Chapter 4: Home For The Holidays
What angry parents always fail to understand is that when children feel they are angry unjustifiably, it simply causes said children to feel the urge to continue to...act out as the parents call it. No, Gel and I didn't attempt another go under the family Christmas tree if that's what you're wondering. We're more subtle and creative than that as you shall see in this, my fourth, confession. As always, trust me it's a good one, and as is most often the case, one we did not plan. We're spontaneous, Gel and I. It keeps life exciting.
We left for Italy after dinner. My parents felt that traveling late, under cover of darkness, would lessen the likelihood of anyone noticing where we were headed, just in case anyone unsavory happened to care. While part of me rolled my inner eyes at their paranoia, another part believed there was no harm in being cautious just in case. One doesn't need to have Albus Dumbledore's lily white morals not to want Voldemort or anyone else forcing them to do his bidding, after all.
We went by Floo directly to my grandparent's large manor, already full of the smell of holiday cooking. The place was sprawling and casually comfortable rather than elegantly refined like our own manor. It's nice to just relax for the holidays sometimes and my father's family home is the place to do it. My grandparents didn't speak a word of English, and were typical Italians, animated and full of life.
They were old fashioned and in some ways nearly innocent. For example, I still don't think they understand after all these years that Gel and I are a couple. They honestly believe we just always share a room when visiting to work on our magical projects late into the night. Granted that's in part true, but we share a bed and never mention girls. My grandparents are precious. That being said, you'd never guess that they're high ranking members of the Italian wizard Cabal with whom you do not screw around. Like I said, they're precious.
Because we are always honest with family, my parents took my grandparents into the kitchen the moment we arrived, and explained just who the blonde young man was that had come with us for the holidays. Gel and I waited in the parlor while Bramble put our things away upstairs. The look in Gellert's blue eyes was a mix of nervous and excited as he glanced around.
"Don't worry," I assured. "They'll love you, and they'll be impressed as hell that we brought you. Having Gellert Grindelwald in their home for the holidays will give them bragging rights forever."
With my family being in the Cabal, who had its own secrets, Gellert wouldn't have to hide his when among them.
He nodded, relaxing as he gave me a smile. "Whatever they're cooking, it smells delicious," he said.
"It's the Christmas pizza," I said with a lazy grin. "The family tradition, for some reason, has always been to make a pizza that's literally the size of the dining table for Christmas dinner. It's quite the production."
Gellert chuckled. "Sounds like it."
Before long my parents joined us with my grandparents eagerly leading the way, quite excited to meet Gellert. Both pressed his hands, speaking at him in rapid Italian. Sig. Grindelwald, and Ciao, were likely the only words he understood. Still he smiled warmly at them and nodded to their words of greeting and welcome.
"They are saying hello, and that it is a great honor to have you in their home for the holidays," I translated.
My grandmother gave me a grateful smile and continued rapidly to Gellert. "Of course they do not feel you deserved the imprisonment you got for what you were trying to do," I translated.
Next my grandfather said something profane about Muggles and Ministries for magic. I chuckled.
"My grandfather says most Magical Ministries secretly shag Muggles," I shared and Gellert tossed back his blonde hair and laughed in appreciation.
At that my grandfather roared with laughter too, and they had a moment.
Carefully, Gellert repeated the words I had taught him earlier in the library, thanking my grandparents for their hospitality, and stating that it was glorious to make their acquaintance.
Both smiled and patted his hands again, my grandmother stating that he was welcome to anything in their home that would make his stay more pleasant and comfortable.
I rapidly translated, and Gellert thanked them in Italian, as this was another phrase I had taught him earlier. With the niceties out of the way, everyone settled down for a warm cup of after dinner tea laced with brandy. As my grandparents had their own house elf, a chubby cheerful fellow called Roberto, Bramble was free to sit idly with the rest of us and have a drink.
The prospect didn't seem to warm his heart, for he frequently gave Roberto baleful looks as the other elf busily went about his business. Noticing as I did, Gellert shot Bramble a curious look, which Bramble pretended to ignore.
The family sat chatting for a few hours, catching up on personal news as well as political speculations. I translated for Gellert, sharing what was being said in Italian as well as translating his comments to my grandparents. It occurred to me that my father had done this for my mother in the early years of their relationship, but she'd learned Italian well enough to hold her own in the conversation by this time.
Seeing similarities between my father and I when it came to romantic matters was oddly bonding and more than once, I caught Dad grinning knowingly over at me. It was nice to spend time with my family, and even nicer to have Gellert there at my side. Having the one you love with you makes anything better, I was quickly discovering.
I hadn't exactly considered the fact that I loved Gellert yet, because I simply hadn't thought about it. If you recall, I am not one for emotions, be it expressing them or having them, so this was a big adjustment. Still even then I knew that Gellert was someone I could never do without. He was that for me and I for him. This understanding between us acted as a literal emotional high on both our parts that we relished.
When everyone was at last ready to go up to bed, Gellert and I certainly weren't tired. We were up half the night, having at one another in all ways possible, and gods it felt incredible. When we were finally ready to sink into exhausted slumber, we were unable to do so because of quite the practical matter.
We were extremely thirsty. As my grandparents' kitchen doesn't belong to Bramble, we didn't have to brave waking him just to get a glass of water. Hand in hand, we crept down stairs in the dark, carefully making our way to the kitchen while nervously trying not to laugh. We managed to get our glasses of water without breaking anything or waking anyone, so we were feeling quite accomplished.
Sipping our water, we leaned against the huge round dining table rather than remaining in the kitchen. The kitchen was dark while the dining room was softly lit by the glow from the crystal chandelier hanging over the table. As we had our glasses of water, Gel kept glancing in bemused awe at the pizza, that as I told him it would, literally filled the entire table.
It smelled delicious, and heat from the oven still rose from it, indicating that it was placed out to cool just before bed. Roberto would've cast preservation spells on it to keep it perfect, so the freshbaked state would remain.
"That is...amazing," he whispered at last, giving a low chuckle. "What a pizza!"
I grinned back, nodding. "I told you."
That's when Gellert's lovely eyes narrowed in speculation. And here, boys and girls, we see the effects of unfair parental rage, because it only makes a resentful child feel the urge to misbehave again. If one doesn't feel they did anything wrong, yet they are berated for it, they have the urge to do something else to defend the first act in a sense.
"What if we shagged on it," he asked, and I burst into shocked laughter, hastily clamping a hand over my mouth before I woke anyone.
"It looks soft," he persisted. "And sexy."
Were the bread crumbs sprinkling the top of the pizza sexy, I wondered, suddenly considering my family's traditional Christmas pizza in an entirely new light. With Gellert lying atop it, anything would look sexy.
"You really want to," I asked, still a bit incredulous.
Grinning like an imp, Gellert nodded. "Unless you don't," he said, expression already disappointed at the very thought.
"Oh I'll do it," I said... As always UP for the challenge. So yes, my confession is that we shagged on my family's Christmas pizza and it was crazy hot. We cleaned and repaired it afterward, of course and no one ever knew.
When we told friends of it later, they were horrified, claiming that we were rude, disrespectful and classless to my family, but Gel and I think we were just being adventurous. So if you aren't fond of your Christmas dinner, be grateful for it anyway, because chances are high that at least no one shagged on it.
Though experiences come and go, associations last. For me, Gellert will always be the height of sexy in a Christmas sweater, and for him, a pizza will ever be an invitation for us to...well you know. So if you order a pizza this holiday season, do think of us and what you now know we'd love to do on it.