Chapters 161-170

Boxing Day at Spinner’s End

As a little kid, Boxing Day had always been Ron’s favourite holiday. There were presents. There was good food, and even shop-bought sweets. His older brothers were home for the hols.

But most of all, it was the day of the Boxing Day Quidditch matches. Much like the Muggle world with its football matches on Boxing Day, the wizarding world celebrated the day with sports events. For years he’d dreamt of being able to afford a ticket for a match of his favourite teams. The Chudley Cannons, of course. But he wouldn’t have objected to seeing the Wimbourne Wasps. Or Puddlemere United. Or…he felt his Adam’s apple bob with dry-mouthed appreciation—the Holyhead Harpies. Not that there was anything wrong with walking over to Ottery St. Catchpole or Stoatsbutt-in-the-Wood and watch the local teams, of course. Quidditch was Quidditch, after all.

He stared at his freshly shaved face in the mirror and shook his head.

Today, on Boxing Day 2000, he had finally saved enough money to actually go see the Chudley Cannons. He actually had put aside enough money to invite his brothers and sister to accompany him. Of course if he did that, nothing would be left of his savings. But the important thing was that his dream of the perfect Boxing Day could come true.

So what the heck was he doing right now, getting ready to spend Boxing Day with his least favourite person on earth?

It just might have something to do with the fact that his two favourite women were currently ensconced in the second bathroom, primping for his least favourite person on earth who just happened to rank very high on the list of his women’s list of their favourite persons on earth. And when had Hermione turned into merely his third favourite woman?

And come to that…when had Snape stopped being his least favourite person on earth?

He scowled at his reflection.

‘Really, dear, don’t you think a smile is more appropriate for the merry season?’ tuttuted the mirror.

oooOooo

Ron scowled at the Muggle photograph that Hermione had sent him so he could Apparate to Spinner’s End safely. Then he smiled at the petite dark-haired woman in his arm, and at the impish teenaged-girl holding his right hand and twirling a spontaneous dance figure.

‘Stop that, Alina. Your mother will kill me if I splinch you. Snape will hex me. And who’ll train with you for Quidditch try-outs next year if I’m a toad?’

oooOooo

‘…and for Merlin’s sake HANG ON to that damn Jarvey!’

oooOooo

His first thought was: Circe, is that house small. The Burrow is bigger than that.

The bay windows had obviously been added as an after-thought, probably with magic. They didn’t match the rest of the house. He’d never understand why you would want to put a fence around a ‘front-garden’ that was not even three feet wide. If there were more than two rooms upstairs, he’d be very much surprised.

So this was where Professor Snape had grown up? No wonder he was so…tetchy and…tight-arsed.

oooOooo

‘Happy Christmas, Hermione!’

He stared at his best friend. He knew he was staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself. She was too thin. And what had she done with her hair? It looked like dark dandelion seed, lots of fluff on a fragile stem. But her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright…Then Snape appeared behind her, tall and gaunt, but with a bit of tell-tale colour in his face, and a gleam to his eyes.

Ron swallowed hard. Did they absolutely have to look quite that well-shagged at lunch on Boxing Day?

‘Ron! Lois! Hello, Alina!’

‘Mr Weasley. Lois, thank you for coming. Miss Petrel. Please, come in.’

oooOooo

Ron glanced at Alina. The girl was staring at her surroundings with an expression of fascinated bliss. (Books. There were books everywhere; if he’d had any doubt that Hermione was happy here, one look at the living room had laid those worries to rest.)

For a bizarre second Ron wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose the way Snape always did. Why did his girlfriend’s daughter have to worship the very ground Snape walked upon?

Now the little Jarvey on her arm had noticed Alina’s distraction and was wiggling like mad, intent on his escape.

‘Hang on to Cicero, you don’t want to find him roasted on your plate later on,’ Ron hissed into Alina’s ear. Alina looked up at him with a bashful, sheepish grin. Lois rolled her eyes at her daughter while she squeezed Ron’s hand.

Ron, for his part, wondered why that particular moment made him feel so happy.

oooOooo

‘That’s a phoenix!’ Alina squealed.

Though the bird on the wooden stand in front of the bay windows didn’t look quite like Fawkes, it was very definitely a phoenix. A young one—the beak was huge in comparison to the body and its feathers, especially on its head, stuck out every which way, were distinctly dishevelled (a bit like Harry’s hair, actually).

Lois’ daughter inched closer to the bird. Her Jarvey, momentarily forgotten, snuggled into the crook of her arm, a black, silky bit of fur.

Just behave, Ron thought to the animal. Just once, behave.

Bird and girl stared at each other. Big beak and ruffled feathers on one side. Huge eyes and the awkwardness and long legs of a first teenaged growth spurt on the other. For an eerie moment baby phoenix and young witch seemed not all that dissimilar.

‘Awww,’ Alina breathed and extended a crooked index-finger to stroke the bird’s beak. ‘You look just like Woodstock, don’t you?’

The bird cocked its head and chirped twice. Even to Ron’s uneducated ear these answering chirps sounded just like ‘Woodstock’.

‘Woodstock?’ Alina giggled.

And the phoenix chirped again. Twice. Alina laughed, delighted. But Ron had the misfortune of looking into Snape’s direction just then.

Oh Merlin, he thought. Please let that be a dream. Alina just named Snape’s phoenix for Snoopy’s yellow companion?