The second chapter of today's triple-update. Interestingly, I've actually just finished writing the Christmas arc for book two of this story… looking back at this one is cute :)
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any profit out of Harry Potter or its associated trademarks.
Chapter Nine: The Whole Family
London was mired under the snow for the whole holiday season; the weather-wizards at the Ministry were lobbying for a pay rise, apparently. The children enjoyed it, anyway, and soon the back garden at Conyeri's address was full of squabbling snowmen. They'd been to Diagon Alley just two day before; today was December 24th, and the smell of Christmas was on the air.
The family were beginning to arrive in dribs and drabs; Uncle Terry turned up on a broomstick so old that Conyeri hardly recognized it, followed by an explosion that heralded the arrival of her cousins Florence and Charlotte, who stumbled out of the fireplace covered in ashes. Auntie Belinda and Uncle Roger came in their battered ford (muggles, Uncle Terry muttered, looking at the car with an obvious look of disdain), but were beaten to the door by Conny's aged witch Great-Grandmother Paula, who apparated right in front of them. Cousins and nephews ran amok, taking advantage of the living snowmen and the vastly enlarged house. Muggle relations of her mother's talked freely with wizards on her father's side: the family had known for some years that David was magical, and were thankfully quite accepting. Well, not Great-Uncle Dylan, but he never came for Christmas anyway, the old, miserable git.
"I thought my family was big!" Lucy muttered as they were tasked with finding yet another set of linens to go on a hastily conjured bed; this time, Conny's little five year old niece, a witch about as in control of her magic as several of the elder generation were of their bowels (A new toilet had been constructed from the airing cupboard, hence the search for linens), and kept setting things on fire when she got scared of her bullying older cousins, mostly boys. "Why have them all over?"
Conny shrugged. "Tradition, I suppose. They'd be sad if we left someone out."
Her eighteen-year-old cousin once removed Joshua walked by trying to chat up a pretty girl from the other side of the family. The victim, Caroline Dallery (father's niece), took her wand out threateningly and gave him a little hex, turning his ears to lips. He yelled from three mouths and ran away. "I do wish the magical lot would stop jinxing people, though. We always end up with one in St. Mungo's by Boxing Day."
"Do I want to know?"
"No. You see Roger over there?" She motioned to the already quite drunk muggle eyeing the cocktail sausages with suspicion. "Cannibal Cheese Cube incident of '75. Don't talk about it with him."
"That's in Charm Your Own Cheese, isn't it?"
"Nah, it's in Curse Your Own Cheese, the sequel. Dad thought it would be funny, but Roger lost half his duodenum."
"Ouch."
"Lesson: avoid the canapés." They both winced as Cousin John, a fourteen-year old muggle, was attacked by the whole bowl of furious cocktail sausages.
Two days before - Conny's birthday - they'd gone to the Magical Menagerie to pick a cat. It had been difficult, because they were all so lovely, but she'd settled on a young Chartreux with a grey-blue coat and large, copper-coloured eyes. The smiley but haggard and plaster-covered saleswitch informed her that his name was Bach, and that he was a fine cat for a Hogwarts student. He was now curled over Conny's shoulder, looking out with interest at the humans.
"If I was an animagus, I'd be a cat." Lucy said. "You can get in all sorts of interesting places."
"I'd be something that could fly. Like a bird of prey."
"Come off it! You're too whimpy!"
"Am not!"
Lucy stuck her tongue out and they went into the garden to play for a while. Inside, a sumptuous stew was overboiling in the kitchen (it was suspected that one of the kids had put some powdered dragon claw in it, because Uncle Terry was hopping mad and randomly doing his 458 times tables), and David was running around doing drinks. The December 24th dinner was a formality that was always observed; immediately after it was finished, the goal was to be drunk solidly until lunchtime on Christmas Day.
"So Thatcher says: 'Muramar, it's the foreign secretary's cactus, and he's entitled to do whatever he wants with it!'"
A roar of laughter erupted from the sitting room as someone finished telling a joke. David sighed and poured out another champagne. He'd lost the draw and was going sober the whole time.
With a ding, the gravy was finished heating in the microwave. He took it out and placed the massive tureen of it on the table next to the steaming potatoes. Two teenage nephews helped to manhandle the cauldron full to the centre and put it down with a clunk.
"DINNER!" He yelled at the top of his voice, causing the china in the cabinet on the opposite wall to shake a bit. Nothing happened for a brief second, and then, as the glass chandelier on the ceiling shook and tinkled ominously, a stampede broke through into the dining room, nearly knocking David off his feet. Chairs were taken and squabbled over, alliances were made and the best dishes were snatched away by the quickest people. There were, quite impossibly, about thirty people around the table, including small children. David's heart swelled with pride at his family and his family-in-law. Many people called him a wretched liberalist, but he genuinely felt that this was a perfect example of how wizards and muggles could co-exist. If it could happen in a semi-detached house in west London, why couldn't it happen all over the world?
"Pass the potatoes, Davey." A familiar voice asked. Only those who knew him in his Hogwarts days dared call him that nickname. One best friend was permitted per person (Conny had brought Lucy, Elizabeth, a charming woman named Susan, and David had of course invited Ewan along), and who to bring but his best friend, Ewan Liramy. Age had not been as kind to Ewan as it had to David, but he was still the smart-aleck kid he'd always been.
"Carbohydrates, coming your way." David passed him the hot bowl full of sautee potatoes.
"Thank'ee." Ewan said, wiping his moustache. "Who's the girl next to your Conyeri, then?"
"That's Lucy. They're friends at Hogwarts."
"Ah, what a place! I do miss my time there." Ewan said, almost sadly. "Where's she from, then, little Lucy?"
David chuckled. "Why the interest?"
"I've seen someone that looks like her before… I just can't place it."
"She's half-Egyptian, I think she said. Her parents were curse-breakers."
Ewan froze. "Surely not the Ra family?"
"Yes, that was it."
"Davey, take my word for this. You don't want any of them going near your little girl. I remember where I've seen Lucy before- sitting in court, crying her eyes out, as her brother was sentenced to life at Azkaban."
"Azkaban?" David asked, incredulous. "Sometimes I wish I worked at the ministry. What did he do?"
"Double murder. His own parents."
Their conversation was now in whispers. Across the table, a young boy was struggling to get a parsnip out of where it was wedged up his nose. "Surely not!"
"True as the sun in the sky, Davey. They're a bad lot. I don't confess to know about Lucy there, but if she follows her brothers, she's walking down a dark path."
"She's just an eleven-year-old girl." David protested, finding it difficult to take his eyes off the girl next to his daughter. "Why are you always the harbinger of bad news?"
"I'm afraid it comes with the job."
"Wizengamot…" David said under his breath, finishing some cauliflower. "Well, at least I've been warned."
"Keep an eye on it, I'd say." Ewan said.
"I will."
David was in such a dour mood that as soon as the last dregs of pudding and Irish coffee had been finished, he cast a cleaning spell on the table and went up to his room and cast a silencing charm on it, blocking out the noise from downstairs. He looked at the photo of his family. Conny was growing up, making friends, and he couldn't control whom she liked and didn't like. He knew from experience that you had to have your own, unique, Hogwarts experience- nobody could map it out for you and choose what you should do. He sighed and ruffled his hair, checking it in the mirror. It was beginning to recede. He mused that as he began to grow old, his daughter grew strong and brave. It wasn't his time any more, as much as he'd like to believe. He strode over to his bedside table and pulled out a letter. It was an invitation to take the position of Professor of Magical Art at Hogwarts. He wanted so much to be back there, to re-live his adolescence, but tonight had made him realize that he couldn't do that. He wrote a short reply and sent it off with his owl, Beethoven.
"You'd better be worth it, Conyeri." He muttered to the sky. "Do me proud."
The owl, and his youth, disappeared from sight together, hand in hand.
-0-
It snowed furiously on Christmas Day, but there were far too many people at the DeHayersae house to fit together indoors. A truly monstrous Christmas tree had been grown in the middle of the back garden, which was being protected from the weather by a giant shield charm. Baubles the size of footballs clinked together as the tree rustled and seemed to strain against the tinsel adorning it. Presents were piled underneath, small, large, of all shapes and sizes. One was breathing fire. Chairs had been hastily conjured for the adults, who were woozy beyond redemption by now.
The three youngest children were present giver-outers. Five-year-old Denise, a witch, and six-year old twins Harold and Henry (muggles) had the honour this year, since Cousin Ethel's two-year-old son was too young. They flung presents around with great enjoyment. Conny received several parcels, but it was polite to wait. Even Lucy's various brothers and friends had sent presents that reached her here, though one from Khai had 'Checked by the Department for Magical Law Enforcement Postal Surveillance Unit' stamped on it in shimmering green ink.
Once the presents were distributed, the order as given to begin. With a great communal tearing, over fifty presents were torn open by excited adults and children alike. Someone had sent Uncle Terry a boa constrictor.
"Love potions?" A bewildered muggle relation could be heard saying. "Do they really work?"
"Arnold gave me some last year… they went in the office tea, and I haven't been short of help since, if you know what I mean…"
"The Beano? Again?"
"It's a copy from 1948!"
Two boys argued over their presents a little way away. Conny looked down at her stash and grinned, since it was larger than Lucy's. She already had her present from her parents, Bach, who was curled up in her lap. Lucy opened a boxy-looking parcel wrapped in marvelous purple sparkly paper to reveal a splendid peacock-feather quill in a glass case, complete with several interchangeable nibs and coloured and enchanted inks.
"Nice!" She said.
"Who gave you that?"
"Jahnen."
Conny unwrapped one of hers, very carefully undoing the ribbon holding the paper together. "Oh?"
They were a very tattered pair of boots, dark blue and patchy in places. Conny looked at them, confused, before she saw a little note.
Dearest Conyeri,
These used to belong to my son, your father's brother, and he made good use of them during his Hogwarts days. Both his sons are grown up now, so I suppose you have inherited them. Good Luck!
Christmas wishes,
Grandma
Mystified, Conny looked at them closer. On the sole, something was written.
Dr. Phadraigh D. Ralkin, Master Cobbler since 1693.
"No offence, but your Christmas presents are crap." Lucy said, looking at the boots.
"I'm sure they have some use." Conny replied, placing them behind her, frowning. "Grandma wouldn't give me something useless."
"Maybe she's lost her marbles?"
"Shuddup." Conny punched her lightly on the arm. "What was your haul while I was reading that note, then?"
Lucy presented her with the gifts she'd received: the quill from Jahnen, a box of mince pies with faces on that sang 'Good King Wenceslas' when you opened the box from Ali, a beautiful silver scroll case from Khai, and an leather case full of various exotic potion ingredients from her fourth brother, Alexi, who she'd never mentioned before. Conny's parents had gifted Lucy the bedcovers they'd enchanted that showed the giant squid eating various people depending on one's mood. A couple of aunts and uncles sent bath bombs and a packet of chocolate salamanders. "A good lot, I reckon. You?"
Apart from the mystifying boots, Conny had a wealth of bizarre presents to sift through. Florence and Charlotte had given her a book entitled The Art of Romancy by Delilah Lovesmote. Aunt Belinda, Uncle Roger and their son, John, had clubbed together to buy her a beautiful winter dress; Great-Grandmother Paula, along the same vein, offered a colour-co-ordinated set of self-ironing school shirts. Uncle Terry, true to his eccntric nature, had given her a fire-breathing alarm clock. The receipt was still in the box, though slightly singed, if she wanted to exchange it for anything at Gambol and Japes at Diagon Alley.
"I'd say I did okay, too." She grinned, stroking Bach affectionately. "Still, I wonder what those boots do?"
"Try 'em on and see." Lucy suggested. Conny took her slippers off and tugged the boots on. They were huge, but even she she thought this, they shrunk to her size, fitting snugly. "Nice."
"Is that all?" Conny said.
"Probably not." Lucy prodded them, frowning. "Mayeb they can walk up walls or something?"
"That would be cool!" Conny stood up, thinking to run up the back wall, but the pressure on the ground caused whatever enchantment that was woven into the boots to come into effect. Instead of just standing normally, Conny launched up into the air a good five or six metres, screaming like the little girl she was. She landed, surprisingly, without breaking any bones. Actually, she hardly felt the impact at all. She blinked and steadied herself. "Merlin!"
"Awesome!" Lucy giggled. "I think I know what those are! Wow…"
"Well, tell me." Conny said, tentatively walking a short distance normally. Nothing happened.
"They were made by this one shoemaker who lived in Ireland. It took a year just to make one pair, and he never told anyone else how to do it. He died last century, and since then, no more pairs have been made, because nobody found a way to replicate the charm properly. He called them carom boots, after the Billiards move." Lucy explained.
Conny nodded. She was walking around normally, but she could feel a strange… potetial. She angled herself towards the roof and stamped one of her feet really hard.
Fwoosh! She soared into the sky. She'd misjudged the force necessary to get onto the roof and soared over the whole house. She hit the shield bubble surrounding the garden with a thud and fell four metres onto the chimney.
"Conny!" Lucy shouted from the ground. "Are you okay?"
"Just fine." She grumbled, groaning as a puff of ashy smoke hit her in the face. "I love the taste of carbon."
"Far too young for sarcasm!" Great-Grandmother Paula said snappily, apparating up to the roof next to her. "Now, my dear, I see my daughter has given you a dangerous gift."
"Kinda."
"Yes. Well, you are totally within your rights to send them back to my fool of a child." Paula said.
"Uh- no, thanks. They're all right."
"Very well. I shan't be responsible for any of the trouble you get into." Paula disapparated back down to the tree, where the last of te adults were opening their presents. "No, Great-Gran… these are far too cool to send back."
"Conny, stop talking to yourself!" Lucy yelled. "Get your witch arse down here! There's Christmas Lunch to be had!"
Conny experimentally slid down the roof and jumped down, her new footwear absorbing the impact totally. A huge grin broke out over her face as she turned to look at Lucy, who had a similar glint of mischief in her eyes. They skipped arm in arm to lunch, which was magnificent. The table was groaning with lamb, chicken, turkey and beef; Yorkshire puddings the size of dessert bowls steamed like golden paddling pools filled with gravy. Crispy potatoes and parsnips simmered, accompanied by all manner of seasonal vegetables. By the time everyone was sitting down, several Brussels sprouts were already acting as tiny bludgers, zooming around and hitting unsuspecting family members. Pigs in blankets were very popular amongst the younger population, and as a result Conny and Lucy had to share the handful they'd managed to procure between themselves. Wine and conversation flowed freely. A flaming Christmas pudding appeared once the main course was finished and all the crackers had been pulled. Conny was now, inexplicably, dressed head to toe as a pirate, with Bach instead of a parrot on her shoulder. David had ended up as a builder through the magical costume crackers, and he was laughing with his wife, who was a medieval princess. Uncle Terry, much to his chagrin, was dressed in full knight's armour and having trouble eating his food.
Some deity with a sense of irony had made Lucy's cracker dress her as a robber. She had the classic black and white striped shirt, black hat and mask on, with a big bag labeled 'swag' over her shoulder. She was the only one who truly appreciated this irony.
A Yule log the size of an actual real log was hefted onto the table by a couple of older boys who'd been in charge of the kitchen. Auntie Belinda, dressed by her cracker as a ninja, dug in first, and the rest of the family soon followed. They devoured the log and then sat back to chat. Ice cream, brandy, and coffee were brought out after the spectacle of the flaming Christmas pudding, which was being ignored and was beginning to slowly crumble to ash in the centre of the table. A silver sickle embedded inside it was snatched up by a curious muggle relative, who pocketed it gleefully. By the time it was mid-afternoon, everybody was drunk and thoroughly stuffed. In fact, several parents were drunk enough to offer firewhisky to Conny and Lucy, thinking it amusing. They both managed four shots before they bottled out, feeling as though their throats were on fire.
"I'm never having alcohol again." Lucy said, chugging about a pint of water.
"Me either." Both of them knew that it was an empty promise, but firewhisky was really disgusting stuff, and they were only 12.
Half an hour later and feeling slightly woozy (how were they to have known that even the coffee was alcoholic?), Lucy and Conny retreated to their room with their presents. They'd stayed downstairs to watch the Queen's Speech, or as Lucy had called it, an old muggle lady in an ugly dress talking nonsense. When the Queen had begun to get sort of fuzzy and Conny had become fascinated with the beads on Lucy's shirt, it was time to retire.
They sprawled out on the thickly carpeted floor, giggling for a while.
"Hey, Conny?" Lucy asked.
"Yeh?"
"Do you ever get the feeling… like… we're in the dark?"
Conny propped herself up on her elbow. "What do you mean?"
"I dunno." Lucy said, exasperated. "I just… I just always wonder why people do things. I want everything to fit together. But it doesn't."
"Life isn't a Famous Five novel." Conny said sagely.
"What?"
"Never mind, muggle thing." Conny said. "But I understand. I think it's in our nature. I make links between things, but I can't think of a reason."
"Like what?" Lucy asked.
Conny paused. "Like… like Professor Killory being here, and the conversation I overheard… and why we're having the dueling competition, and who the man I saw in Hogsmeade was… I just want there to be a reason for it all."
"I wonder the same thing." Lucy said. "And why Rissa has changed so much."
"Changed? How so?"
"She never used to be like she is now. She was a real wild child. Angry, prone to fits of rage. Never could keep concentration, pretty bi-polar in general."
That description didn't fit at all with the Rissa that Conny knew. "That's… nothing like her."
"Exactly. I want to know what changed, and why." Lucy said.
Silence stretched between them, the noise from downstairs filtering through the cracks in the door. Conny got up the courage to ask what she'd been wondering about ever since she'd met Lucy. "Your family… what happened?"
Beside her, Lucy stiffened visibly, her eyes, which had been roaming, swiveled to stare and Conny and froze there. She looked as though a million different things to say were going through her mind. Finally, she sighed. "I'm not a good person, Conny. My eldest brother, Khai, was sent to prison for killing our parents when I was very young. We didn't have much money between us, and this was the time when the Dark Lord was very powerful. We used the confusion and the fear to make money- robbery, drugs, whatever. Back then, only Khai was old enough to do stuff, but he brought us up by himself. Jahnen, Ali, and Alexi all went through Hogwarts under his direction. They ran most of the illegal business that goes on here."
She saw Conny's look of astonishment and nodded. "It does go on, and you'd be naïve to think that just because Hogwarts is a magical school, its students are sensible enough not to indulge their vices."
"I honestly never thought about it. I knew that many sixth formers got drunk at Halloween, but…"
"That wasn't my doing. Alcohol is much easier to smuggle in. I think that fifth-year kid- Boris, was it? He and his mates do the drink at the moment. Ravenclaw has a bit of a reputation for supply of illegal substances."
"Seriously?"
"Yes." Lucy said, looking at the ceiling again. "It was mainly established by my brothers, but it's been happening a long time. I just worry, sometimes, that they'll start me in the family business- I'm not exactly innocent of any crimes anyway."
"You only pick-pocketed some people." Conny protested.
Lucy chuckled. "You didn't know me before you met me on the train, Conny. I've been raised for this. I even…" her voice broke, and she bit her lip. "I even do it naturally. I make friends… lots of friends. I get popular. Once I have a customer base, I can start selling. I know that. My brothers taught it to me since I was old enough to understand."
"You don't have to do anything." Conny said firmly.
"Conny, I'm eleven. I need to obey my older brothers. I need a home, and someone to pay my school fees. They may be bad people, but I love them."
"You could come and live here?"
"Nice of you to offer, but it's just not proper." Lucy sighed, feeling depressed. "It's getting dark and my head is spinning. We should go to sleep."
Conny felt like the conversation had been cut short. She looked at Lucy. Conny had always thought her friend beautiful; slightly oriental from her Egyptian father, with long, thick dark hair. Now, though, she looked her eleven years- young, fragile, and not up to dealing with her future. Conny enveloped her in a hug, being the larger and stronger of the two. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"You have a right to know." Lucy whispered, her tears dampening Conny's shoulder. "Do you hate me?"
"Hate you?" Conny looked at her. "Of course not! Don't be silly, Lucy. Whether you were a drug baron or the minister of magic, I'd still love you to bits."
Lucy hiccupped with laugher. "Is that a subtle hint?"
"You should run for office tomorrow."
"Maybe I will."
"By all means." They fell onto their respective beds, both physically and emotionally tired from the exchange. The lights dimmed and the curtains whisked themselves shut, so the only light came from the crack under the door. Conny burrowed under her covers and turned to look at her best friend. "No secrets?"
Lucy paused, before replying: "No secrets."