A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
Stab three: The Second of Three Spirits
Malfoy woke in his four-poster, sitting bolt upright, looking around. "A nightmare. Only a stupid nightmare. He flopped back down on his pillow and snuggle under the covers and the non-existent clock over the fireplace struck one o'clock. Again, Malfoy jumped, sitting bolt upright. A small annoying ghost floated through the bedcurtains.
"Weee! Come here Malfoy you bad boy! Foy, Boy, Toy, Joy!"
Swearing like a goblin, Malfoy jumped out of his four-poster and put on his dark green velvet dressing gown with the platinum 100-count thread Slytherin patch and the Fijian pearl buttons and the diamond cuff buttons. Draco wore the thing because he didn't hold with wearing his good things unless it was Sunday. He looked up and saw that his dorm room had undergone an amazing transformation. The bedposts were bedecked with holly and mistletoe. A great roaring fire blazed in the fireplace as thought every owl in Britain had pooped fire fodder for Draco's express benefit. And the food! Food heaped upon the floor in a great throne of greasy chops, red staining jellies, steaming hot puddings, and... well, come to think on it, it would take a brave person to sit on such a throne. There were several roast oxen, pumpkin pasties the size of couches, great haunches of hippogriff turning over spits, long wreaths composed of sweetbreads of blast-ended skrewts, barrels of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans with the earwax, dirt, and vomit flavors expurgated, great chamber pots full of fresh butterscotchbeer and seething bowls of boiled bangers. At the center of the glorious feast sat a small and annoying figure of a ghost, dressed with holly in his tangled hair and a cigarette hanging from his tiny mouth.
Draco stood staring at the feast in amazement, his mouth watering and drool spilling from his lips. He then looked up and spoke to the ghost of Christmas present. "Peeves, you irritating, nonsensical, piece of offal-filled phantasmagorical material! Get the flippin' hell out of my room or I'll see that Filch throws your supernatural plasma arse out of Hogwarts for good!"
"I'm not Peeves tonight, I am the ghost of Christmas Present! My rent has to be paid too you know, Malfoy you big goy with no joy! Look upon me Malgoy, Maltoy, Malboy and know me better boy!"
"You sodding," but before Draco could finish his fussing, Peeves the ghost of Christmas Present floated towards Draco.
"No wait, let's have a nice bite to eat first before you drag me away from here," said Draco. "Where's the fire? What's the hurry?"
But alas, Peeves, touched Draco's nose and shouted. "Got your conk!" and the two floated above the floor as the chamber and its many wondrous treats disappeared. The two floated through the countryside across moor and meadow and came upon a large house that looked like manky old moist shoeboxes piled on top of each other, leaning over at strange angles like an old dog that no one had the heart to put to sleep. Peeves and Draco floated through a window and Draco immediately burst into gales of derisive laugher.
The kitchen was modest. Ok, it was appalling. The room looked as thought the occupants probably aspired to live in a rusty mailbox in one of the poorer trailer courts, just for the luxury of it. There were bits of festive greenery strewn about the room - a bit of pine cone here, a branch from a shrub there... all right, it wasn't greenery exactly, but it was taken off something that might have actually been green at some point. In a corner stood a Christmas tree bright with ornaments, with gaily wrapped gifts beneath. That is a pushing the truth of the matter a bit...actually in the corner was a penciled but uncoloured drawing of a Christmas tree, and beneath the poorly executed drawing were bits of rubbish wrapped in odd scraps of parchment of an inferior grade.
A frumpy, dumpy witch, dressed in oddly mismatched clothing stood over a long and misshapen table upon which was laid a meager feast. An emaciated roast that looked as though it might have at one point been a fowl, lay on a plate in the center of the table in the place of honor. A jacket potato carefully carved into nine identical pieces lay upon a broken china saucer nearby. There were cracked jelly jars holding brownish tinted water set by the nine plates. There were broken tree twigs serving as cutlery.
"Bill! Charley! Percy! Oh dear...what are the names of the other ones? Uh... Gred? Forge! Shite, that's not right. TWINS get your arses down here right now!"
Draco stood weak kneed with laugher, holding his stomach least he fall down. He kept pointing at things around the room and laughing his head off. "Look at this...HA HA HA HAAAA! The witch has so many blinkin' children she can't even remember their... HA HA HA HAA HA....names....Needs name tags! HA HA HA HA HAA HAA!"
"Oi Mom, where's Dad and Tiny Ron then?" Charlie, a young man in his twenties, as red haired as his goodly siblings, he had a large burn scar on his arm.
"Can't even afford decent medi-witch care to fix up that burn scar? HA HA HA HAAAAA!" laughed Draco.
"Who knows where they are Charlie," said the dumpy witch. "You couldn't have brought a bit of Swedish Short-snout meatballs, or some nice take-out Chinese Fireball dragon home with you could you, you thoughtless prat. Oi! Come on then, Bill, Percy, and you twins! Your father and tiny Ron will be along any minute now."
All of the family had hair flaming red, the same color as the rusty stove in the filthy corner. One by one the boys raced down the creaky staircase and into the kitchen anxious to sit at the 'feast'. The oldest was Bill wore his hair in a long ponytail. His clothing was quite raggedy and lovingly patched by his dear mother. Unfortunately Bill's raggedy clothing was patched with dead road kill hedgehogs, but his mother did stitch the nasty things with love. I'm almost sure of that fact.
The next young man to come down the dilapidated staircase was Percy the twit, and he was wearing a new suit imported from Italy because he got on well with his former wealthy boss from the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Crouch. The two had a nice flat together in Diagon Alley. Percy was a kept wizard.
"Mother," said Percy, "I do wish we could get on with the meal, Mr. Crouch is expecting me back promptly by 9 o'clock when we will be flying to the Riviera to work on my tan.
"No worries Percy," said the good Mrs. Weasley, "and I want to feckin' thank you for your kindness in bringing us a whole flipping potato to go with our meager supper on this blessed Christmas day."
"No bother mother. Mr. Crouch didn't feel up to eating the potato and I was too full after our luncheon at Chez Moneybags, so I thought you might enjoy the potato to add to the feast."
"Yes, Percy you twit," said Mrs. Weasely. "Thanks a feckin, great bloody lot you miserable Knut pinching..."
"Well," said Draco wheezing from all his laughing. "That one Percy seems to have his act together at least. Waste not want not! HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!"
Next into the room came the twins, young teens. As the family was poor, and could not afford clothing for all of their children, the twins shared one outfit. Fred wore the tattered polo top, and George wore the tattered trousers with frayed cuffs. Thankfully, Fred's top was quite long and hung to his knees. Unfortunately the poor Fred's well-endowed privates did not end at the knees. On that portion of his anatomy the boy wore a tattered sock, loving darned by his dear mother. You don't want to know what she darned the sock with. Ouch.
A small cherry lipped, rosy-cheeked girl with red hair just as had her mother and the entirety of her family came skipping through the door. "Mother! I want to send an owl to Harry Potter to wish him well upon this day, but I cannot find Errol anywhere! Is Errol out delivering the post Mother dear?"
Mrs. Weasley looked around furtively and motioned for her daughter to approach. "Well dear, you see... Errol died last night."
"Oh Mother!" cried out the young girl. "Have you buried him yet? I should like to say a few words over our dear owl Errol who toiled so long and hard for two hundred and seventy 'owl years' in the service of our little family!"
"Well my dear. As luck has it, we'll be a' burying poor Errol promptly after our Christmas dinner." Mrs. Weasley looked over at the roast fowl over on the table. "Yeah, dear, Errol served us well during his lifetime and looks like he'll be a serving the nine of us upon this Christmas night as well, God bless 'im! Which reminds me, where is that cranberry I've been saving for this special occasion." The good Mrs. Weasely hustled over to a cabinet and reached in to remove a small wrapped package. Opening it she removed a small withered speck of something that resembled a dried currant. "I'll soak this and it will do nicely for our cranberry sauce. Perhaps I can water it down a bit."
Peeves spoke, "Maljoy! How can I get paid for showing you this tender scene if you lie on the floor laughing like that! Get up!"
"They're eating the family owl for their Christmas dinner! HA HA HA HAAA!" Draco rolled on the floor in spasms of total hilarity. "This is TOOOO FUNNY! HA HA HA HA HA!"
"Ah," said Peeves, who was in fact feeling rather peevish, "Here comes the good Master of the house now! He earns but fifteen Knuts a week and all the quill shavings he can gather up out of the rubbish bins in the good town of Ottersnoses. Good Mr. Weasley keeps a secret from his good wife and family, that he was fired from his job at the Ministry of Magic when a certain blonde haired rich bastard of a git boy told his odious, bigot, muggle hating father that the Weasley family flying car rolled onto his foot while he was out taking a walk."
"I limped for a week," whinged Draco.
"The flying car was FLYING, how did it roll over your foot then?" Peeves pointed out.
"Well, it could have run over my foot," fused Draco. "The damned car absolutely did fly over me! I'm nearly sure of that fact!"
"Where can be your precious father then," said Mrs. Weasley sounding a bit shirty. "Bless me if the git isn't late again. Here, hide Ginny, hide!"
The door to the ... house... opened and in walked Mr. Weasely, with his small son Tiny Ron who was about 6 foot 3 inches, sitting upon his shoulder. "Molly my dear! Bill! Charlie! Percy! Fred! George! Um... just a minute, I know there is one more... uh... Ron? No, he's here on me shoulder... Oh, Godric Gryffindor's Gooleys, where is our Ginny?"
"Not coming. The whorehouse where she works over her holidays from Hogswarts couldn't spare her! Shame. She's rather young but if she didn't ply the trade we couldn't afford to have a shite load of children at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had to raise the tuition because they pay the House-elves a living salary. All because of that damned mudblood Hermione Granger. And to think we've allowed that filthy blooded witch to sit at our table and eat boiled dust motes with us like she were our own child like!" Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with a moldy green handkerchief.
"Not coming?" asked Mr. Weasley who managed to remember what the heck his wife rabbited on about in the first place. "Ginny not coming on Christmas day?"
"I told you she's working today, of course she'll be..."
"FATHER!" shouted the young Ginny leaping out from under Fred's overlarge shirt. "I could not tease you on this of all days Father!" Young Ginny raced and embraced her father. "That will be one Knut for the hug father. For one more Knut you get a kiss too."
"Later Ginny," said Mr. Weasley winking at his goodly, hard working and obedient little daughter.
Draco laid upon the dirt Weasley floor rolling from side to side and laughing and squealing, "I can't take it! It's just too, too flippin' funny! I knew the Weasley's were hard up but this is PRICELESS! HA HA HAA HAA (snort, snort) HA HA!"
"And how did our Tiny Ron behave?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
"As good as Galleons! And better. Except the git fell off his damned racing broom and now he's on crutches until he gets back to school and goes to the infirmary there. We sure can't afford a medi-witch for him at home. And anyway, do you know what our Tiny Ron said at the Quidditch match today?"
"Naw, what then?" inquired Mrs. Weasley.
"Well Molly, our Tiny Ron said, 'Oi Dad! I hope everyone's watching me!' And I asked him why, and do you know what he said?"
"No damn me, get on with the story, what did the git say?" said the good Mrs. Weasley.
"Well, he says, 'I hope everyone watches me upon this Christmas day because at Hogwarts they all watches Harry Potter and I'm sick of it and want some attention for meself I does!'"
"Very sweet dear, now sit, our supper is getting cold."
"HAHAHAAAAAA!" Draco pounded his fists on the dirt floor in total delight.
Arthur Weasley placed his Tiny Ron on a pile of dirty and manky old school books because they hadn't enough chairs. The family faced the feast that lay before them and two or three of them burst into tears of disappointment and the others figuring the cry babies couldn't have much appetite, stole their potato bits and they all had a lovely row.
Mr. Weasely spoke up, "I give you the founder of the feast! Master Lucius Malfoy, new Minister of Magic!" Mr. Weasley muttered under his breath, "stinking shite who fired me."
Mrs. Weasley held her jelly glass high and fussed, "I wish I had that flaming arse-hole here, I'd give that wanker a piece of me mind to feast upon!"
"My dear," said Arthur. "The children... Christmas day...Wait and tell me what you think of them bloody Malfoy rubbish later, all right?"
"Yeah, right," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Stand children," said Mr. Weasley raising his cracked jelly glass. "Let's drink to the bloody health of the whole bleeding Malfoy clan! May their teeth rot in their blondie heads, may their willies fall off and them as not got willies may their nipples turn green and bloody fall right off!
"Yeah right, whatever Dad!" shouted the Weasley Children.
"Father," said Percy in a very self important manner, "I'm not sure that the Ministry of Magic would consider that an actual toast. According to section 137.4 of the Code, it says, 'a toast must be a rectangular or square bit of bread, roasted by close proximity to a flame that has been heated to..."
"Shut up Percy you twit!" yelled all the remainder of the Weasley family.
"HAAAAAA HA HA HA HA!" Draco stood up off the floor and asked Peeves. "So you little git, tell me, is Tiny Ron going ever walk or fly his broomstick again?"
Said Peeves, "I see a vacant seat, in the chimney corner. A third hand, broken racing broomstick, and a very tiny owl without an owner, carefully stuffed with breadcrumbs for Easter dinner. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, Tiny Ron will go to work for the ministry and likely grow up to be as big a prat as his brother Percy."
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