Advisory Whatever: This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. It has: Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.
A/N: I was sick some of it. I had appointments. I had work. My computer Blue Screen of Death'ed me. The internet was acting up. You know, RL. I try to keep my profile updated to let people know I'm still breathing. Anywho, unless I state specifically that I'm abandoning something, or that something is complete, I plan on working on it again sometime. Unless something irreparable happens to me. That's the only way there will be no notice 'cause no one else will be logging into this account to explain. But that's just saying. I'd be really embarassed if this sorry filler chapter (that I'm still awfully unsatisfied about, but didn't want to rewrite a third or fourth time) was the last thing I posted. Especially when the next chapter is when things actually happen...
And in-depth descriptions of the Potter house won't come until they're visited. They're used to the place so they're not taking everything in at once. Next chapter is about a fifth done already, so that won't be too long coming, hopefully. Mind you, I have medical things going to right now so "won't be long" might mean a month...
CHAPTER 12 - Winter Break
Lily's hands were still twined into her half braided hair when she took in the pandemonium her kitchen had fallen into. Her feet paused at the leafy threshold, but her hands didn't stop moving even as her eyes roamed over her children's energetic cooking. The room, and the rest of the ground floor, smelled strongly of an eclectic mix of fresh baked muffins, omelets, and bacon. Camellia was at the oven, peering into the dark glass with attentive eyes. Harry was setting platters of bacon and eggs onto the table, aided helpfully by vines curling around glasses and arranging them semi-neatly. The countertops were covered in flour and grease. Lily swiftly knotted a tie around her plaited hair and tossed it behind her.
"It looks like you two are having fun," she remarked.
Camellia looked up at her sheepishly and Harry smiled beatifically.
"We'll clean up," Camellia offered, shooting a look at her brother.
Harry just looked amused. "If you want."
James took the option away by ambling in, glasses askew, and wordlessly waving the mess away. His wand vanished back into the voluminous sleeve of his sleeping robe as he took a seat at the table.
"This looks good," he yawned.
Her husband didn't even seem to notice the creeping flora dropping petals into his cup. Lily swatted at it and sat. A pot of tea was placed before her by her blushing daughter.
"It's green," she muttered.
Harry took the muffins out of the oven. Blueberry, it looked like.
"You should do this more often," Lily told them. "You cook better than me."
Harry grinned in thanks, but Camellia threw herself into a chair with an embarrassed huff. Her plate was filled rapidly with generous helpings of everything, almost as though she hadn't eaten all year. A red plum was snatched from the fruit bowl and bit into just as quickly.
"Where are the oranges?" she grumbled.
"Huffy got into them," Lily said simply.
The little puffskein was still bloated and napping soundly in a crevice somewhere under James's side of the bed, possibly curled up in the hat he had declared missing several weeks ago. Camellia sighed around the pit she had already extricated.
"Of course he did," she said cynically.
"Don't be so down about it," Harry scolded lightly. "You ate plenty of them at Hogwarts. You probably ate them out of all of their fruit. It's all you ate."
"It's not," she disagreed. "Did you try the lamb? The rice pudding? The potatoes? Why would I eat only fruit with that around me?"
Harry considered this for a moment. "I was more concerned with the treacle tart…"
Lily watched them argue with a fond smile tugging at her mouth up until the point where they chased each other out of the kitchen and toward the back door.
"Bundle up!" she shouted.
She waited for their confirmation and then plucked another muffin from the pan. James was already on his third and almost aware of his surroundings. Good. They could commiserate by the fire and decide what to do for the winter break. He smiled at her like he read her mind.
-()_()_()-
The food related argument had fallen into a string of other disagreements and eventually into a not-quite passionate challenge that pushed her stamina to its limits. Her breath was coming out in short gasps that sent puff after puff of white fog into the winter air and her cheeks were so wind bitten that they burned. Camellia ducked behind a tree to hide and crouched down, ears straining. The telltale crunching of boots in snow approached her area. She curled her fists into the ground and carefully molded a snowball. She stood the moment the footsteps stopped and whirled around the trunk that shielded her from view. Her weapon of choice hit a bush, exploding into a fine white powder. Harry had rolled out of the way, grinning despite how ridiculous he looked with ice sticking to his back and hat.
"Too slow," he taunted cheerfully.
Her hands were already a blur, scooping, packing, throwing rapidly with little concern with aim. She nimbly sidestepped several of Harry's attacks, but he was getting closer, arms loaded with a very large sphere.
"What are you doing!?" Camellia shouted over her shoulder. "Don't throw that at me!"
Harry laughed and his glee was contagious. She fought a grin even as she dove under every sort of tree or bush that she came across. He was still in pursuit, but with his arms full he was slower than her. The extra speed didn't help her when she hit a dip in the ground, tripped, and rolled down the slope. Harry slid to a stop and dropped the ball.
"Cold," she hissed, startled.
It had hit her lap with a splat and chilled her right to the bone despite the warming spells woven into her clothes. She shoved it off and brushed her legs until she was satisfied that most of it was gone. Then she turned to her cackling brother with a glare.
"Idiot," she said.
In response, he rolled down to join her. He was breathing just as heavily as she was from the long run. She could just barely see the house between the rows of trees surrounding them. Or could she? The house was half tree, so she couldn't be entirely sure, but she fancied she could make out the fairy lights hovering over the back door. Harry flopped to the ground and tucked his hands under his head, staring up at the silver-grey sky. After a moment, she did the same. It looked like it was going to snow again.
"The snowmen have to wait until tomorrow," Harry commented, "so they don't get buried."
"You're the one that wants to build them," Camellia mumbled.
"You didn't argue," Harry retorted. "That's agreement."
"That's being neutral," she disagreed. "There's arguing, being neutral, and agreeing. All separate."
"You're just being difficult," Harry accused.
"Who's being difficult?"
"You're always difficult, so who else?"
The trees rattled. Camellia paused for a moment to consider that Harry hadn't yelled that loudly. Actually, he hadn't yelled at all. They both sat up and looked around, suddenly wary. They weren't far from the house, but sometimes the more dangerous creatures would wander too close for comfort. She and Harry both stood slowly, scanning the area. Their heads shot up when the chattering started. Leafy little creatures were peering around the trunks of towering trees. It was only their movements that allowed the twins to see them.
"Just bowtruckles," Camellia sighed in relief.
She spoke too soon. The high pitched cackling abruptly muted and the world went white, then black, and then it was freezing.
"Nng!"
Her attempt to open her mouth to speak earned her a mouthful of snow, so she spat it out as best as she could and started clawing and punching through the avalanche that had been abruptly dumped on them. She gasped when she hit fresh air.
"Harry?" she called.
She wriggled out of the pile and crawled around, trying to figure out where he might be. There was no movement and, against her will, a stab of apprehension cut through her chest. She picked a spot and started digging with fervor.
"Harry?" she tried again.
To the left of her, just a little, she was answered by a small jet of fire piercing the pile, melting all the ice to revealed her steadily dampening brother. The fear she felt eased away too slowly for comfort.
"Who casts a fire in a confined space?" she demanded.
"I do," he said casually. "I didn't feel like digging."
His eyes sought the trees where the bowtruckles lived. They were now just barely dusted with snow, rather than caked with it like they had been just minutes before.
"That was just like something I might do," Harry said admiringly.
"Harry, you…"
Camellia shook her head, grabbed his arm, and started dragging him back to the house. He followed easily, understanding that he definitely needed a change of clothes at least. He was dripping.
"Idiot!" she repeated.
He had the gall to laugh at her again.
-()_()_()-
"…and then Xeno rushes in with this axe strung up with mistletoe and Luna starts crying because she thinks he's going to execute all the nargles for stealing his hair—and he is bald now, by the way, but won't tell me how that happened—"
"The nargles, probably," Lily interjected wryly.
"—so Luna throws a bowl of pudding at his face!" Sirius finished dramatically, flinging his hands into the air for emphasis.
"What kind of pudding?" Mell asked offhandedly.
She was organizing presents under the tree. The haphazard pile had made her frown upon entering the room and she insisted. James hoped that she wasn't organizing by person. It was boring to just pull a pile to you and have at it. Much more entertaining to dive on the tree and dig through shreds of paper to reach the prizes beneath. He peaked just to be sure and was relieved to see that she was only stacking them evenly based on size.
"Plum, probably," Sirius replied. "You learn not to ask when it comes to the Lovegoods' food."
Lily was peeling an apple. It was taking shape into some sort of creature with a crooked horn. He locked eyes with his wife for a moment. She noticed what she'd carved and bit the head off. James winced and averted his gaze to the mantle above the fireplace. Smiling people waved at him, most family, but some friends. A portrait of the twins reading together in the library caught his eye.
"We need more pictures," he realized abruptly.
Harry gave him an odd look. "The mantle's full."
"We need more shelves then, and then more pictures," James corrected. "Recent ones… like some pictures of you two from Hogwarts with your friends."
The twins shared a look (just what was that about?) and shrugged. They tended to shrug a lot. James didn't know where they got that habit from. He looked back to the tree where all the boxes were arranged very neatly. It looked good. One particular present, wrapped in a shimmering golden paper, caught his eye and he smiled.
"Speaking of pictures," Sirius started again. "Xeno gave Luna this odd camera that mutates every picture taken. They're thinking of using them as a new puzzle in The Quibbler."
"That sounds fun," Harry said. "But we don't get it at school, you know, since mum's the one subscribed."
"I forgot about that," James mused. "I'll get you a subscription then."
"Done," Mell announced.
James noticed that her eyes were on a small package from one Hermione Granger. He was glad that she had been able to connect with someone. The frizzy haired child with her strange parents seemed like an alright girl. His eyes slid to Harry. His son was prodding a package from his friend and James shuddered to think what might be in it. Vials of poison? A cursed dagger? He told himself that he was joking, that an eleven year old wouldn't be giving those sorts of gifts, but a treacherous part of his mind was still wary.
"It looks good," Lily complimented. "Much better than James's arrangement."
"What arrangement?" he laughed. "I just shoved everything under the tree."
"Exactly," she said dryly. "Now it will at least look good until tomorrow night."
"Everyone will be here, right?" Harry asked.
Lily was already shaking her head before he finished his question. She tossed the core of her eaten apple behind her and didn't even look when a vine snatched it out of the air. Her face was twisted in a frown.
"Just us here and Remus," she replied. "The others are preoccupied with some political hoops. Something about publishing laws and vampire conflicts and shady Knockturn brokers—all rubbish. Just a waste of time."
Harry and Mell both look disappointed, though the latter tried to hide it by turning away to fool with some ribbons. James winced and, in an attempt to distract everyone, clapped loudly. That got everyone's attention.
"It's getting late," he said cheerfully. "So, how about a Quibbler puzzle before bed?"
Sirius, with an answering smile, brandished the newest edition at the room's occupants. An abstract illustration of a fire spirit glared at them from the cover. 'Ministry Cover-Up or Clever Scare Tactic!? Heliopaths in London!'the headline read.
"The Ministry lost its last bastion of cleverness when Lovegood died," Lily scoffed.
"Cover-up then?" Harry suggested cheekily.
"You know it," Lily agreed.
The tabloid was opened and set down on the table with the five of them huddled around it. James let the twins pick the puzzle to start with as he lazily looked over everyone around him. The happy faces and the warm atmosphere were enough to make him forget that anything was wrong. He sighed easily and settled in to spend time with his family.
-()_()_()-
Blaise was spending Christmas in the library. It wasn't like he cared overly much for the lauded holiday, though he did send gifts to his mother and Harry. Pince, apparently, was of a similar mindset. She stood sentry over her domain just like any other morning. Or perhaps the only way she could enjoy Christmas was by basking in the company of her precious books. Regardless, her presence meant that the library was open, which allowed him something to do, so he could not complain. He flicked to the next page of his chosen book, eyes on the properties of these… flesh-eating slugs. That man, Hagrid, was muttering angrily about them earlier to an equally flustered Professor Sprout. Blaise had decided that anything with 'flesh-eating' in its name had to be wonderfully awful.
The mucus secreted by these creatures can be used effectively in many potions, from common cough suppressants to heavily restricted acid brews. The prevalence of the flesh-eating slug is a positive thing for potioneers trying to meet the demands for potions created by their slime. Others, however, do not share this mindset. Because they release such a mordant fluid, most things they travel over corrode and are often irreparably damaged, as is the case when they go feeding on the leaves of typical household plants.
'Irreparably damaged' and 'heavily restricted acid brews' were the phrases that clicked in his head. He eyes the pictures of the ugly creature and scanned the text. Where did they live and what did they hunt? If they were so common, why hadn't he heard of them before? Blaise frowned and thought back. Perhaps he just hadn't heard of them by name? His house-elf, the hysteric little thing, was always going on about frying spicy slugs for a mid-morning snack. He nodded, determined that this was indeed the case. He flipped another page, looking for methods of capture, and ignored the sound of footsteps clicking on the stone floor of the hallway.
Flesh-eating slugs are not very difficult to capture with the proper materials.
The library doors opened and the scent of garlic washed over the room. Blaise's nose twitched irritably.
Dragonhide gloves are more than able to withstand the acidic mucus.
"M-m-madame P-Pince," Quirrel greeted. "F-fine Chr-christmas morning isn't it?"
"Every day in this haven is a good one," Pince replied tonelessly. "How may I help you, Professor Quirrel?"
Reinforced glass—
"I-I was j-just wondering… y-you wouldn't happen t-to have th-the Encyclopedia o-of Magical B-beasts: XXXX Edition, w-would you?"
Blaise gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the book.
"Encyclopedia of Magical Beasts: XXXX Edition was checked out by Headmaster Dumbledore on November 17 of this year," Pince said blandly. "He will have it for an unspecified time-period. You may feel free to ask him about the text."
Reinforced glass—
"O-oh n-n-no! W-wouldn't w-want to bother P-professor D-d-Dumbledore. I j-just was c-curious i-is all. Th-thought it would be a g-good text for m-my cl-class n-next year."
Blaise closed his book and glared between the shelves at the monstrous, foul smelling turban. He was trying to read and the man just kept babbling. To speak so annoyingly… the man would do everyone a favor by remaining silent. He would learn more from a pantomimed class performance than the relentless stuttering, and no encyclopedia would ever change that. In no mood to read any further, Blaise tucked the book away with a silent vow to retrieve it later and slipped out of the library. He sneered once he reached the corridor.
It reeked of garlic.
Blaise made a hasty retreat for the outdoors.
"Well, well…"
"What do we have here?"
To what would be his eternal embarrassment, this moment of ire-inspired impulsiveness sent him crashing right into a pair of identical redheads.
-()_()_()-
Her room held a permanent aroma. It had the musty smell of old books mixed with the sharp tang of ink. This was entirely unsurprising, due to the ceiling high bookshelves that took up most of the space. Three out of four walls were covered; the last was spared for a bed, a desk, and a dresser. Hermione traced the cover of the newest addition to her collection. The laminated hard cover was smooth and cool beneath her fingers. She sighed happily and resisted the urge to open it and immediately start taking notes. It was a book about lock-picking.
She considered herself very fortunate to have parents that asked no pointed questions.
She considered herself very fortunate indeed.
Hermione laughed quietly and set it down, hands eagerly seeking out another book that had found its way to her home. Hedwig had dropped it off. The beautiful white owl even stayed long enough to be cooed over by her excitable mother. The book in her hands was from Camellia and Harry. The cover was green and embossed with gold lettering. It was Hugh Morris's new book, Set-ups and Takedowns, emphasizing the importance of outsmarting opponents (whether political-, social-, or field-based), and offering tips on how to do so. Hardly the first book of its nature, but the author's black sense of humor was a fresh outlook on the subject—according to one Vindictus Viridian, whose commentary was boxed on the back just above the summary.
The struggle of deciding which to read first was tearing at her brain!
But after a moment of thought, the lock-picking book won out. Her logic was this: she needed to know how to get to her opponents before she could begin the task of outwitting them. That was how adventurers did it, was it not? So Hermione slowly opened the cover, inhaled that scent that was unique to brand new books, and fell onto her bed.
It was perhaps two paragraphs later that found her interrupted by her mother's sing-song voice floating up the stairs.
"Hermione, dinner! Put it away until you've eaten!"
She considered herself very fortunate to have parents that ensured she ate when she was supposed to. Really, she did.
She sighed and hauled herself out of her room.
-()_()_()-
Harry was sprawled on the floor of the den, half under the tree that was now emptied of its load of gifts. His head was pillowed on an unopened copy of the fourth edition that he had wanted so badly and his new multi-purpose knife, courtesy of Blaise, was tucked safely into a robe pocket. Mell had the flute given to him by Hagrid. She was interested despite herself and was testing notes at random over the racket in the background that was their parents' war with wrapping paper and tinsel. They already had their fill of that action earlier. Harry was sure that, like him, Mell was still feeling the cold tingle under her skin from the day spent out in the snow. Their army of puffskeins and snowmen grinned cheerfully at everyone from the yard.
"Can I borrow it sometimes?" Mell muttered.
Harry lazily looked up. "Can I borrow those hairclips sometimes?"
She glared heatedly. Harry found it hilarious how quickly her hands shot to the little metal oranges that now pinned her hair away from her face.
"I'm only joking," he said, laughing. "You can."
He untangled his feet from the tree skirt and stood, stretching. His sister did the same soon after. They both turned to the chaos around them just in time to see Sirius roll over the back of the sofa to avoid having tinsel tied into his hair by their father. Remus was not untouched, but he was unruffled, not minding the metallic strings draped over his body. He was far too focused on his mug of steaming hot cocoa to notice anything else.
"Where'd mum go?" Harry asked.
"Dessert in the kitchen," Sirius said breathlessly. "In a few minutes, she said."
"Treacle tart and apple pie!" James added. "Along with some chocolate cake for Remus of course."
"I may even share," Remus said mildly, "though that seems unlikely."
"Then I won't make you any more cocoa," Mell threatened.
"Then Camellia may have a slice," he corrected.
The werewolf rolled his eyes at Sirius's answering chicken clucks.
"It's an investment, not an act of cowardice," Remus countered. "Unlike what I could say of you on multiple occasions."
"Like when mum threatened to tie him outside with the rock dolls if he didn't stop sneaking icing off our birthday cake," Mell offered.
"Like when dad threatened to burn his collection of Witch Weekly magazines," Harry continued.
Sirius looked at him oddly. "I don't have a collection of Witch Weekly magazines."
"Then why did you react to that?" Harry asked.
His godfather shrugged. "I get threatened so much that I stopped paying attention to what the threat actually was and just do what I was asked to."
Sirius seemed entirely unaffected by the weight of the three stares on him, so Harry gave up and stood. He headed for the kitchen, where the mixed scents of dessert originated. He stopped at the arch and looked back at the group still gathered around the tree.
"They're already eating ahead of us," he said blandly.
He went in. His mother had a knife in hand and was slicing the cake. His father was making another pot of cocoa.
"They don't believe you," she said as soon as he walked in. "Not after the third time you did that."
Harry offered a mischievous grin and grabbed a plate.
"They should," he told her, "right?"
She swiped a line of chocolate icing off of Remus's cake in response.
"Right," she agreed.
His father snickered quietly and dumped a pie wedge onto his dish.
"Right," he agreed.
The others were summoned by the telltale scraping of forks and exaggerated commentary on how great everything tasted, though none of them had taken more than a bite. Harry laughed at the unheated scowls shot his way. They ought to know better than to think him predictable by now.