Chapter Six “ A Climactic Christmas Lunch, Even for the Weasleys
Sunday, 25 December, 1983, The Burrow, Living Room
Christmas day, late morning
Molly frantically pointed her wand out the door, and it omitted the sound of a foghorn. Wherever her children were, they would have to be able to hear it. How could it possible be eleven o’clock already? With a small, huffing sigh, she left the small crystal bowls of mousse to arrange themselves, the final seasoning to add itself to the stew and a bowl of olives to de-pip themselves, and darted irritably upstairs to get ready herself.
At eleven fifteen, Molly bustled, equally annoyed, back downstairs, and became even more so when the only presence was her own. With a low growl, she threw open the door, wand held in front of her and ready to blow like a foghorn again.
“Molly, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I see you still don’t take kindly to guests arriving early.” Molly lowered her wand, feeling her heart race from the shock. There was a man directly outside the door, as if he had been just about to knock. Tall, and almost lanky with a head of shockingly red hair, fuzzy and pointing in all directions (though not up, as he had a bald patch on top of his head), he seemed almost ageless, and could have been anywhere between twenty-five and sixty-five. As he was sitting in a muggle wheelchair, Molly’s firm wand had been directly pointed at his head.
“Arman!” she half screeched. “You gave me a death of fright.” Arman and his wife, along with an elderly mother and a couple of nieces and nephews, were what was left of Arthur’s family. It was hard to imagine him as her husband’s older brother; the physical resemblance was slightly hidden by eccentricity, which had bloomed in entirely different ways in Arthur and Arman, and had been in poor Arnold, Arman’s late twin, before his death early in 1978.
“Sorry,” he said courteously, and a glimmer of frustration became evident on his face, giving Molly the impression he would have liked to bow. Breathing heading back toward normalcy again, Molly nodded, and noticed for the first time the figures of several red-headed people walking through the garden. Finally.
“No, no. Don’t worry about it, but you’ll have to excuse the slight chaos inside.” She glanced at the small step leading into the house. “Do you “ erm…”
“No. Thank you, love, I’m glad to say I’m relatively mobile.” He gave a sad kind of smile, and Molly bustled into the house, feeling a bit awkward. She had never really been around people in wheelchairs a lot, let alone have one as a guest… disabilities such as that were usually easily curable at St. Mungo's, but Arman had been on the receiving end of particularly unusual curse. In her awkwardness, Molly wasn’t sure whether Arman would prefer privacy when navigating the step.
“Arthur! Arthur, come downstairs, your brother’s here!” Arthur appeared at the top of the stairs wearing dark brown dress robes, and grinned as he quickly made his way to the bottom. Somehow, Arman was already up the stair and in the door.
“Arman,” said Arthur, “you look at least five years younger than me. I object.”
“Arthur, you fool,” answered his brother slyly, “you should be on beauty potions too then, if it really means that much to you.”
“Do beauty potions even exist?”
“No idea, brother. I wouldn’t be surprised. They find the most diverse and ingenious ways to totally waste magic.”
Arthur showed Arman to the living room with amazing familiarity, despite having not had much contact with him for so many years, just as Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny all appeared, as dirty as ever, in the door.
“You lot! Everyone’s meant to be arriving in ten minutes!” Molly snapped.
“Don’t blame us, Mum,” said Fred.
“Yeah, blame Profess“”
“Upstairs, now!” interrupted Molly. Bill rolled his eyes.
“Ok, ok. But it’s not like we’re needed until“”
“Uncle Arman’s already here,” said Molly, “and that means anyone could arrive at any time. Bill, Charlie, I want you changed and back down to the kitchen to help me finish off within…” she paused, and checked the clock. “Five minutes. Fred, George, Percy, make sure Ron and Ginny are ready and I want you all down here within ten, understood? Off you go.” And, having left no room for argument, she hurried back into the kitchen.
The olives were de-pipped, the mousse was ready and waiting, the two huge pies were golden brown and Molly was dashing from here to there and back again, bringing dish after dish to completion. It seemed like only seconds later when Bill and Charlie appeared in the door, a little ruffled but looking perfectly charming in the black dress robes that had belonged to Molly’s two older brothers.
“We’re here,” said Bill, dutifully.
“I’d noticed. Quickly now, come over here… these crackers need cheese…”
By the time Molly heard the first knock on the door (Arman, of course, hadn’t had the chance), the crackers were as cheesed as one could hope for, sandwiches containing everything from salmon to jam were layered on huge platters, and two long rows of large beakers of juice, lined across the kitchen bench, were frosty and ready to go. The entrance hall, lounge and back garden were polished to perfection, and Fred, George, Percy, Ron and Ginny were just heading down the stairs.
“Someone answer the door,” she said, making sure not to be audible outside. The twins, both dressed in divine forest green, velvet robes and matching top hats that had once belonged to Arman and Arnold, dashed forward to the door. Each held one of Ron’s hands so he tore along between them, feet periodically flying off the floor.
With a large flourish, Fred swept open the door, and both twins gave a low bow, both top hats dropping to the floor, and both twins picking them up again with dignity.
“Good eeevening,” welcomed George formally, “our most esteeemed guests.”
“My name is Fred Weasley,” greeted Fred, “but you can call me Fred. Or Frederic. Or Frederica if you reeeally want to.”
“My name is George Weasley,” George introduced himself, “but you can call me George. Or… no, please just call me George.”
“And this,” announced Fred, “is Ronaaald Weasley.”
“But you can call him Ronald,” George informed their guests.
“Or Ron,” said Fred.
“Or Ronaldo,” finished George.
“Or Simon, but he’s unlikely to respond,” added Bill, approaching the door, obviously somewhat embarrassed by his younger brothers’ behaviour. “I’m Bill.” The twins bowed again. Molly sighed, and put down the last jug of eggplant juice, before bustling to the door.
Moving just behind the twins and Ron, Molly was able to see the small huddle of people outside. The two adults she recognised to be Lauren and Lincoln Jacobs. When Arnold and his wife, Selenia, had died, their two infant children had been adopted by Selenia’s sister, Lauren, and her husband Lincoln. Four children, none looking older than five, surrounded the couple.
“Molly!” exclaimed Lauren, “it’s been a long time.”
“Yes, too long,” agreed Molly, weaving through Ron and Fred to hug Lauren, and shake Lincoln’s hand, as he had a young child in one arm. As she did, Ron copied Molly by racing forward to hug Lauren around the knees, despite having not seen her since he was one. Lauren chuckled.
“I was a little worried about bringing all the troops,” she said.
“Oh, no. I don’t suppose I could possibly hold it against you with my seven. Why don’t you come inside and we can all be introduced…”
Fred and George seemed to thoroughly enjoy answering the door, and, since, most of the invitees seemed to find them charming rather than annoying, she did not complain. Not long after Lauren and her family had arrived, Arman had left to pick up his wife, Gloria, who, it transpired, was a muggle. The turn-out was divine, and, somehow, most people seemed to get on with each other, despite the fact that there were four generations present, the eldest guest being Arthur’s elderly great-uncle Edgar, who was one hundred and four and the youngest Ginny, then Matricula Jacobs, the fussy two-year old Lincoln had been carrying.
When everyone had arrived, Bill and Ginny led the party out to the back garden, where Molly, Bill and Charlie had hastily set out Christmas lunch on two very long tables, with the capability of seating the thirty-eight people present. During the entrée, and before the main meal was served, the twins had kept their agreement to burst into song at strategic times, with a tune Molly was almost certain they had made themselves called ‘Ode to the Christmas Day’, but this wasn’t a very accurate title. It went something like:
Fred: Ode to the Christmas day,
George: Christmas Day, Christmas Day.
Fred: Ode to the Christmas day…
George: Stop saying that, brother!
Fred: Ode to the Christmas day…
George: I said stop saying that!
Fred: Oh Ooooode to the Chriiiistmas Dayeeeee!
George: AHHHH! Hey!
And there were two other verses, one comparing Christmas day to a flower and the last comparing a flower to a Arthur’s hair. Then it was followed by an interesting dance number. The audience must have been a good incentive to put some effort into their performances. A little four-year-old called Phillip, who was something like Arthur’s cousin’s third youngest son joined in too. They received quite an applause, but Percy gave the twins an irritated talking to, leaning over the table as he and they were opposite each other. Thankfully, it didn’t end badly, and Percy got applause too.
After a little while longer, the twins started up a mournful tune about dying of starvation (also apparently self-composed), which Molly took as an invitation to serve up the main meal. With the skilled assistance of Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and Molly’s Aunt Laura, she managed to have the lunch served in only minutes, throughout which there was a nice moment of peace while Fred and George was eating, although Ron did occasionally yell things like “AH! HEY!” or “FLOWERS, FLOWERS, FLOWERS!” and burst into giggles, which brought on speculation from Percy, who was sitting with some more of Arthur’s second cousins that Bill said he recognised from school, as to whether Ron had been bewitched with some sort of Fred and George spell, which, he assured his amused company, would give him half a brain, as the twins shared only one between them.
When the main meal had ended, Molly allowed herself to be convinced not to help clear the table or serve up desert, which she was more than grateful for. In fact, after Arthur, Aunt Laura, Bill, Charlie and Percy had cleared the table, Fred and George volunteered to serve desert, and did so admirably (and musically), with the help of only their new little friend Phillip, and Charlie stationed in the kitchen.
Now, the little crystal mousse bowls were all nearly empty, the huge platter of fruit was not quite cleared, and everyone was almost fit to burst. There was the small, yet attention-demanding sound of a spoon tinkling against a glass, and Molly groaned, before she turned and noticed that it was not, in fact, Fred or George. Nor Phillip, nor Ron, nor Percy, but old Edgar Weasley. He stood up formally, and cleared his throat, and the last of the babble died out.
“Well,” he said gruffly, “well…” No one said anything. “We have gone through a lot of separation of late, haven’t we? Most people have, and it’s been the worse disruption in the memory of any mortal man, and that includes us fellows who remember the days of Grindelwald,” he went on, knowing tone faintly resembling that of Percy. He cleared his throat again. “I lost people, we all lost people. But it seems our memories of when we were all here, and the times when we all remembered to keep in touch, and stick together are still here, and they still matter and… yes, all that. But I must say, there are a bloody lot of people here today I. Had. Never. Met! Gloria,” he nodded to Arman’s muggle wife, who was doing quite well, considering. “Lauren and Lincoln,” he nodded to them also. “And the children, that I didn’t know had even been born. But some people remembered us all, and remembered the union we once enjoyed, and which they formed in the first place, not just between us Weasleys but between us and the Prewett line… To Molly and Arthur!” he raised his glass bluntly, showering Ron, Arthur and Darren Prewett, the seven-year-old eldest son of Arthur’s cousin Alexander and his wife Riella, with firewhiskey.
Around the table, people raised their glasses of assorted drinks solemnly, and murmured Molly and Arthur’s names, and Molly felt her face burn slightly. Edgar sat down, looking pleased. Arman raised his glass again.
“Arnold,” he added loudly, and muttered something else under his breath. Of course, thought Molly, he had probably never been to a family gathering without him. She had not been to a family gathering without her brothers either, save for their short funeral.
“Arnold,” muttered everyone else.
“Selenia,” said Lauren, raising her glass also to her late sister.
“Fabian,” toasted Latima Crasken, looking close to tears, an expression Molly had seen her brother's closest friend in the past few times she had seen her (Fabian had really been Latima's closest connection to the family).
“Emmi,” said Alexander Weasley, Arthur’s cousin stiffly. Emmi had been his wife.
“Gideon,” put in Bill.
“Eddie,” Lincoln said quietly. Eddie, named after Edgar, had been Arnold and Selenia’s eldest son, and had died along with them. The atmosphere was intense, and under any other circumstances would have felt very awkward. Molly held Ginny, who was on her lap, tightly.
Everyone sat in ringing silence, knowing they could go on for a long time. So many friends and family were gone, Molly had never realised how much of a miracle it was that everyone had managed to pull this day together. Not had she truly realised just how valuable and worth it this lunch would be. Fred and George, who would usually use a tense silence to lift the mood with a large amount of ruckus, looked too nervous to do anything. Bill and Charlie were bowing their heads, Percy looked stunned, Ron a little confused and not sure of whether to cry or not and Ginny seemed a bit vacant.
“Oops,” said Edgar. “Didn’t mean to make that happen.”
Molly felt her mouth change from what must have been a frown to a weary smile, and the switch in mood seemed to spread around the table. Ron seemed encouraged by this and said,
“Edgar!” He knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice.
“Ron!” snapped Percy, in what was meant to be a scolding voice, but everyone took it to be just another toast.
“Phillip!” cried George.
“A-lex-and-err!” cried Fred.
“Gloria!” exclaimed both of the twins at the same time. Ginny shouted something incomprehensible into Molly’s shoulder that sounded something like, ‘SNOSSAGEY!’
“Hear, hear!” stated Arman, and the mournfulness of the moment disappeared, as if it had Disapparated.
“Shall we move on to the Christmas tree?” proposed Arthur, and there was a huge scramble as everyone got to their feet to go inside.
Including Molly’s family, there were thirty-eight people present, many of whom knew all or most of the others. Thus, the presents were not so much under the Christmas tree as piling up in around a quarter of the fairly large lounge room. The efforts of Fred, George, Phillip, Ron (well, he tried), Michael (Arthur’s thirteen-year-old second cousin), Percy, Charlie, Tatiana (Lincoln and Lauren’s eldest daughter) and Clara (Molly’s nine-year-old second cousin) got the presents all handed out within half an hour. Of course, many presents went to things like ‘Arthur and Molly Weasley and family’ and ‘Alexander Weasley and family’ or ‘To Lucy and Mark Gratton’.
Guests began leaving in dribs and drabs, using the wheelbarrows and crates they had used to bring their presents to others in for what they had received in return. The families with young children left first, then those with none. It was hard to tear Phillip Weasley away from the twins, and both Ginny and Rambert Weasley, Phillip’s little brother, were in tears when the latter had to go home. Bill, who was standing at the door, apologised many a time for the twins, Ron, Ginny and Percy, though no one seemed to regret their presence, and thanked everyone for coming. Still, however, through the laughs and tears, every one of Molly’s children seemed to be looking forward to something more, and that tiny hint of impatience began to return.
After a while, it was only Molly’s bunch and Arman and Gloria remaining. Bill, Charlie and Percy were with Ron and Ginny, showing them what some of the presents they had received were. Unable to help himself, Arthur was in deep discussion with Gloria about some muggle whatsit, and she seemed amused at whatever he was saying. Arman was sitting, still in his wheelchair, talking with the twins, seeming sombrely sentimental, one of the green top-hats in his hands.
Molly gave a deep sigh and flumped down on the couch.
“I don’t think I have ever had a Christmas this huge,” she said to no one in particular.
“Well, I suppose that’s what happens when you invite two families, large in themselves and half made up of children, to come,” answered Bill, dryly. “But yes. It was huge.” Molly recognised the mood of the room switch from being relaxed and drowsy to anticipation.
“Mum,” said Bill, Charlie, Fred and George all at the same time, but Bill was the one to continue.
“Look, I know we had a deal, and we haven’t broken it. You“”
“Nor did we,” said Molly hastily.
“But we“” began she and Charlie at the same time.
“You go first,” said Charlie.
“We have something for you,” said Molly. She pointed her wand at the stairs and muttered, “Accio presents!” Several “ seven, in fact “ lumpy parcels flew down the stairs and landed on the couch. The kids on the floor formed a kind of semi-circle, Ginny on Bill’s lap, and the twins joined quietly. Arman faded slightly into the background and wheeled back over to his wife. Ron climbed up onto Molly. “It’s not much,” she warned them.
“But we wanted to have something to give you,” added Arthur. He sat beside Molly on the couch, and picked up the parcels one by one, tossing them around the semi-circle.
“Because we care,” she finished. “Well, go on.”
At the same time, they all tore at the paper, all hands coming upon soft wool.
“Jumpers,” commented Fred, with a funny little smile.
“Thank you,” said George. The twins could be so sweet when they weren’t being immeasurably stupid.
“Well, we were just looking at the outfits that we and our siblings had when we were younger,” Arthur explained, “and we wanted us to have something we could look back and remember with.”
“Besides,” said Molly, “it’s a cold winter this year.” She sniffed as dress robes were scattered all over the floor and one by one her little jumpers, ranging from a tiny one-year-old’s to a larger thirteen-year olds were slipped on.
“Mum,” said Bill again. “Dad… we really didn’t break the deal. But we have something little for you too.”
“To tell the truth, we never were playing schools,” said Percy seriously.
“Yeah,” said Fred.
“That would be so stupid,” remarked George.
“We were “ look, we’ll just get them,” Charlie muttered, and jumped to his feet, dashing out the door, and followed by the other six. Left alone, Molly gathered up the dress robes and put them on a chair, though Arman still held one of the little green hats.
It didn’t take long before the door opened again, and Charlie was standing in the doorway.
“Well, we wanted to shrink them,” he told Molly and Arthur, “but uncle Arman didn’t think it was a good idea, so he just made them lighter.” And through the door he carried something very large, covered in a white sheet. It must have been the size of a large beach ball. Everyone else followed, most with objects much bigger, the older ones going back outside to fetch some of the biggest, which were almost as tall as their Christmas tree. They arranged the nine assorted objects in a sort of row in front of Molly and Arthur sitting on the couch. Bill counted to three quietly.
“One…” They all grabbed onto an area of sheet. “Two…” They made sure their grips were firm and all the sheets were held. “Three!”
As one, every child yanked a sheet or two off, and revealed several large grey mounds, each topped in red.
“We wanted a family portrait, but since we couldn’t find any paint and none of us are really any good, we decided a statue would be even better,” said Bill breathlessly. Molly just sat there, stunned until Arthur pulled her up to have a look.
On each end of the line were two statues, totally identical, except that one seemed slightly shorter. They were slightly oddly proportioned, and had legs a little like buds but longer arms, and on each head was a happy face. A little plaque beneath each announced that the one on the right was ‘George “ by Fred’ and the left was ‘Fred “ by George’.
Next on the left was a more recognisable statue, though one arm was a bit strange, reading ‘Ron “ by Bill’.
“His arm broke off,” said Percy enthusiastically. “We tried to put it back on with just the clay, but we had to use spellotape in the end.” Molly nodded, still speechless.
Then, there was a much shorter statue that looked a bit like a bean, with little bud arms and bud legs, and a blob of red on top. It had a face with one eye higher than the other, and a very small mouth. Its plaque read ‘Bill “ by Ginny’.
In the middle were two statues sharing a single plaque, that read ‘Mum and Dad “ by everyone’. Some features, like Arthur’s hair and Molly’s face were much more defined, and obviously done by Bill or Charlie, while things like Arthur’s feet and Molly’s hair were much messier and less accurate. Molly sniffed again.
Next after the middle was the first stature, beach-ball sized and named ‘Ginny “ by Charlie’. It looked like Ginny but a little stretched, shaped a bit like a trapezium, and with a very large nose.
Then came a surprisingly good statue, with hair done very well and an understandable mouth and fairly accurate eyes, though without definable hands or feet, labelled ‘Charlie “ by Percy.” Percy beamed excitedly when they reached his statue, and stood next to Molly. She put her arm tightly around his shoulders.
The last statue, between statue Fred and statue Charlie was labelled ‘Percy “ by Ron’. It was a ball, with an oval sort of head and very long skinny noodles for legs and arms. One patch was missing out of Percy’s hair, and was shaped roughly. Seeing them looking, Bill explained,
“Ron ate a handful of clay. We didn’t “ err “ notice for a while, but then… yeah.”
“That was why he was feeling sick at lunch yesterday,” said Fred brightly.
“Yeah, the paint was still wet too. We had to make sure he was washed up before you saw him.”
The silence that followed was one of the sweetest things Molly had felt all day.
“Boys,” said Arthur, “and Ginny,” he added, “this is… this is amazing.” Every one of them “ even, Molly fancied, Ginny “ blushed slightly.
“Well, we wanted to do something,” said Bill.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Like “ like you said. ‘Cause we care…” Molly suddenly pulled he, Bill, Percy, and Ginny, who was being carried by Bill, into her arms and promptly burst into tears. None of them seemed to know what to do.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and everyone seemed to hear.
o0oOo0o
The statues stood in the lounge for a long time, remaining next to the wall, but the next year, just before Charlie started school, they decided it was time to put them away. Reluctantly and tearfully, Molly had gone to shrink them down, but she had been stopped. Now summer, no one was using the sweaters any more, and, come next winter, they would be by far outgrown, and need new ones, which Molly planned to provide. So, on the day before the first of September, the jumpers that would fit the statues were put on, and those that didn’t were worn as scarves or capes.
After finally shrinking down the statues, Molly placed them all, carefully, on the mantelpiece, near the photos and old family portraits featuring her and Arthur’s family, as children, and what was left of the Prewetts and the Weasleys now.
Arman kept in touch with the family, having made a close connection with all the Molly’s children when he supplied them with their red paint (via his large, tawney owl) and helped them to work out how to use the clay, as well as multiplying their supply. Especially the twins seemed to take a shine to him, and Molly was glad. He seemed to take quite a shine to them also. The next time the families all met was when Arthur’s cousin, Albert, and his wife had a baby in 1985. It was not long after that that old Edgar Weasley died at 106.
The photos, the correspondence, Arnold Weasley’s little green top hat, and the statue on the mantel always stood firm in the Burrow, a memory of war, a memory of recovery, a memory of reunion and of unity, and of the potential value and the importance of a simple Christmas gift.
~~||~~
Not a word more is needed,
No more will be said,
Of this tale of a week,
With both Charlie and Fred,
And Molly and Arthur,
Bill, Percy and Ron,
And Ginny and George,
One more Christmas gone.
Whether in the dark future,
They will stick together,
A memory’s a memory,
And a memory’s forever.
The End.
Thank you, everyone, for sticking with me this whole time, and especially thank you to the helpful and encouraging reviewers, and my helpful and encouraging, wonderful beta, HermyRox12, who put in an extra special effort so I could get this posted quickly, before submitting my OC challenge entry, which is about Arman and Gloria Weasley.
Adios, mis amores!
Nothing for Christmas by Mind_Over_Matter
Chapter Notes:*Fireworks and small explosions, tinsel and fairylights*
Yes, my friends, Nothing For Christmas has now reached its end. No more little Ron. No more little Ginny. No more little twins, or Charlie or Bill, or, of course, Percy. And no more slightly younger Molly and Arthur.
Except, of course, for in this chapter.
I'd just love to thank you all, and thank all the Weasleys for going along with this story. Of course, I would also like to throw large chocolate wedges of gratitude at HermyRox12, my brilliant beta extraordinare and the fabulous mods who rock the proverbial sox. Now, I bring you the last, final and end chapter of
(just thought I'd emphasise that).
Nothing For Christmas