Tapestry

Author Note: Just to clear up some context, as a few people have asked. I'm not 100% about ages and as I don't want to read anything else that JKR has to say I don't want to check the family tree info she released. I've set this at Christmas of the school year which the crapilogue of DH starts. That makes Al Sev 11 as it's his first year; Lily is 9 because Harry tells her she has to wait 2 years before she can go to Hogwarts; I've made James 15 as that's the age I picture him at (and because OotP is Harmony at its best for me and that's important for this story). Any more questions, just ask! On with the story…

Chapter Three

The Potter House stood in a modest area of land near the coast in the English county of Kent. There was a small village nearby called Silverton-on-Sea, which boasted a considerable number of magic folk amongst the populous. The Oakfield Estate had long lay in a state of disrepair but its charming sea views and substantial fields and woodlands made it seem the perfect place for the magical world's most revered personage to get away from it all to raise his family.

The property had been purchased quickly, with a Confundus Charm here and a little memory modification there serving to speed up the Muggle estate agent's work, albeit with a small alteration to the asking price (after all, Harry may have been rich in the magical world but he had only fifty pence of Muggle money to his name from an old Dursley Christmas gift). Helpers came from far and wide to restore the house to its original majestic form; witches, wizards and an army of house-elves transformed the near-derelict building into a fabulous manor house, well-suited for the saviour of the world at large.

James had always loved the house. His room was huge and had a great view of the paddock where they played Quidditch, and the bay behind. The house was a mix of different eras and building styles, with Victorian and Georgian, Mediaeval and Regency criss-crossing all over the place. The oldest part was the cellar, where Dad kept rows and rows of bottles of wine and mead. It dated back to the fourteenth century and was haunted by the ghost of a pirate searching for a lost crate of Caribbean rum.

That morning, at the breakfast table, James felt as though he'd drunken that missing crate. His head was groggy and his neck stiff from where he'd slept on the couch. He wasn't in the best mood, either, having been woken abruptly by the explosions of a Dr Filibuster's Firework, which Al and Lily had thought was a great joke to play. Unfortunately for them, the racket had also woken Mum, who always insisted on an extra hour's `beauty sleep', and her temper was fiery at that time of day. The scolding she gave to Al and Lily cheered James up somewhat as he ate his way through second rounds of toast to watch.

By the middle of the day everyone had calmed down and James was persuaded by Lily to join her and Albus and go sledding. This part of the country didn't often get heavy snowfall, due to its low-lying coastal position, but this winter had seen unusually high levels. So, because he had nothing better to do and was always susceptible to his sister's pleading, James pulled on his Tornadoes hat and scarf and ploughed through the snow to Marstone Hills, which were just outside the house gardens.

The three of them took turns riding the sledge, having contests to see who could go fastest and furthest, then moved on to a furious snowball fight. This ended when Albus unwittingly embedded a small stone in one of his, which left a nasty bruise on Lily's face. She cried all the way back to the house and Mum made Albus clean all her Quidditch trophies, as a punishment for being so careless, while Lily ate ice cream and lorded it over her brother like a pampered princess.

James ignored the petulance of his younger siblings and spent the rest of the afternoon with Dad, helping him wrap presents and send some last minute Christmas cards.

“I shouldn't really send one to Bonafidus Finch,” said Dad. “He's a miserable old goat, but his wife did send one to us.”

“And it's handmade,” said James, turning the card over in his hands and watching the real snowflakes fall in the picture. “She deserves a card if only for the effort she put on this one. That's seriously impressive magic.”

“I've only met Merida once,” said Dad, thoughtfully. “She works for St Mungo's in their Potion Development Department. She's a very clever witch. And pretty, too. What she's doing with a troll like Bonafidus I'll never know.”

“Love potion?” James suggested.

“It'd have to be a really strong one,” said Dad. “Anyway…”

He tossed the newly sealed card into the fire where it burst into green flame and vanished.

“I don't think your way of deciding who to send cards to is very good,” said James.

“And why not?” asked Dad.

“Well, only sending cards to people who sent them to you? That's all very well, but you're you - half the Wizarding World has you on their Christmas card list, whether they know you or not.”

Instinctively, both James and Harry looked towards the far wall, every inch of which was covered with cards, so many in fact that Harry had had to cast a clever little charm to fit them all in.

“That's why I normally leave this sort of thing to your mother,” whispered Dad with a grin. “Always pays to be a thinking man, son.”

James couldn't help but laugh. “What have you bought Mum this year?”

“If I told you, I'd have to kill you,” said Dad. “And that'd be a shame. You're so young.”

“Very funny,” said James. “But seriously, is it nice? Is it expensive?”

“It's a handy little device which stops her having any more inquisitive children,” said Dad. “Honestly, I've never known a trio like my own kids. I'm sure I never asked so many questions at your age. Then again, perhaps I should have…”

“It's just that I'd like to know,” said James, blatantly ignoring whatever Dad was trying to say. “What do you buy a girl that's a nice gift?”

As a child, Harry had always been a little slow on the uptake but, as was his way, he did get there eventually. It was a trait which had followed him into adulthood.

“Oh, now I see where this is going,” said Dad coyly. “Girl trouble, eh son?”

“No, said James stoutly. “I'm talking generally.”

“About what to buy girls,” said Dad, grinning. “Who's the special lady?”

“There is no special lady,” said James, waspishly. “I'm just saying, what would be a good gift to get. For future reference, you know. That's why I'm asking you, father, font of all knowledge, and all that. What sort of things did you buy Mum?”

“At school? Nothing,” said Dad simply. “We didn't really get together until after we'd both left. But it isn't rocket science, James. Get her something she'll like.”

“But how do you know what she'll like?”

“If you know her well enough it won't be hard to think of something,” said Dad. “And if in doubt, spend a few Galleons. That always impresses them.”

“Dad!”

“What are you two consorting about?” asked Mum, coming in with a tray of Christmas cakes. “You're as thick as thieves in here.”

“Dad's the thick one,” said James. “No ideas on nice thing to buy for a girl.”

“Chocolates, perfume, make-up,” said Mum simply. “Or flowers, that always works.”

James thought Mum's present list was pretty empty and thoughtless. His mind was still on Merida Finch's card, the effort and care taken with it. The nicest presents were the ones with a bit of thought put into them. Dad's way was better, though James had spotted a jar of Freya Grant's Essence De Amortentia in Dad's hidden Christmas present box and had a sneaking suspicion that Mum's gift this year would be of the easy option sort - but at least she would like it.

* * *

Christmas Eve rolled around and the house was a hive of activity. Although the whole family was to spend Christmas Day at Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's, there were the days after that which were usually taken up by visits of some friend or relative or another and Mum was determined the house would be up to receiving them all. Ludey was seen flitting between the kitchen and various rooms around the house, using her powerful elf magic to create elaborate decorations and enough food to feed a small town. James thought it all looked a bit gaudy.

Just after lunch there was a knock at the door which made Mum panic (as she wasn't happy with the scatter cushion arrangement) and sent her to near distraction. It wasn't the Minister for Magic come to visit, luckily enough; it was only Uncle George and Aunt Verity (sometimes James thought he had so many Aunts and Uncles it was a miracle he remembered them all). Aunt Verity was heavily pregnant with their second child and while she and Mum talked about labour pains, nursery decorations and baby showers, George and Dad swapped stories about exasperating wives over a glass of brandy.

“So, how's my most famous nephew?” Uncle George asked James presently. “Good to hear you're making a name for yourself as a Quidditch player at school. Though, naturally, I can only hear about it if I turn this way.”

James and Albus laughed as Uncle George turned to show the gap on the side of his head where his missing ear should be. Dad, as always when anything about the Second War was mentioned, stayed grave and silent.

“How's Freddie?” asked James.

“He's a little monster,” said George triumphantly. “Just like his namesake. I think my twin would have been proud of him.”

“Where is he today?” asked Dad.

“I bequeathed him to Mum and Dad for the day,” said George. “Me and the old lady have some last minute shopping to do. Last thing we need is the little bugger biting our ankles all day.”

“Hey! Less of the `old lady'!” called Aunt Verity from across the room.

“Women!” muttered George to James. “They've always got one ear on you. Steer clear of them till you are old enough to Apparate, that's my advice.”

James spent all afternoon trading embellished Quidditch stories with Dad and Uncle George until the latter was called away by Aunt Verity to get to Diagon Alley before all the good toys were sold. This left James kicking his heels, bored because he couldn't use magic outside of school and with nothing to do but watch Al and Lily trying in vain to build a snowman. He was about to get up and leave the room when the fire suddenly burst into flame and a card shot out of the hearth. James leapt up and caught it.

“There's another card here, Mum,” said James going into the kitchen and offering it to her.

“Open it up then,” Mum replied. “My hands are covered in flour.”

James tore open the thick paper of the envelope. Inside there was a beautifully decorated card, the scene on which had been hand-drawn and the ink charmed to shimmer in the light.

“That's nice,” said Mum, looking over. “Who's it from?”

“To Harry and Ginny, hoping you have a lovely Christmas, they don't put Knuts in the Christmas puddings here in Siberia, but at least its snowing. Watch out for Nargles in the mistletoe. Lots of Love, Luna.”

“Luna!” cried Mum in horror. “I left her off my list! HARRY!”

Dad came rushing in. “What? What is it? Have you burnt the kitchen down?”

“No, cheeky sod,” said Mum. “We just had a Christmas Card from Luna. I forgot all about her. Write a card out quick, she still might get it.”

“I doubt it,” said Dad, looking slightly annoyed at Mum's over-reaction. “She and Ron had lunch only last week. She's gone on some sort of safari to deepest Siberia. Takes days to send anything from there, even through the Floo Postal Network.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mum, wringing her hands. “That looks so bad, though.”

“Luna won't mind, she's good like that,” said Harry. “I gave her our best when I saw her, anyway. That was more than enough for her.”

“Why were Ron and her having lunch anyway?” asked Mum.

“Her husband works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office,” Dad explained. “He's got Arthur's old job. They get on quite well and see each quite a lot.”

“Who's Luna?” asked James.

“An old school friend,” said Dad. “One of the maddest people I ever met. But she's good as gold. And extremely powerful, though you'd never know it if you met her. I'd trust her with my life.”

“Did you say she's gone to Siberia?” James pressed.

“Yes, I can't remember the name of the exact place,” Dad answered. “Probably still searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.”

Mum and Dad laughed like this was some private joke.

“Has she gone on her own?” James asked.

“I don't know,” Dad replied. “Why so interested?”

“No reason,” said James. “It's just that my friend, the one you met at King's Cross, she was going to Siberia with her Aunt. I'm just wondering if it's this Luna person.”

“Maybe,” said Dad.

“I don't remember her having any brothers or sisters,” said Mum. “Bit hard to have a niece without them.”

“Her husband must have, then,” said Dad. “I've never thought to ask.”

“If you're so interested, perhaps you could write the card,” said Mum. “Send one anyway, even if it gets there late. Say hello to your friend while you're at it. What do you say, James?”

“Do I have a choice?” James asked.

“Not if you don't want to be polite,” Dad said. “Go on, James, do your old man a favour. I have to finish charming the car wheels to repel snow before tomorrow. It's so cold I can barely cast a spell, let alone write a card. You'll do a far better job of it.”

James knew full well that Dad passing on the job of writing to Luna had nothing to do with cold hands. It was the very reason he accepted the job in the end. It had been on his mind for several days, ever since Richard had mentioned it back in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had been trying to think of an innocent reason to get in contact with Celesca; he'd found himself missing her conversation in the boring hours he was spending around the house. This new development had given him the perfect excuse, though quite why he was so willing to accept it was something he didn't entirely want to face up to.

The whole situation seemed almost too perfect. In his deepest thoughts he'd been trying to imagine just what he'd say to Celesca in a letter without sounding like anything other than a friend, but this was exactly that. He wrote the standard Christmas greetings and added a few lines asking about her Aunt, if she was indeed an old school friend of Mum and Dad's and how things were going in Siberia. It sounded breezy enough, gave nothing away about what James was really thinking and asked questions which even basic politeness demanded responding to. He paused at the last bit, weighing up the options on how to end it, deciding in the end to play it safe by writing simply, `from James'. It didn't seem enough, it certainly didn't feel enough but it would have to do, for now.

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