Oneshots

Christmas jumpers. Gotta love them right?

Every year it's the same stupid thing. Mum sends me a Christmas card of me when I was a kid: an invitation to her annual Snow Party. Providing there's snow, that is. But then again I'm willing to bet she'd do it even without the incessant mess.

This year though, after her travesty last year, I'm surprised to even be getting one. Sigh. And there was me thinking I'd wangled my way out of it!

You see, compared to my little sister, I'm a huge let-down for the family.

"I really wish you'd dress more like Marlo, darling," mum would to say while I scoffed my face with cocktail sausages and spilled butterbean sauce down my jumper.

Mum hates when I wear my Christmas jumper. I wear it every year just to annoy her. I mean, I love her . . . deep down . . . but it's fun to tease her and disarray her mundane lifestyle.

She's super OCD.

Shame, really, to be stuck with a kid like me.

I'm astounded I've not given her a heart attack yet. As a kid, she'd send me out to play with a frock on and I'd come back, hours later, and somehow miraculously transformed it into shorts and t-shirt; compact with mounds of sodden mud.

Sako squeaks in her cage.

"If I let you out you'll promise to stay away from the neighbourgh's flowers?" I smile as I open her cage. She doesn't immediately step out. Stubborn little owl. "Oh? So you wanna nip his buds, huh? Dreadful little owl. What would dear mother think?"

I grin as she hops out her cage. The window's wide open, nothing but rooftops and a white sky blanketing the world.

"Wait. What do you think of this jumper?" I flatten my hands down the wool, skimming the brightly embezzled Rudolf nose. When I press it, it sings carols. Mother's favourite. "Or my Santa one? The one with him squeezing down a chimney made of burgers?"

Sako ruffles her wings, clearly disagreeing.

"Rudolf it is then!"

I watch Sako fly out the window and scour the rooftops below.

Weird she's still alive after all this time. I left Hogwarts, what, seven years ago now?

Jesus. That makes me feel old. Urgh. Pass me the ice cream, reader, it's time to drown my sorrows!

* * *

"Yes, Fleur. This is my eldest, Marlo. She's engaged, you know, to a viscount in Westminster. He recently worked on behalf of the Ministry of Magic."

"Oh Heavens, Elizabeth! You didn't tell me Marlo was such a beauty. When was it you returned from overseas, sweet child?"

Marlo, at twenty-five, is apparently still a child. And the witches around her are swooping high and low, hell bent on showering her with horrendously cliché compliments.

I turn around, glancing at the buffet. Ohh, now this is fancy. She even made the Yule Log herself, didn't she? Or so she says.

I remove the cocktail stick from my generous slice of cheese, and stick it right in the middle. Right there, right where everyone can see it.

Ain't so pretty after all, now is it, mother?

"Shouldn't do that, you know."

Suddenly I pause, my hand hovering above the cake, cupped with a million wooden daggers, and glance at the man.

I immediately notice his Christmas jumper.

"Very Christmassy," I grin, nodding at his illuminated snowman waving at a despicably robust Mrs. Clause.

"My fathers, actually. Mother despises it. All the more reason to wear it."

"My thoughts exactly. Every time I hear the world darling exchanged between my mother's guests, I eat a cocktail sausage." I shrug my shoulders: "It's Christmas time, so why not?"

"Mind if I have one? I've the same ritual for diced cheeses." He holds out a ceramic dish loaded with different coloured cheeses. He flicks his wand and they stack up into a neat pile. "For every time I hear the term 'oh havens.'"

"Heavens/darling could see us eye to eye then," I laugh, pinching a cube of cheese.

My new assailant smirks, a lopsided one, and his dark hair brushes the side of his shaven cheek. Complete with his all-dancing-all-singing jumper, he's not the usual toff I see at these horrendous gatherings. And he's a wizard.

I'm instantly intrigued.

We spend the next five minutes decorating mum's cake with plastic and wooden cocktail sticks.

Eventually, introductions are made.

"What's your name, stranger?"

He grins. "Erwin. Don't ask. What about yours, sweet thing?"

I laugh. "It's Ally."

"Alison, darling, I didn't raise you as an Ally - oh heavens, no!"

Erwin freezes, then quickly stuffs his face with blocks of cheese as he wanders off. Amongst the crowd, I spot his mother shooting him disdainful looks while he hums at an inaudible tune.

Shortly after our encounter, I head home.

"So early?"

Y'ouch! There's mother pretending to be concerned again. Pretending to be an actual mother, should I say.

"Well, yeah - I've got Sako to feed. And, mum, do me a favour. Stop inviting me to these horrendous parties. You know I don't like them, and we both know you don't actually want me here, so just leave me alone to read my books already!"

I adjust the bag of food on my shoulder - she'll never know, she'll never know; and besides, no-one was even actually the buffet anyway - and head towards the car. Before driving away I see Erwin quarrelling with a very angry Mrs. Orson.

I beep my horn, startling the old woman. Erwin glances up and waves, his jumper singing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer as I drive away.

When I get home, I've got a missed call.

Unknown number?

Now I wonder who this could be . . .