Skissors, Eight Tiny Reindeer, and a.... Gutter Truck?

Skissors, Eight Tiny Reindeer and a...Gutter Truck?

Humming merrily, Nymphadora Tonks wrapped Christmas packages in various red and green coloured wrapping papers. Though very lovingly tended to, the gifts looked rather...clumsy, to say the least. Sighing at her own ineptness, Tonks glanced out the window.

Her husband, Harry Potter, was trudging through the drifts outside their Hogsmeade home with white snowflakes nestled in his tousled black hair and a wide grin on his face. Three children followed him, two boys and a girl.

The first boy, James, looked identical to Harry. Same green eyes, same messy black hair, same slim build. The only thing missing was a faint, lightning bolt scar, which could be found on his father's forehead.

The second boy, Theodore, looked nothing like either of his parents...at the moment. He was a Metamorphmagus and could change his appearance at will. Right now, in a time which his mum liked to call a "difficult stage", his hair stuck straight up. He informed his parents that this style was called Liberty Spikes.

The third child, a daughter named Artemis, had long, red hair and hazel eyes. A very mischievous smile was on her face as she gave James a roguish wink. Behind her back, Tonks could clearly see a round snowball.

Tonks sighed and then giggled as Artemis tripped over a snow-covered rock in the path. Apparenty, clumsiness was hereditary. As she lay in the snow, her hands were busy shaping another snowball. Standing up, she brushed herself off and tossed the snowball.

Theodore, who was caught unawares, ended up with a face full of snow. Harry, anticipating the arrival of a snowball fight, darted inside the door just in time.

"Good God, dear, what hoodlums we've raised!" Tonks cried as he shook himself off.

"It's just a bit of sport, sweet. Nothing to worry about," Harry laughed softly.

"Glad you're not concerned. Now, before the children come back inside, you've got to help me wrap these presents for them!" Tonks exclaimed, an urgent expression on her face.

Harry gave her a look. Tonks knew perfectly well what his intentions were.

"No, you may not go and play Quidditch with the guys. I need your help!" As an afterthought, she added, "And no magic."

Sighing, Harry picked up the closest box and a pair of scissors. Tonks seemed not to have discovered what they were for; she was still tearing the paper. Harry sighed but didn't say anything.

As he ran the scissors along the wrapping paper, his attention shifted to his three children outside. Such sweet little things they were, he was glad to have them home for Christmas. Then again, living at Hogsmeade had been convenient, every time the children had a weekend visit...

"Damn it, OUCH!" Harry yelled out suddenly. The scissors had slipped from the paper and slit a line through the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. He dropped the scissors in pain as a thin river of blood blossomed from the skin.

"Ouch, Tonks, is there a band-aid in the drawer?" he asked. But Tonks wasn't listening. Her gaze was focused on the scissors.

"What is it, darling? Can you hurry, I'm in pain here!" Harry said.

"Are those," Tonks paused, just for effect, "smissors?"

"What are you on about?" Harry asked incredulously, the bloody cut on his hand forgotten.

"You know, smissors? Those wonderful Muggle objects that, oh, what is it they do?" Tonks inquired curiously.

"You mean scissors, right?"

"No, smissors. I'm sure it was smissors!" Tonks insisted.

"Nymph-" Harry began, but was interrupted.

"Don't you use that name! It's Tonks! Tonks!" she said angrily.

"Whatever! They're scissors, dear. I promise," Harry finished lamely.

"No, Mother told me they were smissors," Tonks persisted.

Harry sighed and threw his hands up in the air, "Oh, whatever."

Just then, three shivering, snow-covered children pelted in the door.

"What've you got there, Dad?" James asked curiously.

"I know what those are!" Artemis cried in delight, "Those are skissors!"

"It's scissors, Arty, dear," Harry corrected her exasperatedly.

"No, dad, it's svissors! Honest, Professor McGonagall told me!" Theodore insisted.

"Theo, it's smissors, er...that's scissors!" Harry said in flustered tones.

"I don't think so. I think you're all wrong," James said rather exultantly, "It's stissors!"

And out broke a very strange discussion, in which there was frantic bellowing of "Smissors!" "No, skissors!" "Really, it's svissors!" "You're all wrong. It's stissors!" and finally one, exasperated yell of "Why don't you just listen to me! It's stissors, er...scissors!"

Sighing, Harry picked up their pitifully wrapped packages and deposited them under the tree. Eventually, the noise died down.

"Oh, really, is this worth it?" Tonks said finally, "It's only over a pair of smissors!" Artemis opened her mouth, but Harry cut in just in time.

"No, young lady. This argument is over."

As the family left the room for their beds, Artemis stuck her tongue out at James, "Skissors!"

*~*~*

Finally, peace and quiet, Harry thought as he lay next to Tonks in their bed. He reached up to turn off the light, excited for Christmas morning, when he noticed the cut on his hand. That's what started it all, he thought, and I didn't even get to bandage it.

Just before Harry fell asleep, he sighed and looked out the window. Blinking his eyes and shaking his head, he chided himself.

How odd, he thought, I could have sworn I saw Father Christmas driving a truck that said "Hogsmeade Steam Less Gutters!"

He rolled over and shut it all out of his mind, but just as he was falling asleep, he heard a soft voice whisper, "Honks, Gutter, Jerry, Honks, Gutter, Jerry..."

It's not the strangest thing I've heard today, was his last conscious thought.

Fin.