'Twas the Night Before a Weasley Christmas

Part Two - Christmas Eve dinner

The usual Weasley dinner conversation was full of loud laughing and shouted jokes over the length of the table. Tonight, however, was not a usual Weasley dinner.

For one thing, Arthur thought to himself as he twirled his glass of butterbeer thoughtfully, this was the most people that had ever fit around the battered kitchen table. He and Bill had barely finished creating a temporary extension to the little used formal dining room before Molly had started setting out the food. He preferred not to add onto the house if it could be helped, butthe air had turned frigid and small flakes of snow had started falling soon after the Longbottoms arrived.

For another, it was eerily quiet. Too quiet for Arthur's liking. He preferred the constant chatter of large family dinners. This strained silence was too much like the tension he felt at work, and he wanted none of that showing up in his home. Clearing his throat and glancing at Molly for support, he broke the silence. "Neville, I understand you have a toad?"

The quiet boy looked from the head of the table to his grandmother across the table from him and back again. Very conscious that every eye was on him, he nodded and quickly looked back at his plate.

It was obvious to Arthur that this was not the right place to start a conversation. He remembered now that Ron was often commenting that Neville was uncomfortable being singled out. The boy did seem rather intimidated by his grandmother, but who wouldn't be? The woman was currently glaring daggers at Ginny, who was sitting between Neville and Harry. Neither female was looking very jolly. He turned his attention to the twins, hoping they would be able to liven things up a bit.

"Um, Fred. George. How's the shop doing?" He knew very well how the shop was doing. It had become a ritual for him to set the two down as soon as they arrived home each visit to have a chat about profit margins and reliable storage.

The twins were seated on either side of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The dark Auror was the only person to date who could tongue-tie the two with his mere presence. His question appeared to fall on deaf ears. He noticed George staring spellbound by Kingsley's tiny gold earring and Fred gaping at the amount of food the man seemed to be consuming with little movement. Obviously, those two were going to be no help to the stagnant conversation. With a shake of his head, Arthur fervently hoped Molly didn't blow her top when the two came home with bits of gold glinting in their own ears.

Molly had turned away from him now; he tried to figure out what she was looking at. Members of his family and a good majority of the Order of the Phoenix were lined up down the long table, but no one seemed interested in sharing the general merriment of the season. Nonetheless, everyone but Charlie seemed intent on eating their way through the delicious holiday feast. Arthur had thought it odd that his second oldest son had been holed up in the shed since his arrival this morning. Now, he watched him pushing his food around on his plate, either staring around him with a nonchalant glance, as if he was viewing portraits in a gallery, or jumping slightly with a guilty flush.

"Charlie, how's Romania been? It's not often you get to come home for Christmas. The dragons must be quiet this year. How did you manage time off during mating season?"

This time his son's flush rivalled the deep red of the poinsettia flowers decorating the middle of the table. "Dragons? No, there aren't any dragons here."

"Course there aren't," Mundungus Fletcher chuckled, slapping Charlie's back with enough force to drive his stomach into the table. "No dragons in these parts since I wassa boy. Nice creatures to have 'round when you want to start a fire. Could sell 'em for a nice profit if ya had any."

Molly growled, low and menacing, like a mother lion whose cub was too near to danger. Fletcher had been the only member of the Order not explicitly invited to spend Christmas at the Weasley's, but had managed to convince Moody to let him tag along. Molly had promptly locked up the silver candlesticks that had been a wedding present from Great Aunt Maude and a treasured diamond brooch and pin set that she rarely wore. Arthur didn't figure the poor man could do too much damage with so many people around. Besides, Moody had promised he wouldn't let the con man out of the sight of his magical eye.

The other diners, taking their cue from Molly's frustration and anger, chose not to look directly at the man as he continued talking about other ways dragons were useful. Charlie's face had gone pale, and he looked nauseous.

Arthur had reached his limit. The dinner conversation was unsalvageable and he was uncomfortable in his own home. Reaching over the place a peck on his wife's cheek, he stood up. "I think I'll head outside for a bit of a ramble before bed."

Hurrying out of the room, he heard his wife's howl of rage but refused to be swayed from his present course. With any luck, he could be out for several hours yet before the storm drove him back inside.

***

"Do you think anyone suspected anything?" Neville whispered to Harry. He had started to feel very foolish during dinner, convinced the secret he held onto was painted on his forehead somehow for the world to see. His Gran was spending all her time glaring at Ginny, who was giving the same right back, so he didn't think she had noticed anything amiss.

"No, of course not. Don't worry so much. We'll get away with this one for sure."

"I'm just not good with secrets. Never have been. My conscience always rats me out in the end."

Harry turned to glare at him, his green eyes snapping like well-polished gemstones. "Well, this time it's not going to. You're going to do exactly what we told you to do and we're not going to get caught. Do we understand each other?"

He nodded his agreement but still felt as if WATCH OUT FOR ME! I HAVE A SECRET! was flashing in red and green fairy lights above his head. Obviously he needed to keep busy and out of the way. Remembering the books he had brought with him, he started toward the staircase.

Ron's room was silent and dim. Only one light flickered from the corner, but it was enough as it bounced off the continuous orange of the Chudley Canon paraphernalia lining the walls. The effect was a pleasant glow that was perfect for Neville's quick search of his bag. Locating his writing supplies, parchments, and the slim library book, he headed back out the door. He noticed the pacing figure as he started towards the stairs.

"What to do? What to do?" Charlie muttered, walking back and forth as he hunched over, a small bundle in his hands.

"Charlie? What're you doing up here? I thought we were all restricted to the floors we were sleeping on."

"What? Oh, Neville. Sorry, didn't see you. I'm trying to get away from the crowds. They scare Precious. Uh, I mean, they scare me. Scare me something awful."

"They do? I never would have figured you for a shy person. You're Charlie Weasley - dragon tamer extraordinaire."

He stopped and smiled. "They call me that at Hogwarts?"

"Well, not really. Ginny called you that once when she was angry with Dean Thomas. She threatened to send one of your dragons after him. It just kinda stuck in my head."

"Oh." He started walking again; his shoulders hunched even more then before.

"I'm sure it's true, though. Just because no one outside your family talks about you, it doesn't mean that you aren't doing a great job in Romania."

"I used to be someone, Neville. You know the type. Girls swooned when I walked in the room. Other boys fought over who would sit next to me in the Great Hall. The great Charlie Weasley. Ha! If they could see me now. Glorified dragon baby-sitter."

Neville hefted the articles in his hand and contemplated sneaking down the stairs while Charlie's back was turned. It seemed wrong to leave him while he was depressed, though. "I wouldn't call you a baby-sitter. Dragons aren't that easy to handle."

"They are when they're only five days old and haven't figured out that they're supposed to blow fire." He lifted his arms a little, allowing Neville to see what he was holding. A tiny blue dragon's head poked out of the silvery blanket, the eyes mere slits under a dusting of yellow freckles.

"That's a . . . a . . . a-" He was now backed up against the wall, his bundle fallen to the floor and forgotten in his haste to put distance between himself and the ferocious beast.

"A dragon. I know."

Charlie started walking toward him Neville stopped him with an outstretched hand. He knew there was a look of terror on his face but he couldn't help himself. Considering all the horrible myths and legends surrounding the animals, eve a baby dragon was a threat to his peace of mind.

The babysitter tried explaining himself again. "This is the only way I could come home for Christmas this year. Little Precious wouldn't let anyone else take care of her, and I promised to keep her hidden. Like I said, she hasn't figured out that she's a fire-breathing animal and we don't dare put her in the pen with the others. They'd make a blackened lump out of her."

"Charlie, that's a dragon."

"She can't hurt anyone. I promise."

"Is that why you were so jumpy at dinner?"

He chuckled. "She likes to flex her little claws when she's tired. Dinner lasted a little longer then I thought it would, and she really needed to go somewhere quiet to calm down."

"So your parents don't know about the dragon?"

"Don't say the dragon like it's a bad word. I told you, she couldn't hurt anyone."

Neville wasn't convinced but calmed down enough to pick up his school supplies. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say. You're the boss."

"Once I get her to sleep, she should sleep through the night. I just don't know where to put her down. I had thought about setting her up in the shed, but it's so cold and lonely out there. She really does like to be around people. And if I go downstairs with her now, Mum will scream and that'll just wake her up again."

"Really? You think she'll scream?"

"For a quiet boy, you sure know how to use your sarcasm. You aren't helping."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He looked around the short hallway, hoping an idea would fall from the ceiling and hit him on the head. "Can't you leave, uh, her in your room?"

"No, Bill would kill me. Besides, we're on the first floor as Dad and Mum. They're bound to notice something when she wakes up tonight for her midnight feeding."

"If you're down on the main floor, how'd you get all the way up here?"

"You mean the Same Stair Spell?" He smiled the same devastating smile that still made the girls scream and the boys want to be around him. "Would you think someone with this face could do anything wrong?"

The idea finally did fall from the sky and hit Neville on the head. "Go wait on the second floor. I think we can help each other." He ran down the stairs, hoping that the group didn't mind him adding to their number of people in on the secret.

He came to a screeching halt in the entryway to find the room now full of people and decidedly more decorated then it had been last time he had been there. The Muggle Christmas tree had been in place for twenty minutes and already it was taking on a decidedly non-Muggle appearance. Real icicles hung from every branch, dripping water on the frayed carpet. A delighted Crookshanks watched as tiny birds chirped from nests placed throughout while tiny fairies danced and twirled in different holiday costumes.

"Ginny. Hermione. Are you almost done with the popcorn chain?" Mrs. Weasley stood in the centre of the room, shouting out instructions to everyone who had been too slow to escape her decorating tirades.

"Almost," sighed a dejected looking Hermione. Both girls struggled with the needle and thread, trying to catch the pesky popcorn as Fred and George popped it in midair and let it rain down on them.

"As soon as Bill is done fashioning all the glass baubles, we're going to need those garlands. You'd better pick up the pace."

Brilliant red and gold balls billowed out of Bill's wand and floated to the tree. "Sorry, Mum. They're not turning out to be very glassy. More of a translucent bubble."

"They need to be glass. The Christmas balls in the book are all made out of the delicate blown glass." She pointed emphatically to the picture, close to hysterics at the way the tree was, or was not, turning out.

"It's not going to happen. If I try glass, they end up looking like that." A pool of bubbling ooze popped and hissed on the floor in front of the roaring fire.

"Oh, Bill! What did you do?"

"He tried it the Muggle way," Mrs. Longbottom sniffed. Apparently, she felt she had kept quiet long enough from her position near the window where she had chosen to sit away from the holiday excitement. "It's no use trying to mix the two. Either do it one way or the other."

Neville beckoned to Harry, hoping neither alpha female spotted him as they faced off with the holiday book between them. "Get the girls and meet me at the foot of the stair."

The dark-haired boy nodded and made his way casually to the part of the parlour caught in a blizzard of white. The two girls followed him out of the room, looking very glad to be abandoning their broken string and bent needles.

"We may be in luck," Neville gushed. "Charlie is waiting upstairs by your room, Ginny. He needs to keep something safe and your room seemed the best bet."

"No," she moaned, stomping her foot like a spoiled toddler. Harry glanced at her sharply and she quieted.

"I figure we can help him out and he can help us."

Hermione looked suspicious. "With what?"

"He's not bound to one floor. The spell doesn't affect him."

"So he can plant the-"

"Yes! Exactly!"

With a high-pitched squeal that only a teenage girl could pull off, Ginny pulled Hermione up the stairs.

"Where's Ron?"

Harry lifted his chin, indicating the kitchen. "The twins have given him a recipe they guarantee he can't mess up. Obviously," he smiled as the muffled cursing started, "it still isn't working out well."

"Family! Look who has come to visit us!" All attention turned to the opening of the front door and Mr. Weasley's shouted greeting. He and a stranger were blowing their way in under a pile of wet snow. The few flakes that had started to fall earlier were multiplying and bringing friends along. "Can you believe this weather? Who would have thought we would have snow at Christmas?"

"Arthur, what were you thinking wandering about in this weather?" Hands reached out to dust off the offending flakes and grab at the coats and hats and scarves until the two men stood in a circle of silent watchers.

"I was walking down the lane and there he was, stuck along side the road. His automobile ran off the road, owing to the icy conditions. He has a car service but they can't come until the snow stops. A service for a car. Can you imagine it? A car service. It sounds so incredibly Mug-"

"Arthur!"

"Dad!"

"Mr. Weasley!"

Everyone started talking at once, hoping that the poor, wide-eyed stranger hadn't already been thoroughly interrogated by the Muggle-mad head of household.

"Come in by the fire and we'll get you something warm to drink. Do you like butterbeer?"

"Your clothes are soaking. Bill, go get some of your clothes. You look the same size."

The babble continued until the man held up his hands. "Please, I beg you. Just let me use your phone and I'll be out of your hair in a jiff. My office is expecting me back tonight and my mobile has died." The small silver gadget he held in his hand sparkled as all eyes turned towards it in wonder.

"And what does that device do? I would love to take it apart and see what magic makes it work."

Harry hurried forward and took the man's arm before Arthur could say anything more incriminating. "Sir, why don't you sit beside the fire, and we'll see what we can do for you. Mr. Weasley, you go get that drink. Mrs.Weasley, why don't you finish decorating the tree with some of your more normal Christmas decorations?"

Safe for now, the people that were left took a deep breath and tried to act as Muggle as possible as they headed back to the front room. There was a moment of peace before a large explosion rocked the house. Rolling his eyes, Harry groaned as a string of curses filtered into the room followed by another bang. "Neville, go tell Ron about our guest and see if he can finish his baking a little more quietly."

"Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night," Bill muttered as he entered the room, carrying the only thing he could find at such short notice. The pink ruffled shirt and blue striped trousers weren't anything that could be found on Seville Row but they would have to do.

"That sounds like an excellent suggestion," Molly said, bustling in behind her son. "Why don't we all hurry off to bed so Christmas will be here sooner?"

Green flames shot up in the fireplace, giving the room and all the occupants a strange glow. In that instant, Harry was afraid the man beside him was going to scream like a girl. He took the clothes Bill had in his arms and threw them over the man's head, hoping to hide what was obviously not the most usual entrance.

"Well," Snape drawled, "isn't this a cozy scene."

The Muggle screamed, clawing at the fabric over his eyes before he finally succumbed and fainted dead away.