DISCLAIMER: Don't own Harry Potter (still), and the lyrics of the song "I Saw Mommy..." aren't mine either. Le grand sigh.
A/N: Inspired by listening to Phil Spector's Christmas album over and over again :) Guess which track . . . A festive and plotless (mostly) little one shot, which I hope you enjoy.
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(Charlie is six years old and it's Christmas Eve . . . )
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I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
She didn't see me creep
down the stairs to have a peep;
She thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep . . .
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"Good night, Charlie Bear," Molly Weasley said, tucking the covers up around her young son. "Remember to get to sleep quickly, or Santa Claus won't come!"
"Yes, he will," said Charlie, defiantly.
"Uh-uh," replied his mother, shaking her head. "Santa Claus does not come to little boys who lie awake all night. Percy's already asleep – and even Bill is!"
"What about him?" Charlie asked, pointing to his mother's bulging stomach which contained, he had been told, a new baby brother. Quite how the baby had got in there was a matter his father had been less clear on, but Bill had assured him that it was definitely a baby in there, 'cause that was what his mother had looked like when the Percy and Charlie himself were on their way. "Is he asleep yet?"
"Yes, even this little baby's asleep," said his mother, rubbing her stomach. "He hasn't kicked much tonight." Charlie was glad – he didn't like seeing his mother's stomach when the baby kicked. It bulged out suddenly in a very odd manner, as if there was something trapped inside that wanted to get out. It looked very weird when that happened, and he didn't really like it.
"Will he be getting any presents?" he asked, wondering how the baby would manage to unwrap them, stuck inside there. His mother laughed.
"Oh, no," she said, smiling down at him. "He won't be getting any this year, because he's still in my tummy. He'll get some next year though, and you'll have to be a big boy and help him to unwrap them, OK?"
"Of course," Charlie said, nodding solemnly. He would leave Bill to help the Percy, as that was likely to be much harder – Percy would just want to do everything perfectly; carefully opening the wrapping paper and folding it so it could be used again, instead of ripping it open super quickly, and where was the fun in that, exactly?
"Now, you really do have to go to sleep now," said his mother, kissing him on the forehead and standing up. "Otherwise Santa really won't be coming." Molly Weasley really loved Christmas Eve. It was the one night of the year when she could get all three of her boys into bed and asleep with no argument at all.
"OK, Mummy," said Charlie, closing his eyes obediently. Molly smiled and backed out of the room softly.
"Night night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite," she whispered, and dimmed the light with her wand until it was nothing but a faint glow.
"G'night," murmured Charlie – and that was where his troubles began. You see, he was trying to get to sleep, he really was – but who could sleep on Christmas Eve, when Father Christmas was on his way? He lay still with his eyes closed for a very long time, but nothing happened. Eventually, when he thought that it really must be morning, he opened his eyes, scrambled to the end of his bed and felt his stocking excitedly. It was empty.
He flopped down, dejectedly. He had tried to be a good boy this year, and he had thought that he had managed it, apart from a few mean thoughts towards Percy and that time when he had hit Bill (but that had all been Bill's fault anyway). But Santa obviously thought that he hadn't been good enough. He felt tears pricking in his eyes. No presents at Christmas time!
Then he glanced at the clock on his wall, which read ten past ten. Hmpf. This meant it had only been around two hours since his mother had been tucking him up in bed! Which was a good thing, of course, as it meant that he still had a fairly good chance of getting some presents, but it still meant that he had ages to wait until Christmas Day finally got here. He put his stocking down at the foot of his bed again, and lay down once more.
But it was no use. There was no way he was going to get to sleep tonight. Unless... That was it! Why hadn't he thought of it before? He would go downstairs and ask his mother for some of the sleeping potion that she gave to him and his brothers when they were ill, to help them sleep better. It was genius!
Pulling the covers off, he put on his slippers and dressing gown and set off down the stairs. He crept past his brothers' bedrooms, not wanting to wake them and started to descend the stairs, strategically avoiding the creaky first, third, and forth steps. About halfway down, he paused, hearing voices. Shuffling over to the far side of the staircase, the edge furthest away from the banisters, he was able to see into the living room.
A shocking sight greeted him. There was his mother, her red hair glowing in the dying firelight, smiling, laughing, and . . . kissing a fat old man with a white beard and white hair and a red suit on.
Flaming Hippogriffs! His mother was kissing Santa Claus! Yuck! And . . . what about Dad? Where was Dad? He had been downstairs not two hours ago, when Charlie had gone up to bed, and he highly doubted that he would have to work on Christmas Eve so . . . where was he? And why was he letting his mother kiss Father Christmas?!
"Hey, Mr. Santa Claus," he heard his mother say. "I've got a surprise for you!"
"For me?" asked Santa. "I thought that I was the one meant to be dishing out the surprises."
"You can, just let me tell you mine," said Molly, her eyes twinkling.
"Go ahead – I'm intrigued," said Santa, taking a few presents out of his sack and arranging them under the tree.
"My midwife – Cecelia Diggory – came round today," she began, helping him with the presents. "She took a look at the baby."
"And?" asked Santa.
"And it's not a baby," Molly said.
"Not a baby?" repeated Santa, who looked rather stumped at this. "What is it then, a whale?"
His mother laughed. "Not a baby. Two babies."
Santa dropped the present he was holding, and it bounced slightly. His mother looked at him worriedly, before hurriedly pushing him down into a chair and pouring him a large shot of Firewhiskey.
Charlie wondered absently why Santa found this news so shocking. "Twins?" he heard him choke out, and he saw his mother nod.
Hang on a minute – twins? Two babies at once? How—? He leaned forward slightly too much, and tumbled down the rest of the stairs. Both his mother and Santa came rushing out of the living room, and he stared up at them tremulously. He was in big trouble – he could tell by the look on his mother's face.
But Santa was staring down at him with a kind look, and he helped him gently to his feet. "Well, well, well," he chuckled. "If it isn't little Charlie Weasley."
"Charles Fabian Weasley!" exploded his mother. "I tucked you up in bed two hours ago! What on earth are you playing at, getting up at this late hour?"
"Now, now, Molly," soothed Santa. "I think it's just a little case of someone being a little bit too overexcited, hmm?"
Charlie nodded timidly in agreement. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Santa," he said, tripping over his own words in his haste to explain himself. "I didn't mean to be up so late, only I couldn't sleep and I thought I could get a potion for it from Mummy, but I didn't realize I would see you and now you'll have to go and you won't leave any presents and Bill and Percy and Mummy and Daddy won't get any and we've all been really good this year and—"
"Calm down," said Santa. "It's alright, I understand." He winked at Molly, and she nodded back, a slight smile twitching at her lips. "Now, young man, how would you like to help me sort out all of these presents?"
"Can I?" Charlie asked excitedly, brightening up immediately once it became clear that he wasn't likely to be punished. He looked at his mother for permission.
"I suppose . . . it is Christmas, after all," she said, following her son and Santa back into the living room. Charlie helped Santa arrange the presents under the tree – though if he had looked around whilst arranging a particularly large one addressed to Bill he would have seen Santa cast a spell with a wand that looked suspiciously like his father's.
"Oh, look," said Santa, once he had finished. "There's only one present left – and it's addressed to you!" Charlie carefully took it off him, and made to arrange it under the tree with the others, but the old man stopped him. "No, I want you to open this one now."
Charlie again looked towards his mother for permission, but she smiled and nodded, so he tore off the paper and was left holding a small cardboard box, which he opened. Inside, there was a beautiful snow globe, full of glittery falling snow, with a tiny red dragon flying around inside. It twinkled and sparkled in the firelight in mesmerizing patterns, and Charlie traced a finger around the outside edge. The dragon saw his finger and followed it, and Charlie delightedly did it again, and again, and again.
"Ahem," said his mother, and he glanced upwards at her. "Don't you have something to say?" He was confused. "To Santa Claus?"
"Oh, right. Thank you very, very much Mr. Santa. I love it!" Charlie said.
"That's quite alright, young man," said Santa. "A little bird told me you were rather keen on dragons." Charlie wondered who the little bird had been. Probably one of Santa's house elves – he had heard that he had quite a few.
"Now, I really must be getting on – many more houses to visit, after all!" He stood up and picked up his now empty sack. "Oh – I have one more request of you, before you go," he said, addressing Charlie once more. "I hear that your mother is expecting twins!" he said, smiling over at Molly. "I want you to promise me that you'll help her out with looking after them, alright? She's going to be very busy."
"I promise, Mr. Santa," said Charlie. "I'll look after her."
"Good boy," said Santa, before vanishing up the chimney.
"Come on Charlie," said his mother. "Off to bed again!" And he yawned, feeling surprisingly sleepy all of a sudden.
"Mummy?" he asked, as the climbed the stairs together.
"What is it, darling?" she asked.
"Where's Daddy gone?" he questioned.
"Oh, he's just gone down to the shop. I had quite a craving for ice cream, and we didn't have any in the house, so I sent him out to get some." Charlie nodded unquestioningly – his mother had often done that during her pregnancy. The weirdest time had been when she demanded that his Dad go and fetch her fish and chips with extra mushy peas for breakfast.
"And . . . Mummy?"
"Yes, Charlie?"
"Why were you kissing Santa? What would Dad say?" he asked, a bit worried. Molly threw back her head and laughed.
"I kissed Santa because we were both underneath the mistletoe. It's a tradition that a man kisses a woman underneath the mistletoe," his mother replied.
"Do you have to?" Charlie asked, thinking of his one girl friend, Tonks. She was alright for playing Quidditch with, but kissing? Yuck!
"I tell you what, Charlie," said his mother. "You wait eight or ten years, then ask me that question again, OK?"
Charlie was confused, but too tired to argue, so in the end he allowed himself to be put to bed, and fell asleep. In the morning, he had plenty more presents under the tree to open, and those in his stocking, too. How had Santa managed that, he wondered? He hadn't seen him go upstairs. Perhaps he had enlisted his Dad's help . . .
But of all the presents he received, that year and in the years afterwards, when he was old enough and wise enough to realize that it wasn't Santa Claus that he'd met, the snow globe remained his favorite.
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Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white;
Oh what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night!
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Reviews are most welcome, but I'd like to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, even you, who is sitting there right now, wondering whether you're going to review or not. And even though you've decided not to, I still send you virtual Christmas greeting-ness :) x x