Chapter 29 – Christmas Cheer
The day after visiting Mr. Weasley in the hospital was the day Harry, the Grangers, and all the members of his new family were to depart for the Delacours' home in France, and Harry could not be more excited. He had always known that there was more to Christmas than a mountain of presents for Dudley and smelly old socks—or worse—for himself, and he was looking forward to finally discovering what that something was. Oh, he had spent Christmases at Hogwarts before which were better than those he had spent with the Dursleys, and in the company of friends, but his experiences had never included spending the holidays with a loving family. He could not remember ever looking forward to anything more.
Luckily, Chateau Delacour was only a short Floo trip away from the Ambassador's Manor and, though Harry still was not precisely enamored of Floo travel, it beat sitting in a plane for a couple of hours or driving the whole day. At least it was over quickly—then they could get to the fun.
Breakfast was accomplished in a quick and efficient manner, and the laughter and conversation around the table was infectious and cheerful. Though it was not commented upon, Harry felt it was obvious that the others were looking forward to their upcoming holiday as much as he was, though for different reasons, he suspected. For the Delacours, Harry thought that they would be happy to spend some time in France and away from the tense situation in Britain, while the Grangers simply appeared happy to be there in the company of good friends, and perhaps, more especially, to be in the company of their only daughter, who they did not see for the majority of the year. It was obvious that whatever the troubles with Voldemort and his followers, the Grangers had thus far remained unaffected by them, and consequently did not need to deal with the worry and fear they engendered. Harry was not certain how much Hermione had told them of what was happening, but it was certain that they were still essentially unaware of the troubles which beset the British Wizarding world.
The realization made him appreciate Jean-Sebastian, Apolline, and their family all that much more—they had left France and its relatively stable environment and willingly put themselves at risk in England for his benefit. And this did not even mention that though they were on the opposite side of the conflict from the dark lord and would be targets by their very visible support for Harry, Apolline and her daughters' very nature ensured they would be reviled and hated by the bigots. Harry shuddered to think of what would happen to them if they were to ever fall into the hands of the Death Eaters.
Shaking the thoughts away, Harry left the table with his friends to retrieve his things from his room. Yes, he was grateful to his new guardians and appreciative of their support; now was a time to be happy in the company of friends and family, not to worry about what might be. If it came to that, Harry would put his life on the line to defend them—it was all he needed to remember. The rest would take care of itself.
By the time he had retrieved his bags, Harry was once again in a state of excitement for the upcoming holidays, and well aware that the grin on his face probably made him appear silly. He decided that he did not care.
"Well, someone certainly appears pretty keyed up," Mrs. Granger said as he stepped into the room which contained the Floo.
Harry returned his closest friend's mother's smile. "I've been looking forward to this since summer!"
Elizabeth Granger laughed lightly at his words. Hermione's parents were truly nice people, and upon their arrival the previous day, they had immediately attempted to put him at ease, insisting at once that they be referred to by their first names, rather than any of that "Mr. or Mrs. Granger nonsense." Having already gotten used to calling the Delacours by their first names—again by their own insistence—Harry had had no problem making the switch in favor of Hermione's parents.
Much like her daughter, Elizabeth was studious and smart, and clearly at home with a book settled in her hands. She was also quite obviously the origin of Hermione's looks, though her hair was much shorter and styled in a straight wave down the back of her neck, rather than Hermione's longer, wavier curls. And William Granger might have appeared intimidating, as he towered over Harry, standing nearly six feet, two inches tall. Any sense of intimidation, however, disappeared the moment his jovial voice was heard. In reality, Hermione's father was essentially happy-go-lucky, and a bit of a joker. Sometimes, Harry thought that he resembled the Weasley twins to a certain extent—a thought which caused him to shudder—but Harry soon learned that his sense of humor was much more benign than the terrible twins', and did not extend to practical jokes.
Another thing which had surprised Harry was the age of Hermione's parents. Her mother did not look a day over thirty, and though he had assumed that she was actually much older, he had been surprised to learn that his initial estimate was fairly close to the truth. Hermione's mother was only 34, while Mr. Granger only 35. Hermione, when asked, had told him that they had been childhood sweethearts, and had married immediately upon leaving high school against their respective families' wishes. Hermione had been the only part of the equation which had not been expected, as they had intended to wait until at least completing dental school before having children. But they had obviously been successful in not only raising their daughter, but also in completing their schooling and building a successful dental practice in only a few years. Of course, with a brilliant daughter like Hermione, they had not regretted it for a moment, or in Elizabeth's words, "How could we regret having such a wonderful daughter?"
"Well, Harry," William Granger's voice broke into Harry's thoughts, "have you given any more thought to going golfing in France?"
One thing Harry had learned from spending a little time with Hermione's parents was that William was an absolute golfing fanatic, and that Hermione and Elizabeth were somewhat amusedly indulgent with his fascination. Of course, this did not mean that they were willing to participate—neither of them had any interest in the sport, a state Harry immediately understood, even without Elizabeth's next words.
"Now William, I'm not sure that Harry considers walking around chasing a little white ball to be a lot of fun," Elizabeth said with a laugh, echoing a well worn joke.
"Maybe you should let the boy answer," was William's good-natured response. "He might turn out to be an enthusiast like me."
"Heaven forbid!"
But William only snickered before he raised an eyebrow at Harry, which Harry returned with a smile. "I'm not sure I'll be any good, but I'll be happy to go along with you."
"Don't leave me out," Jean-Sebastian said as he entered the room. "It's been a long time since I've had a good game of golf."
That had been another surprise—that Jean-Sebastian had been out golfing. As Jean-Sebastian had pointed out, he had had several friends growing up who had been Muggleborns, and as the Delacours had always been a family who had insisted on knowing something of the Muggle world, it perhaps should not have been surprising that he had played.
"And maybe we can get Sirius to go with us too," Jean-Sebastian continued with a wink at Harry. "I'm sure we'd all have a laugh at seeing him play a round of golf."
Harry could only agree with him, wondering at the antics the Marauder would get up to on a golf course. Very likely reveal the Wizarding world to any golfers in the area, unless Harry missed his guess.
"Dad, are you bothering Harry about golfing again?" Hermione demanded as she stepped into the room, Fleur and Gabrielle following behind.
"Maybe you should let Harry decide if I'm bothering him," was William's jovial reply. "The boy doesn't appear distressed to me."
Hermione and Elizabeth just exchanged a look and smiled at one another, leaving Harry to say in a quiet voice, "I really don't mind. I think it will be lots of fun."
He hung his head hiding the almost overwhelming feeling of gratitude and belonging as he witnessed the looks passing between the occupants of the room, reveling in the attention of these father figures, something he had never received while living with the Dursleys. It was obvious that the rest of those in the room were also aware of that fact, and the fact that they knew about his upbringing caused him to feel a surge of self-consciousness, though he knew that they did not hold it against him.
In the next moment, he felt an arm go around his shoulders, and he looked up to see Hermione regarding him with a knowing look. "It's okay if you want to go, Harry. But feel free to tell dad off if he annoys you about it."
"You know, Harry," William suddenly spoke up, "if I didn't already know you were betrothed to the lovely Miss Delacour, I would be thinking that I would need to give you the talk about the perils of dating my daughter, given how she's hanging off of you."
"Father!" Hermione exclaimed in mortification. But her father only smirked and turned his attention to his wife, who was rolling her eyes.
Intensely embarrassed for his own part, Harry went to great effort to avoid meeting anyone else's eyes. It was not so much William's words, but the fact that the man was completely unaware that the relationship he had just implied appeared to be possible. He tried not to think of the reaction the man would likely have if Hermione did decide that she wanted to have a relationship with him. Harry doubted he would be so congenial. It was something worth considering.
"Well then, shall we go now?" Jean-Sebastian suggested, his look at Harry intimating that he knew what was passing through Harry's mind at the moment. Not knowing how to act or what to think, Harry immediately agreed and, setting his bag down with the other luggage which would be transported to France by the house-elves, he moved to the Floo and stepped through it.
Grateful for the lessons he had received in how to navigate the Floo properly, Harry was able to keep his feet on the other side. The first thing he noticed was Sirius standing there waiting for him. The Marauder stepped forward and engulfed Harry in a manly embrace.
"Welcome to France, Harry!" Sirius said, enthusiasm evident in his wide smile and the slaps he planted on Harry's back.
For his own part, Harry was astonished in the changes in appearance and demeanor in his godfather. Gone was the emaciated wild man he had been upon his escape from prison, and he was even almost unrecognizable from the man he had been even when had stood trial. His hair was full and rich, reaching almost down to his shoulders, his skin was tanned, he walked upright and proud, and even the haunted gleam of his eyes appeared to have been replaced with contentment and peace. His time in recovery had certainly been of benefit and Harry was thrilled, wanting nothing more than to have his fully healed and happy godfather in his life.
"I'm glad to be here, Sirius," Harry said quietly, almost feeling overwhelmed at emotions which were coursing through his body.
While they were exchanging their greetings, several others had arrived through the Floo, and a squeal erupted, as Hermione darted forward to make her own greetings to the man they had helped save.
"Ah, Hermione, it's good to see you too," said Sirius, as the excited witch stepped away from him. "Have you been keeping Harry out of trouble?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if I could possibly manage to keep him out of trouble."
The gathered group laughed, even as Harry playfully smacked Hermione on the shoulder. "I seem to remember someone else being neck deep in my so-called 'adventures,'" he said slyly.
"It's not polite to point that out, Harry," Hermione responded in a stage whisper, causing the entire group, all of whom had now arrived, to break out in laughter.
"It's good to have you here," Sirius finally said, greeting everyone else. "And good job with that nasty piece of work Umbridge. Getting her out of the castle must have made things much easier."
"You have no idea," Harry acknowledged. "I've got a lot to tell you."
"As I have to tell you," Sirius replied with a smirk.
Curious, Harry was about to respond when Apolline interrupted, "Maybe we should do that once we've all settled in."
There was a general murmur of agreement at Apolline's suggestion, and the entire group made their way from the study, in which the Floo was situated, and out to each of their rooms. As Harry was staying in the same room he had occupied previously and knew the way well due to his time there in the summer, he quickly stowed his things—which had already been placed there by the ever-efficient house-elves—before making his way down to the large living area the family generally used when in residence.
The room had changed since the summer, primarily due to the sparkling decorations which now decorated it, and in fact could be seen throughout the house. The tree was tall—several meters tall, sticking well up into the high vaulted room—and was liberally festooned with ribbons, garlands, and sparkling lights of every color. Underneath it all were piles of presents, brightly wrapped in papers, ribbons and strings, sorted haphazardly and spilling out into the room. In addition there were decorations of every type—globes, candles, trinkets, figurines of Père Noël, the nativity, and many other sorts, not to mention a large, sprawling Christmas winter village in one corner, fully functioning and almost alive. Harry, together with Hermione who soon joined him, spent some minutes looking over the village, marveling at the exquisite detail of it all—it had clearly been animated by magic as the villagers moved throughout the scene, children played, lights twinkled, and from time to time, one of the figures would even stop what they were doing, and wave up at the onlookers. It was one of the most incredible things Harry had ever seen.
"This is amazing!" Harry exclaimed, watching in fascination.
"Thank you, Harry," an amused voice spoke from behind. Apolline had come into the room at some point and was watching the two English teens with amusement.
"Maman truly loves Christmas," Fleur stated from the side where she sat on a sofa. "It's her favorite holiday of the year."
"She charmed the set herself!" Gabrielle chimed in from her seat beside Fleur.
"It's one of the best Christmas decorations I've ever seen," Harry said, meaning every word of it. "It's amazing!"
Apolline's returning smile contained a fond quality Harry could almost see, prompting a lump to appear in his throat and the hints of tears in his eyes. "We want this Christmas to be very special for you, Harry. After all, it's your first Christmas as part of our family."
The word "family" caused Harry to choke up even more. Throughout his life, all he had wanted was a family to call his own, and even though the Weasleys had been good to him in the times he had spent with them, this was the first time he had ever felt the warmth of true love, respect, and friendship which was the hallmark of any family. They were not his parents and would never be, and Harry knew that they would never attempt to be. He knew that he could look up to them as a substitute for his parents and that Gabrielle would be the sister he never had. And Fleur… Fleur would be his companion and wife—he could already feel that he would be deliriously happy with her.
"I was wondering something," Hermione spoke up from Harry's side, and Harry, seeing her surreptitious glance in his direction, correctly deduced that she had spoken up to distract attention from him so that he could regain his composure.
Apolline smiled and nodded for Hermione to continue.
"I've always wondered why Christmas is celebrated in the Wizarding world. I don't know that I've ever heard of a church or anything and most people I've met don't seem to be overly religious."
Exchanging a glance with her husband, Apolline smiled at Hermione. Even the Grangers appeared interested, though Harry was not certain that they were overly religious either.
"That is a very good question, Hermione," the Delacour matron observed. "And it has a very good answer. You see, many of us are still religious, though technically, we don't belong to any church."
Frowning, Hermione asked, "What do you mean?"
"The answer lies back in the witch hunts," Jean-Sebastian answered. "You know of the witch hunts I presume?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, there have been many witch hunts, some as far back as ancient Greece or the Roman empire."
"That is correct," Jean-Sebastian affirmed. "The witch hunts were often a failure. Oh, there were definitely executions of both witches and wizards, but for the most part, innocent men and women who were picked up for being strange, looking different, or just being though of as being loners. Real magicals had more tools to protect themselves, even centuries ago, as long as they were able to keep their heads and keep their hands on their wands."
"But what you must understand," Apolline took up the explanation, "is that such burnings were usually done by religious zealots, and the churches at the time had a hand in prosecuting these women. As such, organized religion—especially in Europe in the late middle ages—was not exactly looked upon with favor. It's hard to support the local religion when the leader of that religion is persecuting you and screaming to his flock that you are a godless heathen.
"In the late 1600s, relations between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world became particularly strained with the various persecutions of magicals, and in particular, due to the inquisitions of the Roman Catholic Church. The Statute of Secrecy was enacted, separating the two worlds and this left the magicals without access to churches—magical priests were by this time almost unknown. Besides, there likely would not have been many who would have been willing to attend church by that time anyway."
Fascinated, Harry listened to the explanation, wishing that Binns knew something about this, rather than all the Goblin Rebellions which he typically droned on about. Maybe he'd actually stay awake in History class, if it dealt with more actual history.
"But of course, that left many people without a place to worship," Jean-Sebastian continued the narration. "Take France for example. This country has always been heavily Catholic, even after the events of the Reformation. But magical attendance at church had been in steady decline for some time, due to the persecutions. Some still attended at times, keeping their nature carefully secret, if only to be able to continue to worship. But even that practice halted over time.
"But that didn't mean that the people had any less faith, but that they now did not have any direction in which to express that faith. So, while church attendance essentially became a thing of the past, many still practiced their faith in their own way, saying their own prayers, reading their Bibles, and trying to follow that which they knew by themselves."
Though she clearly understood what was being explained, Hermione still had a frown on her face. "But wouldn't that lead to fracturing and many different traditions?"
"Indeed it does," agreed Jean-Sebastian. "Take my family, for example. Religion is not a large part of our lives, but we do still practice some of the traditions of the Catholic faith, especially around Christmas and Easter. In time, some of the more recent traditions, such as our Christmas tree," Jean-Sebastian gestured to the massive tree, "the Child's story of Father Christmas, and other things have also crept into our customs as well. I personally believe in the creation story and in Jesus Christ, though I believe religions in general have ceased to be mouthpieces for God, as they have persecuted some of God's children. He created us as well as the Muggles, after all. But our family traditions are undoubtedly different from those of other families, simply due to the fact that we don't, as a society, talk about them very much."
Hermione was silent for several moments as she digested all she had been told. It made sense, Harry thought. Though he himself was not overtly religious—the Dursleys had rarely gone to church, essentially being Christmas and Easter Christians—and they had never, in his memory, allowed him to go. His "unnatural ways" had rendered him a godless freak, after all, and attendance was deemed unnecessary for him. Personally, Harry had always considered them hypocrites, but he was not about to say that to Vernon—though his uncle had rarely actually laid a hand on him, that might have prompted a thrashing if he'd been stupid enough to say it.
"That's curious," Hermione finally responded. "I never saw anything like that in England, though the Weasleys were the only family I actually stayed with. Certainly none of the students at Hogwarts displayed much of an interest in religion."
Jean-Sebastian chuckled. "How many children are serious or spiritual enough to actually be interested in religion?" he asked rhetorically. "And England is a little different in any case. English magicals often showed little dedication to the tenets of their faith, probably because they were far enough away from the center of early organized religion that it was not a part of their every day lives."
"And it's gotten even worse since the rise of Pureblood bigotry," Sirius interjected with a derisive snort. "It has something to do with the fact that a Pureblood supremacist cannot fathom the thought that there is anything above them, even a God."
"Then what do they believe as far as a creation story?" Harry asked with some interest.
"They try not to think about it," was Sirius's blunt response. "To a Pureblood, bloodlines are everything, and the ones who are most concerned with their bloodlines can trace them back a thousand years or more. Anyone further back is not worth their time or energy."
"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile. "I think I understand."
"I think you will find, my dear, that there are many similarities between what you have normally done for your own Christmas celebration, and what you will find here," said Apolline. "In fact, now that you have seen our tree, come out to the front of the castle and we will show you our pride and joy of the Christmas season."
The group agreed and soon they were all trooping from the room, following the elder Delacours. The rest of the house, though Harry had not truly looked before, was decorated in the same manner as the room they had just left, with ribbons of all colors, holly boughs, and seemingly every nook and cranny stuffed with trinkets of all kinds. But contrary to what Harry might have thought, the overall effect was anything but garish—it instead bespoke a pride of home and joy of the season which, if Harry was to think about it, was completely different from the Dursleys' almost perfunctory celebration of the Christmas season.
The entrance to the chateau soon appeared, and Harry followed the others outside, stepping into a veritable fairy land of winter beauties. The chateau was located in the foothills of the French Alps not far from Switzerland, and the weather was a little more conducive to a traditional cold and snowy Christmas than its proximity to the Mediterranean would suggest. It had clearly snowed the night before, as the ground was coated with a blanket of new white snow, and though the air was crisp, it was not overly cold to any who were used to the more extreme Scotland winter. All of this faded to the background in an instant, however, as the visitors' eyes were immediately arrested by the most incredible nativity scene Harry had ever seen in his life. It was life-sized and consisted of all the traditional figures which would normally grace such a scene, but whereas the one he had often seen at the local church had been equally large, this one was exquisite in the detailing of the carving and painting, and Harry suspected that if one were to look at it from a distance, the characters would almost seem alive.
"This is our family nativity scene," Jean-Sebastian said, "in French, our la Crèche de Noël."
"Well that truly is amazing," William complimented with an appreciative smile. "No one would accuse me of being overly religious, but this is what Christmas is all about, is it not?"
"It is indeed, my friend," replied Jean-Sebastian. "I think sometimes the world as a whole tends to get a little too caught up in the traditions of gifts and all this nonsense of Père Noël, and completely forgets that we are actually celebrating the birth of Christ."
"Did you make these?" Harry asked, eying the figures which looked like they were brand new.
"No, these are several hundred years old. They were created by a brother of one of my ancestors. In 1779, my ancestor Pierre Delacour married a Muggleborn by the name of Marie Deschamps. Marie had a younger brother who was stricken with a disease of the mind. While he was brilliant, he was emotionally incapable of dealing with the world, as the presence of anyone not intimately known to him caused him to panic. But he was also very talented with his hands. He was the one who carved these for his sister's first Christmas as a gift. They have become one of my family's most priceless heirlooms, and are proudly displayed out on our front lawn every year at Christmas."
The group stood outside admiring the nativity set for several moments before Gabrielle, who had appeared impatient to commandeer some of Harry's time, suddenly had enough. She grasped him by the hand firmly and dragged him back into the house to take what she considered to be an overdue tour of what had been done for the festive season. As Harry allowed himself to be dragged away, he managed to catch Fleur's glance. She merely laughed and shooed him away with her younger sister, knowing as she did Gabrielle's almost hero worship.
Harry was more than willing to go along with the young girl. That Christmas promised to be the best he had ever had!
In truth, it was the best Christmas for Harry. For an attention and affection starved young man, the sights and sounds, the activities, all carefully planned by their hosts, the customs which truly made it a season to celebrate, all rolled into a series of events which Harry lapped up as though he were a dog, dying from thirst.
First, as he had promised his best friend's father, they went golfing the very next day, and as Jean-Sebastian had said, Sirius was almost gleeful at the opportunity to try something new. Of course, that was not to say that he was ready to follow the rules… Sirius's antics were at their most outrageous that day. He used his borrowed clubs almost as though they were just sticks, flailing at his ball in a most amusing fashion, while using every underhanded trick to gain some advantage. He vanished Harry's ball at least three separate times, took to using his wand to try to banish a ball in flight in another direction—and had even succeeded once or twice!—and generally provided laughter for the others, particularly Jean-Sebastian and William, who took their game much more seriously. In fact, he almost got them into trouble on one hole, as he, true to Harry's prediction, almost got caught using his wand by some other golfers when he banished his ball toward the hole, and then claimed that he had used his putter to do the honors. If the group behind them had been even a few seconds faster, he would have been caught.
For Harry himself, he found that he was better at the game than he would have had a right to expect, being a pure beginner.
"That's the way to do it, Harry!" William exclaimed after Harry had managed to get off a particularly good tee shot about halfway into their game. "We'll make a golfer out of you yet!"
All in all, it was good fun, and Harry was glad he had been persuaded to accompany the man to the course.
After their time on the course, they met the rest of the party in Marseilles, and spent the rest of the day finishing off some last minute Christmas shopping. They then ate a wonderful French dinner at an expensive restaurant before returning to the chateau for the night.
On Christmas Eve the whole party gathered in the living room for an event which was much looked forward to by the whole party. The night before, when discussing the topic, Jean-Sebastian had informed them all that it was tradition in the Delacour family for the entire family to go out into the neighboring woods and to cut the Yule Log which would be used in their fireplace on Christmas morning. Needless to say that they were all looking forward to the experience.
"Did you do anything like this in England?" Harry asked Hermione as they walked, all bundled up against the cold of the late December morning.
"No," said Hermione with a smile. "Though there may be some parts of England where they do this sort of thing, I grew up close to London, and we couldn't exactly go to the local park and cut down a tree."
"Unfortunately, the cutting of the Yule Log has become somewhat of a forgotten tradition," Fleur said from Harry's other side. "There are some like us who still observe it, but relatively few still do."
"What is it for?" asked Harry curiously, not truly knowing much about the traditions of his betrothed's homeland.
"It's for our Christmas fire," Fleur replied. "It's a large log which has symbolic significance because the tree is cut down, and is used to light and warm the house throughout the day. Once we have completed cutting it, we will drag it back to the chateau and place it in the large fireplace in our living room. Then, on Christmas morning before we open up our gifts, my father will light it, using a piece which was saved from last year's log, and it will burn for the rest of the day." Fleur let out a bit of a giggle before continuing, "The house-elves are generally not very happy with it—it's the one thing they aren't allowed to help with or use magic on."
Harry glanced at Hermione, but was surprised to find that she was not at all upset by the mention of house-elves. Clearly, Fleur had taken her aside at some point and explained to her the reason why they were in service to wizards, a necessity of their continued existence as magical creatures. In fact, the Delacour house-elves were more along the lines of family members than servants, though it was true that they did most of the work to keep the house running. Still, they were well treated and given gifts at Christmas—though not clothes!—and were expected to sleep in good beds, and eat the same food as the family, though even the Delacours, with their close relationship with their elves could not get them to eat at the same table as the family.
Walking alongside his friends, Harry was just about to respond when he staggered forward when something impacted with the back of his head. Disoriented for the moment, Harry raised his hand and was shocked at the feeling of icy coldness, and even more surprised when he pulled his hand away from his head and noted the bits of snow clinging to his fingers, while the rest apparently ran down his back.
Turning, Harry instantly took in the grinning visage of a certain Marauder, who was tossing a freshly made snowball into the air and catching it, all while evilly leering at Harry. Exchanging a glance with Hermione and Fleur, Harry knew there was only one thing to do. Almost as one the three teens stooped to the ground and grasping a handful of snow each in their hands, began pelting the grinning man with snowballs.
"No fair!" Sirius cried as he dodged their missiles, almost unable to speak due to his laughter. "It's three against one!"
"Maybe you should have thought of that first!" Hermione declared as she caught him in the face with a particularly fine shot.
Back and forth the four of them fought as the rest of the party looked on with amusement, and though he continued to protest being outnumbered, Sirius did a fair job of giving as good as he got. The fight broke down, however, when Sirius abruptly changed to his grim form and bounded through the group, jumping and prancing about like a Jack Russell terrier. Harry still managed to get in a couple of good hits, even on a moving target, but it was Hermione's displeasure when Sirius bounded up to her and placed a wet, sloppy doggy kiss on her face which ended the game. A threat to hex one's bits off would tend to quell anyone's exuberance, or so Harry thought.
The impromptu snowball fight brought to a close, the party continued on and a few moments later, they had entered the grove of trees which stood several minutes from the chateau, and began sizing up the trees in the area.
"Now, we need to look for a likely specimen," Jean-Sebastian told them. "A fir tree which has grown to be large enough to provide us with a fire which will last all day, but not large enough that it would take us all to day to cut through it."
The other two men appeared affronted at his word and flexed their muscles, while the women just groaned and rolled their eyes in response to the manly bravado. Harry just grinned—he had no expectation of being able to cut through a tree himself, but acknowledged a keen interest to at least give it his best shot.
They searched around the area for some time and several possibilities were pointed out. The Delacours, who had of course done this before, were the final arbiters of whether or not a tree was acceptable, especially Jean-Sebastian, knowing as he did, the fact that the men would be ultimately responsible for rendering the trunk into its final form.
"How about this one?" Harry asked after several moments of searching. The tree was not huge, but it easily towered over the party, and if Harry was any judge of such things—which he knew he was not—it was straight and thick and seemed like it was likely to burn for some time, without overwhelming the Delacours' admittedly large fireplace.
Jean-Sebastian moved toward Harry, inspecting the tree which he had pointed out. And after a long moment, he turned and smiled at Harry, saying, "An excellent choice, Harry. I think this one will do quite well."
Calling to the others, Jean-Sebastian dropped a sack he had carried to the ground and rummaging inside it, he produced several long axes which appeared heavy and incredibly sharp. When the group had all gathered, Jean-Sebastian began handing out the axes, while explaining what was about to happen next.
"I hope you have all kept in shape, because what we are about to do next will be done largely by whatever strength we possess. However, as the tree is large and none of us are lumberjacks," Jean-Sebastian smirked at Sirius who was once again striking a manly pose, "I will use a special axe to cut down the tree."
As he pulled out a carefully stored axe from his bag, Jean-Sebastian continued speaking. "As I said, most of what we will do today will be accomplished by our own hard work. However, over the years we have allowed a little… help to be introduced to our labors. These axes have been charmed to remain razor sharp, and will even give us a little extra power when we swing it at the tree."
Producing a much larger and lethal looking axe from a leather bag, which had obviously been enchanted to hold it, Jean-Sebastian showed the weapon to the group. It was much larger than the others and carried almost an aura of power to it. This weapon was obviously no ordinary woodsman's axe.
"This axe was enchanted by one of my forebears, more than a century ago. As the family line had dwindled to only himself and his children, the traditional cutting of the Yule log had become very difficult, as his children were all still very young. He conceived the idea of this axe to make his job easier until his sons could join him.
"Now I will warn you," he continued, looking sternly over those gathered, "this is a very dangerous weapon and is not to be used by anyone who does not know how to use it. I will use it to cut down the tree, and then it will be put away until it is needed again next year. It will cut through the trunk in one swing, so I suggest you all get far enough away from the tree that it doesn't fall on you."
The three Delacour ladies immediately began to retreat, clearly understanding what was about to occur, while the others followed reluctantly.
"Is that for real?" William asked, wonder coloring his voice.
"I can see the power emanating from it," Hermione replied, while Fleur chimed in, "You'll see!" in a sing-song voice.
Immensely curious as to what was happening, Harry peered at Jean-Sebastian as he prepared the tool for use. He took the weapon and holding it very carefully, pointed it toward the base of the tree. Then again in a very slow motion swung the haft of the axe back before driving it forward. As the axe approached the trunk of the tree, Jean-Sebastian spoke a single word—presumably an activation word or some sort of incantation—which caused the tool to leap forward and cleave through the tree as though the trunk of the large plant was no more substantial than water. The tree shuddered for a moment almost as though it was not aware that there was a problem at its base, before it began to teeter gracefully, and gathering momentum, it crashed to the earth in the opposite direction from where they were standing.
Harry immediately began to applaud with the others as they approached the now fallen tree, where Jean-Sebastian was leaning on the axe, like he was a woodsman, and smirking at everyone else.
"That's not an axe," William drawled, holding out the axe he held in his hand. "That's an axe!" he completed the line, gesturing at the axe on which Jean-Sebastian was still leaning.
Hermione and Elizabeth rolled their eyes while Elizabeth smacked her husband on the back of the head, but the rest of the group merely looked on in confusion.
"Don't mind daddy," Hermione said. "He's just paraphrasing one of his favorite movies from the eighties."
"I'll show it to you when you come to our house," William said with a laugh, clearly unconcerned by his wife and daughter's reactions. "It's a comedy classic."
Smiling, Harry nodded his agreement, and turned back to Jean-Sebastian, who was now stowing the special axe back in its protective case. "That's some axe, Jean-Sebastian."
"That it is," his guardian replied with a chuckle. "But it's very dangerous if not used correctly."
"With all the power it generated, I would have thought it would have spun out of your hands."
"It's charmed to stop and not give the user a jolt," said Jean-Sebastian as he finished his task. "And the head of the axe actually creates a field of magical energy, not unlike a standard cutting charm, though obviously much more powerful. It's the energy which actually cuts through the wood, not the blade.
"But now that we have a tree," he continued hefting an axe much like the ones the others now held, "shall we cut it down to size?"
They fell to their task with a vigor, beginning by chopping off the branches extending from the trunk, and levitating them to the side in a neat pile. Once this was completed, Jean-Sebastian measured out a certain length from the base of the trunk, and they began cutting it down in earnest, each of them—besides Gabrielle, who was clearly annoyed that she was deemed to young—taking a turn chopping at the massive tree. And though the axes were charmed, it was still a lot of work to whittle their way through the tree. But no one complained and a good time was had by all, especially the men who all tried to show their huge muscles to the assembled ladies in good fun.
Once the Yule log had been separated from the rest of the tree, they attached ropes to it and began to drag it back in the direction of the chateau. "The house-elves will render the rest of the wood into usable sized pieces for the fireplace, though these pieces won't get used until they are properly dried out," Jean-Sebastian supplied as they worked their way back toward the castle.
It was some time later when the log had been situated in the fireplace, ready for the following morning. The rest of the evening was spent singing Christmas carols and reading the Christmas story from the Bible, while reveling in the company and the abundance of food and drink. Before they went to bed, sabot were placed carefully by the fireplace—a Christmas tradition in France, Fleur supplied, much like stockings hung by the fire in other countries—before they retired for the evening. It is perhaps not surprising that Harry, though he was excited for the following day, slept almost immediately, tired as he was from the day's exertions.
The next morning, Harry was awoken early by a small ball of energy who dashed into his room and jumped on his bed.
"Harry! Harry! Le Père Noël est venu!"
Bolting upright in surprise, Harry took in the grinning young girl and was immediately infected by her sense of excitement, though he did not completely understand what she said. It was not difficult, however, to understand her meaning.
"Merry Christmas, Gabrielle!" he exclaimed, sweeping her up in a hug, which was returned with interest by the young girl.
"Oui! Joyeux Noël, Harry!"
Jumping from his bed, Harry pulled on a robe and, grasping Gabrielle's hand, he allowed her to pull him from the room. The others had begun to gather in the hallway, no doubt due to the little girl's exuberance in waking the entire house. Indulgent smiles met that exuberance, and embraces and wishes of "Merry Christmas" were passed between the celebrants before they made their way toward the living room.
It appeared that Father Christmas had indeed made an appearance as there were now presents hanging from the tree, and the sabot which had been so carefully placed in front of the tree were filled to overflowing with fruit, nuts and all kinds of sweets, making Harry's mouth water at the sight of all the bounty set before them. Gabrielle instantly set about dividing the sabot between herself, Hermione, Fleur and Harry, being the youngest present. Fleur smiled indulgently at her sister, though she laughingly accepted her share and popped a few of the succulent nuts in her mouth.
As Jean-Sebastian had said the previous day, the first order of business was to light the Yule log in the fire. During the night, a pile of smaller pieces of wood, complete with a generous supply of kindling had been placed around the massive log, and all that was required was for Jean-Sebastian to produce a set of matches—he laughingly informed them that they did not use magic to light the Yule log when asked—and set about lighting the fire. Soon, the fire had caught and the smaller logs were burning merrily. And though the Yule log took much longer for the fire to take hold, it was soon spitting and hissing as green wood was wont to do when used in a fire.
The day that followed was one of the best of Harry's life, filled with laughter and contentment, and a generous supply of gifts from the Delacours, his friends, and most especially, Sirius. The Marauder had laughingly told him that since he had missed so many Christmases, that the pile of presents he had delivered was only to make up for those he had missed. In the brightly wrapped paper were many useful things—a wand holster sized to fit Harry's wrist and charmed to enlarge as Harry grew, sets of clothes, Wizarding robes, and even a few with the Potter crest on them, an album full of photos of his parents and the Marauders from their school days, and even a set of prank items, specifically designed from the notes Sirius had kept from his time as a Marauder. Fred and George would be absolutely over the moon if they ever got a glimpse of the bounty Sirius had given him.
There were other gifts as well: an extensive set of fantasy fiction books—the Narnia set, the works of J. R. R. Tolkien, as well as some other less-known works—from Hermione, a beautiful jacket made from dragon hide from Fleur, and the complete set of James Bond movies from the Grangers, a present which had undoubtedly stemmed from a conversation Harry had had with William about various movie heroes and villains. William had been appalled that Harry knew next to nothing about such a venerable British institution as 007, and was determined to educate him in the subject. And added to that were candies and nuts, trinkets, books, clothes, and numerous other items. For a boy who had received virtually no Christmas gifts throughout his formative years, it was very heady stuff.
For himself, Harry had given Fleur and Hermione matching gold lockets, complete with a photo of the three of them enclosed within, a set of golf balls and other golfing accessories for William, and for his wife, a day at a well known French spa. Not really knowing what Elizabeth liked, it seemed as though it was a good bet, and a success, if Elizabeth's happy exclamation and thanks to Harry was any indication. And though he was not really certain that it was necessary, considering her incredible beauty, Harry had provided the same present to Apolline, which quickly had the two women planning their outing together. To Gabrielle he had provided a selection of sweets and Muggle toys.
When most of the gifts had been distributed, Jean-Sebastian called Harry's attention to the one gift which had not been given.
"Though you might not be aware, it is traditional for a wizard's family to give a young man a pocket watch when they come of age."
When Harry thought to interrupt, Jean-Sebastian chuckled and continued. "Yes, I know that you are still a year and a half away from turning seventeen. I spoke with Mr. Weasley and he requested the honor of allowing them to gift you with your pocket watch, and as your friend Ron and his family have been good to you, I agreed. I believe that they have something special planned for your seventeenth birthday. As a result, we decided to do something similar, to honor this tradition in a way of our own."
Thus said, Jean-Sebastian handed Harry a small box that, when opened, revealed a handsome wristwatch. Harry, who had ruined his own watch the previous year in the second task of the tournament, was thrilled with the thoughtful gift. He pulled it from the box reverently, noting the simple yet stylish workmanship of the face, and the strong, yet supple definition of the band. It was far finer than any watch Harry had ever owned.
"Thank you, Jean-Sebastian," was Harry's emotional words. "I appreciate all your family has done for me."
Jean-Sebastian just waved him off. "I think you have done much for my family, Harry, and I couldn't imagine someone better to entrust my precious daughter.
"Now," he continued, "before we continue with our day, there is one other tradition I wish to observe." He stopped to consider Harry and the entire company for several moments before he once again spoke. "It has been traditional for many years, especially in your own home country, for neighbors and close acquaintances to exchange vows for Christmas and the New Year. I wish to do this, Harry, and let you know that whatever may come, the Delacour family will stand with the Potter family."
Choked up, Harry thanked him, which prompted a deluge of others pledging their support: the ever-faithful and supportive Hermione; his beautiful and talented betrothed; Apolline, Fleur's mother and ethereally beautiful herself; and the irrepressible prankster Sirius. Even the Grangers, who did not, perhaps, completely understand exactly what was happening, immediately pledged their support as well.
"And I pledge to support all of you like you support me," said Harry, barely managing to respond through the emotions which washed through him.
"Shall we make a magical oath?" asked Jean-Sebastian.
"I really don't think that's necessary," Harry stated firmly. "I have every confidence in all of us," he gestured to the whole group, "keeping our vows without magical assistance. I think the bonds of love and affection are much more powerful than even the strongest of magic."
"Well said, Harry," responded Jean-Sebastian with a broad smile. "Well said indeed."
The rest of the day was spent in love and laughter, not to mention a copious amount of incredible food from the Delacour kitchens. The feast was notable in that it closely resembled a traditional English Christmas dinner, though the final treat was a chocolate Yule log cake, or a Bûche de Noël, as he was informed it was known as in French.
Quite simply, it was the best Christmas, and one of the best days of Harry's life.
Updated 07/06/2013