A Miserable Holiday

A Miserable Holiday - Part 1

December 21^st

"Ok, Susie, now say 'reindeer'!" Colin Creevey chirped to the six-year-old girl, who was sitting on top of Santa's lap.

"Reindeer!" she replied, shining a toothless smile while Colin snapped the photo.

"I hope she asked St. Nick for her two front teeth," Ginny muttered to his brother Dennis, who was helping her put the slowly developing Polaroid pictures into tacky red and green frames. "Hey, how come he doesn't have to wear one of these ridiculous outfits?"

Dennis shrugged "What can I say? He is 'Le Photographer'. We are just hired help." Turning back to Ginny, he smiled, "Wait...you mean you don't like your fuzzy red jumper and matching Santa hat?"

"Well, it's a heck of a lot better than your suspenders and green paisley top. Any more frills and people would assume you were Toodles, The 'Flaming Homosexual' Elf."

Dennis laughed, a little too loudly perhaps, and a frazzled looking mother trying to juggle several shopping bags and toddler aged twins stared at him. "Happy Christmas!" he called out to her, but the woman just turned and walked away.

"Honestly, Dennis! How can you remain so cheerful?" Ginny sighed. "After six hours of long lines of screaming children and their overbearing parents, not to mention the endless stream of bad holiday tunes - I'm tempted to do a double shot of brandy."

Dennis responded with a sheepish grin that even at the age of eighteen made him look painfully young."Well Gin, I am one of the few people I know who can just truly enjoy Christmas in a simplistic sense. I don't get stressed out by trivial details like how to find the perfect gift or who I should send greeting cards too. The only problem with the holidays is when people take the whole thing too seriously, like that cranky woman over there. She can't even take a moment out of her busy shopping schedule to accept a comment of good cheer. I bet tonight she'll cry herself to sleep because she can't make homemade decorative seating cards like that Martha Stewart bird."

Ginny reached under the folding table and pulled out another box of frames with one hand while straightening her lopsided hat with the other. Five out of seven nights a week for the last month, Ginny had been unfortunately spending her free time being one of Santa's elves at a nearby Muggle toy store. The position was her second job; her official one was that of a clerk for the ordering department of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes - Diagon Alley Office. She took on the task of aiding Old Saint Nick for some extra spending money, so desperately needed during the holiday season.

Noticing Ginny's expression of loathing, Dennis patted her on the back and showed her his wristwatch. "Only twenty-five minutes before the store closes, mate. If we start putting things away now, we might be able to sneak out of here on time for once."

"Thank Merlin," she replied and glanced at the line of children that was beginning to dwindle. At nine o'clock at night, you'd think parents would be at HOME with their children, instead of dragging them here, Ginny thought.

Fundamentally, Ginny Weasley did not dislike Christmas. Over the last twenty years of her life, she could remember dozens of Christmases spent at the Burrow with her family: Bill and Charlie setting up the evergreen tree, Fred and George playing wicked pranks on her, Percy monitoring all attempts at decorating, Ron, Harry and Hermione hiding gifts from each other, Mum's homemade mincemeat pies, and the muggle train set that her dad spent all day setting up...

Ginny was torn between the urge to smile at the memories and need to blink back the tears that were forming in her eyes. Silently, she finished the chore of sliding the last of the photos into their frames and handing them to the tired little boys and girls being lead away by their parents. Shaking one of the final pictures and watching the image appear, Ginny still couldn't help marveling how plain Muggle photographs were compared to their moving counterparts in the wizarding world.

"Snap out of it, Ginny," Colin said, when he noticed his friend staring absentmindedly at the picture. "Geez, you must be tired. How many hours a day are you putting in?" He placed his camera and packets of extra film in his bag.

Ginny put the picture in its frame and handed it to a small boy with dark curly hair. "Er, I'm usually at the office from eight to three-thirty, scarf down a sandwich during my walk from Diagon Alley to here, change clothes and put in at least six hours at the store. So I'd say at probably twelve hours of work before I catch the Knight Bus to my flat. I'm usually too tired by that point to even attempt apparating."

Colin ran his fingers through his short blond hair and sighed. "Sounds awful, Ginny. I'd ask if you wanted to join Dennis and me for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, but I'm afraid you'd fall asleep before we got there."

"You're probably right." Ginny carried the half-empty box of frames into the storage room and when she emerged a few minutes later she was in the process of putting on her gray pea coat. "Hey, Dennis? Do you think Mr. Artleby will mind if I leave now? I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Go home, Ginny," Dennis replied, counting the money in the register. "I'll finish cleaning up."

"Yes, hurry home," said Colin, giving his friend a quick hug. "Umm...perhaps we can catch dinner one of these nights, preferably a meal you don't have to eat standing up?"

Ginny smiled. "That sounds nice, Colin, but not in the next week. I'm booked all the way until Christmas Eve."

"So am I," Colin laughed, zippering up his winter coat and gesturing to the store around him. Ginny tightened her forest green scarf around her neck before putting on her matching gloves. The two stood quietly together for a minute before Colin spoke. "Well, goodnight, Ginny."

"Night," she replied and smiled softly. The only thing keeping her awake at that moment was the idea of getting home and taking a long hot bath. As she walked out the glass front doors, Ginny could hear Dennis call out a similar goodbye as he headed to the bathrooms to change out of his elf uniform.

Colin was still standing there by the windows, staring at the new snowflakes filling in the footsteps she had made in the snow, when Dennis returned wearing a normal set of clothes. "Any luck?" his brother asked.

"No," Colin murmured. "And I'd rather not talk about it."

Dennis just shrugged and pulled on his jacket. "Well, then an order of Firewhiskeys is definitely on the agenda tonight."

**************

"So, pal, what can I get for you?" Tom, the toothless bartender asked. It was an unusually quiet night at the Leaky Cauldron and when the young red haired man pulled a stool up to the bar, Tom moved faster than he had all day - in order to be of service.

"A Dragon's Breath and make it extra strong," Ron Weasley replied, holding his aching head in his tensed hands.

Tom tipped his balding head sideways and looked at Ron inquisitively. "What's the problem here, buddy? You look worse than you usually do when you stop in on Fridays."

"Frankly, Tom, that's because this particular Friday happens to be shittier than any other Friday in my recent past, though this doesn't surprise me...with Christmas just around the corner," Ron sighed.

"Well, fill in the blanks here...I'm not a mind reader."

Ron shrugged. "Aw, you don't want to hear about it."

Tom stirred the last ingredients into the steamy glowing drink and handed it over to Ron. "Listen pal, I'm a bartender. It's part of my job to listen to my customers' sob stories while they muddle over their drinks."

Ron hesitated for a moment before figuring - what the hell? Settling back in his bar stool, he began. "Well, it started this morning when Lydia the office secretary was handing out what appeared to be our holiday bonus checks. Here she was, bouncing around from cubicle to cubicle wearing this ridiculous white sweater with little red and green Christmas trees on it and a bell - for Merlin's sake - a stupid jingly bell around her neck. It's bad enough the girl can barely spell her own name, but does she need to parade around the office like a bloody Christmas fairy?"

"Anyway, she hands me this green envelope with my name scrawled across the front. I stare at it for a moment when I hear that half-twit Davis from the Prophet's Political Commentary Section moaning about how this year's bonus is less than last year's. I thought to myself - quit complaining...you make more than anyone else with the exception of "Front Page" reporters and the editors. So I slide my finger underneath the seal and pull out this odd pink slip of paper. Crappy bonus, you ask? No, it was a letter informing me that I've just lost my job! Four days before friggin' Christmas and I'm unemployed! Not that being the Sports Columnist for the Daily Prophet was the best job in the world, but I enjoyed writing my own pieces and had the benefit of seeing all the international Quidditch matches for free."

"Man, that is rough," Tom replied, automatically preparing Ron another Dragon's Breath, even though he wasn't finished with the first one.

Ron took a large gulp, letting the fiery liquid slide down his throat. "So as you can imagine, I'm livid. I storm into Edgecombe's - the head editor's- office, only to find that he's left early for a week long vacation. Bastard. When I confront Lydia- the one brain-celled secretary, she only mutters something about budget cuts and asked that I not make a scene, being that it was Christmas and all. Another word out of her mouth and she'd be spewing cotton balls from now 'till New Year's."

"So, after cussing out a few individuals in the office - particularly Michael Corner from Distribution, he really deserved it - I tossed all of my personal items in a box and send a quick owl to my girlfriend to meet at our favorite Indian Restaurant on the Square at noon for lunch. Low and behold, at 12:30 I'm still sitting in Eastern Taste, sipping on a glass of water, impatiently waiting for Lavender to arrive."

Tom, who has begun wiping out glasses in absence of customers, turns to look back at Ron. "Wait, Lavender...as in?"

"Yes, yes. As in 'Lavender Brownies', the bakery down the street. The owner and manager - Lavender Brown - is my girlfriend - or was my girlfriend until this afternoon."

"You're kidding!" spoke a voice that had just entered the pub. Ron and Tom looked up to see Colin and Dennis Creevey coming in for a late drink.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Eight months together and I was thinking things were getting serious between the two of us. She strolls into the restaurant at quarter to one, wearing this little black dress that I absolutely love because it shows off her legs-"

"Yeah, she does have a great set of those," Dennis commented as he pulled up a bar stool.

"Excuse my little brother. He has no tact," Colin interjected. "Tom, can we have two Firewhiskeys, please?"

"Coming right up."

Ron took another gulp of his drink and continued. "She sits down across from me and before I can tell her about losing my job-"

"Wait! You lost your job too?" Colin asked.

"Yes, I got a pink slip in lieu of a holiday bonus."

"Bloody hell!" muttered Dennis.

"Anyway," Ron says, jumping back into the story. "We haven't even ordered lunch or anything and Lavender puts on a pout (you know how she gets) and says 'Ron, dear, I've been giving this a lot of thought recently, and I don't think you are I are meant for each other...' - whatever the hell that means. Then she goes on this long tirade about 'lack of common interests' and the 'need for stability'. At that point I didn't even want to mention the fact that I had just been fired! Finally she drops the kicker - 'I need someone who is more upwardly mobile."

"Upwardly, what? I'm thinking to myself. Oh, she means someone who makes more money than me. So I tell her, 'Hey, Lavender! Give me a chance here. I'm only twenty-one, my adult life has only just begun."

That's when Lavender replies, 'Ron, there's someone else.' Talk about a slap in the face!

This is the point where I stand up in the middle of the restaurant and yell 'Someone else? After all the crap you put me through - that trip to France, the family drama...not to mention the pregnancy scare in October!' Lavender bursts into tears and says 'This is exactly what I'm talking about, Ron. You don't understand me at all.'

"So now I'm confused. When in this conversation did she mention a lack of understanding? Now the two of us are going back and forth until she finally confesses who this rich, yet sensitive guy that she wants to have as her new boyfriend.

Both Creevy brothers were hanging on Ron's every word, with Dennis' mouth hanging open since he heard the words "pregnancy scare". "Who is it?" Colin asked.

"None other than fellow Gryffindor, Dean Thomas...the architect."

"Ohhh..." the young men replied, each taking a swig of their drinks. The three sat in silence for a few minutes after that comment was made.

Ron finished his drink and started quickly in on the second. "Now I've been wandering around London all day because I certainly don't want to go home and tell my brothers what has just happened. It's bad enough that Fred and George's business has been so successful - for goodness sake they sell magical pranks for a living- but both of them are happy with their personal relationships. George's been shagging this Muggle girl Clara, who by the way has no idea that he's a wizard for the past few months and Fred is now seeing their business accountant, Luke..."

Colin placed his drink back down on the bar. "Wait, Luke? What happened to Angelina?"

"Well, I think Fred's interest in men got in the way of the relationship," replied Ron.

"Hmm..." said Colin, mulling it over. "Of all the Weasleys, I would have never assumed Fred."

Ron laughed. "No, not at all. I mean, I've had Percy pegged for years but off he went and married Penelope Clearwater. Even has a rugrat of his own now."

"I heard Angelina's dating Oliver Wood now. She met up with him again when she was trying out for the Wigtown Wanderers this past fall. Did you know that Oliver's been coaching that team since he ruined his knee playing reserve for the Puddlemere United?" Dennis asked, excitedly.

"No, Dennis. I've only attended - and written a column about - every major Quidditch match played during the last three years," Ron groaned.

Colin reached over and smacked his brother sharply against his head.

Ron searched through his pocket to pull out enough money to cover his tab."Tom, can you hit me up with another 'DB' before I head out? I have a feeling it's going to be a long night..."

*************