The Double Trouble of the Holidays
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. from the Harry Potter books belong to J. K. Rowling. Theverse foundwithinthis story isboth the song Double Trouble from the soundtrack to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban as well as lines from WilliamShakespeare's Macbeth. All I own is the story.
Author Note: This story does not contain Harry/Ginny. If Ginny and anyone else bothers you, then simply do not read it. This story was created while I was listening to the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban soundtrack, especially Double Trouble. I suppose you could classify this as a song fic, but since they lyrics are also verses from William Shakespeare's Macbeth, I will not classify this fic in that way. It has been sitting on my hard drive for quite some time and, although I am not completely satisfied with it, it was time to ship it off. As always, this story is also posted in my livejournal, along with the occasional tidbit of something in the works that has not yet been posted elsewhere. The link is in my profile. And last, yes, my penname used to be Yulka. I changed it.
The Burrow looked like a Christmas card. There was fresh snow covering the ground and the roof of the oddly shaped house. Child-sized footprints were visible in the yard and three very artistic renditions of snowmen stood proudly near the kitchen door. Icicles hung from the eves and smoke curled from all of the chimneys while the sky loosed a gentle shower of large white flakes. Outside the Burrow looked beautiful and peaceful. On the outside the Burrow looked perfect. But on the inside a storm was brewing.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Molly Weasley sat down heavily in the chair next to her husband at the kitchen table. She wore a look of worry and confusion. Arthur Weasley placed a comforting hand on top of Molly's. In his other hand he held some parchment. The cramped handwriting of their only daughter filled the parchment. Ginny Weasley had been working in the south of France for the past two years. Although Ginny seldom returned home for the holidays, she occasionally wrote long letters to her parents. This particular letter brought surprising news.
"How can she have made a decision like this so suddenly?" Molly asked her husband. "How can she know this is what she wants?"
Arthur patted his wife's hand and tried to look comforting, but a worried look stole across his thin face.
"She says that she's been seeing him for awhile," Arthur said hopefully after rereading Ginny's last paragraph.
"But this is the first she's told us about any of this!" protested Molly. "How can she be serious about a boy she's never mentioned before? We've never met him, Arthur," Molly continued, her voice becoming increasingly shrill. "We don't know if he's a decent boy. We don't know if he's French or British. What if he only speaks French? We won't be able to talk to him. What kind of family does he come from? Will a large group make him uncomfortable? We don't even know if he's a wizard or a Muggle, Arthur! Not that it really matters, but it just goes to show that we don't know anything about this boy!"
Again Arthur tried to sooth Molly. "I believe he's a wizard, Molly."
"Why?" Molly demanded, looking questioningly at her husband.
Arthur was reading Ginny's last few sentences. After a moment he replied, "She wants to know if they can come for Christmas. She says they can get a portkey to London on Christmas Eve and be at the Burrow by dinner time."
"How does that tell us anything about this boy being a wizard or not?" asked Molly.
"Because she says to send a reply with his owl," said Arthur.
Husband and wife turned their eyes to the perch by the door where a large eagle owl stood preening itself importantly. And then they shared a worried glance over Ginny's letter.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Something wicked this way comes.
Ron Weasley paced across his living room. It only took his long legs five steps to cross the small space. Hermione Granger-Weasley sat quietly on their couch, watching her husband. Ron was clearly agitated due to his mother's floo call half an hour ago. Hermione, having known Ron since he was eleven, knew the only thing to do was to wait for Ron to calm himself down. But Ron had begun to talk, not so much to Hermione as to himself. Hermione settled back. It was going to be a long night.
Eye of newt and toe of frog,Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
"How can my sister be engaged?" Ron demanded.
"She's twenty-six, Ron," Hermione reminded him gently.
"I mean," Ron continued, not giving the slightest indication that he had heard his wife, "I've never even seen her mention any bloke in her letters, let alone the fact that she was thinking of getting engaged to one!"
"It is possible that she was just as surprised as you," Hermione replied, pulling out a book and settling in for a long rant.
Ron continued to ignore Hermione. "None of us have even met this bloke."
"You can hardly blame her," Hermione pointed out, still reading, "after all, you and your brothers would have tried to murder him on the spot."
"He's probably a really smarmy French bloke," Ron continued, "like Lockhart."
Hermione put down her book and gave an exasperated sigh. "Lockhart wasn't even French, Ron! For pity's sake, we all had him in second year as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You know that he wasn't French."
Ron looked over at Hermione as though he had just noticed that she was sitting there.
"I didn't mean that Lockhart was French," said Ron, brushing off Hermione's comment, "Lockhart was still smarmy and that's the point. He'll probably be moody, too, like Krum."
"Really, Ron," sighed Hermione, "if you're just going to name all of the people you despise and allot all of their worst qualities to Ginny's fiancé, whom you haven't even met-"
Ron cut Hermione off and said darkly, "I bet he's foreign."
"How do you know Ginny's fiancé-" Ron cringed at the word "—is foreign?" demanded Hermione. "Ginny works with plenty of British wizards and witches, which you would know if you ever read what she writes about her work."
"She only writes those bits for you," Ron assured his wife. "And it's hardly any better if he's British. He's still a slimy git who doesn't have the decency to come meet the family."
"Slimy git?" questioned Hermione with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," said Ron who had finally ceased his pacing and stood in front of Hermione with his arms crossed over his chest, daring her to push him farther. "Why couldn't she have fallen for Harry?"
"Ron," said Hermione gently, "Ginny and Harry aren't right for each other and we all know it. Harry still has too many demons to battle."
Ron threw himself next to Hermione to sprawl on the couch. "I know," Ron sighed. "I just wish I knew the bloke before she decided to marry him."
"You'll meet him on Christmas Eve," Hermione told her husband in a soothing voice.
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Yes, on Christmas Eve." Hermione decided that those few words sounded decidedly sinister and shivered involuntarily.
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.
Harry Potter grinned as he dismounted his broom and rolled his sore shoulders. He was Seeker for the British National Quidditch Team and it had been a difficult practice. But for Harry, no matter how sore he was when practice was over it was always worth it. He would never trade in the feeling of the wind in his hair, the broomstick beneath him, and the feeling of exhilaration when his fingers finally closed around the fluttering snitch. Of course, the fact that there was a pretty witch back at his flat waiting to help ease the tension of practice from his body also helped. Harry thought of Natalie with her long dark hair, firm breasts, and insatiable sex drive.
"Oi, Potter!"
Harry spun to find Oliver Wood just landing on the Quidditch pitch. When Wood reached Harry they both continued to the locker rooms together.
"Last practice before the holidays," said Wood. "What are your plans?"
"Besides not getting out of bed all day?" asked Harry with a wicked grin. Wood had met Natalie and knew exactly what Harry saw in her. He grinned appreciatively.
"That is one sexy bird you've got there, Potter," Wood replied, whistling softly through his teeth. "But I meant for Christmas."
"Oh, I'm going to the Weasleys'," replied Harry, pulling off his uniform. "They always invite me around for the holidays. What about you?" Harry looked sideways at Wood as he dug around in his locker.
"Me?" asked Wood. "I'm going to meet my girl's family. First time."
"Good luck, mate," Harry replied, slapping Oliver on the back.
"Yeah, she just told them that we're engaged," Oliver responded as he grabbed his towel and headed for the showers. "She's afraid they aren't taking it well."
Harry stared after Oliver, his hand frozen halfway out of his locker with his towel clutched in it.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble,
The bedroom of Ginny's flat in the south of France looked like a battleground. She had spent the better half of the evening packing for her trip to the Burrow for the Christmas holidays. In an uncharacteristic fit of nerves, Ginny had thrown all of her clothes out of her wardrobe in the search for the perfect outfit to wear to her parents'. Ginny had the overwhelming desire to show her parents that she was successful, happy, and completely in control of her life. Now all she had to do was find the perfect outfit that embodied those three things. So far she had not been successful in her quest.
"Gin, do we have to go?"
Ginny stopped her packing and took in the scene before her. While Ginny had been frantically emptying drawers and throwing things into suitcases her fiancé had been lounging on their large bed, making noises of protest. At first Ginny had ignored the whimpers issuing from the bed, but that became difficult as the whimpering grew progressively louder. Now he had dared to speak after refusing to help her with her mission.
"Yes, we really have to go," Ginny snapped as she threw a jumper aside. She continued in a sickeningly sarcastic voice, "See, when you ask a witch to marry you, generally you have to go and meet her family. That's how these things work."
"How would you know?" he protested. "You've never been engaged before I slipped that ring on your finger."
Ginny paused to furtively admire her engagement ring. It was a gorgeous diamond and suited her. He had good taste in jewelry, she admitted, one hand absently touching the solitary ruby at her throat that he had given her for her birthday. Gryffindor red, he had told her when he had given it to her.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, Ginny fixed the wizard on her bed with a hard stare.
"It's just what you do!" Ginny exclaimed, throwing some socks into one of three opened suitcases at the foot of the bed.
He got up off the bed and circled behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and gently drawing her back against him. Ginny recognized the change in tactics and narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror above her vanity.
"We could just stay here," he whispered pleadingly in her ear. "Remember last Christmas?"
Ginny remembered the prior Christmas very well. They had not gotten dressed for three days and rarely left the bedroom. She sighed. Sensing victory, he moved in for the kill.
"We won't be able to properly celebrate at your parents' house," he said in her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue.
Ginny allowed herself to enjoy the sensation before turning and pushing at his chest.
"We're going," Ginny said firmly. He gave her a wounded look, which she kissed away. "Now, pack," Ginny instructed, turning her back on him. And surprisingly, after a few minutes of grumbling, he did as he was told.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Something wicked this way comes.
"Who's at the door dear?" Molly Weasley called to Fred from the kitchen.
"Ron and Hermione!" Fred shouted back, giving Hermione a hug and his brother a clap on the back.
"Oh, good, Hermione, be a dear and come help me for a few moments," Moll instructed.
Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at her husband. Ron's face was dark and clearly said that he had no intention of behaving or of pulling himself out of his sour mood. Sighing, Hermione turned to Fred and said, "See to it that he doesn't do too much damage before Ginny gets here."
"Of course, darling," Fred replied, "Now, off to the kitchen with you, woman!" Fred gave Hermione a slight push towards the kitchen. Once she was sufficiently out of earshot he turned to Ron and, with a decidedly wicked grin on his face, asked, "So, what shall we do to this bloke of Ginny's?"
In the cauldron boil and bake,
Fillet of a fenny snake,
"She's only a baby, she doesn't know what she's getting herself into," Ron reiterated for the fourth time.
"Ron, your sister is a grown woman, a year younger than you, and I'm sure she knows perfectly well what she's doing," Arthur gently reprimanded his son.
Hermione resisted the urge to round on her husband since his ridiculous behavior was being duplicated by the majority of his family members. After sharing a significant glance with Harry, who had merely shrugged, grinned, and taken another swig of butterbeer, Hermione had decided that there was nothing she could say in order to convince the majority of the Weasleys that Ginny was not selling her soul and knew very well what she was doing.
"Oh, Arthur, how can you say she knows what she's doing?" Molly asked. "She's just a baby and she never brought him home!"
"We could teach him a lesson for you, Mum," Fred suggested brightly.
"Serve him right for not properly meeting all of us," George agreed.
"You two will behave yourselves," Arthur told his twin sons. He spared a glance at a brooding Ron and a fretting Molly, adding, "As will the two of you. Ginny has done nothing wrong and we will not leap all over her or her fiancé like a pack of wolves."
Hermione glanced around. It was quite clear from the expressions on the faces of Molly and Ron that they were not pleased with Arthur Weasley's instructions.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw, and gulf.
"How long do you think they'll give her before the interrogation starts?" Harry asked quietly, having abandoned his seat near Fred and George to slip next to Hermione.
"At this rate?" Hermione asked, glancing at the two brooding Weasleys and the two scheming ones, "They'll be lucky if they get in the door."
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
"You're absolutely certain that we have to go?" he asked.
Ginny fixed her fiancé with a stony gaze and responded, "Yes."
"Last chance to back out," he told her.
"We're going," she insisted.
"Portkey to Ottery St. Catchpole!" the wizard in charge of portkeys at the British consulate in Paris called. "Last name Weasley and-"
"We're here!" Ginny responded, cutting off the wizard.
The official glanced at the pair and raised an eyebrow before handing over a silver snake pin.
"Make sure you're both holding on and have a lovely holiday in Britain," the official intoned before both Ginny and her fiancé felt tugs behind their navels and were gone.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
"Bloody hell, I'd forgotten how cold England is," Ginny grumbled as she walked up to the door of her childhood home. She took her hand out of the pocket of her cloak in order to rap smartly on the door.
"Well, then, we'll just have to make sure we keep you warm," he said, gently turning her to him.
Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed against hers.
Double, double toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
A knock sounded on the door of the Burrow and Molly jumped up, smoothing her hair and her clothes.
"Well, someone get the door!" Molly barked at her sons.
The Weasleys looked at each other and then raced for the door. Ron, Fred, and George elbowed each other in an attempt to reach the door handle first. Harry slipped underneath Ron's outstretched arm and grasped the doorknob.
"Happy Christmas, Gin…." Harry began, but his words trailed off as he stared, open-mouthed, at the scene before him.
The jostling stopped as Fred, George, and Ron gaped at their sister. Molly gasped and Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. Hermione just stared.
Ginny Weasley stood on the front porch of the Burrow, her face blazing and her lips rosy from the cold and from the kiss.
Ginny began her introduction. "Mum, Dad, everyone, this is my-"
"Malfoy," the man behind Ginny interrupted her, extending his gloved hand to Arthur, his blonde hair swept back from his face as a smirk appeared on his face. "Draco Malfoy."
Something wicked this way comes.