A Christmas Carol

A Christmas Carol
by Pandora J.




N. Tonks
27 Rowena’s Gate
Prince of Wales Road
Kentish Town, London
U.K.

December 17,1991

Hi Sweetheart,

Owled Mum today to tell her I’m not coming home for the holidays. I know she’s going to be put out, so I prattled on a bit about how truly gutted I am that I’m going to miss Christmas with the family. I think that should placate her. She’s happy knowing I’m miserable.

You actually got tickets to Spank! I’m so jealous!

I finish work late Christmas Eve. Just let yourself in if I’m not back. I really hope I am. I‘ve got several surprises for you.

Still can’t believe I get you alone for the holidays!

love always,
Charlie

P.S. Don’t worry; I’ve cleaned the flat. Place is dripping in mistletoe.


*

C. Weasley
No. 3 - St. Luchain
Baia Mare, Romania

12/20/91

Dear Charlie,

My Mum and Dad are off to Paris for the holidays. Gran’s a little disappointed we won’t be coming to her this year, but she’ll have all her other grandchildren there. Promised Dad I’d pop in to see her before I go. Mum and Dad think I’m going to Tabitha in the Shetlands. I told Tabi; she’s going to cover for me.

Before you say ‘Just tell them, you’re of age!‘ They’re my parents Charlie! More specifically, my Dad... He’d want a chat with you. You don’t want that, trust me!

I note you didn’t mention telling your mother that you wouldn’t be alone!

Concert was fabulous!! I was so close I was sprayed with Colm Spank’s sweat, or perhaps it was spittle! Don’t care. I haven’t showered yet today!!

Can’t wait to see you!!

Love,
N.
xxx

*


It’s snowing. I’m already bouncing on the balls of my feet and I’ve only just rung the bell.

I hear shuffling.

“Who’s there?” I hear his voice through the door.

“Carol-singers,” I reply.

“Bugger off. I’m expecting my girlfriend.”

“Charlie!”

He opens the door and I launch myself at him. He kisses me, spins me around and pins me up against the wall. My feet aren’t touching the ground. His mouth is so warm; his tongue feels hot. I hadn’t realised I was so cold. He tastes like wine and chocolate. Six weeks is far too long! He finally releases me and I slide down the wall to my feet. He pulls my bag inside and shuts the door.

The place smells heavenly, like ginger and nutmeg and all manner of wonderful things. He’s wearing dress robes. Gawd, he’s wearing dress robes in navy and he looks so lovely. Even with the red Lurex apron it’s endearing.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells me.

“I was just about to tell you the same thing.”

“Shiny apron?”

“Very fetching.”

“I thought so.”

Did he just curtsey?

“So... this is your new flat?”

“Oh yeah, bit Mugglish, but I manage.”

He leads me into a small galley kitchen.

“It smells fabulous in here.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you cooking for me?”

“Of course.”

“What?”

“Ham. Thought we’d have ham and eggs for breakfast. Weasley tradition.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.”

He takes two clay goblets down from the cupboard.

“Mulled wine?” he asks.

“Love some.” That’s what smells so good.

He ladles hot wine into the goblets and hands me one. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”

“Well, there’s the reception, my bedroom.” He drops my bag inside the bedroom door. I want to see into the room but he won’t let me. “You’ll see enough of that later,” he smiles. “Spare room. Bathroom’s just there.”

A bell begins to ring frantically from the direction of the kitchen. I can only assume it is some sort of timer.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he says, leading me back to the sitting room. “I’ve got to take the ham out. Back in a tick.”

Instead, I choose to stand by the fireplace and look at the pictures on the mantelpiece. I love the pictures of his family. I can’t imagine having that many people in the same house. But when I look at them, I can’t help but think I’m missing something. Now that’s got to be Ron. Would he have started at Hogwarts this year? He’s standing in front of Hagrid’s hut with a dark-haired boy, who’s refusing to look at the camera and a girl with big hair and unfortunate front teeth. I look round when I feel Charlie’s eyes on me.

“Is this Ron?”

He nods. He’s leaning against the doorframe, sipping his wine and grinning at me over the rim of his goblet.

“What are you staring at?”

“As much as I think you look gorgeous in those robes, I’m trying to picture you out of them.”

“Pervert.”

“Did you expect anything less? I can’t be expected to behave myself all night, can I?” he asks, closing the distance between us.

“I’m surprised you’ve behaved yourself for this long, actually.”

“Well, I want tomorrow to be perfect.” He takes the goblet from me and puts it on the mantel with his own. He kisses me lightly, and brushes my hair back from my shoulders. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve been fighting a losing battle with my downstairs neighbour since you walked through that door,” he grins. “Since I’ve been thinking about you walking through that door...”

He pulls my hips roughly toward him and I can feel his ‘neighbour’ pressed firmly against my stomach.

“Now this,” he says, slowly sliding the fabric off my shoulder, “is the only present I care to unwrap.”

When did he undo...?

“Red?” he grins, noting my bra strap.

“It’s Christmas.”

“So it is.” He looks up at the ceiling. My eyes follow his and I can’t help but smile. I’m standing under mistletoe.

“I’ve enchanted it,” he explains. “It’s going to follow you all over the flat while you’re here, so be prepared.”

“Really?” I take a step in one direction and then the other, but the mistletoe follows my movement. I laugh and he smiles.

“So wherever you are,” he kisses one shoulder, “whatever you’re doing,” then the other, “you are of course,” my neck, “fair game.”

My robes pool at my feet. I stand there before him in my bra and knickers. His hand brushes my breast and I am forced to catch my breath.

“Do that again,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Bite your lip like you just did.”

“Do that again and I might.”

He obliges, as do I. Although, now I am far more aware my reactions and what they seem to do to him.

“I think this is rather unfair,” I say, as my arms move over his shoulders and I begin kissing his neck.

“What?” he asks, sliding his hands up my back and undoing the clasp of my bra.

“The entire clothing situation: my lack of it, and your abundance.”

“So you’re saying I should have fewer clothes on?” He slips my bra off and tosses it.

“Mmmm.”

“Do you insist?”

“I do.”

He steps back from me, removing his robes with surprising speed, and throwing them at the armchair. I grin. Not just at the usual lack of pants, but at the presence of the Christmas Ribbon. A red tartan bow, no less.

“Festive, aren’t we?”

“I thought so.”

He lets me guide him backward across the room and push him down to the sofa, where I set about untying the bow with my teeth... slowly... too slowly for Charlie, apparently.

“Please,” he murmurs, rocking his hips toward me.

I slide away from him, stand up, and walk back to the fireplace to pick up my steaming goblet, bringing it back with me to my position between his knees. His expression tells me he’s not sure what I mean to do.

“That’s still very hot,” he cautions. “I charmed the goblets and...”

“I know,” I reply. It’s near scalding in fact as I drink, so much so that even as I dip my head down and take him in, his soft skin feels cool on my tongue.

“Fuck, Nymph.”

Language, Charlie; it is Christmas Eve.

He throws his head back and his hand clutches at the blanket on the back of the sofa.

I release him for a moment. He opens his eyes and greets me with a look that is entirely intoxicating. I hold his gaze as I finish my drink and repeat the process. This time he’s ready. This time his eyes stay open. This time he wraps my hair in his fist.

I hear a distinctive Crack! Crack!

A voice cries, “Merlin, Morgan, and Malory!”

Looking up I see a red haired woman drop a plate of minced pies. Then darkness. It takes me a moment to realise that Charlie has thrown the blanket over both of us.

“Mum!” Charlie’s voice.

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“Dad!”

And, it just gets worse!

Do I have any chance of getting out of here without looking like a complete trollop? No, suppose not. All right then, first things first: remove penis from mouth. Sorry, Charlie. I get off my knees and crawl up onto the sofa beside him, all the while trying desperately to stay under the blanket.

“Jayzus, Mum, a warning would’ve been nice!”

“We thought you were alone,” I hear Mrs Weasley mutter.

I stick my head out of the blanket by Charlie’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around me rather defensively and I get my first look at Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Funny, I always thought I’d meet them over dinner at The Burrow.

They look just like they do in their pictures. Well, except Mr Weasley is holding a goose on a large platter. His robes are red, his hat is slightly askew and a sprig of holly is pinned to his lapel. A large sack is slung over his shoulder, making him look like a rather bizarre Father Christmas.

They’re both staring at me. My face is burning. I can’t meet anyone's eye. God, I wish I could just Disapparate. Wish my wand and robes weren’t across the room. Oh Merlin! My bra is hanging from the mantelpiece! Why now?

Why? Because the gods of fate hate me. Hate me because I lied to my parents. Hate me because I came here to shag my boyfriend, when I really should be taking my Gran to Midnight Mass!

I look up at Charlie; his face is defiant and I am surprised to see there’s no flush in his cheeks.

“Kitchen?” his father asks brightly, in a voice that is convincingly oblivious to the scene he’s just witnessed.

“Yeah, through there, Dad.”

“So...” Mr Weasley pauses, “Molly... Molly?”

“Yes.”

“We should get this into the kitchen.”

“Yes, of course.”

They disappear through the doorway. Charlie pulls his robes on and I wrap myself in the blanket pick up my clothes and retreat into the bedroom.

Now I know why he didn’t want me in here yet. The bed is trimmed with holly, the bedding is whiter than snow and as I touch it, softer than anything I think I’ve ever felt... And the ceiling, the ceiling is a starry sky, that instantly reminds me of the Great Hall at school. It is beautiful. The Christmas tree is in here, too --just a small tree in the corner, decorated beautifully with glass balls, tinsel and faerie lights. A large bowl, of what I can only assume is mead, sits at the base of the tree. The faeries appear to be circling down and back up the tree and I wonder if that was such a good idea on Charlie’s part to give them that much alcohol. At least two of them are swimming in the bowl. Still, it is Christmas.

I hang up my robes and pull on a pair of jeans and the T-shirt I bought at the concert last week. I change my mind once I’ve seen myself in the mirror. As much as I love ‘The Colm Spank Band’, I probably shouldn’t go out there wearing a top that reads ‘Spank Me!’ I settle instead for plain black. No matter what I do, though, I can’t seem to rid myself of the redness in my face. Apparently, utter humiliation is more than just skin deep.

I should go home.

I need to talk to Charlie. Unfortunately, that also means venturing out of this room. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. My hand finds the doorknob and I push it open. Charlie is waiting outside.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. He smiles at me and takes my hand as we round the corner to face his parents once more.

“You’re Andromeda’s daughter, aren’t you?” Mr Weasley asks. I know he’s only trying to be friendly but I still want to die.

“That’s right,” I find myself answering.

“Doesn’t she look like her mother, Molly?”

“She does.” Mrs Weasley offers a rather curt response.

Gawd, I wish I’d come as a blond.

“Mum, Dad, this is Nymphadora Tonks.”

“Nymphodora.”

“Nymph-a-dora, Mum.”

I swear that was deliberate.

“Actually, most people just call me Tonks.”

“It very nice to meet you, Tonks,” Mr Weasley says. “Charlie’s told us a lot about you. You’re starting the Auror Programme at the Ministry this spring?”

“Yes, sir.’

“Please, call me Arthur.”

I smile and nod, but am at a loss for what else to say.

“Tea?”

Found something.

“I’m going to put the kettle on. Would anyone like some tea?”

I sound like Gran; anything can be solved with tea and bickies.

“Tea would be lovely.” Arthur again.

“I’ll help,” Charlie says, and soon he’s following me into the kitchen.

He waves his wand over my head as we enter the room. I look over my shoulder at him.

“Mistletoe,” he mutters. I’d forgotten.

I put the kettle on, locate the teapot and look through the cupboards for tea.

“What’s the matter?”

“Where’s the blasted tea? And what do you mean, ‘what’s the matter?’”

“Here.” He reaches in the cupboard over my head and takes down the tin. My elbow hits the cup on the edge of the counter and it shatters on the floor.

“Everything all right, dear?” comes his mother’s voice from the next room.

“Yeah, Mum, I just broke a cup!” Charlie responds, discarding the evidence with a wave of his wand.

“Do try and be a bit more careful,” his mother again, “Oh, and there are jam tarts in the green tin.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Can’t have them knowing all your secrets the first night.”

“Oh God, Charlie, they saw me and you and... we were... I was...”

I should never take up mime.

“They’ll get over it.”

“I won’t.”

“It’ll be fine. Would you like me to tell them to bugger off?”

“No. I should just go. If I leave now I can still take Gran to church.”

“No. Don’t. You can’t.’”

“Charlie, your parents are here. They brought Christmas to you. I should go.”

“If you leave, I’ll be heartbroken.”

He takes my hand and puts it on his chest. At first, I think he’s being sweet, but then he gives me an evil grin and slides my hand down, and down, and down. Gawd, he’s still hard. Great thing about robes... I run my hand down his length as he presses me against the worktop.

“You go, I’ll die,” he whispers in my ear.

“You will not die.”

“Yeah, I will. My goolies will rupture, poison my bloodstream, and I will die a painful, hideous death.”

“You could self medicate.”

“I could, but we all know that leads to blindness. So you see, you have to stay, for my health.”

He nips at my earlobe with his teeth, his kisses trail down my neck to my collarbone and I suddenly don’t care that his parents are in the next room.

The sound of his father clearing his throat, however, brings me back to reality.

“Charlie, your mother and I would like a word when quite convenient.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Gawd, I wonder how long he’s been standing there.

Charlie takes the tea tray, as I’m not willing to risk it, and I follow him back into the sitting room.

“Don’t do that, Dad, you’ll blow a fuse.”

Arthur is flipping the light switch on and off.

“A what?”

“I’ll explain it to you later. Tea?”

My face feels like it’s on fire again. I slide into the chair and after serving the tea and tarts, Charlie seats himself on the arm.

“Your mother and I were talking and well... obviously... you had plans to spend Christmas with this lovely young woman... and we’ve interrupted...”

Kill me now.

His mother’s watching me.

I think she hates me.

I’ll just eat my tart and pretend I’m somewhere else. After all, I can’t be expected to talk with my mouth full.

Mind you, the last time she saw me with my mouth full...

I stifle a laugh, and start choking instead. Charlie pats me on the back.

“You all right, love?” he asks. I nod. Composure regained, thank God. I sip the remainder of my tea in silence, and start listening to the conversation again.

“...So,” his father continues, “we’ll just have Bill bring Ginny back home tomorrow and we’ll leave you two alone.”

“No, don’t, really. You’ve gone to all this trouble,” I find myself saying.

Shut Up!

Yet I continue, “Charlie’s always going on about how much he misses all of you.”

For the first time tonight, she smiles at me. A genuine smile, not through gritted teeth like before.

“Really?”

“All the time. Just look at his mantelpiece; I don’t even have my picture up there.”

This seems to make her happy.

Why don’t I have a picture up there?

“What do you usually do for Christmas, dear?” Mrs Weasley asks me.

“We go to my Gran’s in Suffolk. She’s a Muggle. She buys a turkey from Sainsbury’s that comes frozen with the stuffing already in it. Mum says it’s rubbish, and well, it is, but it’s tradition.”

“What’s a Sainsbreeze?” Arthur asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“It’s a Muggle shop; they sell food mostly, some of it extremely awful and some surprisingly good. I’ve been there twice.”

“So, you’ll stay then?” I ask them. I must be mad.

They exchange glances. “Yes,” they say together.

“And you’ll stay too.” Charlie tells me. That didn’t sound like a question.

I nod. He smiles.

“It’s settled then.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Arthur winks at me, “Molly’s Christmas dinner is fantastic.”

“Legend,” Charlie adds.

“So I’ve heard.”

She smiles at me again.

And it gets easier.

We move from tea and tarts, to mulled wine and ‘Honeyduke’s Christmas Assortment’. By the time I finish my wine I’m truly knackered; in fact, I can hardly keep my eyes open. No one else seems to have noticed though. Well, almost no one.

“Go to bed,” Charlie whispers. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

I say my goodnights, and I can’t help but notice another disapproving look from Molly as I head into her son’s bedroom.

I was doing so well.

The faerie lights are all at the bottom of the tree now; they’re trolleyed, and no longer able perch on the branches. It still looks pretty though. The tree is glowing from beneath; most of them are asleep, a few are still swimming and... I really don’t want to know what those four are doing. Oh Lord, I didn’t think faeries did that! And on Christmas Eve... That’s my whole childhood ruined.

I change into my nightdress and crawl into bed. This bed is so soft; it’s heavenly, like how you imagine clouds to be before you’ve actually flown through one on a broom. Looking at his bedside table I know why there are no pictures of me on the mantelpiece. They're all in here: numerous Quidditch Cups; Hogsmeade weekends; the Leavers' Ball... I like my hair in that one, it’s pink. I should do pink more often. I roll onto my back and look up at the starlit ceiling.

Well, it’s not the perfect Christmas I’d imagined, but I’m not likely to forget it.

I close my eyes.

I wake as he slides into bed behind me. Strong arms envelop me and pull me gently back into him. A hand moves down my side and under the hem of my nightdress, sliding up over my hip, and across my stomach, his fingers tracing the outline of my breasts. Reaching back, I run my hand down his side, over the muscles in his back, his arse, I’m pleased to note he hasn’t bothered with pyjamas. His thigh covers mine, I arc back into him and he rains kisses down my neck.

“You’re awake.”

“I am now.”

“Good.” His hand leaves my body and moments later he’s holding a small package in front of my face. A red package, tied with the same colour ribbon that got us into such trouble earlier.

“What’s this?”

“Your Christmas present.”

“I can wait and open it on Christmas.”

“It’s after midnight. Besides, I wanted you to open it tonight.”

I undo the bow and pull off the paper, and open the box. Inside is a small leather bound book with gilt edges. The faded gold writing across the front reads:

‘A Christmas Carol’
by
Charles Dickens

My favourite Christmas story.

I open the soft leather cover and flip slowly through it. Beautiful little illustrations adorn its pages. Marley rattles his chains; the Ghost of Christmas Past falls under its great extinguisher cap; Bob Cratchit dances with Tiny Tim on his shoulders; Fred toasts his uncle Ebenezer.

“Charlie it’s...”

“I wanted to get you a first edition,” he continues, apologetically, “but well... I couldn’t. This one’s 1915, but when I saw it, I thought...”

“Charlie, it’s beautiful,” I roll onto my back so I can see him, “thank you so much. But this would have been so expensive and...” He smiles down at me, the starlight casting soft shadows on his face and playing on the highlights in his hair.

“Trust me, it wasn’t so bad. Hey,” his thumb brushes across my cheek, “no tears, all right?”

“I love this story.”

“I know you do.”

He wraps his arms around me and the blankets around us both, opens the book, and begins to read aloud:

“Marley was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, that there is particularly...”

I turn toward him, watching his lips form the words. When I can no longer resist my mouth stops his and I mean not to let him finish.

* * *


Folding the letters carefully, I tuck them back between the pages of the little leather bound book.

“Tonks?”

Hermione stands in my doorway, still wearing the orange paper hat she pulled from her cracker earlier this evening.

“Yes.”

“Sirius sent me to fetch you. We’re playing Cauldron in the drawing room. He says you have to be on his team.”

“Family edition, right?”

“I hope so.”

“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

She turns to go, then stops, and looks back at me.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” I reply, brushing stray tears from my face and tucking the little book into the pocket of my robes. “I was just reading.”

“Not a happy ending?”

“No, ‘fraid not.”

~ Fin