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mini_fest2009-12-11 06:45 am
mini_fest_mod) wrote in mini_fest2009-12-11 06:45 am
Entry tags:
Fic: An Old-Fashioned Christmas
Title: An Old-Fashioned Christmas
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asnowyowl
Prompt: 13. Harry/Ron. As a surprise for his grandchildren, Arthur decides to dress up as Santa and slide down the chimney. He ends up in the wrong room and finds out rather quickly why both Ron's and Ginny's marriages are falling apart.
Summary: What the prompt says. Arthur-centric fic with a dash of Harry/Ron
Rating/Warnings: PG, shirtless men
Beta: The fantabulous B
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money being made.
Word Count: 1174
Notes: Just a bit of silliness for the holidays
An Old-Fashioned Christmas
Arthur yearned for an old-fashioned Christmas. They'd done those when the children were little, before Voldemort returned, before the war, before most of his children were married and had children of their own.
He wanted that old-fashioned Christmas, complete with wreaths and holly, mistletoe and garland, crackers and plum pudding. Most of all, he wanted his whole family with him. He wanted his grandchildren to experience that kind of Christmas before they were all too old to see the… well… the magic of it. So, this year he made an announcement of sorts. He fire-called and owled, and even made one transcontinental Apparition, but finally it was all set. Bill and Fleur wouldn't be in Paris over the holidays (though Fleur had certainly pouted over it). Charlie would spend Christmas at home rather than in a tent in the wilds of Romania. He'd even spoken to Minister Shacklebolt and secured days off for Ron, Harry, Percy, and Hermione.
Arthur didn't ask for much from anyone, he supposed that's why none of his children refused.
Now, if only everyone would act like they were having the warm, wonderful Christmas he'd envisioned, but some underlying current of unease was ruining everything.
Perhaps they just weren't used to being cramped together like this.
Perhaps that's why most everyone seemed stressed. Molly was wringing her hands, bustling from room to room, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Hermione was solemn, quiet, not even falling for a good debate when Arthur baited her, but Ginny was a ball of nervous energy. Percy and Bill had been at each other's throats from the moment they had stepped into the Burrow, blaming their arguments on the Creature laws Percy was drafting.
Percy's girls were as quiet as always — the older, Molly, taking after her Grandmother only in name. Victoire pouted nearly as often as her mother. Jamie was angry, hissing like a cat when anyone bothered him, but Lily was trying to be overly sweet and helpful, getting under foot all too often. Rose was sulky. Hugo and Al, well, they were as oblivious as ever — pulling pranks and scampering around, followed by Charlie, who seemed to be returning to his long-spent childhood. Ron and Harry were both quiet, staying as far out of the bustle as possible, as if their voices added to the rest might be the tipping point.
So, no, this wasn't an ordinary Christmas. The stresses this year were more than wondering if the meal would be served on time, or if Charlie would like the cologne Molly had picked for him (though Arthur knew not to suggest that even expensive cologne wouldn't be enough to win that free-spirit a spouse — let Molly dream).
But Arthur had a plan. Whatever it was that was going on, he was going to counteract it. He was going to have his old-fashioned Christmas (but with just a bit of a twist).
He'd heard about the Muggle Santa Claus from Hermione and Harry, and was so enchanted by the idea of a man in a red suit giving gifts to the children, that he just couldn't resist bringing the myth to life. When the time was right, he grinned as he hefted his weight off the sofa and climbed the stairs to his room. Hidden there, under the blankets in the trunk, was a furry red and white suit, shiny black boots with silver buckles, a snowy wig (with attached beard), and, shrunk down to fit, a bag full of toys, one for each of the grandchildren. Arthur grinned in anticipation.
When he was suited up, Arthur Apparated to the roof (he had spent many a day figuring out the exact coordinates of a sturdy, rather flat spot). A quick spell widened the chimney (he hoped no one inside noticed), and he hopped, shiny black boots first, into the darkness.
Arthur's descent was moderated. No sense falling ungracefully from the chimney onto the family room floor. Even so, he coughed as a bit of ash swirled around his face. He blinked his stinging eyes, as he attempted to count to the fourth fireplace down.
He stepped from the hearth with a hearty, "Ha Ha Ha!" expecting to hear squeals of joy from his grandchildren. Instead he was greeted with silence.
A Stunner couldn’t have frozen the two occupants of the room any better than Arthur's sudden arrival had. He studied the tableau presented in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around the meaning.
It certainly didn't seem very Christmassy.
They were on the second floor, one fireplace up from where Arthur had intended to land. Ron's shirt was off, his trousers pushed down low on his hips. His arms were wrapped around the waist of a similarly attired Harry. Harry's arms were wound around Ron's neck. Their lips were centimeters from touching.
They turned toward the fireplace, all wide eyes and gaping mouths.
"Ha Ha Ha?" Arthur said again, because, really, he wasn't sure what else to say.
The greeting, repeated a second time, set off a quick reaction. Ron and Harry jumped from each other. A blush snapped onto Ron's cheeks as if an ecklectic switch had been flipped. "Dad! It's not… we're not…"
Harry stepped between Ron and Arthur, he glanced over his shoulder at Ron. "Perhaps we should tell your father, Ron. Everyone else knows. It really isn't fair to keep this from him." He turned back to Arthur. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, but really, we only just told Molly yesterday… Ron and I have been living togeth…."
Arthur held up a hand and spoke quickly. "I'm sure this can wait until after the holiday." He rummaged in his bag until he felt the Muggle sweets he'd ordered specially from the States. It had been sticky business to get them here, owling an American wizard, sending galleons through the floo. He pulled out two and pressed them into Harry's hand. "Candy canes. Very Christmassy, I think."
Harry looked a bit like a fish out of water, glancing from the candy to Arthur, his mouth moving silently.
Before Harry could compose himself and ruin what little of Christmas was left, Arthur stepped back toward the floo. Best to go on like he hadn't walked in on something, at least until after Christmas. Just before he stepped into the chimney to go down another floor, he thought of something that would indeed make the scene more in tune with the Yule spirit. He plucked a sprig of mistletoe off the decorations on his bag and threw it at Ron (after all, Harry was still looking quite out of sorts, holding the candy sticks, and all).
Ron deftly caught the greenery.
"Can't have kissing without mistletoe on Christmas, can we?" Arthur asked. He didn't wait for a reply, merely stepped back and dropped. A floor below, he exited the floo with a hearty, "Ha Ha Ha!" to the delighted shrieks of his grandchildren.
The end.
I hope your holiday 'tis merrier than Arthur's.
Author:
asnowyowlPrompt: 13. Harry/Ron. As a surprise for his grandchildren, Arthur decides to dress up as Santa and slide down the chimney. He ends up in the wrong room and finds out rather quickly why both Ron's and Ginny's marriages are falling apart.
Summary: What the prompt says. Arthur-centric fic with a dash of Harry/Ron
Rating/Warnings: PG, shirtless men
Beta: The fantabulous B
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money being made.
Word Count: 1174
Notes: Just a bit of silliness for the holidays
Arthur yearned for an old-fashioned Christmas. They'd done those when the children were little, before Voldemort returned, before the war, before most of his children were married and had children of their own.
He wanted that old-fashioned Christmas, complete with wreaths and holly, mistletoe and garland, crackers and plum pudding. Most of all, he wanted his whole family with him. He wanted his grandchildren to experience that kind of Christmas before they were all too old to see the… well… the magic of it. So, this year he made an announcement of sorts. He fire-called and owled, and even made one transcontinental Apparition, but finally it was all set. Bill and Fleur wouldn't be in Paris over the holidays (though Fleur had certainly pouted over it). Charlie would spend Christmas at home rather than in a tent in the wilds of Romania. He'd even spoken to Minister Shacklebolt and secured days off for Ron, Harry, Percy, and Hermione.
Arthur didn't ask for much from anyone, he supposed that's why none of his children refused.
Now, if only everyone would act like they were having the warm, wonderful Christmas he'd envisioned, but some underlying current of unease was ruining everything.
Perhaps they just weren't used to being cramped together like this.
Perhaps that's why most everyone seemed stressed. Molly was wringing her hands, bustling from room to room, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Hermione was solemn, quiet, not even falling for a good debate when Arthur baited her, but Ginny was a ball of nervous energy. Percy and Bill had been at each other's throats from the moment they had stepped into the Burrow, blaming their arguments on the Creature laws Percy was drafting.
Percy's girls were as quiet as always — the older, Molly, taking after her Grandmother only in name. Victoire pouted nearly as often as her mother. Jamie was angry, hissing like a cat when anyone bothered him, but Lily was trying to be overly sweet and helpful, getting under foot all too often. Rose was sulky. Hugo and Al, well, they were as oblivious as ever — pulling pranks and scampering around, followed by Charlie, who seemed to be returning to his long-spent childhood. Ron and Harry were both quiet, staying as far out of the bustle as possible, as if their voices added to the rest might be the tipping point.
So, no, this wasn't an ordinary Christmas. The stresses this year were more than wondering if the meal would be served on time, or if Charlie would like the cologne Molly had picked for him (though Arthur knew not to suggest that even expensive cologne wouldn't be enough to win that free-spirit a spouse — let Molly dream).
But Arthur had a plan. Whatever it was that was going on, he was going to counteract it. He was going to have his old-fashioned Christmas (but with just a bit of a twist).
He'd heard about the Muggle Santa Claus from Hermione and Harry, and was so enchanted by the idea of a man in a red suit giving gifts to the children, that he just couldn't resist bringing the myth to life. When the time was right, he grinned as he hefted his weight off the sofa and climbed the stairs to his room. Hidden there, under the blankets in the trunk, was a furry red and white suit, shiny black boots with silver buckles, a snowy wig (with attached beard), and, shrunk down to fit, a bag full of toys, one for each of the grandchildren. Arthur grinned in anticipation.
When he was suited up, Arthur Apparated to the roof (he had spent many a day figuring out the exact coordinates of a sturdy, rather flat spot). A quick spell widened the chimney (he hoped no one inside noticed), and he hopped, shiny black boots first, into the darkness.
Arthur's descent was moderated. No sense falling ungracefully from the chimney onto the family room floor. Even so, he coughed as a bit of ash swirled around his face. He blinked his stinging eyes, as he attempted to count to the fourth fireplace down.
He stepped from the hearth with a hearty, "Ha Ha Ha!" expecting to hear squeals of joy from his grandchildren. Instead he was greeted with silence.
A Stunner couldn’t have frozen the two occupants of the room any better than Arthur's sudden arrival had. He studied the tableau presented in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around the meaning.
It certainly didn't seem very Christmassy.
They were on the second floor, one fireplace up from where Arthur had intended to land. Ron's shirt was off, his trousers pushed down low on his hips. His arms were wrapped around the waist of a similarly attired Harry. Harry's arms were wound around Ron's neck. Their lips were centimeters from touching.
They turned toward the fireplace, all wide eyes and gaping mouths.
"Ha Ha Ha?" Arthur said again, because, really, he wasn't sure what else to say.
The greeting, repeated a second time, set off a quick reaction. Ron and Harry jumped from each other. A blush snapped onto Ron's cheeks as if an ecklectic switch had been flipped. "Dad! It's not… we're not…"
Harry stepped between Ron and Arthur, he glanced over his shoulder at Ron. "Perhaps we should tell your father, Ron. Everyone else knows. It really isn't fair to keep this from him." He turned back to Arthur. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, but really, we only just told Molly yesterday… Ron and I have been living togeth…."
Arthur held up a hand and spoke quickly. "I'm sure this can wait until after the holiday." He rummaged in his bag until he felt the Muggle sweets he'd ordered specially from the States. It had been sticky business to get them here, owling an American wizard, sending galleons through the floo. He pulled out two and pressed them into Harry's hand. "Candy canes. Very Christmassy, I think."
Harry looked a bit like a fish out of water, glancing from the candy to Arthur, his mouth moving silently.
Before Harry could compose himself and ruin what little of Christmas was left, Arthur stepped back toward the floo. Best to go on like he hadn't walked in on something, at least until after Christmas. Just before he stepped into the chimney to go down another floor, he thought of something that would indeed make the scene more in tune with the Yule spirit. He plucked a sprig of mistletoe off the decorations on his bag and threw it at Ron (after all, Harry was still looking quite out of sorts, holding the candy sticks, and all).
Ron deftly caught the greenery.
"Can't have kissing without mistletoe on Christmas, can we?" Arthur asked. He didn't wait for a reply, merely stepped back and dropped. A floor below, he exited the floo with a hearty, "Ha Ha Ha!" to the delighted shrieks of his grandchildren.
The end.
I hope your holiday 'tis merrier than Arthur's.