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mini_fest2009-12-11 06:33 am
mini_fest_mod) wrote in mini_fest2009-12-11 06:33 am
Fic: Baby's First Christmas
Title: Baby’s First Christmas
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quill_lumos
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Rating: gen
Warnings: - None
Prompts: Prompts: sort of 6 (baby’s first Christmas) – prompts list one, but not H/D and from prompt list two: Snowfall, Baubles, Fireplace, Snowed in on Christmas Eve, Stockings, Warm by the fireplace.
A/N: This is dedicated to my darling C L, because I love her. She holds my hand through the angsty times and gives me a good virtual kick up the bahooky when I need one. I don’t know what I’d do without you, babe, thanks for the awesome beta.
This was meant to be a long comedy, but it didn’t quite end up that way.
Summary: A baby’s first Christmas is meant to be special and every mother wants it to be perfect.
Baby's First Christmas
It was Christmas Eve and snow was falling softly, surrounding the little cottage and covering the countryside in a thick white blanket. The radio played some seasonal music, soft and lyrical and sometimes silly. The tall Christmas tree stood, slightly askew, in one corner of the little sitting-room. It was far too big, really, for such a tiny space, but she thought it looked lovely. They’d dragged it in earlier, from the nearby woodland, and had decorated it with far too many decorations and a great deal of hilarity. Now it was full of light and sparkles and the baby couldn’t seem to stop gazing at it, all wide-eyed and full of awe. At almost five-months-old, he was so active and interested in absolutely everything. All the Christmas festivities had stopped him sleeping, as he simply didn’t want to miss anything. He loved it all and wanted to see, touch, and shove everything he could get his hands around into his mouth so he could explore it thoroughly with his drooly and, as yet, toothless gums.
Perhaps he’d sensed the excitement, the singular magic that was Christmas Eve, because that evening he wouldn’t even feed properly. She’d made the mistake of sitting beside the hearth in the fat, chintzy armchair. It wouldn’t have been her first choice of furnishing, but it was very comfortable and close to the fireplace with its mesmerizing, flickering flames – therefore, making it warm and cosy and comforting – the only drawback being that it was right beside the tree. The baby pulled away from feeding yet again, distracted by twinkling lights, his cheeks red with the heat, his hair (far too much of it for such a small child) gloriously tousled from being snuggled close to her, and his eyes wide with wonder.
“You are a bundle of mischief, aren’t you?" she whispered, nuzzling the sweetly scented patch of skin behind her little son’s ear and kissing his soft curls. His hair was as dark and as messy as his father’s and his smile was his father’s, too. She was already certain he would have his father’s talent for getting into trouble. Only not yet, he was far too young yet.
“Ga!” he said, reaching out towards a hand-spun glass icicle, which was twisting in a slight draft, sending shards of rainbows to dance along the whitewashed wall.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” she asked him, tickling his milk-filled tummy. The baby giggled happily and kicked his legs and waved his arms.
It had been such a difficult year. They had lost so many people to Voldemort... but her marriage, her son, they were a new beginning and now it was Christmas Eve and they were safe. The house was small and lavishly decorated with holly and ivy and bright paper chains, and the large, shining tree. It was perfect for Christmas, perfect for her son’s first Christmas.
She stood and lifted him closer to the silvery bauble that had attracted his attention, watching his chubby little hand grasping for the shiny object. He gurgled and cooed batting at the globe with fat little fingers.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it, darling boy?”
“Aaah!”
“Yes, aaah.”
She moved him closer to another ornament, the icicle, this time. Close enough for him to almost touch, but not to do him any harm.
“Babababa!”
“Really, baby?” she asked, moving him close to a shining silver bell. “Is that what you think, sweetie?”
“Brrrrrrr.”
She laughed softly and laid her cheek against his milk-warmed skin. “Oh, sweetheart, I do love you.”
Everything was just like she’d hoped it would be: the snow, the decorations, the piles of presents to be unwrapped in the morning, the long, stripy stockings that hung from the mantel, waiting to be filled. And yet, she felt unaccountably sad. She was dogged by a sense of foreboding. Christmas didn’t normally make her feel so... so maudlin. She brushed her jaw against her son’s wild curls and hummed along with the Christmas carol playing softly in the background. He was sleepy now, her little boy, and all at once he felt so much heavier in her arms. She swayed a little, dancing with her child in time to the festive music on the radio.
As she danced she wondered about the future and what it might possibly bring. This year her baby was too young to really know what Christmas was about, but he loved the bright shiny baubles and the colourful paper chains. Next year... she closed her eyes and imagined a little boy, with messy black hair and chubby legs, toddling towards the Christmas tree. He would laugh and clap equally chubby hands and watch the decorations with his wide green eyes, her eyes. Yes, next year would be even more perfect.
She shivered.
There was something, something she couldn’t dismiss, a small frisson of concern which she couldn’t quite suppress, a strange feeling that she had to make the most of every moment in her son’s life, because they might not have that many Christmases together.
“What a silly mummy,” she said, whispering against his downy cheek, “getting all sad. It’s Christmas, your first Christmas and I want it to be wonderful. I shouldn’t be sad, should I?” She blinked back the tears that were unaccountably welling in her eyes.
“Lily?”
She was startled from her thoughts. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and turned towards the voice. It was her husband who’d spoken. He was standing in the doorway tall and good-looking and somewhat dishevelled, drying his hands on a tea-towel and grinning at her goofily.
“Is Prongslet asleep?” he asked, quirking his head to one side, more serious for a moment.
“Yeah,” she answered, forcing a smile while cradling her tiny son close to her, as if she’d never let him go.
James smiled back, happily, his eyes crinkling at the corners making her breath catch in her throat. He looked so handsome like that.
“Let’s get him up to bed then, shall we? Then we can have some hot chocolate and snuggle together beneath the tree.”
“Okay,” Lily said, determinedly squashing her feelings of melancholia. “That sounds lovely, let’s do it.” She closed the distance between them and stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband. “I love you,” she murmured.
“Me, too,” James replied somewhat huskily, perhaps affected by her melancholia. “Me, too, darling.” He sighed softly and pulled his wife and son into his strong and comforting embrace. “It’s gonna be all right, Lils,” he told her firmly. “We’re gonna be all right... me, you and Harry.”
“But what if we’re not?” her voice trembled a little at the question.
James kissed her head and tenderly brushed his hand through his son’s dark curls.
“We will be,” he insisted and even though she wasn’t really convinced, Lily pretended she was and allowed her brave Gryffindor, her loving husband, to take them upstairs to put their son to bed, determinedly leaving her nameless dread behind her... for a while at least.
In the sitting-room, the glittery decorations on the Christmas tree twinkled brightly in the firelight and all around them the world was still.
finis
Author/Artist:
quill_lumosDisclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Rating: gen
Warnings: - None
Prompts: Prompts: sort of 6 (baby’s first Christmas) – prompts list one, but not H/D and from prompt list two: Snowfall, Baubles, Fireplace, Snowed in on Christmas Eve, Stockings, Warm by the fireplace.
A/N: This is dedicated to my darling C L, because I love her. She holds my hand through the angsty times and gives me a good virtual kick up the bahooky when I need one. I don’t know what I’d do without you, babe, thanks for the awesome beta.
This was meant to be a long comedy, but it didn’t quite end up that way.
Summary: A baby’s first Christmas is meant to be special and every mother wants it to be perfect.
Baby's First Christmas
It was Christmas Eve and snow was falling softly, surrounding the little cottage and covering the countryside in a thick white blanket. The radio played some seasonal music, soft and lyrical and sometimes silly. The tall Christmas tree stood, slightly askew, in one corner of the little sitting-room. It was far too big, really, for such a tiny space, but she thought it looked lovely. They’d dragged it in earlier, from the nearby woodland, and had decorated it with far too many decorations and a great deal of hilarity. Now it was full of light and sparkles and the baby couldn’t seem to stop gazing at it, all wide-eyed and full of awe. At almost five-months-old, he was so active and interested in absolutely everything. All the Christmas festivities had stopped him sleeping, as he simply didn’t want to miss anything. He loved it all and wanted to see, touch, and shove everything he could get his hands around into his mouth so he could explore it thoroughly with his drooly and, as yet, toothless gums.
Perhaps he’d sensed the excitement, the singular magic that was Christmas Eve, because that evening he wouldn’t even feed properly. She’d made the mistake of sitting beside the hearth in the fat, chintzy armchair. It wouldn’t have been her first choice of furnishing, but it was very comfortable and close to the fireplace with its mesmerizing, flickering flames – therefore, making it warm and cosy and comforting – the only drawback being that it was right beside the tree. The baby pulled away from feeding yet again, distracted by twinkling lights, his cheeks red with the heat, his hair (far too much of it for such a small child) gloriously tousled from being snuggled close to her, and his eyes wide with wonder.
“You are a bundle of mischief, aren’t you?" she whispered, nuzzling the sweetly scented patch of skin behind her little son’s ear and kissing his soft curls. His hair was as dark and as messy as his father’s and his smile was his father’s, too. She was already certain he would have his father’s talent for getting into trouble. Only not yet, he was far too young yet.
“Ga!” he said, reaching out towards a hand-spun glass icicle, which was twisting in a slight draft, sending shards of rainbows to dance along the whitewashed wall.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” she asked him, tickling his milk-filled tummy. The baby giggled happily and kicked his legs and waved his arms.
It had been such a difficult year. They had lost so many people to Voldemort... but her marriage, her son, they were a new beginning and now it was Christmas Eve and they were safe. The house was small and lavishly decorated with holly and ivy and bright paper chains, and the large, shining tree. It was perfect for Christmas, perfect for her son’s first Christmas.
She stood and lifted him closer to the silvery bauble that had attracted his attention, watching his chubby little hand grasping for the shiny object. He gurgled and cooed batting at the globe with fat little fingers.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it, darling boy?”
“Aaah!”
“Yes, aaah.”
She moved him closer to another ornament, the icicle, this time. Close enough for him to almost touch, but not to do him any harm.
“Babababa!”
“Really, baby?” she asked, moving him close to a shining silver bell. “Is that what you think, sweetie?”
“Brrrrrrr.”
She laughed softly and laid her cheek against his milk-warmed skin. “Oh, sweetheart, I do love you.”
Everything was just like she’d hoped it would be: the snow, the decorations, the piles of presents to be unwrapped in the morning, the long, stripy stockings that hung from the mantel, waiting to be filled. And yet, she felt unaccountably sad. She was dogged by a sense of foreboding. Christmas didn’t normally make her feel so... so maudlin. She brushed her jaw against her son’s wild curls and hummed along with the Christmas carol playing softly in the background. He was sleepy now, her little boy, and all at once he felt so much heavier in her arms. She swayed a little, dancing with her child in time to the festive music on the radio.
As she danced she wondered about the future and what it might possibly bring. This year her baby was too young to really know what Christmas was about, but he loved the bright shiny baubles and the colourful paper chains. Next year... she closed her eyes and imagined a little boy, with messy black hair and chubby legs, toddling towards the Christmas tree. He would laugh and clap equally chubby hands and watch the decorations with his wide green eyes, her eyes. Yes, next year would be even more perfect.
She shivered.
There was something, something she couldn’t dismiss, a small frisson of concern which she couldn’t quite suppress, a strange feeling that she had to make the most of every moment in her son’s life, because they might not have that many Christmases together.
“What a silly mummy,” she said, whispering against his downy cheek, “getting all sad. It’s Christmas, your first Christmas and I want it to be wonderful. I shouldn’t be sad, should I?” She blinked back the tears that were unaccountably welling in her eyes.
“Lily?”
She was startled from her thoughts. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and turned towards the voice. It was her husband who’d spoken. He was standing in the doorway tall and good-looking and somewhat dishevelled, drying his hands on a tea-towel and grinning at her goofily.
“Is Prongslet asleep?” he asked, quirking his head to one side, more serious for a moment.
“Yeah,” she answered, forcing a smile while cradling her tiny son close to her, as if she’d never let him go.
James smiled back, happily, his eyes crinkling at the corners making her breath catch in her throat. He looked so handsome like that.
“Let’s get him up to bed then, shall we? Then we can have some hot chocolate and snuggle together beneath the tree.”
“Okay,” Lily said, determinedly squashing her feelings of melancholia. “That sounds lovely, let’s do it.” She closed the distance between them and stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband. “I love you,” she murmured.
“Me, too,” James replied somewhat huskily, perhaps affected by her melancholia. “Me, too, darling.” He sighed softly and pulled his wife and son into his strong and comforting embrace. “It’s gonna be all right, Lils,” he told her firmly. “We’re gonna be all right... me, you and Harry.”
“But what if we’re not?” her voice trembled a little at the question.
James kissed her head and tenderly brushed his hand through his son’s dark curls.
“We will be,” he insisted and even though she wasn’t really convinced, Lily pretended she was and allowed her brave Gryffindor, her loving husband, to take them upstairs to put their son to bed, determinedly leaving her nameless dread behind her... for a while at least.
In the sitting-room, the glittery decorations on the Christmas tree twinkled brightly in the firelight and all around them the world was still.
finis
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That was so touching and so sad. *sniffles* Lovely!
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So very well written and emotional. Great job.
*sends Snape to Harry so they'll both have a wonderful holiday* ;)
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