Chapter Six: Holidays
A.K.A. Progress Indeed But Still Not Quite There Yet
Rumors were spreading about what happened between Alison and Marcus in the corridor that night. It was expected, of course; especially since they were spending even more time together than usual. For instance, tonight—Halloween night—Alison sits comfortably next to Marcus at the Slytherin table, while Margaret sits—completely forgotten by Alison—with Oliver at the Gryffindor table.
It is tradition to have a feast on Halloween with loads of candy and caramel apples and the lot. Alison is busy trying to bite into a caramel apple when Professor Quirrell bursts in through the door, screaming "Troll! Troll in the dungeon!" Everyone stares at him in complete silence. "Thought you ought to know," he finishes, fainting.
Suddenly, there is an astounding uproar in the Great Hall. Everyone is screaming and running about. Marcus grabs Alison about the waist, as though confirming she is next to him and not off somewhere in danger. Alison, however, finds this all very amusing; especially when Dumbledore starts making his wand spit out fireworks in order to silence everyone.
"Prefects lead your Houses back to the dormitories!" he yells. "Teachers, follow me to the dungeons."
The prefects begin leading their fellow house members back to their dormitories, each following a different path. The Ravenclaw prefect begins walking up the stairs, leading away from the Slytherins, but Alison doesn't budge.
"You ought to go back to your dormitory," Marcus murmurs softly, looking down at Alison. "There goes your prefect. You should follow him." Alison looks at him as though he's gone insane.
"Are you mad? Walter's a fucking wanker! I'm not following 'round after him while there's a troll strolling 'bout the school!" Alison pauses. "Walter's a creepy little bugger, he is. A pervert, if you ask me."
"According to you, everyone's a pervert," he jokes, smiling.
"Not everyone, Marcus. I don't think you're a pervert…"
"Oi, what are you doing here?" the Slytherin prefect suddenly yells at Alison. "You're not in Slytherin! Get back with your house or—"
Alison turns around slowly, a menacing scowl on her face. The prefect is a good three inches taller than her, but she still walks right up to him and spits in his face. "Fuck off."
The prefect walks away and they make their way toward the common room amongst the Slytherins, with Alison remarking "If the Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons, why are they sending us down there? That's where the troll is, right? Oh, shit…"
"Calm down, Alison. It's not really a dungeon. It just sort of… seems like one. Besides, I can… um, what I mean is…"
"You're right, Marcus!" she squeals, brightening. "You'll protect me, of course. Now I feel stupid for forgetting." She smiles, linking her arm through Marcus's.
"Oi! Want to play wizard's chess, Marcus?" Alison calls once they arrive in the common room. "I've just found a board and—"
"I hate wizard's chess," growls Marcus, sitting down on a couch by the fireplace. "Ask Pucey to play or something."
"I'd love to play," says a boy coming up behind Alison. "Besides, that is my board." He smiles what, she guesses, is supposed to be a charming smile; in Alison's opinion, smiling like that makes him look like a poof.
"And you are?" she asks rudely, glancing at the boy.
"Adrian Pucey," he replies, holding out his hand, presumably for her to shake. He stands there for a while, looking like an idiot, then finally realizes that she is not going to shake his hand. "Right…so, you want to play wizard's chess now?"
"Not really." She then ignores him, going to sit next to Marcus. "I bet you anything that Harry Potter and His Little Golden Followers are going after that troll. I expect they think they can handle it. I hope they get themselves killed."
"…why aren't you playing chess with Pucey?" Marcus asks. "I thought you wanted to play chess…"
"Nah," Alison says, stretching out to lie down beside Marcus. "I didn't really want to play wizard's chess, you know. Just wanted to something to do…" She pauses a second, moving so that her head is lying in his lap. "Marcus… Christmas is coming up soon."
He was dreading this. Of course, he thought, she was going to tell him that she wants some extravagant gift. Instead, she says "What do you want for Christmas?"
"I dunno," he replies, "Haven't really thought about it… what do you want?"
"Me? Well, it doesn't really matter… but nothing expensive. Just get me whatever you want to; whatever you think I would like."
"That sounds like a good idea. You do the same for me."
Alison nods, staring up at Marcus. She smiles, whispering sleepily "Night night, Marcus…" She promptly falls asleep, leaving Marcus to think about what he is going to get her for Christmas. He decides to talk to Margaret about it tomorrow, when he can think properly.
In the morning, Marcus awakens to find Alison still asleep on his lap and a room full of Slytherins staring at them. Marcus stares back at them uncertainly. Amongst the group, he spots Professor Snape, who looks quite pleased and extremely smug.
Just then, Alison stirs. She stretches, yawns, and finally opens her eyes. "Morning, Marcus." She then notices that everyone is staring at them. "What the fuck are you looking at, eh? Well?"
The crowd exchanged glances then immediately dispersed, exiting the common room quickly. Professor Snape, however, remained where he was, smirking haughtily. "I see you two have finally come to your senses," he drones, turning to swish out of the common room.
"Well," Alison remarks, standing up. "I guess we ought to go eat breakfast. Today's a Hogsmeade day, after all." She turns and grabs Marcus by the hand, dragging him out of the room. "Come on, Marcus. If we don't hurry those stupid first years—you know, that nancy-boy Draco's body guards?—will eat everything."
Shortly thereafter, they arrive in the Great Hall. Alison prances over to the Slytherin table, sits down and shoves a boy out of his seat. Marcus strolls after her and sits down in the now empty seat. "You walk to slow, Marcus," she scolds playfully. "Margaret and I have decided to start Christmas shopping. It seems a bit early, but…"
"It's fine. I was thinking of doing the same thing." He stops, seeing her look rather nervous. "I'm well aware I can't tag along," he mumbles. "I don't want to, anyway…"
"Oh, of course…" She looks away, dismayed.
"…I have to shop for you, after all. I wouldn't want you to see your present. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk to Hillsworth about something." He gets up from the table and walks over to the Hufflepuff table and sits down beside Margaret, who looks at him as though he's grown a second head.
"Hullo," Margaret says snidely. "You left Alison all alone at the Slytherin table. There are some major perverts over there. You better have a good reason for this or—"
"Christmas" is all he says. She stares at him, confused. "I don't know what to get her," he continues. "What should I get her?"
"Well, it's Alison. That means anything girlish is out of the question. She has enough books…" She pauses, deep in thought. "Wait… a while ago she mentioned something that she wanted… what was it? Think, Margaret, think."
"I've just remembered," she whispers excitedly. "She wants a cloak. But not just any cloak will do; it has to be perfect. It has to be one she can wear casually, not like the stupid Hogwarts thing we all have. I suggest you look around today. Cloaks are very popular and you wouldn't want them to run out. Especially since there's basically nothing else that Alison wants… Ahem, yes, well, you better get back over there. She looks like she's about to kill someone."
Marcus nods, hurriedly dashing over to Alison. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbles, sitting down again. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she says through clenched teeth.
"No, you're not. What's wrong?"
"Nothing… what were you talking to Margaret about?" She looks up at him, and, upon seeing his edginess, becomes worried and distraught. "What were you talking to her about? Marcus—"
"Calm down, Alison," he says gently, hugging her. "I was only telling her that I'm going to look for the perfect gift for you and asked her to keep you from seeing what it is."
Alison calms down slightly then glances up at him warily. "What's going on, Marcus? Is this some kind of joke? You're acting strange…"
"No, there's nothing wrong. Oh, but I did find out something that you might be interested to know." Alison becomes anxious. "Well, remember last night when you said that Potter and his friends were going to go after the troll? While I was talking to Margaret, I overheard—"
"Yes! I knew it! They went after the troll… did they die?"
"No… um, you see, it's like this…" He pauses. "The bucktoothed one apparently went after the troll, thinking she could handle it. That lost Gryffindor 5 points. But Potter and the poor one—the Weasley—saved her and gained 5 points each for "sheer dumb luck" as McGonagall put it… where are you going?"
"Just to see Harry Potter; I'll only be a moment." She continues to walk away when Marcus suddenly jumps up and grabs her hand. "What the hell?"
"Um… Potter looks a bit busy, and, um, don't you want to spend your time with me? I mean, um, we probably won't, um, see each other all day, and, um—"
"Marcus, are you sure there's nothing wrong? You're acting really weird."
"Nothing's wrong," he reassures her, leading her out of the Great Hall. "I just… well, I want to, um, spend this morning with you. Since we won't be leaving for a few more hours, I thought we could, um… I thought we could… play wizard's chess." That wasn't his original plan, but it could work.
"I thought you hated wizard's chess." Marcus shrugs and suddenly Alison pulls to a stop in the middle of the stairs. "Marcus, I don't have a chess board and I'm sure you don't, so how are we going to play?"
"Well, I didn't really want to play wizard's chess," he says, mimicking her remark from last night. "I just wanted something to do." She glares at him but soon begins to smile.
"There goes Marcus… better get out of here," Margaret mumbles to herself. She and Alison are now at Hogsmeade, trying to find Christmas gifts. "Come on, Alison. Let's look in the book store…"
"Why do you want to go in there? Nobody but you and me reads books," she replies stubbornly. "We can't very well get gifts for each other today, can we?"
"Let's just go look, ok? We have other people to buy for besides Flint, like our families and I have to buy for Oliver and—"
"Ok, ok, I get it," she sighs, following Margaret into the book shop. "But… you do realize that Oliver is only going to want something to do with Quidditch or something to do with chocolate, right?"
"Yeah… I was thinking I'd get him a leather-bound copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, a few broom cleaning kits, and a box or two of chocolate. You know, since brooms are really expensive."
Alison stares at Margaret, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Right… ahem, well… my parents probably won't want anything from here unless… um, never mind… so, I'm just gonna…" She begins slipping her way toward the door.
"Oh, no you don't!" Margaret screeches, pulling Alison back beside her. "You are gonna help me find Quidditch Through the Ages!"
Alison stares at Margaret, then rolls her eyes at her. "Well, this is the section for Kennilworthy Wisp so… it's the green book next to Beating the Bludgers – A Study of Defense Strategies in Quidditch." After a pause, she adds, "You might want to get him that one, too."
"Good idea!" she yells, grabbing leather copies of both. She then rushes to the front of the store.
"Leather-bound isn't such a good idea if you're getting him broom kits and chocolate, too," Alison says while Margaret pays for the books.
"Yeah, I guess I'll just get him one box of chocolate. But not now, it's too soon. I'll get it later when it's closer to Christmas. You know, so it won't go bad."
"Right," she groans. "Once we get next door, I'm getting my mum some new slippers and I think I'll get me dad some new robes…"
"Yeah," Margaret agrees, "my parents could do with some new robes, too. So, that just leaves…"
"…Marcus," Alison finishes, her eyes instinctively searching for him. Giving up, she sighs forlornly, rushing into the shop after Margaret. "I just don't know what to get him, Margaret. Ugh, it's annoying. I can come up with some crap present for everybody else, you know? Oh, bugger. I'll just skip him for now… I still have to plan something to get for you, after all."
"Yeah…" Margaret pauses in her search for a set of robes for her parents. 'That reminds me… I have to get something for her. But I told Flint to get her the only thing she wants… what am I gonna do?'
"Time seems to have flown by," Margaret says, sitting comfortably with Alison in front of The Giant Christmas Tree. "I mean, tomorrow's Christmas!"
"Yeah," agrees Alison. "And all I want is for it to just go away. You got everyone nice presents; they're all gonna love you! But, me, I got everyone completely crap presents."
"They aren't that bad, Alison. I'm sure your parents will love their gifts. And I'm sure Flint will like his. After all, you—"
"Oh, come off it, Margaret. You know that I should've gotten him a broom. The best broom in the whole shop; a bloody Nimbus 2000! But no, I had to go and buy that book on potion making. And I didn't even need it! It's more of a research thing—" She stops in mid-sentence. "I have enough books. I had enough books. I shouldn't have bought it."
"It's fine. Stop worrying so much. It's not a big deal. Anyway, I'm most concerned with the fact that you're both here for Christmas holidays. Last year, both of you went home and it's more than a little odd—"
"Marcus had this, erm, idea, see. He wants me and him to both be here for Christmas holidays so that we can thank each other…'properly,' he said. He wants us to meet here tomorrow morning and open presents together… alone." She smiles shyly, blushing.
Margaret notices that Alison only blushes when she mentions something Marcus said or did that was deemed "impractical"; which, of course, to Alison, meant romantic.
Alison suddenly jumps up, grabbing Margaret by the hand. "I've just remembered! I promised Marcus we'd meet him outside! Hurry up, or we'll be late!"
"Why'd you invite me?" Margaret fought back the urge to hit her. "You and Marcus could be all alone in the snow! That's completely romantic!"
"Not really. Oliver's coming, too. I wouldn't want him to get his arse kicked or think I was lying when I told him you were going to be there. Now, come on!"
Margaret finally gives in, allowing herself to be dragged to the end of the corridor and out the exit. "Ok, but I'm not going interrupt your little session tomorrow. There's no way you can make me."
"Shh!" Alison sneaks up behind Oliver and throws a snowball at his head. Marcus sits on a nearby bench, watching but not joining in. "Oh, come on, Marcus. It's fun!"
"Being hit with ice is not fun," he growls. Alison shrugs, walking over to the bench, but doesn't sit down. Instead, she flops down beside it on the snow. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Making a snow angel," she says cheerfully from her place on the ground. She doesn't seem to care that she looks like an idiot, waving her arms and legs about in the snow. She stops, holding out her hands. "Give us a hand, Marcus. I can't very well make a perfect snow angel by myself; I'll get a hand print in it."
Marcus simply stares at her, confused. She growls at him, shifting about uneasily. She finally sits up, lies back down, then quickly propels her self up again. Fumbling about to stand up properly, she falters and lands face first in the snow. She spits and sputters, glaring up at Marcus, before pushing herself off the ground and shoving him off the bench.
"That's what you get for not helping her," Oliver laughs, continuing to bombard Margaret with snowballs. She throws a few back at him, then stops altogether.
"Well, I'm going to make a snowman," she says. "Anyone want to help?" Everyone, except Marcus, decides to help Margaret build a snowman.
"Come on, Marcus," Alison says, pulling him off the ground. She drags him over to a huge pile of snow and forces him to help her roll it into a ball. "You're going to have fun making a snowman whether you like it or not." Marcus finally complies and they spend the rest of the day in the snow.
"Alison! Get up! Alison! Come on!" Margaret shouts, shaking Alison awake. (Margaret was staying the Ravenclaw dormitories since most people were away for Christmas holidays.) "You've got to go meet Flint in the Great Hall! Go on!" Alison stumbles out of bed and staggers toward the door. "Wait, no! What are you doing? You've got to get dressed first, Alison!"
"What are you talking about, Margaret? I am dressed." Alison yawns sleepily, rubbing her eyes.
"Yeah, in your pajamas," Margaret scoffs.
"And what's all this about the Great Hall? What time is it?"
"It's noon, for fuck's sake! You've got to get down to the Great Hall and meet Flint! You two are supposed to open presents together or something. Remember?"
"I'm going, I'm going," she says, closing the curtain around her bed. "Don't open the curtain,"—she reaches out and grabs a pile of clothes on her trunk—"or I'll have to smack you. Now, what are you on about?"
"I just told you!" Margaret yells in frustration. "You and Flint are supposed to meet in the Great Hall and open presents together! Alone!"
"Well, that sounds impractical." Alison pulls the curtains open, revealing that she is fully dressed, except for shoes and socks. "Socks are ridiculous," she scoffs, pulling them on her feet. "If it weren't so cold I wouldn't be wearing them. Where are my shoes?"
She hops around on one foot, trying to get her socks on and look for her shoes at the same time. She searches all over the room, knocking Margaret over several times. "Aha! There they are!" She grabs them, plops down on her bed, and pulls them on her feet. "Now, where is my brush?"
A look of pure terror comes across Margaret's face and she hurriedly searches her trunk, which she brought from her dormitory, for a brush. "Just use mine," she says, practically shoving a brush in Alison's face.
Alison sighs, carrying a large bag into the Great Hall. "Stupid presents. It's a good thing I'm not dragging this. Mum and dad probably got me some big expensive, breakable thing." She spots Marcus sitting at the end of a table with a small bag next to him. She rushes over to him, squealing "Hi, Marcus!"
"Hullo, Alison," he replies, staring at the large bag she's carrying. "I've already sent your gift; it should be in that bag of yours."
"Yeah, I saw it. I can't wait to see what it is," she says, smiling at him. "I'm pretty sure I sent your gift… I mean, I couldn't find it when I was packing everything in the bag and I was worried that I—"
"I have it, don't worry."
"Oh, right. So… do you want to, um, open presents now?" Marcus nods. "Well, um, do you want to open your presents first, or should I? Or should we take turns?"
"Um… I think we should save the ones we gave to each other for last. And we should take turns opening the ones from everyone else," he continues, ignoring the look on her face.
"Okay," she sighs, "but one of us is bound to have more gifts than the other. I guess who ever it is will just have to keep opening gifts when the other runs out. And then we'll open the gifts from each other."
Alison sets her bag down on the table, carefully emptying out the contents. She sets one gift aside; an emerald box with a silver ribbon on it. Marcus does the same, also setting aside one gift; a blue box with a black ribbon on it.
"Right, um, you better go first," Marcus says, gesturing toward her. "After all, you are the one with the most gifts."
Alison looks slightly ashamed, but grabs a small present and rips into it. She stares at it in disbelief, shouting "I can't believe this! They got me a Remembrall!"
Marcus chooses to ignore her, opening one of his own gifts. He glares at it, poking it with his finger. "What is it?"
"It looks like a stationary set. A Quidditch stationary set," Alison giggles. "It looks like we're both getting crap presents this year." She begins opening another gift. "A violin? I got a violin?"
She grabs it and jumps up, dancing about the Great Hall attempting to play it. Marcus makes a face; it sounds awful. She smiles sheepishly, saying "Sorry, I was hoping I could play without lessons. We can't afford the lessons."
"You ought to enchant it to play itself for you," he says opening another gift, a broomstick cleaning kit.
"I don't want it to play for me, I want to play it myself!" she screams, opening up yet another gift, a wooden flute. Marcus looks at it quizzically. "Metal flutes are crap," she explains. Ignoring Marcus's expression, she plays it; this time, not sounding so bad. "Oh, look, a note. 'We got this just in case you suck at playing the violin.' Oh, thanks."
Marcus looks at the gifts he has left; five, including the one from Alison. She, on the other hand, has eight left, including his. "Right," he says, tearing into the wrapping on his next gift. "Why would they think I want a set of dress robes? What am I supposed to do with it? I can't very well wear it; it's blue!"
"I think it brings out the blue tint in your eyes," she says dreamily. "Maybe you could wear it to a family get together or something?" She glances down at her next gift, ripping off the paper. "More books? And a gift certificate to Flourish and Blotts? I thought I told mum that I have enough books. I practically have an entire library myself, not that we don't have another one right down the hall. I swear…"
Marcus's eye twitches faintly, but he opens his next gift, anyway. It's a gift certificate to the Potions store in Diagon Alley, The Apotheracy. Two more left before he gets to Alison's gift. Alison stares in jealousy and Marcus wonders why; she probably has one somewhere in that stack of gifts of hers.
She scoffs, shredding through the paper of her next gift. Six left before she gets to the one from Marcus. She sighs sadly as though something tragic happened. "It's parchment," she says, as though he were blind, "and quills and ink and that. I want to be a journalist, you know. I have my own newspaper."
"I know," he replies, opening another present. Just one more left until he gets to open the one from Alison. "I read it."
"Oh. Well, anyway, I would want to a regular author, but I can't very well right fantasy books, can I? I mean, we basically live in what Muggles call a fantasy and not many people want to read about normal stuff that they go through everyday."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Marcus watches Alison tear open a box, revealing stacks of different color robes. She doesn't hide her disappointment. "I told them I didn't want clothes!" She looks at the pile next to her, spotting a box that looks exactly the same as the one she just opened. "That one's probably clothes, too. Muggle clothes, I bet." She opens it and sees that she's right; it is Muggle clothes.
Alison opens two more gifts, Marcus only opens one more. He was right, Alison got a box full of gift certificates; one of them was for The Apotheracy. She also got a large box of candy, which she offered to share with, or rather give to, Marcus; she said it was because his last gift was only stiff homemade fudge, which didn't look very good.
"Me mum's not a very good cook," he explains. "Aren't you going to open your last gift?"
"Oh, yeah… it's from Margaret." She rips open the box and pulls out a silver necklace and a ticket. "A necklace with a dragon holding a green orb and a ticket to see The Weird Sisters live in concert?" she gasps. "That's what I got Margaret; except the orb was blue…"
"Well," Marcus says, not really caring all that much. "Now, let's open up the gifts from each other, shall we? I'll go first."
"Um, Marcus," Alison begins, but is cut off by him taking off the lid to the box. She closes her eyes and turns away, preparing for the worst.
Marcus stares in shock, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "This is great," he chuckles, picking up the gifts out of the box. "A 'Torture Your Teacher Kit' from Zonko's and a chess set for,"—he pauses, reading from the note that was attached—"um, 'for when we just want something to do.' This is great."
She slowly begins to smile widely. "I thought you wouldn't like it," she admits. "I was so mad at myself for buying this book on potion making, you see, and—"
"Just open your gift," he snaps, grinning at her. "And you better like it, too. I spent six hours in the shop looking for the perfect one and even put up with some poof making passes at me. He thought I was shopping for me."
"But," he continues, "I told him flat out 'I'm not looking at the girly ones for me! I'm looking for Alison!' Then he asked me if you were my sister and I said 'No, Alison is not my sister. She's my girlfriend, now piss off' and he backed off after that. I thought it was—what's wrong?"
"N-nothing," Alison stutters, blushing. She smiles shyly, slowly lifting the lid, and opens the paper, revealing what seems to be a large velvet green square. Her eyes widen in amazement, and then she lifts it out, unfolding it. She squeals excitedly, practically jumping across the table at Marcus. She lands in his lap and begins hugging him.
"So you like it then?" He smirks, hugging her back. Suddenly, he starts sputtering and coughing. "Fuck, Alison, you're choking me. Could you let go, now, eh?"
"Sorry," Alison says, letting go of him. She scoots over so that she is no longer sitting on him, but beside him instead. She feels as though she ought to kiss him, but decides not to; Margaret and Oliver are peaking in through the door, watching.
Disclaimer: I don't own, so you can't sue.
A/N: Heh, well, sorry for the wait. But this one is really long. And, um…I kind of lost a bit of it at one point. Anyway, the next chapter will be the last of Precious Potter's first year. I can't wait until after that chapter. I have been dying to write stuff about the second book/movie! Also, I would like to note that some things are from the book, some things are from the movie, and some things are from neither; thus making this a fanfiction. By the way, I changed it so that you can review anonymously, so please, review!