Lily's Chat with Santa

It was all in the ability to keep quiet. If Lily Luna Potter knew anything, it was that if mummy and daddy couldn't hear her, they would never know she was hiding behind the armchair in the sitting room of the Burrow, keeping her eye on the empty space beneath the Christmas tree in order to catch Santa at it.

Lily had a bone to pick with Santa Clause; after all, the gift that he gave to her parents on the Christmas she was born had, first off, come with the wrong parts, and secondly, gotten the wrong name. Lily was sure Santa had mixed her up and made her a girl, because no way was she going to have her hair braided one more time, or be subjected to the horror that was pink dresses for a fourth Christmas. If she could just talk to Santa, she was sure all of this would be put right, she'd be given her doodle, and would be allowed to bash James and Albus as much as she wanted, without her mother or father snatching her up as though she would break.

Stifling a yawn, Lily glanced expectantly at the fireplace, then at the mantelpiece, where a clock steadily shifted towards midnight. Then she eyed the milk and cookies she and her cousins and siblings had earlier set out. Some of Nana Molly's extra-large choc-chip wonders, plus the brownie biscuits Auntie Fleur always made. Her tummy grumbled, and she bit her lip. Well…since Santa had made the mistake of making her a girl, and he got cookies and milk in every house he visited, Lily surmised that he probably wouldn't miss this one plate of goodies…She inched out from behind the couch carefully, eyes trained on the door as though watching it would make her more aware if someone were about to come in. Carefully lifting the plate of cookies back to her corner, Lily then turned back for the milk.

Tall glass of milk. It looked a little precarious, resting on the table like that. Her hands felt awful small compared to that glass. What if she spilt it? Careful now, Lily, she whispered to herself. You don't want to make a mess.

Circling the cup with both hands, Lily shifted it down to her eye level, then took a measured gulp of the creamy whiteness, just to make sure that it wasn't so close to the brim. She kept it held out before her, as she judged each careful step, making sure nothing caught on her toes, or nudged her ankles to send her toppling. She finally found sanctuary behind the armchair again, the one that happened to be grandpa's favourite. Curling up in the blanket she'd snuck there when everyone was busy getting mad at James for doing something naughty, Lily cheerfully munched on her cookies, and sipped at her milk. Gradually, she nodded off.

It was four past midnight when Santa came through the chimney. Santa this year was Ron, as every year someone different had the impossible task of sneaking out of the Burrow to floo over from the Lovegood tower with the presents. The massive sack was so easy carry, especially because there were so many Weasley's that short of levitation and a shrinking charm, the bag of presents would never get under the tree. The flaring of the floo temporarily lit the sitting room a brilliant green, before once more easing to a warm glow. Ron was tiptoeing over to the tree, being as silent as…well, perhaps not all that silent. He swore as he managed to snub his toe on the edge of the fireplace coming out, and the bloody moustache on his suit was getting in his nose. Not to mention the suit had been made for a much shorter man than he.

Ron, preoccupied with his wedgie, almost didn't see a little head of flame dart out from behind his father's armchair to stand before him, blocking his way.

"What the-" Ron caught himself just before he swore, which would have disillusioned poor Lily to the miracle of Christmas forever more. Lily stood before him, hands on her hips, looking much like a mini Ginny.

Knew we should've slipped sleeping potion in their dinner. Ron thought in exasperation. What the hell was he meant to do now?

"Mr. Clause?" Lily's voice rang out in a sharp whisper. Ron looked down at her and proceeded to beam, putting down the bag of presents which had been under a levitating cham, placing his hands round his fake-pot-belly, and giving a rather good 'Ho! Ho! Ho!'

Lily looked horrified. "Shh! My parents will hear you. Don't you know no one's meant to see Santa?" Lily hissed at him, and Ron felt slightly abashed before realising this was his four year old niece, and wasn't she meant to be asleep?

Bending at the waist, Ron brought his eyes level with Lily's. Her eyes were turned up defiantly, and she had drawn her mouth into a firm line.

"Miss Lily Luna Potter, if I'm not mistaken…?" Ron began in a low deep voice, and Lily smiled in his acknowledging who she was.

"Little Lily, shouldn't you be asleep?" Ron picked her up, and she put her arms round his neck, as he walked over to his dad's armchair, and sat down with Lily on his lap. Lily nodded her head bashfully, and sniffled.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked in the same low voice. Lily sniffled again before saying, "Mr. Santa Clause, you gave my parents the wrong Christmas present." Ron looked at Lily in confusion, having no idea what she was on about, but decided to play along.

"Lily, Santa Clause only gives the present people want deep down inside. He never gives a present that people don't want."

Lily sniffled and shook her head. "Mr. Santa, you don't understand. I was meant to have a doodle, and you mixed me up!" Lily looked up at him with big, watery eyes, and Ron felt a jolt of incredulity. What?

"When you gave me to mummy and daddy four years ago on Christmas, you mixed up my parts. I'm supposed to be a boy, Santa. You made a mistake. Now you have to put it right." Lily now demanded, and Ron felt at a loss as to what he should do. Fumbling not to completely come across as a moron who wasn't Santa, Ron tried to keep up the nice, grandfatherly, patronising act.

"Now, Lily, why do you say that? Of course you were meant to be a girl, that's exactly what your parents wanted."

"Nuh-Uh! They just wanted a baby. I should have been a boy, because I hate pink frilly dresses, and because I'm a girl, I'm not 'lowed to fight with James and Albus. So, it's not fair Santa. You got to fix this."

Ron felt realisation dawn, but with it, uneasiness. It was not his role as uncle to have this talk with Lily. In fact, he was probably the worst person of all of them to be giving Lily this talk. If only Hermione were here, she always knew just what to say…what would Hermione say in this case?

"Lily, I know sometimes it might seem a bit hard, having to do things that you don't want to, like wearing dresses you don't like, or not being allowed to play with the boys. But…isn't it fun playing with dolls with Molly?" Lily tentatively nodded. Ron continued, "And if you were a boy, you couldn't play with dolls. Or how about when your mummy and you make teddies and bake, don't you like that?" Lily nodded again, and Ron nodded at her, "Well, if you were a boy, could you do those things?" Lily slowly shook her head.

"You see Lily, sometimes it might not seem fair that you are the way you are, and you might want to do things that only boys do. But boys can't do things girls can do, so…you win some, and you lose some, and it might not be the same as same, but…it's sort of equal, so it's fair right?" Ron voiced all of this slowly and carefully, watching Lily's face as she let it sink in. she slowly nodded, and Ron was relieved.

"So, now you know you weren't a mistake, should you go up to bed and let Santa do his work?" Lily smiled and hugged him, got up, began to walk to the door, but froze. She turned around, ran at him and kissed him on the bit of cheek that was showing. She giggled at him, and said behind her hands, "I ate some of your cookies and milk, Mr. Santa. They're behind Grandpa's chair. I hope you don't mind." Then she hurried out of the room and off to the Girls room where her cot was waiting for her. Ron shook his head as he retrieved the leftover cookies and milk, and thoughtfully bit into one of the brownie-biscuits. Well, better get those presents sorted, he thought, and began the tedious job of emptying the sack into a semblance of order under the Christmas tree.