Christmas Letters
Happy Christmas in there,
Seeing as your mum and I are yet to decide on a name, I think 'in there' is probably most appropriate for now.
Dora, of course, thinks that 'bloody active little bugger' is probably more accurate, but as you've just bruised her rib, we ought to forgive her that.
At the moment, we're inside a lovely little cottage that's been abandoned by its present owner, who'd probably be very distressed to learn that nine people have taken up residence in his home.
Nine and a half, that is.
Merlin forbid we forget our most eager member.
We've been trying (rather halfheartedly, I admit) to increase the number to ten and a half, but your grandmother is as stubborn as your mum, and she insists on waiting in her own house.
All the better really, considering the space issue, but as this means eight uncomfortable males giving her a wide berth are her only company, Dora's not very pleased. She's started to insist that she'll probably begin to grow a beard because of the overflow of testosterone around the hallways. Of course, in my opinion, she still looks rather fetching with one, so no complaints in that regard.
Also, the lack of females means our holiday decorating was done by the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, who are terrifically enthusiastic, if a little limited by our host's lack of suitable ornaments.
Thus the reason our tree is made entirely of matchbooks, which our absent host apparently collected rather avidly, and in lieu of an angel, is topped with an enormous stuffed reindeer which says 'Be an Organ Donner this Christmas,' an artifact with very few, if any, logical explanations.
On the other hand, Kingsley has shaped up to be an impressive chef, apparently a skill cultivated from singlehandedly feeding five siblings. Speaking of which, I believe that I hear the lilting tones of the Weasleys demanding that the two (and a half) of us present ourselves for Christmas dinner. I'm sure you'll forgive me for succumbing –
-Sinc- With great love,
Remus Lupin