"James," Lily asked, "Why is there a twenty foot tree in our twelve and a half foot living room?"

James had on the manic grin that implied that he knew that he had done a naughty but:

a) He would get away with it because Lily loved him.

b) Not only would he get away with it, it would undoubtedly somehow turn out to be legendary, an epic tale that would be met with much fervent glee by his grandchildren (who he absolutely knew would worship at the altar of the Marauders, nay, would actually worship them and ply them with filched whiskey and things when they were living in the homes for the elderly) and would inspire the kind of light in Sirius's eyes that he hadn't seen since the last time he pulled off something magnificent, viz; two weeks back.

c) He could just resize it after all. Simple Reducio ought to cover it. In fact he'd get around to it right—

"James NO!"

"Oh. Er. Right. Magical Trace. Thing. Right. Lily dear, we probably need to discuss something, could I get you a cuppa—"

"James Potter," said a dangerously level voice. "Did you take the axe in the shed, put on your sodding invisibility cloak, walk into the forest till you found the right tree, chop it down and drag it home?"

The silence was as thick as James' glasses, which he had now taken off and was rubbing in a manner both blithe and wretched.

"If you didn't do all those things, and I'm finding it hard to believe that you could've in an hour, you must have spelled it here."

James peered at his socks, the tips of his ears bright red.

"Did you transfigure us a twenty foot pine tree, James?"

"Thing is Lils, it's a tree, right, and that's fine but you see, I got a bit carried away –it's been a bit of a while—Time-Coded charms, see, they all come together on a trigger—and you must promise not to—"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Lily's back tensed. "Take Harry," she said, her voice brooking no dispute. "Take Harry into the nursery and put him in— "

"POTTER, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE."

Lily walked in silent, measured steps down the stairs, heart quickening as the blood rushed into her face. She opened the door.

"For fucks sake, Lily, it's the fourth time this month. He's not supposed to do magic. You KNOW You Know Who tracks your records like you're his own personal hedge fund. And I can't keep fudging the GPS proxies on the spell d'you have any idea how long it takes to—"

"LESTRANGE, me old mucker," James cried, "YOU THOUGHT YOU'D STEAL CHRISTMAS DIDN'T YOU."

"James you utter tit do you have any idea the amount of trouble you're causing me-"

"YOU THOUGHT YOU WOULD PONCE ABOUT GOING TRA LA LA, JAMESIEPOO HASN'T GOT A TREE FOR CHRISTMAS, DIDN'T YOU."

"I mean we're literally trying to just keep this going long enough for the prophecy to fulfil itself do you think anybody cares about your sodding tree—"

"THOUGHT YOU'D BE ALL HUR DUR, MY NAME IS RABASTAN 'THE NEW GRINCH IN TOWN' LESTRANGE, DIDN'T YOU."

"Lily you married this twat. He can't be that good in bed—"

"THAT'S MY WIFE YOU'RE TALKING TO, SIRRAH, AND I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE TALKING TO HER IN FRONT OF MY TREE WHICH YOU WILL NOW SEE BEFORE YOU."

Rabastan stopped in the doorway and stared. As his eyes slowly made their way from the pulsing pink fluorescent star gracing the (extremely horizontal) tip of the tree down to the bunting (made of Howler Paper, all going "NYER NYER NYER") he said conversationally, "You know the third time's the charm, right?"

Lily balked. "What d'you mean? Incidentally are you in the mood for nibbles at all? I've just got some cookies out and Old Bathilda's given us some quite nice eggnog if you're up for it."

"Ta luv, don't mind if I do, and what I meant is Voldie's going to be here in exactly two hours."

Lily went white. James went red. Harry went blue because nobody was paying any attention to him and James had left him alone in the cradle and he'd choked on his Knuckles The Pig Beany Baby. He had tried to eat it. Eating soft toys is generally not an advisable course of action if one intends on living much longer. He noted this and then turned over, the smart cookie. Colour returning to his face, he let out what he believed in the depths of his one-year-old soul to be a meaningful and defining YAWP and also made a deeply and truly stinky poo.