1: A Snow Day
When the snow starts to fall, the daughters of Harry and Hermione Potter decide it is NOT a day to play indoors. But will their exuberance be too much for their mother to take?
It was Christmas Eve, at some point in the afternoon, and Hermione Potter was trying to take a nap.
Pregnant with her third child, Hermione was at the stage where she was very tired, very often. Her baby bump was her biggest yet, and she was certain that this time she was going to have a boy, after both her first two babies had been girls. She loved her daughters very much, but they were exuberant, mischievous and Hermione always felt that she needed to keep an eye on them so that they'd stay out of too much trouble.
Not that she was too worried about her offspring, for Hermione had now perfected the art of monitoring troublesome Potters … after all, she'd been practicing the technique with her daughters' father ever since she was twelve years old.
But she couldn't watch her girls twenty-four hours a day, especially when she needed more sleep than normal. So that morning, after a hearty breakfast, Hermione took her children to the top of their big house, told them that they would have to play in their rooms for a bit, then locked the tall Child Safety gate at the top of the Main Staircase by magic. Then she headed back to bed, to sleep off her eggs, bacon and smashed avocado, safe in the knowledge that her powerful magic would be enough to keep her girls out of any real mischief.
It all would have been fine … but then, it started to snow …
And it snowed very hard. So hard, in fact, that in less than an hour that part of the country was effectively under a white, fluffy blanket.
The first Hermione knew of any of it was when her bedroom door creaked open very slowly. Harry kept meaning to fix the squeak, but he hadn't gotten round to it yet. Hermione knew she'd probably have to do it herself, but that was for another day. For now, the squeak was the first sign that something was afoot.
The next one was when her large bed depressed unevenly, first on the left, then on the right. There was an exchange of low hisses, as blame was hastily assigned, but then all went still.
"Is she awake?"
"Can't tell. She's not snoring, though. You look."
"No, you're the youngest … Mummy won't tell you off as much if she catches us."
"Shut up, Soph. You know you're Mummy's favourite …"
"We both know that, but stop making so much noise. Just see if you can spot her wand."
"And why on earth would you want that?"
"MUMMY!" the two little girls chimed in unison as they jumped up onto the bed.
"Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you," said Sophie, as she sat cross-legged on her mother's right.
"Well it's a good thing you did," Hermione frowned. "As who knows what sort of trouble you'd be in if you had managed to steal my wand. Now, who wants to explain themselves to me?"
Hermione looked pointedly from one of her little girls to the other and back again in quick movements.
"It was her idea," piped up tiny Celesca, who was blinking innocently to the left.
"That's such a lie!" Sophie protested. "You were the one who said we should try to sneak out!"
"Only 'cause you were showing off saying you knew the spell to open doors," Celesca replied sharply.
"I did not say that … I thought it!" Sophie corrected hotly.
"Not my fault I can read thoughts with my special magic …"
"Special? Weird, more like …"
"Girls, girls, enough rowing!" Hermione cried, exasperated already. "Why do you even want to get out? I thought you were happy playing up here?"
"We were," Celesca nodded.
"But then it started snowing!" Sophie trilled. "And we mean really snowing! Look!"
Celesca's head nodded in such excited agreement that it looked as if she was trying to shake it from her shoulders. Sophie leapt up, crossed to the window and yanked the curtains apart, revealing the wintry scene outside.
"Ah, I see," Hermione grinned. She'd always been partial to snowy days. "Can't you wait until Daddy gets home? I'm sure he won't be long."
"We don't want to wait," little Celesca chirped, bouncing on the bed. "Daddy and Uncle Neville have gone to get some carrots for Father Christmas's reindeer, and they could be ages. The snow might have all gone by then."
"Mummy?" asked Sophie, who was nine years old and worldly in her ways. "Does Daddy know that Father Christmas isn't real?"
"Who told you that?" asked Hermione, sitting up.
"I did," said Celesca, calmly. "Last Christmas, see, when we had the Grotto in Godric's Hollow, Father Christmas had a lightening-shaped scar on his head, just like Daddy's got. So I knew it was him, really, just pretending."
"Why was Daddy pretending to be Father Christmas, Mummy?" asked Sophie.
"Well," said Hermione, mastering herself. "Father Christmas is very busy at this time of the year. Public appearances and getting his sleigh ready and everything. It's a lot of work. And on the night itself, it's really hard to get to every little boy and girl in the world to give them presents. So, sometimes, when the workload gets too much, Father Christmas asks people to go into shops and grottos and things instead of him. He gives the best presents to the kids of those mummies and daddies that help him out when he needs it."
"Oooh, ooh," said Celesca excitedly. "Does that mean that we'll get the best presents, because Daddy pretended to be a Father Christmas?"
"You might," said Hermione, teasingly. "You'll just have to wait till tomorrow."
"But, Mummy," Sophie complained. "We can't wait. We've decided."
"Well, you're just going to have to," Hermione told them. "It's only for one more sleep… then you can open all of those presents under the tree."
"Can't we have just one?" Celesca begged. She was so earnest, so cute, that Hermione almost gave in to her youngest girl. But she managed to stay motherly firm.
"No."
"Just a little one? Please?" Sophie pleaded.
"No, not even a little one," said Hermione firmly.
"But, Mummy, that's really so unfair," Celesca complained bitterly. "We opened the last doors on our advent calendars today and Sophie's present was so much better than mine."
Hermione sighed. She and Harry had both hoped that giving their girls magical advent calendars – which exploded with a new present each day of the month – would be enough to satiate their appetite for gifts. Alas, they had failed. Harry said it wondered if there was some latent Dursley in them, but he never explained quite what he meant by that.
"What did you get, Soph?" Hermione asked.
"A year's supply of Chocolate Frogs, while Cesc only had something called a Kinder Egg!" Sophie crowed, lording it over her sister. "I so love Chocolate Frogs. I had your card in the first one I opened, you know."
"Oh … really?" asked Hermione, blushing at her daughters' enthusiasm.
"Oh yes," said Sophie, keenly. "But Daddy traded with me for one of Nicolas Flamel. I hope you don't mind. I needed him, and I've got about six of you. I've nearly finished the Alchemists Page in my Collector Book now. The only ones I need to get are Paracelsus and Isaac Newton … oh, and Daddy, himself, of course. His card is so hard to get, Mummy, did you know?"
Hermione grinned to herself. "Your father was always hard to get."
"Stop talking about collector cards," cried Celesca, crossly, as Sophie looked confused. "We are supposed to be going out in the snow."
Hermione sighed again and gave in.
"Okay, girls, let me get dressed."
"Yay!" Sophie and Celesca tweeted in joy. "We'll get ourselves ready, Mummy, You'll see."
Hermione had serious doubts about that, but said nothing as her girls disappeared from the room. She eased herself from bed and looked out of the window. The garden was covered in a blanket of white. It was stunningly pretty and Hermione was stirred by a sense of festive cheer. She smiled to herself. Her girls would likely wear her out, but it promised to be a lovely day.
Maybe she could just perch some Christmas cakes on her bump and leave them to their revelry. That might work for her.
But things soon took a turn for the insane. A blonde-haired head popped around the door.
"Mummy … can we bring toys?"
"Just one or two, Cesc," Hermione replied.
"Okay." And little Celesca popped away.
"Look, Mummy," said Sophie, emerging in the gap Celesca had just left. "I've put my earmuffs on and I'm wearing all my jumpers, as its cold outside."
Sophie looked like she was dressed for a spell on the moon.
"You won't need that many jumpers," said Hermione. "You'll be too hot. Take them off and just choose one."
"But I can't pick which one I want," Sophie complained.
"Pick your favourite," said Hermione, trying to stay patient.
"They're all my favourite," Sophie pointed out. "Besides, it's not fair to the others if I pick one out special."
"Just close your eyes and pick one, then it's just luck which one you wear," Hermione advised. "And don't forget to grab your hat and scarf, too."
"Look, Mummy," said Celesca, emerging from her room. "I've got my dump truck and my bucket and spade and my Hungarian Horntail kite. Should I bring my fishing rod, too?"
"No," said Hermione, her exasperation growing. "They are summer toys. Not snow toys."
Hermione put all the toys in Celesca's room.
"But, Mummy …"
"No toys if you can't pick properly," Hermione told her daughter, firmly. "And, Cesc, snow days are no place for your tutu."
"But, Mummy, I like my tutu," Celesca frowned. "I think I look pretty in it."
"You do look pretty in it, but it isn't something for a day as cold as this. Here, let me help you into your snowsuit and boots."
"I can do my boots myself," Celesca told her, proudly. So she tried … but something was wrong as she stood up. "Mummy … I can't walk in my boots."
"You've put your boots on the wrong feet," said Hermione. "Let me help you."
Hermione huffed, then started to correct the fluffy snow boots on Celesca's feet. Next she helped her with her hat and scarf and mittens.
Sophie returned wearing her own hat and scarf. She was still wearing too many jumpers.
"Can I just take my bucket and spade, Mummy?" Celesca asked, imploringly. I'd so like to build an ice palace for a princess …"
"If you sit still while I get ready, I'll think about it," Hermione replied.
When Hermione came back, Celesca was sat very still. She turned to Sophie, who was also sitting still. Hermione frowned … for she was now in just a vest and all her other clothes were in a pile at her feet, next to Celesca's hat, scarf and mittens, which were also on the floor.
"What happened?" Hermione asked
"Our clothes, Mummy … they made us so hot, we had to take them off," Sophie explained.
Hermione slumped back and sat quietly against the wall. For a moment, nothing moved but her shoulders, and there was no sound except for a soft sniffing. Then, a minute or so later, two pairs of little arms slipped around Hermione's neck and lower back.
"Don't cry, Mummy, we're sorry," said Sophie softly. "Look. I've put my favourite jumper on. It's the emerald-green one. And I've tied up Cesc's boots, because she doesn't know how to do that yet."
"And I've put all my toys back," added Celesca. "I don't need any of them today. Don't cry, Mummy. We'll be good, we promise."
Just then, there was a little pop next to them, and all three Potter ladies looked up in surprise.
"Daddy!" Celesca cried, jumping up and wrapping herself around the newcomer's leg.
"What's going on?" Harry demanded. "My watch just screamed at me that one of you was upset! What's happening? What's wrong?"
Harry to the rescue. Hermione couldn't help but smile … she'd always loved his saving-people-thing, especially when it came to saving her.
"We were naughty, and we made Mummy cry," Sophie confessed, tying her hands behind her back and toeing the carpet guiltily, as she swayed on the spot and looked anywhere but at her father's face.
"And what, exactly, were you trying to do?" Harry pressed on.
"We wanted to go and play in the snow," Sophie replied. "But I put on too many jumpers and Cesc wanted to take too many toys. There just wasn't enough Mummy to go around."
Harry grinned at that. "Sounds like it would push any Mummy to the limit, and yours is one of the best. Let's see if we can make a better job of this as a team. Come along, Mummy, let's get you up."
Harry knelt down besides his wife and gently helped her to her feet, as she mouthed a heartfelt, but silent, thank you.
"Now, how were you intending to get down the stairs?" Harry began. "You know there's a strong spell on the gate."
"I know the spell to open doors," Sophie boasted. "So Cesc was going to steal Mummy's wand and I was going to see if I could do the magic."
"How do you know that spell?" Harry asked, curiously. "Have you been getting up to no good at school again?"
"No, Daddy," Sophie replied with a hint of a cheeky grin. "But we do have three libraries here. It's not hard to find a spell book or two."
"Why do we have so many libraries, Daddy?" Celesca asked.
"Your mother likes libraries," Harry explained.
"Most people like books, not libraries."
"You mother isn't most people," Harry returned, winking at his wife. "But come on, we are missing all this snow!"
So Harry led his little family to the garden, where he sat Mrs Potter down on a magically-heated chair and conjured her their self-pouring tea set and a tray of cakes from the kitchen. Her baby bump made a handy rest for her mug and her cakes and soon she was very content with the world. She watched as Celesca made a snow angel from her tiny frame nearby, while Harry and Sophie rolled large piles of snow together to make a snowman.
As Harry fished around for stones and bits of twig to be eyes and nose and hands, Sophie furrowed her brow at their creation.
"You know," she began. "I don't know why it's called a snow-man. It could quite easily be a snow-girl. Ooh, I know what to do."
Then she busied herself near the foot of the snowperson. Celesca, now interested, bobbed over in her puffy snowsuit to investigate what her sister was up to. Then, a moment later, she fell backwards and began pounding the snow with her hands and feet, laughing hysterically. Hermione, who couldn't see the cause of her mirth, called over.
"What's so funny?"
Celesca tried to dry to eyes with her mittens, but she only managed to cover her face in more snow. It didn't matter though, as her laughter would soon shake the flakes off.
"Sophie, she … she … Sophie made the snowman a little snow winky!"
And Celesca shrieked her loud giggles into the chilly air again. Sophie looked at her mother with an innocent expression.
"What? He needed one."
Just then, Harry ambled back over. "What on Earth …" Then he noticed Sophie's extra snowy appendage. "Oh … ha ha ha!"
Hermione frowned at her husband and his roiling laughter. "Don't encourage them with your infantile sense of humour, Harry."
"You're quite right," Harry apologised with a cheery grin. He turned to Sophie. "Do as your mother says and take that …. thing … off."
"Ew! I'm not touching it!" Sophie exclaimed in disgust. "You'll have to get rid of it."
"You made it! Harry exclaimed.
"I make the things I leave in the toilet, too, but I don't go touching them, do I?" Sophie pointed out, slickly. Celesca was now rocking with such furious giggles that it was hard to see when she was getting in a clean breath.
Harry shook his head in mock dismay. "Where did we get these two from, eh Mrs Potter?"
"I don't know," Hermione sighed, bracingly. "But maybe we can ask Father Christmas to take them back."
"I'll add it to our Christmas list," Harry winked.
"You wouldn't do that," Sophie told him, confidently.
"Yeah, you love us too much," Celesca added as she finally stopped laughing and hauled herself up, which wasn't easy as her snowsuit had made her very round.
"Have to admit, they've got us there," Harry teased to Hermione.
"Daddy?" Celesca began. "Mummy said you sometimes pretend to be Father Christmas, like at Godric's Hollow that time. Is that right?"
"How do you know that wasn't the real Father Christmas?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Because Father Christmas is all big and fat and jolly, and you're skinny and we could all see your scar," Sophie completed.
"Busted," Hermione called over with a grin.
"It doesn't matter about that," Celesca went on. "We know you aren't Father Christmas, but do you know the real one?"
"Yes," Harry replied, solemnly.
"Have you met him?"
"Once or twice."
"What's his name, then?"
"I just call him Nick."
"Nick? Nick Christmas?" Sophie scoffed. "That can't be right. It's too silly."
"Nick Christmas? Who's trying to nick Christmas? Somebody better call the Aurors!"
The garden gate had just opened and the Longbottom Family were now crossing the snowy lawn to meet them. Neville was carrying an armful of presents and chuckling at his bad joke, while his wife Enola magically floated a big suitcase in front of her. Alison Longbottom, who was best friends with Sophie Potter, raced over and was soon laughing as she saw the extra parts on the snowman.
"There was nothing fun happening at our house, so we thought we'd better spend Christmas with you," Neville declared as he helped his pregnant wife into a seat next to the other pregnant lady in the garden. "Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Harry chuckled. "The more the merrier."
"So long as you help with the washing up tomorrow!" Hermione teased.
"Still wont be convinced to get yourself a house-elf?" Neville quirked. Hermione simply narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Relax, Hermione … I was joking!"
"Don't worry, Uncle Neville," Celesca soothed as she trotted over. "I have a house-elf teddy you can borrow if you need one."
"Will it help with the washing up?" Neville smirked.
"It might. I've never tried asking," Celesca commented, thoughtfully. Then she became suddenly agitated. "But Uncle Nev and Aunt Ennie! If you are here, Father Christmas won't know where to take Alison's presents! That will be very sad for her."
"Father Christmas? There's no such thing as -" Neville began to scoff, but Harry cut him off quickly with animated gestures. Neville understood at once. "What I meant was … there's no such thing as Father Christmas not knowing. It doesn't matter where we are, he'll find us."
"How?" Celesca pushed. "Is it by magic?"
"Yes! That's it!" Neville exclaimed, happy for the escape route. "He does it by magic."
"Father Christmas is a wizard then?" Celesca asked in awe.
"Yes, and a very good one," Neville nodded.
"But what sort of magic does he have? Is it like my special magic, where I can see things that haven't happened yet?"
"I'm not really sure," Neville pondered. "It might be like that. But your Daddy once knew a wizard who had a scar in the exact shape of a map of the London Underground on his knee. So it might be something like that."
"Daddy and I love the London Underground," Celesca tittered. "He even has it on his big train set in the attic. I can't wait till our next ride on it. And Daddy has a scar, too … but that used to keep a Dark Wizard in it, and we aren't allowed to talk about him."
Harry and Hermione grinned fondly at their daughter as she babbled away. She always fascinated them both with her talking. She said her first complete sentence at just eight months old, and both Mr and Mrs Potter were convinced that she hadn't stopped for the 6 years since. And she had one more piece of advice to give them.
"You know, Daddy, I think you should tell Father Christmas that the Longbottoms are here, just to be safe," Celesca told her father. "I'll get you some paper and a quill if you like. But who would travel faster, Hester or Lily, do you think?"
Both the family birds – one snowy owl and one rich-plumed phoenix - looked down from perches in the trees high above, where they had been observing proceedings. Neither looked keen on a flight to the North Pole.
Harry came to the rescue. "It's not really fair to ask either to fly all the way to Father Christmas, is it? Not on Christmas Eve."
"No, I suppose it isn't," Celesca agreed. "But how will Father Christmas know about the Longbottoms."
"Well, have you written him your thank you letter yet?" Hermione asked, as she had her tea cup refilled. Celesca shook her head that she hadn't. "Well there we go then. You can write and tell him that the Longbottoms are staying with us tonight, then he can leave all their presents here."
"And it will save him a trip to our house," Enola Longbottom added. "I'm sure he'll appreciate one less stop on his rounds tonight."
"Oh, yes! I'm sure he'll like that!" Celesca sang as she jumped up. "I'll go and do it now, before I forget."
And she shot off like a bullet. Just then, Sophie and Alison jogged over excitedly.
"Dad! Dad!" Sophie began, eagerly. "Do you and Uncle Neville want to play Snow Quidditch with us?"
"What's snow Quidditch?" Neville asked, as his daughter bobbed on her feet next to Sophie.
"It's the same as normal Quidditch, but instead of all the other balls we just fly around and throw snowballs at each other!" Alison explained. "We can play Family vs Family or Girls vs Boys, you can choose."
Neville grinned at Harry. "I think I like those odds either way."
Harry quirked his eyebrows at his friend. "You're on. I'll get the brooms."