Fic: String the Harp and Join the Chorus
Title: String the Harp and Join the Chorus
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: K+
Genres: gen
Recipient: rareb
Prompt: Harry Potter, Lavinia McNeil, Try me.
Summary: It's Christmas. And Christmas means going to O'Leary house. Orion Yaxley won't know what hits him.
A/N: Holiday Fic Request Meme. For everyone who has no idea what this is about: it's a little addendum to rareb's and my opus magnum Haven't Thought of You Lately (not finished yet but far along enough that this will make sense if you read it). Lavinia's a halfblood and former Hufflepuff (written by yours truly), Orion's a pureblood and former Slytherin (written by rareb). It's their first Christmas as a couple. At the house of Lavinia's family on her mother's side, the O'Learys (the wizard side). It's going to be a lot of fun for Orion!
Strike the Harp and Join the Chorus
“See the blazing Yule before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the harp and join the chorus.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.”
Traditional, “Deck the Halls”
Lavinia:
So this is Christmas. Our first one as a couple. And our first one not at Yaxley Manor. Instead, we’ve been invited to O’Leary House and my mother insisted on us being there the entire time. “Just bring him with you,” she’d said. “Poor boy probably never had a real family Christmas,” she’d said and tut-tutted a little about all those old inbred pureblood families until I’d reminded her of the fact that my boyfriend is from one of those families. At least she felt guilty enough after that that I could press the promise to let us apparate back to Yaxley Manor to visit Orion’s tenants from her.
Okay, if I were honest, I’d admit that I did that mostly because I’m pretty sure we’re going to need the reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family but they can be a bit… overwhelming, most of all if you’re not used to so many people who all talk at the same time and not necessarily to anyone in particular. Orion and I had the traditional Meet the Parents thing in the summer that kind of turned into the traditional Meet the Parents and Part of the Extended Family Namely the Grandfather and a Couple of Aunts so he got a glimpse of my family. But that was all. Well. Time to get him out of the dressing room. “Hey, Orion, are you done in there?”
“Just a second!” Oh, you mean, in addition to the couple of hours you already spent in the… what the hell? “Ready when you are.”
Uh… ahaha. I just… “Seriously, Orion? Dressing robes?” I mean, we talked a little about it but… I thought he was joking when he… just… no.
“I thought you said your grandparents were purebloods?” Yes but what holy… bloody hell! They’re purple. He wants to accompany me to an O’Leary family Christmas in purple dressing robes?
Merlin. Must not laugh, must not laugh, must not… Ahem. “Okay. Whatever you say. Let’s just… you know.”
“Of course,” he says, looking very dignified and… oblivious. Okay. I actually feel bad about siccing my family on him.
I think I owe him at least one more way out of this. “Orion… are you sure you want to do this?”
There’s incomprehension written all over his face when he replies, “Sure, why not?”
The only reason why I’m not wondering if he really just said that is that we’ve had that conversation often enough. So I just sigh and shake my head. “Just checking. And don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
It makes him roll his eyes and says dismissively, “Come on, Lavinia, I survived Christmas at purebloods' for many years, how bad can it be?” He just said the one thing you should never say. Didn’t he learn anything in all the years he worked as a journalist?
I spare myself the long suffering sigh and just grab the bag I packed for myself. And congratulate myself on the idea to discreetly pack some casual clothing for Orion. I’m pretty sure he’ll thank me for it later. “Whatever you say, Puffin. Okay, we gotta go now or we’ll be too late for the legendary first round of charades.”
He’s about to open his mouth - no doubt to say something derogative about charades - but I cut him short to step into the fireplace and Floo to my family. It’s not like I didn’t warn him. So anything that happens, it’s all his fault.
Orion:
This is a nightmare. For one, Lavinia wasn’t joking when she said that there was going to be charades - the second or third or nth round is currently running, people are shouting and laughing all around me, or so it feels. I never, honestly never in my entire life expected something like this, and I never experienced anything even remotely resembling this... this... event.
I’m now sitting on the sofa in the O’Leary residence’s main salon, my ears are ringing and the entire bizarre scenario in front of me starts to blur into a mess of colours, all without a single drop of alcohol, too. At least it seems like her relatives have stopped pestering me, for now, thanks, in part, to the on-going game of charades. We hadn’t even properly arrived yet, when the first comment about my robes came - for a reason I totally ignore, the O’Leary family doesn’t value proper, expensive wizarding robes; nobody here wears them. Instead, I had to fight off comments about the colour, which really amused them and the ridiculous price I surely must have paid for them. And Lavinia, instead of supporting me, was in “I-told-you-so”-mode the entire time.
I could have borne that, if it had been all there was. I misjudged the invitation, let’s all have a laugh at the expense of the new boyfriend, I guess that happens. But it didn’t end there. After we had shook hands with everyone - a seemingly endless stream of cousins, aunts, uncles and other obscure relatives - it got really uncomfortable. While Lavinia was happily catching up with everyone on the other side of the room, I had to fend off hordes of inquisitive relatives. How is it going between you two?”, “Are you going to ask the question today?”, “Soon?”. “How?”, “When can we expect grandchildren from you?” and, worst of all, “When are you going to make an honest woman out of our Lavinia?” Seriously, that’s what they asked. It hasn’t even been an entire year since my divorce, and they already want me to think about marriage again? Does it really hurt Lavinia’s reputation to be living with me, without wedding bands and vows and legal stuff?
And during all that time, the most horribly misbehaved house ghost ever flew around the room, happily singing all the verses of “Deck the Halls”, over and over and over and over. We hadn’t been here for half an hour and I already missed quiet, polite, stiff Christmas dinners with various pureblood families. Rather stiff, polite disinterest and secret vultures waiting for you to misstep, rather than being laughed at and questioned and pestered by relatives in a house full of strange people.
To top all this, they had even had the nerve to ask me to join the charades. No, thank you. I prefer sitting on the sofa by myself. At least everyone is ignoring me now - everyone except the house ghost, who’s taken up to floating around the sofa, still singing. Like I said. This is a nightmare. And there’s no waking up.
Suddenly, I realise that someone sat down next to me, I don’t know how long ago. I fear it’s yet another meddling relative and sigh in relief when I see it’s just Lavinia, silently handing me a cup of eggnog. Sweet, soothing drinks! I take it equally wordlessly and can’t help but down it with one large gulp. I could sure use another one of these. The empty cup still in hands, I slowly turn to look at Lavinia. “How can you stand this?”
“Mostly with lots of alcohol. Want another one?” I smile, mostly of relief. For a moment there I believed that I had lost her for today to that infinitely loud and unnerving horde playing charades and telling jokes about each other - like the one uncle who had asked me whether I wanted to know all about the summer when Lavinia was adamant about swimming in the garden pond every day, every weather, because it was summer, after all. No, thanks. And I also don’t want to know about the day when her cousin “accidentally” read her teenage diary while looking for his book of Rare Spells II in her room.
I hand her the cup. “Can you read my mind?” I hope she’s right. I hope there’s enough alcohol to make that bearable. And dinner hasn’t even been served, yet.
"I don't have to be a legilimens to see that you're just a tad uncomfortable. It's written all over your face, Puffin. Don't say I didn't warn you,” she says as she takes the cup from me. Sure, she did. But... how could you prepare yourself for this? I look at her with my best impression of puppy eyes, “Don’t you have any pity for your poor, tortured boyfriend, Hippogriff?”
Of course I can’t expect any pity, how silly of me. She just smiles and only gently touches my cheek, like you would do to a crying baby, "Not at all, my poor, tortured drama queen boyfriend. Now, eggnog or mulled wine? Or good old Firewhiskey?"
“All of them,” I answer, without thinking. Yes, I am desperate. “In one cup!” Everything to stop bothering about that ghost and his nerve-wrecking song. Falala lala lala la la.
That does the trick. Lavinia starts laughing and cuddles me. I’m very glad she does. It already feels much better to know that I’m not in this on my own. After she stops laughing, she looks into my eyes and silently tells me to wait for her here. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but as long as it means more alcohol for me, I’m all for it.
She’s back surprisingly fast and hands me a large, steaming cup, gives me a little kiss and then looks at me with a huge smile on her face. "Careful with that one,” she warns me, “it's my patented Lavinia McNeil ‘How to stomach my family on Christmas’ special."
“Careful! Really?” I laugh now, too, “I say, screw it!” And against all warnings, I take a large gulp of this very strong, very spicy mulled wine, with more than a little extra, I’m pretty sure. “Thank you, Hippogriff, you’re a life-saver,” I say and take another gulp. The room still seems blurred and the noise level is most probably even worse than before. But I start to not really care anymore. On the contrary, I feel like I could do anything at the moment and not feel embarrassed or irritated about it. No, she is right, this drink... it should be patented. I put my arm around her and don’t care that we had up to now silently agreed not to display too much of the annoying young-lovers routine in public. We have our long time alone for that. But... what the hell, really! I put my forehead against hers, look into her eyes and smile even broader. “Do you want some?”
I don’t wait for an answer, though. I’d kiss her, either way.
Lavina:
Wow. I’m pretty sure my poor tortured boyfriend is pretty much three sheets to the wind. Okay, so I’m not exactly sober myself but wow! An innuendo! From Orion Yaxley, in public. In public in my grandparents’ house. Royally pissed, that one is. And I have no words for how cute that is. Cute enough to keep kissing him, in plain sight of my parents who never got to know another Orion than the one who came to tea in a Muggle suit and was politeness personified. What the hell. It’s Christmas. The time of love and peace. Most of all love and… “Get a room, you two.”
Mh. Actually, that’s a good suggestion. Thank you, Cousin Albert. I break the kiss and grin at Orion. “Shall we?”
There’s a boyish grin and the word, “Definitely,” in response. Mh, alpha Slytherin Orion. I like that one. Even if he actually takes a moment to empty that cup of special mulled wine before we can get up. I just hope my parents buy the rather flimsy excuse of needing to freshen ourselves up a little before supper.
Out in the corridor, Orion barely manages to keep his hands to himself but I just bet Mr Yaxley has decidedly impure thoughts in his beautiful little pureblood head. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stiffen a little when I grab one of his hands to drag him to the room we got assigned. But honestly, it’s about time we get him rid of those horrible robes. Only to get him into some normal clothes, that is. Well, later. Not right now.
Right now… thank Merlin, there’s our room. Hopefully, the portraits out in the hall will keep their minds out of the gutter, just for once. We didn’t even kiss. Oh, okay, now we are kissing. Up against the door we could just barely close. Good thing I asked Aunt Christina to dispose of the portraits… mh, impatient much, Mr Yaxley? I don’t recall you ever having difficulties with finding this skirt’s zipper before. Let me help you… “M sorry ‘m not going to make an honest woman out of you yet.”
I certainly hope you aren’t, Puffin and why… did you just stop… “Orion?”
“You sure this is a good idea?” Uh, yes, why the hell not? We’re both grown-ups, we’re both just a little drunk, it’s Christmas… and I can see - and feel - that you very much want this too. The slightly tortured look on your face when you just forced yourself to stop tells me as much.
“Course I am. Can we please get back to what we were just doing?” Because I just know you want it, too.
He’s looking adorably confused with his frown and it’s kind of cute how he tries to keep his hands off me. However, putting your hands under my jumper is not what I’d call “keeping your hands off your girlfriend”. “But… your family…!”
What the hell does my family have to do with this? I roll my eyes. “My family’s getting bloody drunk in the main sitting room themselves. They won’t even realize we were gone. If we make it back in time for supper. So… please?”
Suddenly, there’s a look of recognition on his face followed by one that’s… horrified? “This is your parents’ house!”
I can’t help snorting. Someone in here will never get another cup of special mulled wine again. And it’s not me. “Grandparents’, actually.”
“Even worse!” Oh sweet Merlin, in all the time I knew Orion, he never looked like that. Poor, poor little Puffin, clutching your non-existent pearls.
This is just too much for me. I just have to laugh again. “Orion, what do you think why there are no portraits in here? And why I put a Silencing Charm on the room? We’ll be good, don’t worry. Let’s just… you know…”
“But I’m drunk!” Bloody hell! One could think he doesn’t want to celebrate the love part of Christmas. I know for sure that’s not true - look who’s still struggling to get me rid of my skirt - but he’s putting up a good show, anyway.
Let’s try… this. Push robe off shoulders, unbutton shirt, kiss crook of his neck… "Just a little."
"Enough!" Oh come on. Nothing a little… physical action can’t cure.
I’ll just have to try harder. Shirt’s almost unbuttoned. Good start. "But I'm pretty sure you're not too drunk."
“Too drunk for what?” …did he really just ask me that? Or did I detect a bit of… wickedness in his tone? Oh, screw it. Whatever it was, this situation is really starting to get desperate.
And desperate situations demand desperate measures. For example unzipping my skirt myself and pushing him over to the bed after shaking it off. “I'll show you.”
Thankfully, his answer now is just a slightly demanding, “If you please.” And then he finally cooperates. As in, drags me down to the bed with him and starts to do the same to me that I did to him. About time, Puffin. Screw supper, screw family Christmas, this is much more important right now. So how to best get him rid of the rest of those terrible purple dressing robes…
Orion:
That went well. We managed to avoid charades, early supper passed without any noteworthy incidents and I didn’t miss alcohol for a second so far. You really can get used to everything, even Christmas at O’Leary’s - well, at least kind of. The fire is flickering in front of us, Lavinia is gently cradling baby Leo, who has fallen asleep. Jonathan is out of sight, playing somewhere with the other children and hopefully not putting them up to too much trouble. Again. And even Cassiopeia is surprisingly calm at the moment, sitting on the floor in front of us and telling us again and again that she really wishes she would get a real horse for Christmas this year, not just a stupid pony. (She’ll be disappointed. But a full-grown horse is just no present for a four-year-old.) In short - finally a Christmas that looks almost peaceful.
The jokes about my purple dressing robes have already been made - I only wear them each year to make the young ones laugh, anyway. And because, Jonathan insists, it wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t wear them. So, the jokes have been made, the newest addition to our family dutifully shown off to everyone and we can get our well-deserved rest. And then, just as I wanted to sigh and cuddle a little deeper into the sofa, Cousin Albert is coming our way. Lavinia’s cousin Albert, anyway.
“Oh no, trouble on three o’clock,” I whisper in her direction - too late. “Ah! The Yaxleys!” he says, as he sits down on the coffee table, whipping down at least one Christmas garland and a bunch of chocolate mice. “How good of you to come.” He grins. “Oh, do you remember the first time you came here for Christmas, aye? What, six years ago?”
“Seven,” I automatically correct him. Not as if I’ll ever forget that. He winks at us knowingly.
“Please, Albert, not in front of the children!” I object. I know the routine so well there’s no way he’s not going to remind us what the entire extended O’Leary family had been discussing Christmas Day seven years ago, when we hadn’t snuck out quite as unnoticed as we had hoped.
“Daddy!” So my daughter suddenly is wide awake and curious, oh good grief, “What is it you don’t want Uncle Albert to tell us?” I should have known…
Her uncle Albert doesn’t need to be asked twice, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had asked me and not him. “Well, Cassie, you see, seven years ago, your mother brought your father here for the first time and he was really, really uncomfortable with it.”
“Why daddy? Why were you uncomfortable?” She looks at me curiously. Has there ever been a more inquisitive little girl?
“I-,” I have no chance to explain anything, because Albert only too readily obliges, again ignoring the fact that she has been talking to me.
“Because he was afraid all the O’Learys would eat him alive if we didn’t like him!”
“Hush now. She’s four years old and has a vivid imagination,” I look at her with the most serious look I can muster when she’s looking back with those shining innocent eyes. “Listen Cassie, dear, he doesn’t mean that literally. They wouldn’t really have eaten me alive, just maybe made my stay a little unpleasant with their comments. And besides - I wasn’t afraid of them. I just wasn’t used to it, yet, that’s all.”
Before she can ask her next “why”, Uncle Albert takes over again. It looks like he had come here to laugh at us for that first Christmas we had spent here and he’s going to do it, no matter what. Ah well. He might as well tell the story, my daughter would pester me about it, anyway, now. “What I was going to say is, that your parents were sitting right on this sofa, six” -
“Seven”
“Whatever years ago, getting royally pissed…”
“ALBERT!”
“Why are you angry, daddy?”
"Because your father thinks it's very bad for you if you hear words that don't sound like pureblood language, little cupcake.” Oh, my wife’s still awake, too. I shoot her a look. This has been an ongoing argument between us, practically since Jonathan spoke his first words. I believe that you should teach children how to speak properly and politely - but Lavinia just doesn’t care for such things. This is not the place for such an argument, not just because Albert really wants to tell that story now.
“Just for you, Mr. Snobby here, your mum and your dad were sitting right here on that sofa, getting really p- I mean drunk. They were drinking your mother’s special Christmas mulled-wine…”
“What’s your special Christmas mulled-wine, mummy?” I swear, one day that girl will drive us crazy with her questions.
"My special Christmas mulled-wine is not for little cupcakes that keep asking why. But your father surely liked it," I smile gratefully at Lavinia for that answer, I just overhear that little sting there at the end, I’ll remind her just how much she also liked it, in time.
Albert resolutely starts talking again, I can see that he has partly lost his appetite to make fun of us, but somehow, not letting us forget these events really seems to have become a weird Christmas tradition for him.
“They were so drunk that they started snogging… I mean kissing… In front of everyone, they really made quite a show, you see.” ‘No she doesn’t, she’s just a child,’ I think to myself, but whatever, she’ll hopefully have forgotten about that by tomorrow, when she’ll start complaining about the horse she doesn’t get. When someone has told you the same story for so many years, you start getting immune to it. “So I told them to ‘get a room’,” he laughs at this word and my daughter is eyeing him with suspicion.
“Why didn’t they have a room then? What about their room? They always sleep there, don’t they?” Clever girl. And I’d like to see you answer that, Albert. He on the other hand might start to see why ‘not in front of the children’ is a very good idea for a lot of reasons. He hasn’t got children of his own and obviously wasn’t prepared for such questions. I gloriously resist the temptation to laugh, just give Lavinia a look, hoping she would share my amusement.
“Your mum and I did have our room, of course, darling, but your uncle Albert was encouraging us to go there rather than stay on the sofa,” I explain to her, because Albert didn’t know what to say anymore.
For Cassiopeia however, this doesn’t make any sense. “Why? Did he think you were tired?”
I blush slightly. That was unexpected. Of course. Child logic. You go to your room when you’re tired, why else. To my amusement, Albert blushes, too. I hope Lavinia sees it. Now, that’s a story I will tell him every year from now on. He wanted to go tell such stories in front of the children, not me. “Err, of course, darling, he thought we were tired and wanted us to go to our room, didn’t he?”
“Exactly,” Albert says, smiling again, “and then they stayed there for the entire evening and the entire night. They didn’t show up for supper, not even for dessert and for evening carols.” Evening carols, I would gladly risk another such scandalous story, if only to avoid that. But Albert isn’t finished. “We were all wondering what they were doing - and they sure had been busy, because nine months later, your brother Jonathan was born.”
Before Cassie can add another ‘why’, which you can already see forming in her head as she tries to make sense of this, Lavinia thankfully steps in, "And... that's the end of the story. Now, it's time for bed, Cassie..."
At first, there’s no reaction to that, whatsoever. She’s deep in thought. Suddenly, she looks up at us again, with wide eyes. “Say… are the rooms here magical? Do I get a horse if I’m really tired and dream really good?” I have no idea where that question came from. Magical rooms?
Albert however, unfortunately gets her right away. He starts laughing, "Honey, that your brother Jonathan appeared nine months later had nothing to do with magic. Merely biology. Because see when mommy and daddy...” This is too much, now. She’s four years old, she doesn’t have to know that, yet. I get up and lift my daughter up from the ground.
“Enough,” I say, “your mother is absolutely right. It’s time for you to go to bed, darling. And who knows, maybe if you dream really well, it might come true.” I give Albert a warning look. Just stop talking, alright?
“Do you want to say good night to mummy, before you go?” I hope he’ll notice that I didn’t ask her to say good night to uncle Albert.
Cassiopeia of course wants to say good night to her mother and after a good night kiss and a lot of waving and sleep wells, I finally bring her up to the room she shares with her older brother and her cousin. “Why do I have to go to bed already and Jonathan is still up?” Even half asleep, she can still ask questions.
“Because your brother is two years older than you, and he will be here, soon, too,” I explain. Sometimes I regret that I didn’t have brothers and sisters when I was a child; and even stupid family Christmases like the O’Learys.
“But I can be two years older, too!” she protests.
“You will be - in two years,” I tell her and get her ready for bed. Compared to other days, it’s even kind of peaceful. No screaming, not too much protest. And she’s soon sitting in her bed, all ready to go to sleep.
“Daddy, aren’t you going to tell me a bedtime story?” I frown.
“Didn’t your uncle Albert tell you a story already?” Yeah, right, the one about how her brother came to be, very suitable bedtime story.
She reflects that for a moment, then looks up at me again, “But I didn’t understand that story, daddy!”
I laugh and kiss her forehead. “No, darling. That’s because it’s a story for grown-ups.”
“Then it wasn’t a real bedtime story,” she insists.
Defeated, I sit down on the side of her bed and tell her her favorite story about the witch and the little horse that wanted to learn how to fly. She falls asleep before I finish, totally drained from all the excitement she has had today. “Sleep well, little darling,” I whisper and give her a goodnight kiss, but she doesn’t hear me anymore, already fast asleep.
Now that I’m in this quiet room, I start to feel just how tired I am myself. What would I give to be able to go to sleep now, too, like the little ones… But I fear that it’s out of question, if I don’t want to hear another story about how I suspiciously missed evening carols, again. I sigh and go back down to the sofa, where Lavinia is still sitting, the baby still sleeping in her arms.
I let myself fall on the sofa beside her. After a moment of peaceful silence, she turns to look in my direction and grins: "So... what do you want me to say to cover for you during evening carols this time?"
I grin back. “The truth, of course!”
"Very well. Then I shall tell them how much of a devoted father and husband you are and that I decided to let you sleep because of it. Deal?"
“Deal,” I hold out my hand, but then… “But doesn’t that sound weak?”
She gives me a little friendly push on my shoulder. "Just bloody go to sleep,” she says. “I'll follow when I can be sure this one here won't wake up the moment I get up from the sofa."
That’s really all the encouragement I need. “Have I told you that I love you?” I smile. We came a long way since that first Christmas here. “Good night, you two,” I give them both a good night kiss and slip away from the madness, glad that the in-laws are going to tuck Jonathan in, glad that Lavinia is looking after the baby, glad that I will be able to get some sleep before Cassie most probably wakes up again. And really glad that I miss the joyously off key carols of a bunch of O’Learys and company. Before I enter our thankfully soundproof room, somewhere far away in the house, I hear the lunatic house ghost singing, “Sing we joyous, all together, Fa la la la la, la la la la, Heedless of the wind and weather, Fa la la la la, la la la la.” So, this is Christmas.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: K+
Genres: gen
Recipient: rareb
Prompt: Harry Potter, Lavinia McNeil, Try me.
Summary: It's Christmas. And Christmas means going to O'Leary house. Orion Yaxley won't know what hits him.
A/N: Holiday Fic Request Meme. For everyone who has no idea what this is about: it's a little addendum to rareb's and my opus magnum Haven't Thought of You Lately (not finished yet but far along enough that this will make sense if you read it). Lavinia's a halfblood and former Hufflepuff (written by yours truly), Orion's a pureblood and former Slytherin (written by rareb). It's their first Christmas as a couple. At the house of Lavinia's family on her mother's side, the O'Learys (the wizard side). It's going to be a lot of fun for Orion!
Strike the Harp and Join the Chorus
“See the blazing Yule before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the harp and join the chorus.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.”
Traditional, “Deck the Halls”
Lavinia:
So this is Christmas. Our first one as a couple. And our first one not at Yaxley Manor. Instead, we’ve been invited to O’Leary House and my mother insisted on us being there the entire time. “Just bring him with you,” she’d said. “Poor boy probably never had a real family Christmas,” she’d said and tut-tutted a little about all those old inbred pureblood families until I’d reminded her of the fact that my boyfriend is from one of those families. At least she felt guilty enough after that that I could press the promise to let us apparate back to Yaxley Manor to visit Orion’s tenants from her.
Okay, if I were honest, I’d admit that I did that mostly because I’m pretty sure we’re going to need the reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family but they can be a bit… overwhelming, most of all if you’re not used to so many people who all talk at the same time and not necessarily to anyone in particular. Orion and I had the traditional Meet the Parents thing in the summer that kind of turned into the traditional Meet the Parents and Part of the Extended Family Namely the Grandfather and a Couple of Aunts so he got a glimpse of my family. But that was all. Well. Time to get him out of the dressing room. “Hey, Orion, are you done in there?”
“Just a second!” Oh, you mean, in addition to the couple of hours you already spent in the… what the hell? “Ready when you are.”
Uh… ahaha. I just… “Seriously, Orion? Dressing robes?” I mean, we talked a little about it but… I thought he was joking when he… just… no.
“I thought you said your grandparents were purebloods?” Yes but what holy… bloody hell! They’re purple. He wants to accompany me to an O’Leary family Christmas in purple dressing robes?
Merlin. Must not laugh, must not laugh, must not… Ahem. “Okay. Whatever you say. Let’s just… you know.”
“Of course,” he says, looking very dignified and… oblivious. Okay. I actually feel bad about siccing my family on him.
I think I owe him at least one more way out of this. “Orion… are you sure you want to do this?”
There’s incomprehension written all over his face when he replies, “Sure, why not?”
The only reason why I’m not wondering if he really just said that is that we’ve had that conversation often enough. So I just sigh and shake my head. “Just checking. And don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
It makes him roll his eyes and says dismissively, “Come on, Lavinia, I survived Christmas at purebloods' for many years, how bad can it be?” He just said the one thing you should never say. Didn’t he learn anything in all the years he worked as a journalist?
I spare myself the long suffering sigh and just grab the bag I packed for myself. And congratulate myself on the idea to discreetly pack some casual clothing for Orion. I’m pretty sure he’ll thank me for it later. “Whatever you say, Puffin. Okay, we gotta go now or we’ll be too late for the legendary first round of charades.”
He’s about to open his mouth - no doubt to say something derogative about charades - but I cut him short to step into the fireplace and Floo to my family. It’s not like I didn’t warn him. So anything that happens, it’s all his fault.
Orion:
This is a nightmare. For one, Lavinia wasn’t joking when she said that there was going to be charades - the second or third or nth round is currently running, people are shouting and laughing all around me, or so it feels. I never, honestly never in my entire life expected something like this, and I never experienced anything even remotely resembling this... this... event.
I’m now sitting on the sofa in the O’Leary residence’s main salon, my ears are ringing and the entire bizarre scenario in front of me starts to blur into a mess of colours, all without a single drop of alcohol, too. At least it seems like her relatives have stopped pestering me, for now, thanks, in part, to the on-going game of charades. We hadn’t even properly arrived yet, when the first comment about my robes came - for a reason I totally ignore, the O’Leary family doesn’t value proper, expensive wizarding robes; nobody here wears them. Instead, I had to fight off comments about the colour, which really amused them and the ridiculous price I surely must have paid for them. And Lavinia, instead of supporting me, was in “I-told-you-so”-mode the entire time.
I could have borne that, if it had been all there was. I misjudged the invitation, let’s all have a laugh at the expense of the new boyfriend, I guess that happens. But it didn’t end there. After we had shook hands with everyone - a seemingly endless stream of cousins, aunts, uncles and other obscure relatives - it got really uncomfortable. While Lavinia was happily catching up with everyone on the other side of the room, I had to fend off hordes of inquisitive relatives. How is it going between you two?”, “Are you going to ask the question today?”, “Soon?”. “How?”, “When can we expect grandchildren from you?” and, worst of all, “When are you going to make an honest woman out of our Lavinia?” Seriously, that’s what they asked. It hasn’t even been an entire year since my divorce, and they already want me to think about marriage again? Does it really hurt Lavinia’s reputation to be living with me, without wedding bands and vows and legal stuff?
And during all that time, the most horribly misbehaved house ghost ever flew around the room, happily singing all the verses of “Deck the Halls”, over and over and over and over. We hadn’t been here for half an hour and I already missed quiet, polite, stiff Christmas dinners with various pureblood families. Rather stiff, polite disinterest and secret vultures waiting for you to misstep, rather than being laughed at and questioned and pestered by relatives in a house full of strange people.
To top all this, they had even had the nerve to ask me to join the charades. No, thank you. I prefer sitting on the sofa by myself. At least everyone is ignoring me now - everyone except the house ghost, who’s taken up to floating around the sofa, still singing. Like I said. This is a nightmare. And there’s no waking up.
Suddenly, I realise that someone sat down next to me, I don’t know how long ago. I fear it’s yet another meddling relative and sigh in relief when I see it’s just Lavinia, silently handing me a cup of eggnog. Sweet, soothing drinks! I take it equally wordlessly and can’t help but down it with one large gulp. I could sure use another one of these. The empty cup still in hands, I slowly turn to look at Lavinia. “How can you stand this?”
“Mostly with lots of alcohol. Want another one?” I smile, mostly of relief. For a moment there I believed that I had lost her for today to that infinitely loud and unnerving horde playing charades and telling jokes about each other - like the one uncle who had asked me whether I wanted to know all about the summer when Lavinia was adamant about swimming in the garden pond every day, every weather, because it was summer, after all. No, thanks. And I also don’t want to know about the day when her cousin “accidentally” read her teenage diary while looking for his book of Rare Spells II in her room.
I hand her the cup. “Can you read my mind?” I hope she’s right. I hope there’s enough alcohol to make that bearable. And dinner hasn’t even been served, yet.
"I don't have to be a legilimens to see that you're just a tad uncomfortable. It's written all over your face, Puffin. Don't say I didn't warn you,” she says as she takes the cup from me. Sure, she did. But... how could you prepare yourself for this? I look at her with my best impression of puppy eyes, “Don’t you have any pity for your poor, tortured boyfriend, Hippogriff?”
Of course I can’t expect any pity, how silly of me. She just smiles and only gently touches my cheek, like you would do to a crying baby, "Not at all, my poor, tortured drama queen boyfriend. Now, eggnog or mulled wine? Or good old Firewhiskey?"
“All of them,” I answer, without thinking. Yes, I am desperate. “In one cup!” Everything to stop bothering about that ghost and his nerve-wrecking song. Falala lala lala la la.
That does the trick. Lavinia starts laughing and cuddles me. I’m very glad she does. It already feels much better to know that I’m not in this on my own. After she stops laughing, she looks into my eyes and silently tells me to wait for her here. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but as long as it means more alcohol for me, I’m all for it.
She’s back surprisingly fast and hands me a large, steaming cup, gives me a little kiss and then looks at me with a huge smile on her face. "Careful with that one,” she warns me, “it's my patented Lavinia McNeil ‘How to stomach my family on Christmas’ special."
“Careful! Really?” I laugh now, too, “I say, screw it!” And against all warnings, I take a large gulp of this very strong, very spicy mulled wine, with more than a little extra, I’m pretty sure. “Thank you, Hippogriff, you’re a life-saver,” I say and take another gulp. The room still seems blurred and the noise level is most probably even worse than before. But I start to not really care anymore. On the contrary, I feel like I could do anything at the moment and not feel embarrassed or irritated about it. No, she is right, this drink... it should be patented. I put my arm around her and don’t care that we had up to now silently agreed not to display too much of the annoying young-lovers routine in public. We have our long time alone for that. But... what the hell, really! I put my forehead against hers, look into her eyes and smile even broader. “Do you want some?”
I don’t wait for an answer, though. I’d kiss her, either way.
Lavina:
Wow. I’m pretty sure my poor tortured boyfriend is pretty much three sheets to the wind. Okay, so I’m not exactly sober myself but wow! An innuendo! From Orion Yaxley, in public. In public in my grandparents’ house. Royally pissed, that one is. And I have no words for how cute that is. Cute enough to keep kissing him, in plain sight of my parents who never got to know another Orion than the one who came to tea in a Muggle suit and was politeness personified. What the hell. It’s Christmas. The time of love and peace. Most of all love and… “Get a room, you two.”
Mh. Actually, that’s a good suggestion. Thank you, Cousin Albert. I break the kiss and grin at Orion. “Shall we?”
There’s a boyish grin and the word, “Definitely,” in response. Mh, alpha Slytherin Orion. I like that one. Even if he actually takes a moment to empty that cup of special mulled wine before we can get up. I just hope my parents buy the rather flimsy excuse of needing to freshen ourselves up a little before supper.
Out in the corridor, Orion barely manages to keep his hands to himself but I just bet Mr Yaxley has decidedly impure thoughts in his beautiful little pureblood head. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stiffen a little when I grab one of his hands to drag him to the room we got assigned. But honestly, it’s about time we get him rid of those horrible robes. Only to get him into some normal clothes, that is. Well, later. Not right now.
Right now… thank Merlin, there’s our room. Hopefully, the portraits out in the hall will keep their minds out of the gutter, just for once. We didn’t even kiss. Oh, okay, now we are kissing. Up against the door we could just barely close. Good thing I asked Aunt Christina to dispose of the portraits… mh, impatient much, Mr Yaxley? I don’t recall you ever having difficulties with finding this skirt’s zipper before. Let me help you… “M sorry ‘m not going to make an honest woman out of you yet.”
I certainly hope you aren’t, Puffin and why… did you just stop… “Orion?”
“You sure this is a good idea?” Uh, yes, why the hell not? We’re both grown-ups, we’re both just a little drunk, it’s Christmas… and I can see - and feel - that you very much want this too. The slightly tortured look on your face when you just forced yourself to stop tells me as much.
“Course I am. Can we please get back to what we were just doing?” Because I just know you want it, too.
He’s looking adorably confused with his frown and it’s kind of cute how he tries to keep his hands off me. However, putting your hands under my jumper is not what I’d call “keeping your hands off your girlfriend”. “But… your family…!”
What the hell does my family have to do with this? I roll my eyes. “My family’s getting bloody drunk in the main sitting room themselves. They won’t even realize we were gone. If we make it back in time for supper. So… please?”
Suddenly, there’s a look of recognition on his face followed by one that’s… horrified? “This is your parents’ house!”
I can’t help snorting. Someone in here will never get another cup of special mulled wine again. And it’s not me. “Grandparents’, actually.”
“Even worse!” Oh sweet Merlin, in all the time I knew Orion, he never looked like that. Poor, poor little Puffin, clutching your non-existent pearls.
This is just too much for me. I just have to laugh again. “Orion, what do you think why there are no portraits in here? And why I put a Silencing Charm on the room? We’ll be good, don’t worry. Let’s just… you know…”
“But I’m drunk!” Bloody hell! One could think he doesn’t want to celebrate the love part of Christmas. I know for sure that’s not true - look who’s still struggling to get me rid of my skirt - but he’s putting up a good show, anyway.
Let’s try… this. Push robe off shoulders, unbutton shirt, kiss crook of his neck… "Just a little."
"Enough!" Oh come on. Nothing a little… physical action can’t cure.
I’ll just have to try harder. Shirt’s almost unbuttoned. Good start. "But I'm pretty sure you're not too drunk."
“Too drunk for what?” …did he really just ask me that? Or did I detect a bit of… wickedness in his tone? Oh, screw it. Whatever it was, this situation is really starting to get desperate.
And desperate situations demand desperate measures. For example unzipping my skirt myself and pushing him over to the bed after shaking it off. “I'll show you.”
Thankfully, his answer now is just a slightly demanding, “If you please.” And then he finally cooperates. As in, drags me down to the bed with him and starts to do the same to me that I did to him. About time, Puffin. Screw supper, screw family Christmas, this is much more important right now. So how to best get him rid of the rest of those terrible purple dressing robes…
Orion:
That went well. We managed to avoid charades, early supper passed without any noteworthy incidents and I didn’t miss alcohol for a second so far. You really can get used to everything, even Christmas at O’Leary’s - well, at least kind of. The fire is flickering in front of us, Lavinia is gently cradling baby Leo, who has fallen asleep. Jonathan is out of sight, playing somewhere with the other children and hopefully not putting them up to too much trouble. Again. And even Cassiopeia is surprisingly calm at the moment, sitting on the floor in front of us and telling us again and again that she really wishes she would get a real horse for Christmas this year, not just a stupid pony. (She’ll be disappointed. But a full-grown horse is just no present for a four-year-old.) In short - finally a Christmas that looks almost peaceful.
The jokes about my purple dressing robes have already been made - I only wear them each year to make the young ones laugh, anyway. And because, Jonathan insists, it wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t wear them. So, the jokes have been made, the newest addition to our family dutifully shown off to everyone and we can get our well-deserved rest. And then, just as I wanted to sigh and cuddle a little deeper into the sofa, Cousin Albert is coming our way. Lavinia’s cousin Albert, anyway.
“Oh no, trouble on three o’clock,” I whisper in her direction - too late. “Ah! The Yaxleys!” he says, as he sits down on the coffee table, whipping down at least one Christmas garland and a bunch of chocolate mice. “How good of you to come.” He grins. “Oh, do you remember the first time you came here for Christmas, aye? What, six years ago?”
“Seven,” I automatically correct him. Not as if I’ll ever forget that. He winks at us knowingly.
“Please, Albert, not in front of the children!” I object. I know the routine so well there’s no way he’s not going to remind us what the entire extended O’Leary family had been discussing Christmas Day seven years ago, when we hadn’t snuck out quite as unnoticed as we had hoped.
“Daddy!” So my daughter suddenly is wide awake and curious, oh good grief, “What is it you don’t want Uncle Albert to tell us?” I should have known…
Her uncle Albert doesn’t need to be asked twice, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had asked me and not him. “Well, Cassie, you see, seven years ago, your mother brought your father here for the first time and he was really, really uncomfortable with it.”
“Why daddy? Why were you uncomfortable?” She looks at me curiously. Has there ever been a more inquisitive little girl?
“I-,” I have no chance to explain anything, because Albert only too readily obliges, again ignoring the fact that she has been talking to me.
“Because he was afraid all the O’Learys would eat him alive if we didn’t like him!”
“Hush now. She’s four years old and has a vivid imagination,” I look at her with the most serious look I can muster when she’s looking back with those shining innocent eyes. “Listen Cassie, dear, he doesn’t mean that literally. They wouldn’t really have eaten me alive, just maybe made my stay a little unpleasant with their comments. And besides - I wasn’t afraid of them. I just wasn’t used to it, yet, that’s all.”
Before she can ask her next “why”, Uncle Albert takes over again. It looks like he had come here to laugh at us for that first Christmas we had spent here and he’s going to do it, no matter what. Ah well. He might as well tell the story, my daughter would pester me about it, anyway, now. “What I was going to say is, that your parents were sitting right on this sofa, six” -
“Seven”
“Whatever years ago, getting royally pissed…”
“ALBERT!”
“Why are you angry, daddy?”
"Because your father thinks it's very bad for you if you hear words that don't sound like pureblood language, little cupcake.” Oh, my wife’s still awake, too. I shoot her a look. This has been an ongoing argument between us, practically since Jonathan spoke his first words. I believe that you should teach children how to speak properly and politely - but Lavinia just doesn’t care for such things. This is not the place for such an argument, not just because Albert really wants to tell that story now.
“Just for you, Mr. Snobby here, your mum and your dad were sitting right here on that sofa, getting really p- I mean drunk. They were drinking your mother’s special Christmas mulled-wine…”
“What’s your special Christmas mulled-wine, mummy?” I swear, one day that girl will drive us crazy with her questions.
"My special Christmas mulled-wine is not for little cupcakes that keep asking why. But your father surely liked it," I smile gratefully at Lavinia for that answer, I just overhear that little sting there at the end, I’ll remind her just how much she also liked it, in time.
Albert resolutely starts talking again, I can see that he has partly lost his appetite to make fun of us, but somehow, not letting us forget these events really seems to have become a weird Christmas tradition for him.
“They were so drunk that they started snogging… I mean kissing… In front of everyone, they really made quite a show, you see.” ‘No she doesn’t, she’s just a child,’ I think to myself, but whatever, she’ll hopefully have forgotten about that by tomorrow, when she’ll start complaining about the horse she doesn’t get. When someone has told you the same story for so many years, you start getting immune to it. “So I told them to ‘get a room’,” he laughs at this word and my daughter is eyeing him with suspicion.
“Why didn’t they have a room then? What about their room? They always sleep there, don’t they?” Clever girl. And I’d like to see you answer that, Albert. He on the other hand might start to see why ‘not in front of the children’ is a very good idea for a lot of reasons. He hasn’t got children of his own and obviously wasn’t prepared for such questions. I gloriously resist the temptation to laugh, just give Lavinia a look, hoping she would share my amusement.
“Your mum and I did have our room, of course, darling, but your uncle Albert was encouraging us to go there rather than stay on the sofa,” I explain to her, because Albert didn’t know what to say anymore.
For Cassiopeia however, this doesn’t make any sense. “Why? Did he think you were tired?”
I blush slightly. That was unexpected. Of course. Child logic. You go to your room when you’re tired, why else. To my amusement, Albert blushes, too. I hope Lavinia sees it. Now, that’s a story I will tell him every year from now on. He wanted to go tell such stories in front of the children, not me. “Err, of course, darling, he thought we were tired and wanted us to go to our room, didn’t he?”
“Exactly,” Albert says, smiling again, “and then they stayed there for the entire evening and the entire night. They didn’t show up for supper, not even for dessert and for evening carols.” Evening carols, I would gladly risk another such scandalous story, if only to avoid that. But Albert isn’t finished. “We were all wondering what they were doing - and they sure had been busy, because nine months later, your brother Jonathan was born.”
Before Cassie can add another ‘why’, which you can already see forming in her head as she tries to make sense of this, Lavinia thankfully steps in, "And... that's the end of the story. Now, it's time for bed, Cassie..."
At first, there’s no reaction to that, whatsoever. She’s deep in thought. Suddenly, she looks up at us again, with wide eyes. “Say… are the rooms here magical? Do I get a horse if I’m really tired and dream really good?” I have no idea where that question came from. Magical rooms?
Albert however, unfortunately gets her right away. He starts laughing, "Honey, that your brother Jonathan appeared nine months later had nothing to do with magic. Merely biology. Because see when mommy and daddy...” This is too much, now. She’s four years old, she doesn’t have to know that, yet. I get up and lift my daughter up from the ground.
“Enough,” I say, “your mother is absolutely right. It’s time for you to go to bed, darling. And who knows, maybe if you dream really well, it might come true.” I give Albert a warning look. Just stop talking, alright?
“Do you want to say good night to mummy, before you go?” I hope he’ll notice that I didn’t ask her to say good night to uncle Albert.
Cassiopeia of course wants to say good night to her mother and after a good night kiss and a lot of waving and sleep wells, I finally bring her up to the room she shares with her older brother and her cousin. “Why do I have to go to bed already and Jonathan is still up?” Even half asleep, she can still ask questions.
“Because your brother is two years older than you, and he will be here, soon, too,” I explain. Sometimes I regret that I didn’t have brothers and sisters when I was a child; and even stupid family Christmases like the O’Learys.
“But I can be two years older, too!” she protests.
“You will be - in two years,” I tell her and get her ready for bed. Compared to other days, it’s even kind of peaceful. No screaming, not too much protest. And she’s soon sitting in her bed, all ready to go to sleep.
“Daddy, aren’t you going to tell me a bedtime story?” I frown.
“Didn’t your uncle Albert tell you a story already?” Yeah, right, the one about how her brother came to be, very suitable bedtime story.
She reflects that for a moment, then looks up at me again, “But I didn’t understand that story, daddy!”
I laugh and kiss her forehead. “No, darling. That’s because it’s a story for grown-ups.”
“Then it wasn’t a real bedtime story,” she insists.
Defeated, I sit down on the side of her bed and tell her her favorite story about the witch and the little horse that wanted to learn how to fly. She falls asleep before I finish, totally drained from all the excitement she has had today. “Sleep well, little darling,” I whisper and give her a goodnight kiss, but she doesn’t hear me anymore, already fast asleep.
Now that I’m in this quiet room, I start to feel just how tired I am myself. What would I give to be able to go to sleep now, too, like the little ones… But I fear that it’s out of question, if I don’t want to hear another story about how I suspiciously missed evening carols, again. I sigh and go back down to the sofa, where Lavinia is still sitting, the baby still sleeping in her arms.
I let myself fall on the sofa beside her. After a moment of peaceful silence, she turns to look in my direction and grins: "So... what do you want me to say to cover for you during evening carols this time?"
I grin back. “The truth, of course!”
"Very well. Then I shall tell them how much of a devoted father and husband you are and that I decided to let you sleep because of it. Deal?"
“Deal,” I hold out my hand, but then… “But doesn’t that sound weak?”
She gives me a little friendly push on my shoulder. "Just bloody go to sleep,” she says. “I'll follow when I can be sure this one here won't wake up the moment I get up from the sofa."
That’s really all the encouragement I need. “Have I told you that I love you?” I smile. We came a long way since that first Christmas here. “Good night, you two,” I give them both a good night kiss and slip away from the madness, glad that the in-laws are going to tuck Jonathan in, glad that Lavinia is looking after the baby, glad that I will be able to get some sleep before Cassie most probably wakes up again. And really glad that I miss the joyously off key carols of a bunch of O’Learys and company. Before I enter our thankfully soundproof room, somewhere far away in the house, I hear the lunatic house ghost singing, “Sing we joyous, all together, Fa la la la la, la la la la, Heedless of the wind and weather, Fa la la la la, la la la la.” So, this is Christmas.