat them with a stick. His means of travel varied widely; like Phileas Fogg, he had been known to travel by steamboat and by sleigh, and occasionally with assistants of foreign descent. He was obviously good-natured but completely and utterly mad. However, the man had historically been doing his job for many, many years, and within a very short period of time. This suggested superhuman determination and efficiency.
Ed frowned. This sort of thing was improbable. If he really did visit every single household personally, well, in one night? That would be tiring. And even with Apparation, it would take too long. She didn't see how he could do it.
Unless... unless he traveled at faster-than-light speeds?
She paused. There were two men she admired above all others: Nicholas Flamel, and Albert Einstein. She had loved Flamel since her father had started tutoring her in alchemy, but she'd only discovered Einstein quite recently, and had read all of his papers. Though she understood none of them, she had got her father to explain them in shorter words, and she rather liked the mind-warping logic of it all. So she was somewhat iffy on the idea of contradicting him. Father Christmas versus Albert Einstein -- it was a tough choice.
So she began to research relativity.
After several hours, she had cleared up most of her Father Christmas-related uncertainties, and come to the conclusion that it was perfectly possible. Satisfied with her researches, she wrote down her sources, and folded up the parchment in order to show to that obnoxious know-it-all Augustus Rookwood at the Christmas party her parents insisted upon throwing. By then, Miss Snodgrass would be on holiday until January, and she could hit him to her heart's content.
* * *
After waiting for what seemed like thousands of years (though it had only been a day and a half -- truly, the theory of relativity was genius) it was Christmas Eve. Augustus Rookwood and his foul sisters had come over, and were sitting by the enormous tree looking bored.
Augustus had seventy million older sisters, each uglier and meaner than the last, and all of then named after Roman emperors. Ed had not bothered to learn their names, but unfortunately, they knew hers. "Edwina," one said, "our darling brother has told us that you still believe in Father Christmas! How quaint!"
"It's Occam's Razor," said Ed. "Either he's real or there's a massive worldwide conspiracy of people claiming that he's real and doing things in order to keep up the illusion that he's real. I think it's fairly obvious which one requires the least silly assumptions."
"All right, fine," said Augustus, glaring, "but how do you explain the --"
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" Clovis Espis, Ed's father, came bursting in levitating a huge pile of delightful mechanical things, and the children all rushed forward. He looked around and blinked. "My goodness, Eddie, we've got a whole flock of Rookwoods in here. Where's Raimund?"
"He's talking with Mother," said Ed. "It was dull, so I left."
"They're speaking in German, I suppose?"
"That, and I think it's about money," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I want to see the toys!"
"Now Edwina, you know the rules. Guests first."
"Yeah, Ed-wee-na," said Augustus. Ed decided that someday she was going to kill Augustus. Or maybe just maim him. Whichever was more satisfying.
Ed's father frowned at the Rookwood girls. "Are you Sestina or Cornelia?"
"I'm Constantinia, sir," she said primly, giving him that sickly-sweet smile that adults always described as angelic and children always knew was fake.
"Right, right. Sestina's somebody else, of course." He shook his head. "I'm going senile, you see. Anyway, the youngest gets first choice of the toys."
And doubtfully, one by one, each of the Rookwood children picked a toy; Augustus, to Ed's annoyance, had picked the beautiful mechanical Abraxan that she'd wanted, but after the others were done she settled for a little airship that moved about the floor on wheels and shot real sparks out of its miniature cannons.
* * *
The party was going splendidly, Idunn thought; the brace of businesspeople who ran Espis Arms and Armaments was getting plastered, her family had arrived safely from Vienna, the Rookwoods had confined their condescending sneers to a few neighborly pleasantries, and there was no sign of her brother-in-law, Thelonious. She walked over to the tree, where the children were shooting cannons at each other and arguing over who got the battleship.
Wait a minute.
"Clovis," she hissed, "what are you doing? Don't you remember last year's incident with that pneumatic nutcracker?"
"I think they'll be fine," said Father. "Besides, that would never have happened if you hadn't invited the ga-- the, er, Americans."
"They have been our best clients for years, Clovis," she said, exasperated.
"Well, as long as they didn't come again this year," he said.
"Ah," she said vaguely, having taken a sudden interest in the Christmas tree.
"...They didn't, right?"
Idunn watched her daughter as she shouted at three of the Rookwood girls, saying nothing.
"Idunn."
"They've been our best clients!" Idunn said. "Anyway, they knew somebody locally who could be our Father Christmas."
"What?"
"When I was a girl, Father Christmas always came to our parties with toys, and a stick, and ...and the Christ child. For some reason. He rang a little bell," said Idunn with a sort of ringing gesture.
Her husband winced. "Idunn, they're criminals."
"So is your brother."
"Yes, but I don't invite him," said Clovis, "he just comes along anyway. It's the free food. Remember our wedding?"
Oh yes. She remembered. She glared, then added, "Anyway, we invited the Kaiser that one year --"
"Kaiser Wilhelm! You're comparing those thugs to --"
"To another thug. We sell magical guns to Muggles, Clovis, we are not exactly the purest of the pure. Anyway, he didn't even RSVP. The gangsters are a bit more polite."
"But that was before we had Eddie to worry about," said Clovis. "What is she going to think if we've got a load of criminals trouping through the house?"
"She still believes in Father Christmas; she's not old enough to worry about it yet. Anyway, that brother of yours is worse -- and he's contagious."
"Well, I never invite him," said Clovis, looking grumpy. "I told you. He just shows up."
"Well hullo, and how're you doing this fine time of year?" A clawlike hand wrapped itself around her shoulder, and Idunn jumped.
"Get your disgusting paws off of me!" snarled Idunn; she recognized that voice. It was her brother-in-law.
Thelonious Espis grinned. Too widely, too. His hair was wild and his clothes were torn.
Clovis sighed. "What do you want?"
"Haven't you saved me a wind-up toy? You've become ever so handy with them." She could almost swear his tongue lolled. "And you're looking lovely as ever, Idunn."
"You were not invited," Idunn snapped. "You are very fortunate not to be in prison."
"That I am, that I am. Got anything to eat around here? I'm starved."
* * *
"I can't believe you still think Father Christmas is real," said Augustus. They were in the library hiding from his sisters, who wanted to give them both pigtails. Ed didn't much like pigtails, and Augustus, being a boy, was terrified of them.
"Well, if you think about it, there's a lot more evidence for Father Christmas than there is for the Minister of Magic," said Ed. "Come on, help me with this sofa."
He helped her push the sofa in front of the door. "Don't be -- this is heavy -- ridiculous, the Prophet talks -- oof -- about the Minister of Magic all the time," said Augustus.
"Have you ever seen the Minister?" she asked, going to drag an armchair in front of the sofa.
"...well, no, but I've met people who say they have," said Augustus, lugging a footstool over from across the room.
"And the Minister says every year that he's going to do all sorts of things to make things better," said Ed, "but they hardly ever happen. But Father Christmas..." She started walking towards one of the shelves.
"Yes, yes, I see what you're talking about," said Augustus, glaring and trying to keep up, "but you see, it's a conspiracy --"
"At the Ministry? Oh, probably," said Ed. She dragged another footstool up to one of the shelves. "But I'm not really concerned about that."
"Anyway, there are too many problems with the whole ridiculous story," said Augustus, watching as she stood on the footstool. "For instance, the chimney."
"It's not really the chimney, that's a Muggle thing." She scanned the shelves. "Obviously he uses a special sort of Floo powder that doesn't need a network to get into the houses," said Ed. "Father's working on something similar."
"Really? What, to sell to burglars?" Augustus asked.
Ed glowered down at him. "The chimneys aren't an issue."
"All right then, where does he get all the money for the toys?"
"Haven't you been to London lately?" Carefully, she climbed up onto the bookshelf. "Nearly every company there's hired him to promote their things. He probably gets a discount and loads of profit. And I bet he's smart enough to make some of those things himself; he doesn't need to worry about regular things either, as he's got all those House-Elves up at the North Pole."
Augustus looked impressed, though whether it was with Ed's climbing ability or her reasoning, it was difficult to tell. "All right, then, what about the flying reindeer?"
"They're perytons," said Ed, sliding along to the next shelf.
He scowled. "Perytons? The man-eating winged deer things?"
"Exactly," she said, clinging precariously to the top of the next shelf.
"Those are extinct. They died out in the Renaissance."
Ed was smug. "Aren't you going to ask how he can possibly go all around the world and stop at each house?"
"You haven't got an answer for that one," said Augustus. "It would require faster-than-light travel."
"Or time travel. Same thing, really." She ran a finger along the backs of the books, then pulled one out.
Augustus opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he glowered. "You're mad."
She threw the book down at Augustus, and it hit him in the head.
"OW! What was that for?"
She grinned at the rodenty way he was scowling at her. "For being obnoxious. That's all the 1934 issues of the British Journal of Physical Thaumaturgy."
"...Why?" he demanded.
"Because." She made her way back to the shelf she'd originally climbed from, and jumped down onto the footstool. "It's on page 1578."
"What is?"
"Time-travel," she said. "It sounded completely ridiculous, I know, because, you know, Albert Einstein and all, but he wouldn't have had access to this sort of experiment."
"Father Christmas has time-travel," repeated Augustus.
"Yes, of course," said Ed. "That's why he's so old but he doesn't die. He might know the Flamels, too."
"And perytons."
"And perytons! They probably eat the really bad children."
"And some sort of mad thieves' Floo powder."
"It's not mad!"
"How does he know what to get everybody, then?"
"Oh, really, have you no imagination? He's a Legilimens."
"Oh, obviously."
"You still don't believe me?"
"Not really, no."
"Hmph. You're an idiot," she said. "Do you suppose your sisters are gone now? The servants' exit's in that wall over there."
"Trust you to use the servants' way," said Augustus, but he followed her anyway.
"It's just easier to get to the cloaks this way," said Ed, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to prove he's real. We'll wait for him outside."
"What, all night?" asked Augustus.
"Don't be stupid. He's visiting us early tonight," said Ed. "Mum told me."
"Since when does Father Christmas drop in on parties the night before?" Augustus demanded. He seemed disconcerted.
"Mum says he used to come all the time when she was a girl."
"But that was in Germany!"
"No, it was in Austria," said Ed, glowering. "Anyway, maybe he likes Austrian children better."
"...maybe," said Augustus. He seemed very worried now, and he was silent until they'd found their cloaks and reached the door out to the grounds of the mansion. "But, look, what about Nackles?"
Ed blinked. "Where's that?"
"You know, Nackles," whispered Augustus. He looked around wildly, and seeing nobody but some trees and snow, repeated himself. "Tall thin bloke? Nackles!"
Ed wasn't sure who Nackles was, but Augustus was plainly terrified of him. Maybe he was like Uncle Thelonious. "Oh, Nackles," she said airily. "Well, you shouldn't have to worry about him. I mean, if Father Christmas doesn't exist, why should Nackles?"
"But you just said --"
"Oh, don't listen to me, after all it's not like I'm ever right about anything else," said Ed.
"Right. Yeah," said Augustus. "Good point." He didn't seem reassured.
"Anyway, I haven't worked out how to explain the, you know, the..." Ed made a vague gesture.
"The Inferi Abraxans that breathe burning frost?" Augustus prompted.
"Yes, exactly," said Ed, as though she'd known about them all along. "There are a lot of spells for cold fire, but I don't know how you'd get them to exhale it. Or for it to burn. Anyway, look, see? There's his sleigh, and the perytons. I was right."
When he saw the magnificent sleigh, loaded with presents, and the eight magnificent winged reindeer, Augustus went pale. Perhaps his thoughts were still on Nackles and his nasty undead Abraxans, but Ed was not perturbed in the slightest; Nackles was just the sort of thing Augustus' horrible sisters would come up with, and they were liars to the core. "Come on, let's see if it works!"
"What? You want to steal Father Christmas' sleigh?"
"Well, he's not using it," said Ed. "See?" She pointed at the footprints leading away from the sledge. There were a lot of them. Maybe he'd brought elves. Very big elves. Ed was not particularly concerned about the shoe sizes of Father Christmas' elves. Perhaps he had human servants as well.
And so, not really worrying about the mess of footprints leading over the snowy hills and towards a copse of tall old trees, Ed climbed into the sleigh and started shouting at the reindeer to fly.
* * *
Meanwhile, the party was rather wearing on poor Clovis. Clovis Espis was not particularly a people person. He was good-natured and he understood why they had people over (namely, because Idunn Said So, and Idunn was the one who handled the money), but men who find themselves disappointed when wars end because it means decreased profits are not, by and large, men who take pleasure in the company of others, and Clovis preferred the quiet of the drafting board to the snooty Rookwoods, and the goblins from Gringotts, and the financial wizards who answered to Idunn, and the cigar-smoking gentlemen from Chicago. There was also the added terror of remembering names, something he never really had to do anywhere but parties. If he owned the world, people he didn't know on sight would all wear nametags. And all those Rookwood girls all had the same sort of names, so it really didn't help.
At least (and here he did feel guilty, having a daughter of his own) he didn't actually like the Rookwood girls. They were generally horrible to that poor little brother of theirs, and Ed seemed to really hate them, so he felt he was moderately justified in not remembering their names.
About the only people he sort of liked at the party were his wife's family. About half of them didn't like him either, but they were honest sorts and none of them had come. Raimund Eberharter was Idunn's nephew, a top student at Durmstrang, and generally an exceedingly polite young man with a fondness for Arithmancy and History, and who didn't seem to mind that Clovis was new money or halfblood.
So Clovis was startled when Raimund tapped him on the arm and said "Excuse me, but your brother is the werewolf, yes?"
"Yes, er. I rather wish he wasn't, and it was all his idea," he added quickly, in case Raimund had inexplicably decided to berate him about this now. "Why?"
"It is only that tonight is the full moon, and I was wondering, how were you going to... the word, what is -- account for this? Be taking care of it? With the werewolf?"
There was a brief silence as Clovis stared at Raimund and realized he was not joking, and Raimund stared at Clovis and realized he had no plan.
"Where is he?" asked Clovis.
"I do not know," said Raimund.
Clovis swore under his breath.
"Yes," Raimund said, cringing. "I should think so."
"Stay here," said Clovis, beginning to turn around. He stopped. "Don't tell anybody." He paused a moment before adding, "...except for Idunn. She'll kill me otherwise. But not 'til I'm out of the room, understand."
Raimund, frowning, nodded.
Clovis was halfway out of the room when a flock of young Rookwoods descended upon him. "Mr. Espis, Mr. Espis! Do you know where our brother's gone?" asked one.
"Check the library, they usually hide there," said Clovis, "but you must excuse me, I've just remembered something terribly urgent."
"Oh, please, Mr. Espis, won't you show us to the library?"
Clovis gritted his teeth. Then he turned around. "Do you know what gunpowder does?" he asked calmly.
They all shook their heads, except for one of the girls at the back who audibly muttered "Something uncouth and Mugglish!"
"You're quite right, my dear," said Clovis. "You see, it explodes!" His face darkened. "And if you don't want this whole house to go up in flames, you will have to find the library on your own, and as for Ed and your brother, I wish them the best of luck in avoiding you. Happy Christmas." And he shut the door in their faces.
Now, to find Thelonious. Wealth, he reflected, had brought him a great number of hardships; for example, in this house he had the Rookwoods as neighbors, and in the other he had a number of strange Muggles, and he could never work out what to get his wife for Christmas or her birthday when she could buy anything she might possibly like and a number of things nobody could ever want. And he'd complained enough about the hundreds of rooms when Idunn had sat down with the architect, but he'd never counted on werewolf infestations. This was highly impractical.
The first thing to do, he decided, was to restrict the house's internal Floo network. Many of the rooms were only connected to the rest of the house via fireplace, and so if Clovis took that option from his brother, he was more liable to stay in one place.
So Clovis made his way to Espis Mansion's ward-center, a long column of magical energy at the center of the house. All the magical energy of the house -- the Muggle-repelling charms, the outside wards that protected the house from all manner of disasters, the imitation electric lights that kept the Tiffany lamps glowing, the winter heating charms, and most importantly, the internal Floo network -- all these separate threads of magic sank into the foundation and from there spread out like an invisible spider's web through an empty shaft at the core of the house. At the top it opened to the grey winter sky and was doubtless cold, but at the bottom it was warm, and there was a fireplace, and a little dingy room with real electricity in one bare light bulb, where Clovis could coax things into working when they broke.
It was here that he went now, for a few minutes, and scratched a few numbers onto a piece of parchment. Then he took his calculations and left the dark little room. Muttering a spell over the stone that held the spells together, he inspected the parchment one last time, gave the stone a few last orders, and watched as the veins and arteries of the house, suddenly made visible, carried his spell through them.
If this worked, the Floo would let him, and only him, through it into the vicinity of a non-human, non-goblin, non-house-elf biped was. Anyone else would be spat back out safely into the room they had come from, although he allowed for Floo calls, as he was expecting to have to call the Ministry after this.
If it didn't work, there was a very good chance he would be roasted alive. Life was dangerous like that.
Steeling himself for the journey -- there was no sense in getting worked up about it now -- Clovis realized it might be nice to have some protection besides his wand, which, after all, wouldn't do him a terrible lot of good if Thelonious came after him after moonrise.
He looked around for something long and heavy to hit him with, but there was nothing he could find except an ornate gun, a prototype, intended for travelers in the magical wilderness who did not trust their wands alone and had never learnt marksmanship. Clovis would have preferred something less lethal, since he'd never actually killed anybody before and it was bound to be messy and unpleasant work.
The gun was deceptively small, modeled after a Muggle derringer, but quite powerful despite this, and covered in spell-laden filigreed figures, each representing a sort of dangerous creature the gun would automatically target. Clovis noted with some regret that there was no werewolf present, and, shrugging, looked down at his silver coat-buttons, pulled one off, conjured some gunpowder, and loaded the pistol.
Then he shoved it in his coat pocket, and determined to go out in a blaze of glory (or, hopefully, not at all), threw a handful of Floo powder and walked into the fire.
One slightly jerky Floo later, Clovis peered down the darkened corridor he had emerged into. The main staircase was at the end of it, and Clovis hoped to interposition himself between the werewolf and the party, should it come to that, but perhaps the spell hadn't worked, or perhaps Thelonious had already gone down the staircase.
"I'm over here." He stood on the staircase, leaning against the railing haphazardly, drinking from a very expensive-looking bottle of red wine. "I do hope you weren't expecting me to buy you a nice present for Christmas, Clovis. What do you get the man who has everything?"
"Get out of my house," said Clovis, willing himself not to shout. His palms were sweating, and he had to force himself not to stick his hand in his pocket where the little derringer lay.
"But it's Christmas!" said Thelonious. "And it's cold outside."
"I said, get out of my house," said Clovis. "I'm serious."
"Always so serious! So Ravenclaw! You lot never have any fun, you know."
"It's the full moon, Thelonious. You're not being reasonable."
Thelonious laughed. "Did you really think I didn't know? Your lunatic older brother plans ahead, Clovis. Oh yes, my friends and I will have a grand Christmas feast. I've been planning this for years."
Clovis felt the blood drain from his face. There were more werewolves. Where? "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, you will be, don't doubt it. I imagine you'll regret not having your little social parties in the London house where your heavy artillery is. But since you've seen fit to track me down here, well, who knows if you'll survive to see your pretty little wife and daughter eaten or worse. I imagine you'll be eaten -- I'm always hungry at moonrise."
If it was a question of werewolves, it was a question of time. "Where are they?" snapped Clovis, drawing the gun.
"Oh come on, Clovis, you don't expect me to believe that I -- that that -- it -- er."
Clovis pointed the derringer between his brother's eyes and advanced down the staircase towards him, with pitiless eyes. "Oh, I'm quite serious," he said, coming to a stop four steps above Thelonious. "And if you keep beating about the bush, you'll find a silver bullet in your brain. Such as it is."
"Really, what would Mother say?"
"Answer my question." He cocked the gun, but as he did, Thelonious, in one fluid motion, broke the wine bottle on the banister and lunged forward to press the sharp glass edge against Clovis' stomach.
"Bad idea," said Thelonious, smirking.
Clovis re-aimed the gun, trying not to think about how painful an abdominal wound would be and how unbalanced they were on the stairs. "I don't find this amusing at all, you know."
"Oh, I can tell you take it very seriously indeed," said Thelonious. "The question is merely this: would you prefer to be Cain, or to be Abel?"
"I don't really like riddles, actually," snapped Clovis. "It's my family I'm worried about, and if I have to kill you --"
"But I am family!"
"Not anymore," said Clovis. "I was going to give you until moonrise, but now I've reconsidered."
"Don't be ridiculous, Clovis, you'd never just leave them to the wolves if you failed. I know you've got a backup plan. You want to kill me, don't you?" He grinned, as if it was a dare.
"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Clovis snapped, but somewhere in his head the gears ground to a halt. Something was wrong. Thelonious wasn't stalling, as Clovis was, and he wasn't begging for his life, as Clovis would if their situations were reversed. He was... he was looking for information. Confirmation. Confirmation of what?
Thelonious mistook his confusion for misgivings. "That's right. Always knew you were a killer. I suppose all those pretty toys that blow things up weren't enough for you. You want to see it."
A sudden movement behind Thelonious caught his eye, and Clovis threw himself back, pointing the gun upwards so that when it went off, the only thing that went with it were a few bits of plaster and wood. "Stupefy!" Idunn shouted, as Thelonious dropped his impromptu dagger and turned to stare in amazement. The hex hit him in the chest, and Clovis breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was one wolf down.
* * *
They had been arguing for quite some time. Originally it had been about how to get the perytons to fly, and then it was whether to unwrap any of the presents, but as always, they had found other topics that needed arguing about.
"Anyway, we haven't got a magic carpet," Augustus was saying. "They're unreliable."
"Are not!" Ed refused to give up the whip, as Augustus was nasty enough unarmed. "Anyway, just because your father's got a flying carriage doesn't mean you know how to get perytons to fly. Anyway, your father's wimpy."
"Is not! He could beat yours up!"
"My father was president of the Arithmancy club at Hogwarts," said Ed.
"Well, my father didn't marry a foreigner to get his cash, did he?"
"Neither did mine! Anyway, there's nothing wrong with my mother," she snapped.
"She's a traitorous strumpety lady-Hun."
"If you must keep saying such vile things about --"
He cut her off with a falsetto repetition: "If you must keep saying --"
Ed, having had quite enough of this nonsense, hit him in the face. "Ow," he said, more surprised than anything.
"You didn't let me finish. I was going to threaten to hit you."
He snarled and swung his fist at her, but when she ducked out of the way, there was a great loud sound, and the two froze as the sleigh suddenly lurched on the snow.
They sat frozen in place, not daring to move anything but to turn their heads and watch as the ground fell away, the perytons having been startled into flight.
After several long, dizzy moments in the silvery twilight air, Augustus spoke. "What was that?" he whispered.
"A gun," said Ed. While Augustus was still too horrified to insult her properly, she snapped, "Anyway, Mother's Austrian."
* * *
Idunn then launched into a flurry of German obscenity that transitioned abruptly into English with the words "and you didn't even TELL ME IT WAS LOADED!"
"Well, I didn't see you, and anyway, you didn't ask," said Clovis calmly, brushing plaster off his shoulder.
"Why didn't you tell me he was --"
"I had Raimund tell you. He's very clever with --"
"WHERE IS OUR DAUGHTER?"
"Well, if the Rookwoods didn't find her, she's probably outs--" The gears started again. "Oh. Oh. Idunn, you didn't evacuate the party, did you?"
"They're on their way ...out." She froze. "He expected that."
"There are more of them," said Clovis. "He wanted me to think he'd let them in." He looked at the unconscious form of his brother. "I ought to shoot him right now."
"Isn't that model single action only?" she asked, looking at the derringer. "What have you done to your coat?"
"It doesn't matter," he said, unwilling to worry about morality and silver allergies right now. "Call the Ministry, and... and have your Chicagoans search the grounds. And tell them Ed's out there! And probably that Rookwood boy. So they'd better be careful."
"And Father Christmas too," said Idunn. She hesitated. "...that spell will never hold a werewolf at full moon."
"I have half a mind to lock him in the autoclave," said Clovis, "but fortunately I'm nicer than that. Go get Ed."
She went.
* * *
"Has anybody ever told you you're quite a coward?" Ed asked. She was holding onto the side of the sleigh for dear life, and Augustus was holding onto her arm, even though he had his own side of the sleigh. "If you fall out, I probably will too."
"But it's Nackles!" whimpered Augustus.
"Never mind that, what do you suppose those men are doing down there?" Ed asked. She peered at half a dozen men carrying shiny black guns. They patrolled the trees below carefully.
"Nackles, Ed, it's Nackles!"
"My arm and I both hate you, you know," said Ed. She turned and saw the black carriage. It was pulled by eight sickly-looking winged grey horses, and it was approaching them ominously. The horses' breath was cloudy in the cold air. "Augustus?" Ed asked.
"What?"
"What exactly does Nackles... do?"
"He eats bad children," said Augustus, "everybody knows that."
Ed gulped. "...Define bad. Is it like wouldn't-go-to-bed-on-time bad or..."
"Or what?"
"Or, maybe, is it stole-Father-Christmas'-sleigh bad?" Ed asked.
"...I don't want to die," said Augustus. He looked speculatively at her. "This is your fault. Do you think if I pushed you out of the sleigh --"
"He'd still go for you," said Ed. "I'd be dead and you'd be a murderer. I think that still counts as bad."
"Good point."
"But if I pushed you out," she said, "I'd lose deadweight." She began to shove him.
"I'LL HIT YOU!" he shrieked.
"YOU CAN'T HIT A GIRL!"
"YOU HIT ME FIRST!"
"DID NOT!"
"DID SO!"
"WHEN?"
"WHEN YOU-- OW!"
"NOW I HIT YOU FIRST. SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU --"
"Children!" said a voice from the black carriage. The door opened slowly, and a black-cloaked figure stuck its head out.
"DON'T EAT ME, EAT HER, SHE'S THE ONE YOU WANT!" shouted Augustus.
"HE WANTS TO PUSH ME OFF THE SLEIGH! MURDER'S WORSE THAN LARCENY!" Ed shouted.
"Would both of you please be quiet and tell me where the werewolves are?" demanded the figure. It pulled its hood down to reveal a man of about her father's age, with a harried expression and a distinct lack of Nacklesry.
"...werewolves?" said Augustus slowly. "What werewolves?"
The man blinked. He looked at the perytons, and his eyes widened. "Good lord. Are those perytons?"
"They're Father Christmas' perytons," said Ed smugly. "We were just returning them. But, er, we can't."
"It'd be ever so kind of you to help us land them," said Augustus, for once being cooperative.
The man waited until the carriage closer to the sleigh, then leapt across the gap, where he managed to calm the perytons down. As they were landing, he introduced himself as Mr. Scamander from the Ministry, and Ed asked if he was here for the Christmas party.
"Father says you're all scheming do-nothing busybodies, so I can't imagine you were invited, but since you helped with the perytons I bet he'd let you stay," said Ed earnestly.
"Unfortunately, I have another situation to deal with at the moment -- good lord! What are all these men doing? Who's in charge here?" he demanded of one of the Americans.
"I am," said Mother, stepping forward. Then she caught sight of Ed. "ED! There you are!" She swept Ed up in her arms. "Where have you been?"
"We were looking at Father Christmas' perytons, Mother," said Ed. "Augustus doesn't believe in Father Christmas."
"I see," said Mother, looking at Augustus as though he had just proposed the idea that the sun was made of marmalade. Ed stuck her tongue out at him, but he swallowed whatever insults he was about to make. She put Ed down. "Go inside, both of you, it isn't safe out here."
"I should think not," said Ed. "Perytons are very carnivorous."
As she skipped into the house, Augustus sulking behind her, she caught a few more words of the conversation. "Have you got a transfigurator's license for those, er..."
"Abraxans," said Mother. "My husband does."
"Well, I should like to see it once the werewolves are taken care of. Call off your men; we don't want to shoot them if we can help it."
And soon the house was warm and full of people again -- the Rookwoods all seemed horrified and disgusted, the Chicagoans disappointed, the goblins politely bemused, and the Espis Arms and Armaments employees seemed to have fallen asleep, and had never left the house at all. Mr. Scamander even led Father Christmas into the house after a few hours, though he seemed quite twitchy, and keen to get away, and Ed was a bit disappointed.
And the next morning, Father reappeared, looking quite exhausted and covered in grease. He led a bruised and snarling Uncle Thelonious out of the door and into the arms of several burly Aurors, and then led Ed and her mother into the basement of the house, where he had had a small private bowling alley built, as a Christmas present. He apologized for the mess, but, he added, he'd had to make a werewolf trap out of the pin machine on short notice.
It was perfect in every way but one: it tended to smell of wet dog on full moons.
Notes:
Firstly, a little bit of background. thinkatory and I roleplayed as Ed and Rookwood in leviosarpg. Rookwood is, of course, the Death Eater Unspeakable; Ed isn't a Death Eater, but she was another highly-placed Unspeakable who placed logic perhaps too high on her list of priorities and went, well, mad. Their journals are avatar_author and luck_and_fate, although Ed's is no longer posted in, since I don't RP anymore.
The title, "Latent Maniacal Tendencies," is a quote from the movie "Miracle on 34th Street," which I kind of love. It really shows in this.
Espis Mansion is inspired by the one in The Great Gatsby.
At least the Espises use their library. Apparently Ed's read Around the World in Eighty Days, or had it read to her.
She probably hasn't read anything by David Sedaris, who inspired me to look for horrific Santa-esque analogues. I think Holidays On Ice may have dealt with this, but unfortunately I don't actually have the book, I've just heard the stories read aloud at Christmas parties.
A sestina is a kind of poem. There is no Rookwood sister named Sestina. Oh well.
The phrase "pneumatic nutcracker" is funny. This is a silly citation, but I never pass up a chance to plug Girl Genius. Gilgamesh Wulfenbach had one once, but it probably wasn't seasonal like Clovis Espis'.
Perytons are a little-known mythical creature that generally act the way Ed describes them. Their shadows are supposed to look like men, and they were reputed to be the ghosts of sailors who died at sea. They seem to be a Mediterranean phenomenon, so why Santa Claus would employ them rather than less terrifying winged horses is not known. (Perytons also appear in the Young Wizards series, by Diane Duane. But they're wolf-like in that.)
Nackles! Oh, where do I begin. I was linked to the story of Nackles at some point this Christmas season and I happen to like Christmas ghost stories, so Nackles ended up becoming the focus of the story. I adapted the original from a modern middle-class American Muggle version to a thirties upper-crust British pureblood version, but I didn't really have to change much.
I have no idea if "traitorous strumpety lady-Hun" is the kind of thing anyone would say, ever, because it sounds ridiculous. I do apologize for the ethnic slur. I don't like them even if they're old, but most of the characters in this story are nasty people, except maybe Newt Scamander.
A note on larceny! At some point it was called larceny in the UK, but it is now "theft." I'm afraid I don't know what exactly stealing Father Christmas' flying sleigh would fall under, but I think it'd be considered larceny in 1937. Argh. Not a lawyer.
I don't think the bowling alley thing comes from "A Christmas Story," but it's safest to cite things. Anyway, it's a good movie. Go watch it.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Many, many OCs and Augustus Rookwood
Rating: PG-13 for general cruelty
Summary: It is December 24th, 1937, and Edwina Espis, daughter of millionaire arms dealers Clovis and Idunn Espis, is convinced she's worked out how Father Christmas delivers all of his presents in one night. As she's trying to convince her acquaintance Augustus of the truth, her werewolf uncle crashes the party. Things go downhill from there. 6159 words.
Author's Note: This is for thinkatory for Christmas. It is a day late but hopefully not a dollar short. Further notes are after the fic, since large chunks of the fic are based on ideas that are neither mine nor JK Rowling's, but I will note here that Rookwood's characterization is a poor imitation of the one thinkatory writes. Oh, and since she's usually my beta? Unbeta'd.
Edwina Espis knew she was clever, which was probably why she had no friends. She had heard a lot of talk about Father Christmas not existing -- mainly from her nanny, Miss Snodgrass -- but she knew she was cleverer than Miss Snodgrass, who was probably just trying to brainwash her. Father took her into London sometimes on his business trips, and every December it was quite evident from the signs in Diagon Alley that Father Christmas had got some quite lucrative marketing deals. Quality Quidditch Supplies even had a bad likeness of him in their window, having replaced his reindeer with the brand new Comet 180.
And so, when she'd got into the argument with the boy next door, she felt she had to defend the good Mr. Kringle's honor.
After Miss Snodgrass had pulled the two brawling eight-year-olds apart, she treated Augustus for bruises and told Ed to stop scowling or her face would stay that way forever. Ed pointed out that if it did, her mother would most certainly have Miss Snodgrass sacked, and that made her shut up.
When Miss Snodgrass had finally given up on Ed ever making friends and sent Augustus home to his parents, Ed decided that she was going to have to examine the facts of Father Christmas. So she made her way to the library.
She quite liked the manor's library. It was large, full of books, and there was hardly ever anybody there. Father spent all of his time in the laboratory, working out new ways to blow things up, and Mother was usually away in the States on business, or at Gringotts, or reading the newspaper. She knew they were doing good things, of course -- Father's explosives would protect the world from bad people, and Mother's friends were keeping Muggle children in Chicago from getting rickets, but she still wished she didn't have to spend so much time with Miss Snodgrass.
But onto more important matters.
Father Christmas, as she understood it, traveled all around the world delivering presents to good children, and good children only. If the children had been bad, he would beat them with a stick. His means of travel varied widely; like Phileas Fogg, he had been known to travel by steamboat and by sleigh, and occasionally with assistants of foreign descent. He was obviously good-natured but completely and utterly mad. However, the man had historically been doing his job for many, many years, and within a very short period of time. This suggested superhuman determination and efficiency.
Ed frowned. This sort of thing was improbable. If he really did visit every single household personally, well, in one night? That would be tiring. And even with Apparation, it would take too long. She didn't see how he could do it.
Unless... unless he traveled at faster-than-light speeds?
She paused. There were two men she admired above all others: Nicholas Flamel, and Albert Einstein. She had loved Flamel since her father had started tutoring her in alchemy, but she'd only discovered Einstein quite recently, and had read all of his papers. Though she understood none of them, she had got her father to explain them in shorter words, and she rather liked the mind-warping logic of it all. So she was somewhat iffy on the idea of contradicting him. Father Christmas versus Albert Einstein -- it was a tough choice.
So she began to research relativity.
After several hours, she had cleared up most of her Father Christmas-related uncertainties, and come to the conclusion that it was perfectly possible. Satisfied with her researches, she wrote down her sources, and folded up the parchment in order to show to that obnoxious know-it-all Augustus Rookwood at the Christmas party her parents insisted upon throwing. By then, Miss Snodgrass would be on holiday until January, and she could hit him to her heart's content.
* * *
After waiting for what seemed like thousands of years (though it had only been a day and a half -- truly, the theory of relativity was genius) it was Christmas Eve. Augustus Rookwood and his foul sisters had come over, and were sitting by the enormous tree looking bored.
Augustus had seventy million older sisters, each uglier and meaner than the last, and all of then named after Roman emperors. Ed had not bothered to learn their names, but unfortunately, they knew hers. "Edwina," one said, "our darling brother has told us that you still believe in Father Christmas! How quaint!"
"It's Occam's Razor," said Ed. "Either he's real or there's a massive worldwide conspiracy of people claiming that he's real and doing things in order to keep up the illusion that he's real. I think it's fairly obvious which one requires the least silly assumptions."
"All right, fine," said Augustus, glaring, "but how do you explain the --"
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" Clovis Espis, Ed's father, came bursting in levitating a huge pile of delightful mechanical things, and the children all rushed forward. He looked around and blinked. "My goodness, Eddie, we've got a whole flock of Rookwoods in here. Where's Raimund?"
"He's talking with Mother," said Ed. "It was dull, so I left."
"They're speaking in German, I suppose?"
"That, and I think it's about money," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I want to see the toys!"
"Now Edwina, you know the rules. Guests first."
"Yeah, Ed-wee-na," said Augustus. Ed decided that someday she was going to kill Augustus. Or maybe just maim him. Whichever was more satisfying.
Ed's father frowned at the Rookwood girls. "Are you Sestina or Cornelia?"
"I'm Constantinia, sir," she said primly, giving him that sickly-sweet smile that adults always described as angelic and children always knew was fake.
"Right, right. Sestina's somebody else, of course." He shook his head. "I'm going senile, you see. Anyway, the youngest gets first choice of the toys."
And doubtfully, one by one, each of the Rookwood children picked a toy; Augustus, to Ed's annoyance, had picked the beautiful mechanical Abraxan that she'd wanted, but after the others were done she settled for a little airship that moved about the floor on wheels and shot real sparks out of its miniature cannons.
* * *
The party was going splendidly, Idunn thought; the brace of businesspeople who ran Espis Arms and Armaments was getting plastered, her family had arrived safely from Vienna, the Rookwoods had confined their condescending sneers to a few neighborly pleasantries, and there was no sign of her brother-in-law, Thelonious. She walked over to the tree, where the children were shooting cannons at each other and arguing over who got the battleship.
Wait a minute.
"Clovis," she hissed, "what are you doing? Don't you remember last year's incident with that pneumatic nutcracker?"
"I think they'll be fine," said Father. "Besides, that would never have happened if you hadn't invited the ga-- the, er, Americans."
"They have been our best clients for years, Clovis," she said, exasperated.
"Well, as long as they didn't come again this year," he said.
"Ah," she said vaguely, having taken a sudden interest in the Christmas tree.
"...They didn't, right?"
Idunn watched her daughter as she shouted at three of the Rookwood girls, saying nothing.
"Idunn."
"They've been our best clients!" Idunn said. "Anyway, they knew somebody locally who could be our Father Christmas."
"What?"
"When I was a girl, Father Christmas always came to our parties with toys, and a stick, and ...and the Christ child. For some reason. He rang a little bell," said Idunn with a sort of ringing gesture.
Her husband winced. "Idunn, they're criminals."
"So is your brother."
"Yes, but I don't invite him," said Clovis, "he just comes along anyway. It's the free food. Remember our wedding?"
Oh yes. She remembered. She glared, then added, "Anyway, we invited the Kaiser that one year --"
"Kaiser Wilhelm! You're comparing those thugs to --"
"To another thug. We sell magical guns to Muggles, Clovis, we are not exactly the purest of the pure. Anyway, he didn't even RSVP. The gangsters are a bit more polite."
"But that was before we had Eddie to worry about," said Clovis. "What is she going to think if we've got a load of criminals trouping through the house?"
"She still believes in Father Christmas; she's not old enough to worry about it yet. Anyway, that brother of yours is worse -- and he's contagious."
"Well, I never invite him," said Clovis, looking grumpy. "I told you. He just shows up."
"Well hullo, and how're you doing this fine time of year?" A clawlike hand wrapped itself around her shoulder, and Idunn jumped.
"Get your disgusting paws off of me!" snarled Idunn; she recognized that voice. It was her brother-in-law.
Thelonious Espis grinned. Too widely, too. His hair was wild and his clothes were torn.
Clovis sighed. "What do you want?"
"Haven't you saved me a wind-up toy? You've become ever so handy with them." She could almost swear his tongue lolled. "And you're looking lovely as ever, Idunn."
"You were not invited," Idunn snapped. "You are very fortunate not to be in prison."
"That I am, that I am. Got anything to eat around here? I'm starved."
* * *
"I can't believe you still think Father Christmas is real," said Augustus. They were in the library hiding from his sisters, who wanted to give them both pigtails. Ed didn't much like pigtails, and Augustus, being a boy, was terrified of them.
"Well, if you think about it, there's a lot more evidence for Father Christmas than there is for the Minister of Magic," said Ed. "Come on, help me with this sofa."
He helped her push the sofa in front of the door. "Don't be -- this is heavy -- ridiculous, the Prophet talks -- oof -- about the Minister of Magic all the time," said Augustus.
"Have you ever seen the Minister?" she asked, going to drag an armchair in front of the sofa.
"...well, no, but I've met people who say they have," said Augustus, lugging a footstool over from across the room.
"And the Minister says every year that he's going to do all sorts of things to make things better," said Ed, "but they hardly ever happen. But Father Christmas..." She started walking towards one of the shelves.
"Yes, yes, I see what you're talking about," said Augustus, glaring and trying to keep up, "but you see, it's a conspiracy --"
"At the Ministry? Oh, probably," said Ed. She dragged another footstool up to one of the shelves. "But I'm not really concerned about that."
"Anyway, there are too many problems with the whole ridiculous story," said Augustus, watching as she stood on the footstool. "For instance, the chimney."
"It's not really the chimney, that's a Muggle thing." She scanned the shelves. "Obviously he uses a special sort of Floo powder that doesn't need a network to get into the houses," said Ed. "Father's working on something similar."
"Really? What, to sell to burglars?" Augustus asked.
Ed glowered down at him. "The chimneys aren't an issue."
"All right then, where does he get all the money for the toys?"
"Haven't you been to London lately?" Carefully, she climbed up onto the bookshelf. "Nearly every company there's hired him to promote their things. He probably gets a discount and loads of profit. And I bet he's smart enough to make some of those things himself; he doesn't need to worry about regular things either, as he's got all those House-Elves up at the North Pole."
Augustus looked impressed, though whether it was with Ed's climbing ability or her reasoning, it was difficult to tell. "All right, then, what about the flying reindeer?"
"They're perytons," said Ed, sliding along to the next shelf.
He scowled. "Perytons? The man-eating winged deer things?"
"Exactly," she said, clinging precariously to the top of the next shelf.
"Those are extinct. They died out in the Renaissance."
Ed was smug. "Aren't you going to ask how he can possibly go all around the world and stop at each house?"
"You haven't got an answer for that one," said Augustus. "It would require faster-than-light travel."
"Or time travel. Same thing, really." She ran a finger along the backs of the books, then pulled one out.
Augustus opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he glowered. "You're mad."
She threw the book down at Augustus, and it hit him in the head.
"OW! What was that for?"
She grinned at the rodenty way he was scowling at her. "For being obnoxious. That's all the 1934 issues of the British Journal of Physical Thaumaturgy."
"...Why?" he demanded.
"Because." She made her way back to the shelf she'd originally climbed from, and jumped down onto the footstool. "It's on page 1578."
"What is?"
"Time-travel," she said. "It sounded completely ridiculous, I know, because, you know, Albert Einstein and all, but he wouldn't have had access to this sort of experiment."
"Father Christmas has time-travel," repeated Augustus.
"Yes, of course," said Ed. "That's why he's so old but he doesn't die. He might know the Flamels, too."
"And perytons."
"And perytons! They probably eat the really bad children."
"And some sort of mad thieves' Floo powder."
"It's not mad!"
"How does he know what to get everybody, then?"
"Oh, really, have you no imagination? He's a Legilimens."
"Oh, obviously."
"You still don't believe me?"
"Not really, no."
"Hmph. You're an idiot," she said. "Do you suppose your sisters are gone now? The servants' exit's in that wall over there."
"Trust you to use the servants' way," said Augustus, but he followed her anyway.
"It's just easier to get to the cloaks this way," said Ed, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to prove he's real. We'll wait for him outside."
"What, all night?" asked Augustus.
"Don't be stupid. He's visiting us early tonight," said Ed. "Mum told me."
"Since when does Father Christmas drop in on parties the night before?" Augustus demanded. He seemed disconcerted.
"Mum says he used to come all the time when she was a girl."
"But that was in Germany!"
"No, it was in Austria," said Ed, glowering. "Anyway, maybe he likes Austrian children better."
"...maybe," said Augustus. He seemed very worried now, and he was silent until they'd found their cloaks and reached the door out to the grounds of the mansion. "But, look, what about Nackles?"
Ed blinked. "Where's that?"
"You know, Nackles," whispered Augustus. He looked around wildly, and seeing nobody but some trees and snow, repeated himself. "Tall thin bloke? Nackles!"
Ed wasn't sure who Nackles was, but Augustus was plainly terrified of him. Maybe he was like Uncle Thelonious. "Oh, Nackles," she said airily. "Well, you shouldn't have to worry about him. I mean, if Father Christmas doesn't exist, why should Nackles?"
"But you just said --"
"Oh, don't listen to me, after all it's not like I'm ever right about anything else," said Ed.
"Right. Yeah," said Augustus. "Good point." He didn't seem reassured.
"Anyway, I haven't worked out how to explain the, you know, the..." Ed made a vague gesture.
"The Inferi Abraxans that breathe burning frost?" Augustus prompted.
"Yes, exactly," said Ed, as though she'd known about them all along. "There are a lot of spells for cold fire, but I don't know how you'd get them to exhale it. Or for it to burn. Anyway, look, see? There's his sleigh, and the perytons. I was right."
When he saw the magnificent sleigh, loaded with presents, and the eight magnificent winged reindeer, Augustus went pale. Perhaps his thoughts were still on Nackles and his nasty undead Abraxans, but Ed was not perturbed in the slightest; Nackles was just the sort of thing Augustus' horrible sisters would come up with, and they were liars to the core. "Come on, let's see if it works!"
"What? You want to steal Father Christmas' sleigh?"
"Well, he's not using it," said Ed. "See?" She pointed at the footprints leading away from the sledge. There were a lot of them. Maybe he'd brought elves. Very big elves. Ed was not particularly concerned about the shoe sizes of Father Christmas' elves. Perhaps he had human servants as well.
And so, not really worrying about the mess of footprints leading over the snowy hills and towards a copse of tall old trees, Ed climbed into the sleigh and started shouting at the reindeer to fly.
* * *
Meanwhile, the party was rather wearing on poor Clovis. Clovis Espis was not particularly a people person. He was good-natured and he understood why they had people over (namely, because Idunn Said So, and Idunn was the one who handled the money), but men who find themselves disappointed when wars end because it means decreased profits are not, by and large, men who take pleasure in the company of others, and Clovis preferred the quiet of the drafting board to the snooty Rookwoods, and the goblins from Gringotts, and the financial wizards who answered to Idunn, and the cigar-smoking gentlemen from Chicago. There was also the added terror of remembering names, something he never really had to do anywhere but parties. If he owned the world, people he didn't know on sight would all wear nametags. And all those Rookwood girls all had the same sort of names, so it really didn't help.
At least (and here he did feel guilty, having a daughter of his own) he didn't actually like the Rookwood girls. They were generally horrible to that poor little brother of theirs, and Ed seemed to really hate them, so he felt he was moderately justified in not remembering their names.
About the only people he sort of liked at the party were his wife's family. About half of them didn't like him either, but they were honest sorts and none of them had come. Raimund Eberharter was Idunn's nephew, a top student at Durmstrang, and generally an exceedingly polite young man with a fondness for Arithmancy and History, and who didn't seem to mind that Clovis was new money or halfblood.
So Clovis was startled when Raimund tapped him on the arm and said "Excuse me, but your brother is the werewolf, yes?"
"Yes, er. I rather wish he wasn't, and it was all his idea," he added quickly, in case Raimund had inexplicably decided to berate him about this now. "Why?"
"It is only that tonight is the full moon, and I was wondering, how were you going to... the word, what is -- account for this? Be taking care of it? With the werewolf?"
There was a brief silence as Clovis stared at Raimund and realized he was not joking, and Raimund stared at Clovis and realized he had no plan.
"Where is he?" asked Clovis.
"I do not know," said Raimund.
Clovis swore under his breath.
"Yes," Raimund said, cringing. "I should think so."
"Stay here," said Clovis, beginning to turn around. He stopped. "Don't tell anybody." He paused a moment before adding, "...except for Idunn. She'll kill me otherwise. But not 'til I'm out of the room, understand."
Raimund, frowning, nodded.
Clovis was halfway out of the room when a flock of young Rookwoods descended upon him. "Mr. Espis, Mr. Espis! Do you know where our brother's gone?" asked one.
"Check the library, they usually hide there," said Clovis, "but you must excuse me, I've just remembered something terribly urgent."
"Oh, please, Mr. Espis, won't you show us to the library?"
Clovis gritted his teeth. Then he turned around. "Do you know what gunpowder does?" he asked calmly.
They all shook their heads, except for one of the girls at the back who audibly muttered "Something uncouth and Mugglish!"
"You're quite right, my dear," said Clovis. "You see, it explodes!" His face darkened. "And if you don't want this whole house to go up in flames, you will have to find the library on your own, and as for Ed and your brother, I wish them the best of luck in avoiding you. Happy Christmas." And he shut the door in their faces.
Now, to find Thelonious. Wealth, he reflected, had brought him a great number of hardships; for example, in this house he had the Rookwoods as neighbors, and in the other he had a number of strange Muggles, and he could never work out what to get his wife for Christmas or her birthday when she could buy anything she might possibly like and a number of things nobody could ever want. And he'd complained enough about the hundreds of rooms when Idunn had sat down with the architect, but he'd never counted on werewolf infestations. This was highly impractical.
The first thing to do, he decided, was to restrict the house's internal Floo network. Many of the rooms were only connected to the rest of the house via fireplace, and so if Clovis took that option from his brother, he was more liable to stay in one place.
So Clovis made his way to Espis Mansion's ward-center, a long column of magical energy at the center of the house. All the magical energy of the house -- the Muggle-repelling charms, the outside wards that protected the house from all manner of disasters, the imitation electric lights that kept the Tiffany lamps glowing, the winter heating charms, and most importantly, the internal Floo network -- all these separate threads of magic sank into the foundation and from there spread out like an invisible spider's web through an empty shaft at the core of the house. At the top it opened to the grey winter sky and was doubtless cold, but at the bottom it was warm, and there was a fireplace, and a little dingy room with real electricity in one bare light bulb, where Clovis could coax things into working when they broke.
It was here that he went now, for a few minutes, and scratched a few numbers onto a piece of parchment. Then he took his calculations and left the dark little room. Muttering a spell over the stone that held the spells together, he inspected the parchment one last time, gave the stone a few last orders, and watched as the veins and arteries of the house, suddenly made visible, carried his spell through them.
If this worked, the Floo would let him, and only him, through it into the vicinity of a non-human, non-goblin, non-house-elf biped was. Anyone else would be spat back out safely into the room they had come from, although he allowed for Floo calls, as he was expecting to have to call the Ministry after this.
If it didn't work, there was a very good chance he would be roasted alive. Life was dangerous like that.
Steeling himself for the journey -- there was no sense in getting worked up about it now -- Clovis realized it might be nice to have some protection besides his wand, which, after all, wouldn't do him a terrible lot of good if Thelonious came after him after moonrise.
He looked around for something long and heavy to hit him with, but there was nothing he could find except an ornate gun, a prototype, intended for travelers in the magical wilderness who did not trust their wands alone and had never learnt marksmanship. Clovis would have preferred something less lethal, since he'd never actually killed anybody before and it was bound to be messy and unpleasant work.
The gun was deceptively small, modeled after a Muggle derringer, but quite powerful despite this, and covered in spell-laden filigreed figures, each representing a sort of dangerous creature the gun would automatically target. Clovis noted with some regret that there was no werewolf present, and, shrugging, looked down at his silver coat-buttons, pulled one off, conjured some gunpowder, and loaded the pistol.
Then he shoved it in his coat pocket, and determined to go out in a blaze of glory (or, hopefully, not at all), threw a handful of Floo powder and walked into the fire.
One slightly jerky Floo later, Clovis peered down the darkened corridor he had emerged into. The main staircase was at the end of it, and Clovis hoped to interposition himself between the werewolf and the party, should it come to that, but perhaps the spell hadn't worked, or perhaps Thelonious had already gone down the staircase.
"I'm over here." He stood on the staircase, leaning against the railing haphazardly, drinking from a very expensive-looking bottle of red wine. "I do hope you weren't expecting me to buy you a nice present for Christmas, Clovis. What do you get the man who has everything?"
"Get out of my house," said Clovis, willing himself not to shout. His palms were sweating, and he had to force himself not to stick his hand in his pocket where the little derringer lay.
"But it's Christmas!" said Thelonious. "And it's cold outside."
"I said, get out of my house," said Clovis. "I'm serious."
"Always so serious! So Ravenclaw! You lot never have any fun, you know."
"It's the full moon, Thelonious. You're not being reasonable."
Thelonious laughed. "Did you really think I didn't know? Your lunatic older brother plans ahead, Clovis. Oh yes, my friends and I will have a grand Christmas feast. I've been planning this for years."
Clovis felt the blood drain from his face. There were more werewolves. Where? "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, you will be, don't doubt it. I imagine you'll regret not having your little social parties in the London house where your heavy artillery is. But since you've seen fit to track me down here, well, who knows if you'll survive to see your pretty little wife and daughter eaten or worse. I imagine you'll be eaten -- I'm always hungry at moonrise."
If it was a question of werewolves, it was a question of time. "Where are they?" snapped Clovis, drawing the gun.
"Oh come on, Clovis, you don't expect me to believe that I -- that that -- it -- er."
Clovis pointed the derringer between his brother's eyes and advanced down the staircase towards him, with pitiless eyes. "Oh, I'm quite serious," he said, coming to a stop four steps above Thelonious. "And if you keep beating about the bush, you'll find a silver bullet in your brain. Such as it is."
"Really, what would Mother say?"
"Answer my question." He cocked the gun, but as he did, Thelonious, in one fluid motion, broke the wine bottle on the banister and lunged forward to press the sharp glass edge against Clovis' stomach.
"Bad idea," said Thelonious, smirking.
Clovis re-aimed the gun, trying not to think about how painful an abdominal wound would be and how unbalanced they were on the stairs. "I don't find this amusing at all, you know."
"Oh, I can tell you take it very seriously indeed," said Thelonious. "The question is merely this: would you prefer to be Cain, or to be Abel?"
"I don't really like riddles, actually," snapped Clovis. "It's my family I'm worried about, and if I have to kill you --"
"But I am family!"
"Not anymore," said Clovis. "I was going to give you until moonrise, but now I've reconsidered."
"Don't be ridiculous, Clovis, you'd never just leave them to the wolves if you failed. I know you've got a backup plan. You want to kill me, don't you?" He grinned, as if it was a dare.
"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Clovis snapped, but somewhere in his head the gears ground to a halt. Something was wrong. Thelonious wasn't stalling, as Clovis was, and he wasn't begging for his life, as Clovis would if their situations were reversed. He was... he was looking for information. Confirmation. Confirmation of what?
Thelonious mistook his confusion for misgivings. "That's right. Always knew you were a killer. I suppose all those pretty toys that blow things up weren't enough for you. You want to see it."
A sudden movement behind Thelonious caught his eye, and Clovis threw himself back, pointing the gun upwards so that when it went off, the only thing that went with it were a few bits of plaster and wood. "Stupefy!" Idunn shouted, as Thelonious dropped his impromptu dagger and turned to stare in amazement. The hex hit him in the chest, and Clovis breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was one wolf down.
* * *
They had been arguing for quite some time. Originally it had been about how to get the perytons to fly, and then it was whether to unwrap any of the presents, but as always, they had found other topics that needed arguing about.
"Anyway, we haven't got a magic carpet," Augustus was saying. "They're unreliable."
"Are not!" Ed refused to give up the whip, as Augustus was nasty enough unarmed. "Anyway, just because your father's got a flying carriage doesn't mean you know how to get perytons to fly. Anyway, your father's wimpy."
"Is not! He could beat yours up!"
"My father was president of the Arithmancy club at Hogwarts," said Ed.
"Well, my father didn't marry a foreigner to get his cash, did he?"
"Neither did mine! Anyway, there's nothing wrong with my mother," she snapped.
"She's a traitorous strumpety lady-Hun."
"If you must keep saying such vile things about --"
He cut her off with a falsetto repetition: "If you must keep saying --"
Ed, having had quite enough of this nonsense, hit him in the face. "Ow," he said, more surprised than anything.
"You didn't let me finish. I was going to threaten to hit you."
He snarled and swung his fist at her, but when she ducked out of the way, there was a great loud sound, and the two froze as the sleigh suddenly lurched on the snow.
They sat frozen in place, not daring to move anything but to turn their heads and watch as the ground fell away, the perytons having been startled into flight.
After several long, dizzy moments in the silvery twilight air, Augustus spoke. "What was that?" he whispered.
"A gun," said Ed. While Augustus was still too horrified to insult her properly, she snapped, "Anyway, Mother's Austrian."
* * *
Idunn then launched into a flurry of German obscenity that transitioned abruptly into English with the words "and you didn't even TELL ME IT WAS LOADED!"
"Well, I didn't see you, and anyway, you didn't ask," said Clovis calmly, brushing plaster off his shoulder.
"Why didn't you tell me he was --"
"I had Raimund tell you. He's very clever with --"
"WHERE IS OUR DAUGHTER?"
"Well, if the Rookwoods didn't find her, she's probably outs--" The gears started again. "Oh. Oh. Idunn, you didn't evacuate the party, did you?"
"They're on their way ...out." She froze. "He expected that."
"There are more of them," said Clovis. "He wanted me to think he'd let them in." He looked at the unconscious form of his brother. "I ought to shoot him right now."
"Isn't that model single action only?" she asked, looking at the derringer. "What have you done to your coat?"
"It doesn't matter," he said, unwilling to worry about morality and silver allergies right now. "Call the Ministry, and... and have your Chicagoans search the grounds. And tell them Ed's out there! And probably that Rookwood boy. So they'd better be careful."
"And Father Christmas too," said Idunn. She hesitated. "...that spell will never hold a werewolf at full moon."
"I have half a mind to lock him in the autoclave," said Clovis, "but fortunately I'm nicer than that. Go get Ed."
She went.
* * *
"Has anybody ever told you you're quite a coward?" Ed asked. She was holding onto the side of the sleigh for dear life, and Augustus was holding onto her arm, even though he had his own side of the sleigh. "If you fall out, I probably will too."
"But it's Nackles!" whimpered Augustus.
"Never mind that, what do you suppose those men are doing down there?" Ed asked. She peered at half a dozen men carrying shiny black guns. They patrolled the trees below carefully.
"Nackles, Ed, it's Nackles!"
"My arm and I both hate you, you know," said Ed. She turned and saw the black carriage. It was pulled by eight sickly-looking winged grey horses, and it was approaching them ominously. The horses' breath was cloudy in the cold air. "Augustus?" Ed asked.
"What?"
"What exactly does Nackles... do?"
"He eats bad children," said Augustus, "everybody knows that."
Ed gulped. "...Define bad. Is it like wouldn't-go-to-bed-on-time bad or..."
"Or what?"
"Or, maybe, is it stole-Father-Christmas'-sleigh bad?" Ed asked.
"...I don't want to die," said Augustus. He looked speculatively at her. "This is your fault. Do you think if I pushed you out of the sleigh --"
"He'd still go for you," said Ed. "I'd be dead and you'd be a murderer. I think that still counts as bad."
"Good point."
"But if I pushed you out," she said, "I'd lose deadweight." She began to shove him.
"I'LL HIT YOU!" he shrieked.
"YOU CAN'T HIT A GIRL!"
"YOU HIT ME FIRST!"
"DID NOT!"
"DID SO!"
"WHEN?"
"WHEN YOU-- OW!"
"NOW I HIT YOU FIRST. SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU --"
"Children!" said a voice from the black carriage. The door opened slowly, and a black-cloaked figure stuck its head out.
"DON'T EAT ME, EAT HER, SHE'S THE ONE YOU WANT!" shouted Augustus.
"HE WANTS TO PUSH ME OFF THE SLEIGH! MURDER'S WORSE THAN LARCENY!" Ed shouted.
"Would both of you please be quiet and tell me where the werewolves are?" demanded the figure. It pulled its hood down to reveal a man of about her father's age, with a harried expression and a distinct lack of Nacklesry.
"...werewolves?" said Augustus slowly. "What werewolves?"
The man blinked. He looked at the perytons, and his eyes widened. "Good lord. Are those perytons?"
"They're Father Christmas' perytons," said Ed smugly. "We were just returning them. But, er, we can't."
"It'd be ever so kind of you to help us land them," said Augustus, for once being cooperative.
The man waited until the carriage closer to the sleigh, then leapt across the gap, where he managed to calm the perytons down. As they were landing, he introduced himself as Mr. Scamander from the Ministry, and Ed asked if he was here for the Christmas party.
"Father says you're all scheming do-nothing busybodies, so I can't imagine you were invited, but since you helped with the perytons I bet he'd let you stay," said Ed earnestly.
"Unfortunately, I have another situation to deal with at the moment -- good lord! What are all these men doing? Who's in charge here?" he demanded of one of the Americans.
"I am," said Mother, stepping forward. Then she caught sight of Ed. "ED! There you are!" She swept Ed up in her arms. "Where have you been?"
"We were looking at Father Christmas' perytons, Mother," said Ed. "Augustus doesn't believe in Father Christmas."
"I see," said Mother, looking at Augustus as though he had just proposed the idea that the sun was made of marmalade. Ed stuck her tongue out at him, but he swallowed whatever insults he was about to make. She put Ed down. "Go inside, both of you, it isn't safe out here."
"I should think not," said Ed. "Perytons are very carnivorous."
As she skipped into the house, Augustus sulking behind her, she caught a few more words of the conversation. "Have you got a transfigurator's license for those, er..."
"Abraxans," said Mother. "My husband does."
"Well, I should like to see it once the werewolves are taken care of. Call off your men; we don't want to shoot them if we can help it."
And soon the house was warm and full of people again -- the Rookwoods all seemed horrified and disgusted, the Chicagoans disappointed, the goblins politely bemused, and the Espis Arms and Armaments employees seemed to have fallen asleep, and had never left the house at all. Mr. Scamander even led Father Christmas into the house after a few hours, though he seemed quite twitchy, and keen to get away, and Ed was a bit disappointed.
And the next morning, Father reappeared, looking quite exhausted and covered in grease. He led a bruised and snarling Uncle Thelonious out of the door and into the arms of several burly Aurors, and then led Ed and her mother into the basement of the house, where he had had a small private bowling alley built, as a Christmas present. He apologized for the mess, but, he added, he'd had to make a werewolf trap out of the pin machine on short notice.
It was perfect in every way but one: it tended to smell of wet dog on full moons.
Notes:
Firstly, a little bit of background. thinkatory and I roleplayed as Ed and Rookwood in leviosarpg. Rookwood is, of course, the Death Eater Unspeakable; Ed isn't a Death Eater, but she was another highly-placed Unspeakable who placed logic perhaps too high on her list of priorities and went, well, mad. Their journals are avatar_author and luck_and_fate, although Ed's is no longer posted in, since I don't RP anymore.
The title, "Latent Maniacal Tendencies," is a quote from the movie "Miracle on 34th Street," which I kind of love. It really shows in this.
Espis Mansion is inspired by the one in The Great Gatsby.
At least the Espises use their library. Apparently Ed's read Around the World in Eighty Days, or had it read to her.
She probably hasn't read anything by David Sedaris, who inspired me to look for horrific Santa-esque analogues. I think Holidays On Ice may have dealt with this, but unfortunately I don't actually have the book, I've just heard the stories read aloud at Christmas parties.
A sestina is a kind of poem. There is no Rookwood sister named Sestina. Oh well.
The phrase "pneumatic nutcracker" is funny. This is a silly citation, but I never pass up a chance to plug Girl Genius. Gilgamesh Wulfenbach had one once, but it probably wasn't seasonal like Clovis Espis'.
Perytons are a little-known mythical creature that generally act the way Ed describes them. Their shadows are supposed to look like men, and they were reputed to be the ghosts of sailors who died at sea. They seem to be a Mediterranean phenomenon, so why Santa Claus would employ them rather than less terrifying winged horses is not known. (Perytons also appear in the Young Wizards series, by Diane Duane. But they're wolf-like in that.)
Nackles! Oh, where do I begin. I was linked to the story of Nackles at some point this Christmas season and I happen to like Christmas ghost stories, so Nackles ended up becoming the focus of the story. I adapted the original from a modern middle-class American Muggle version to a thirties upper-crust British pureblood version, but I didn't really have to change much.
I have no idea if "traitorous strumpety lady-Hun" is the kind of thing anyone would say, ever, because it sounds ridiculous. I do apologize for the ethnic slur. I don't like them even if they're old, but most of the characters in this story are nasty people, except maybe Newt Scamander.
A note on larceny! At some point it was called larceny in the UK, but it is now "theft." I'm afraid I don't know what exactly stealing Father Christmas' flying sleigh would fall under, but I think it'd be considered larceny in 1937. Argh. Not a lawyer.
I don't think the bowling alley thing comes from "A Christmas Story," but it's safest to cite things. Anyway, it's a good movie. Go watch it.