#false alarm I was not displaying holiday spirit

[foldingfittedsheets]

Ghost kitty cookies!

Are they Christmas Past, Present, or Future? Or all three?

They are none of the above actually. I was making a super duper niche joke about The Locked Tomb. The bone nuns paint skull makeup on and say prayers about keeping the Tomb shut. With white makeup the kitties looked like little skull nuns to me.

[spooky-nerd]

I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn��t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?��� he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes. 

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

DRACO’S WISH [PT 5/14]

<< | < | > | >>

WORD COUNT: 3128

PAIRING: Drarry

TAGS:

hidden identity

Down and Out Draco Malfoy

Pretty Draco Malfoy

Talented Draco Malfoy

Auror Harry Potter

Smitten Harry Potter

Harry Potter Being an Asshole (just for a while)

Angst

Fluff

Angst with a Happy Ending

Falling In Love

Torture

Skipping Meals/Hunger

Cold Weather

Libraries

Hot Chocolate

Veritaserum

SUMMARY: Draco does a good deed and is granted a wish - 12 days of anonymity in a world that hates him CHAPTER SUMMARY:   Potter shows up at the library again, and he and Draco talk more

on FF.net

on AO3

STORY:

December 12th , 2007

It’s almost warm when Draco wakes, and the sun is bright through his ragged curtains. A smile crosses his face, unbidden, as he recalls the previous day. It’s almost unbelievable that Potter, with whom he had spent so long in a miserable rivalry, is the one to provide such a pleasant afternoon to him. Then again, it’s probably the human conversation and good food responsible for his mood – no need to attribute it to Potter. He stretches luxuriously and spends some time just basking in the warm sun and his own happiness.

Eventually, he needs to piss so he rolls out of bed and pads to the bathroom. He relieves himself quickly and returns to the main room, where he sits on the bed and draws back the curtain, just because he can. The street is busy, for Knockturn standards, and the sun is already high in the sky – it must be nearing noon.

That’s a surprise – he’s slept in. It’s not something he normally does; usually he wakes with the sun or sometimes, in winter, before it if the cold wakes him first. He hasn’t a wand to provide an alarm, so his internal clock has had to step up to the plate to prevent him from missing work. He can’t deny that it’s nice, though, and he feels incredibly well rested.

He decides to wash his hair again today – it’s a warmer day, which means less effort to dry it, and he’s not about to waste that. He is quick and efficient in the shower, as usual, and he dresses first before sitting on the bed and holding his hands up to his head. He concentrates, feeling for his magic and pulling it to his will, and he could swear that the charm comes easier to him today as it leaps to his instruction and surrounds his head with warm air.

As he’d eaten more yesterday than he has in recent memory (thank you Potter), he decides to skip breakfast today. With no more reason to dawdle, Draco cheerfully lets himself out of his apartment. He’s in high spirits as he makes his way up Knockturn and into Diagon, and he twirls happily in the light snow that’s started up. He’s sure to be attracting some strange looks, acting like an overgrown child as he is, but he can’t bring himself to care. The festive décor festooning Diagon Alley lifts his spirits further, and he takes his time walking along the street, gazing around him and joyfully taking in the holiday spirit on display. By the time he reaches the library, it’s nearing noon.

“Hullo!” He chirps to the librarian, stopping just inside the door to brush the snow out of his hair.

“Hello dear,” she returns, giving him a warm smile. Draco returns the smile and then makes his way to his usual corner, humming his favourite traditional carol, Winter Warlocks, as he goes. He settles into the same armchair with his book, ready continue where he’d left off yesterday – applying the control he’d learnt in the previous section to simple spells.

It is a harder task than one might anticipate. Wand movements are meant to replicate the runic base of spells, so casting without them means one must use the magic itself to shape the spell, and then control and guide the magic to form the effect as well. Draco considers himself fortunate for his upbringing – his parents had taught him much about wandlore, and he doesn’t think he will have managed to muddle through figuring out wandless heating charms on his own without that knowledge. The book has more techniques and suggestions for doing this, though, and Draco is excited to practice.

A couple of hours go in which Draco remains deeply engrossed in his study. The library is busy, but overall quiet, and nobody disturbs him in his little corner of the world. Then, he hears that unforgettable voice.

“Emory! Hi,” it says. Draco’s eyes dart up from sheer force of habit – he’s never been able to ignore Potter – and he jumps slightly when he finds the other man standing right there, looking directly at him.

“Hey Emory,” he says again, and it takes Draco another beat to remember the false name he’d given to the other man.

“Oh – Potter!” He sputters eloquently.

“It’s Harry,” Potter laughs, stepping closer. “You were really into that huh? Took you a moment there.”

“Right…yes, I was rather immersed,” Draco agrees, closing the book around one finger. He looks at Potter expectantly, wondering what the man wants.

Potter peers at his book and raises an eyebrow. “Wandless magic?” He asks, sounding impressed. Draco wonders if he’d be impressed if he knew the reason that Draco is learning wandless magic, that he’s too pathetic to have either a wand or a heated apartment. His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, and he looks down at his book to avoid meeting Potter’s eyes.

“Yes, well…” he mutters, flustered. He covers the book with his other hand, and then lifts his chin and looks back up at Potter defiantly. “It’s an interest, nothing more.” He quickly changes the subject. “What are you doing back at the library today Potter? Granger on a research kick?”

For some reason, Potter goes red. “Something like that,” he replies shiftily, not meeting Draco’s eyes. Draco raises an eyebrow, but Potter doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he whips out his wand and summons another armchair from somewhere in the library.

Draco bites his lip as Potter slumps lazily into the chair and stretches out his attractively muscled legs for Draco’s gaze to trace. He forces his eyes back up to Potter’s face with some difficulty, and finds him smirking at him.

Face heating further, Draco rushes to deflect the attention. He huffs. “Oh yes, by all means Potter, do sit down. Thank you for asking, no I’m not doing anything, I’d love the company, et cetera et cetera.”

“It’s Harry,” corrects Potter with a grin, “and you should be honoured. My company is in high demand,” His tone is teasing and not at all the bragging Draco would have once expected from him. It’s oddly charming.

“In that case, thank you for your charity,” he replies primly. “Truly. I’ll remember it to the day I die.” And okay, that might be a little more on the nose than he’s comfortable with, but it’s not as if Potter knows how much his company actually means to Draco.

Potter laughs. “Sod off, you!” He says. Draco smirks.

“But then how will I reap the benefits of your highly-demanded company?” he asks, and Potter groans.

They fall into a comfortable silence then, and Draco reopens his book and tries to go back to reading. It’s impossible – he’s too aware of where Potter is shifting restlessly in his armchair.

“What is the noble cause this time then?” He asks when Potter’s antsiness becomes too much. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his book.

“What?” says Potter blankly. Draco does look up then, and finds Potter staring at him.

“You and Granger,” he clarifies. “She was in the magical law section yesterday. I know that the house-elf bill is passed. What is it now?”

“Oh,” says Potter, face clearing. He relaxes back into his chair with a grin. “Something about vampires, I’m not too sure about the specifics.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. Vampires are not discriminated upon by laws, but Draco’s learnt well enough that laws are not needed to make life harder on someone. “She’ll have an uphill battle then,” he sighs. “The Ministry has never been interested in helping anyone out. Just look at how we treat Squibs.”

Potter looks at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Draco runs his finger along the top of the book, pursing his lips as he thinks of how to explain what he means. “Our society is entirely built upon the assumption of magic,” he answers eventually. “Think of housing. At minimum, you’d want heating charms for the winter, wards, or even just magical locks. A Squib can’t do any of that. So, they either must rent somewhere that all of this is provided by the landlord, which is at extra cost mind you, or they must pay a third party to provide it for them. Heating charms and wards are not just a one-time thing either – they are a yearly expense at least. And it’s not cheap to have them done well.

And then add to that that Squibs have a harder time getting well-paying jobs. Even for a position like caretaker, most employers would sooner hire someone able to use magic, since they’d be more efficient. It’s not impossible for a Squib to get a well-paid job, of course, but it’s much harder.

It’s not injudicious that most Squibs choose to live among Muggles, even though they are of magical folk. At home they have a harder time making money, yet it costs them more to live.

Consider even transportation – an Apparition licence is the cheapest option, but it requires magic. Floo powder is not expensive in and off itself, but you’d need a hearth, which is not always an option on a budget. Brooms are expensive. Portkeys need a license and have to be charmed. Knight Bus fare adds up when you have to pay twice a day every day…”

He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I’ve become carried away. Forgive me Potter. I simply meant to say that even if there are no laws making Squibs lives harder, that doesn’t mean that they’re treated well by society. It’s the same for vampires.”

“That’s terrible,” Potter says. He looks guilty. “I never realised-”

“Most people don’t,” Draco cuts him off. He himself likely would never have given it a thought were it not for his own circumstances. Worse, his younger self wouldn’t have cared. A lot has changed for Draco, but Potter has never been that selfish.

“Don’t go feeling guilty over it, Potter,” he tells him. “You and Granger have been doing more than most to right such injustices.”

Potter looks at him, determined. “I want to help though,” he says. “Hermione will too. She’s brilliant you know. I’m sure there’s something she can do.”

Draco looks at him surprised. Just like that, Potter’s ready to try and change wizarding society? Then again, if anyone can do so it will be the beloved war heroes. They had managed to change house-elf laws, after all, bringing them pay and working standards. Draco had never thought that such a thing could be possible until they’d done it.

“She and you both, surely.” Draco says finally, because Potter seems to be downplaying his role in all this.

Potter chuckles. “Hermione does most of the work,” he admits. “I’m usually kept pretty busy with the Auror stuff, and I don’t have her patience for research. I’m just a mouthpiece really. People listen to me.” He shrugs, a self-deprecating smile pulling at his lips. Draco snorts. No kidding.

“Yes, I did hear the elf campaign on the Wireless,” he says drily.

Potter gives a self-conscious little smile. “I was almost pissing myself giving all those speeches,” he confesses. “Hermione kept giving me these massive packages of information – nearly seventy inches once, double sided! And I was supposed to include it all in my speeches. Most of the time I went up in front of the Wizengamot and completely blanked.”

Draco laughs disbelievingly. “You are serious?” He asks when Potter doesn’t laugh along with him. Potter nods, and Draco boggles. “Well, you’ve sounded very confident,” he says.

“The Wizengamot thought so,” Potter agrees. He looks pleased with himself as he crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair. The move reveals a tantalizing strip of golden skin at his belly that draws Draco’s attention.

He swallows, and forces himself to look away, back down at his book. Potter is quiet for a while, and Draco feels the weight of his gaze heavy upon his skin.

“So,” Potter says at length, finally breaking the silence, “enough about me. Tell me about yourself Emory.”

Draco stiffens. What can he say? He doesn’t know what might trigger Potter into remembering him. “There isn’t much to tell,” he says eventually, staring unseeingly at his book.

Potter laughs at him. “So mysterious,” he says, and Draco scowls. It doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “Come on, give me something?” He presses. At Draco’s continued silence, he prompts. “What about the job. What do you do?”

Draco stares stubbornly at his book for a moment, then sighs. This, at least, is harmless. “I work in a shop.” He says shortly. “I’m really not very interesting Potter.”

“Harry,” corrects Potter, “and I find you plenty interesting.”

“You don’t even know me!” Protests Draco, rolling his eyes. Potter leans forward again.

“Then tell me,” he says earnestly. “Tell me something about you. A story from your childhood maybe?”

Draco bites his lip, rubbing his thumb against the letters on the spine of his book. What could he tell that won’t give too much away? He reckons that there is plenty that Potter doesn’t know about his childhood that would be safe to tell, but all it would take is one detail to slip and this whole thing is blown.

He remains silent a moment too long, or else Potter senses his hesitance, and he backs off a little. “Okay, don’t worry about the childhood stories then,” he says. “How about… your favourite winter activity?”

He can tell Potter is trying, but this isn’t much easier. Winter has been the worst part of the year for the past eight years for Draco. With neither a heated apartment nor a wand, it is always a struggle just to stay warm. There have been years when it was so bad that Draco was sure he would die.

“Emory?” Potter asks softly. He grasps one of Draco’s hands between his strong ones, his green eyes bright with worry. “Are you okay?”

Draco shakes himself out of his memories and manages a wan smile. “Sure Potter, I’m fine,” he reassures him. Potter still looks dubious, so Draco decides to indulge him. He casts his mind back to before, back when he still had a happy home, when winter and Christmas were eagerly anticipated all year.

“Ice skating,” he says finally.

Potter cocks his head. “That’s your favourite winter activity?” He determines. Draco nods.

“It was a family tradition,” he offers. “On Christmas we – it was always a big deal at home. We’d throw grand parties, every year. I’m not actually certain that my parents liked all of their guests.” He shakes his head. “I think they were just people invited for…work.” Merlin, he’d almost mentioned the Death Eaters. Why is he telling Potter this?

But Potter is watching him and listening intently, and it’s the attention Draco had always craved from him. He continues. “The adults were all busy entertaining” – competing against one another, rather – “and us children were left to our own devices. We got up to a lot of mischief.” He allows for a nostalgic smile here. They really had been his friends, until they’d gotten old enough that they were drawn into their parents’ politics. He misses such easy times.

He shakes off the sudden sadness briskly. “But my favourite part of the day was always after the party, when all the guests had gone home. Mother and Father would take me down to an old pond in the…behind our house. We’d skate until I fell over from exhaustion! Then Father would carry me up to the house, and Mother would make hot chocolate and we’d sit in front of the fire and make up stories until I fell asleep. I…I miss those times.”

He breaks off abruptly and shakes his head, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s not a very interesting story. Ice skating of all things…”

“No, no,” says Potter. “It sounds wonderful. I – er – I never had any Christmas traditions.”

Draco looks up at him, surprised. No traditions – none at all? Catching the look, Potter expounds, “The muggles”, which was no clearer.

“Sorry, I don’t follow,” he says, tilting his head in confusion. “What muggles?”

Potter stares at him. “You never… really?” He says. Draco meets his gaze, baffled.

“You’re not making any sense Potter,” he says.

“Huh,” answers Potter, which also doesn’t make sense. He stares at Draco like he’s never seen him before.

Draco squirms. Has he given something away? “What?” he asks uncomfortably.

“Nothing,” Potter replies. He smiles suddenly. “Come ice skating with me tomorrow?”

“What?” Draco repeats. He stares at Potter incredulously.

“Come ice skating tomorrow,” Potter reiterates, more surely. “And then we can go get hot chocolate.”

Draco stares at him, and Potter looks back, unrepentant. “Potter you-” Draco cuts himself off and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Potter is tilting his head and giving Draco those beseeching kicked-Crup eyes. This is a terrible idea. “Fine,” he sighs. “Just for a little while.”

“Brilliant!” Potter says, and beams at him. Draco’s stomach does a silly flip. He bites his lip and looks down at his book, trying to quell the warm emotion rising in him.

“How does 2 o’clock tomorrow sound?” Asks Potter. “I can pick you up?”

Draco flushes. No way is Potter seeing his hovel. “We can meet here,” he replies. Potter wilts a little but smiles anyway.

“It’s a date,” he says, and Draco’s face burns even further at the wording. He knows that Potter doesn’t mean anything by it, and it’s better that he doesn’t, but his stupid heart is still doing somersaults.

“Yes, very good,” he says, holding up his book and hiding his burning face behind it. “Now if you’ve quite finished interrupting my reading Potter…”

Potter laughs at him and waves his hand. “Oh go on then, continue your mastery of the wandless arts,” he says. Draco lowers the book slightly to glower at him, but it only makes Potter laugh more. Which, in turn, only makes his blush worse really, because Potter is unfairly attractive – especially so when he laughs.

He thankfully takes mercy on Draco then, getting up to go get something to read from the shelves and giving him time to pull his façade back together. By the time Potter returns with some book about Quidditch, Draco’s cheeks are no longer heated, and he’s managed to compose himself.

The pair of them sit in comfortable companionship for the rest of the day, reading silently and occasionally interrupting the quiet to chat about something small and inane. By the time the library closes, and the librarian kicks them out, Draco is feeling unreasonably warm, inside and out.

[asktailikku]

While I know that Thanksgiving is nearly a week and a half away, my local radio stations have decided to take the opportunity to play Christmas songs, with the big offender being FM 93.9 WLIT.

But rather than rant about how they are jumping the gun, I would like to take this opportunity to talk about two Disney holiday classics released on VHS and DVD on the this very day, five years apart from each other (eventually appearing on a 2-movie Blu-Ray), Mickey’s Once and Twice Upon a Christmas.

Please note that Mickey does not have such a candle in the film

Each of these films are a collection of stories starring Mickey and the gang, each dealing with the holiday hustle and bustle as well as the good warm feelings that make us feel merry.  The first one contains three stories while the second has five.

The first segment in Once Upon a Christmas is Donald Duck – Stuck on Christmas.  Despite his name being in the title, the story actually focusses on Huey, Dewey, and Louie.  As they spend Christmas Day, they are shocked to see it go by so quickly and wish upon the Evening Star for it to be Christmas every day.

I should bring up that the original “Christmas Every Day” story from 1892 was more of a what if scenario as if the year continued as normal, but every day was Christmas.  On paper this sounded like a good idea, to have it celebrated every day turns out to be a terrible idea as it ends up drying up the proper resources for Christmas.  By July in the story, people are more focussed on Christmas than they are the 4th of July.  And by autumn, people giving presents go from “Here you go, pal” to “Take this and f**k off!”  As it turned out, the endless Christmas celebration was nothing more than a dream.

Instead, the story borrows more from Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray.  In the film, Bill is stuck in a time loop that haunts him for what seems like centuries, waking up every morning on 2/2/1993.  Only until he undergoes some serious character development does he escape the loop.  In the Nephews’ case, this decades long loop serves as a punishment for them as they do not know the true meaning of Christmas.

It gets to a point where the boys have everything down and in what order, as follows:

Wake up

Open presents

Donald freaks out, drops breakfast on himself

Daisy, Scrooge, and “Aunt Gertie” (her only appearance) arrive

Go sledding

Eat dinner

Sing carols

Go to bed at 10:00 PM

Repeat the next day

Towards the end of the loops, the boys decide to spice things up, similar to Bill’s suicidal loops in the film.  First they ice bomb Chip’n’Dale as their Christmas morning reminder of them playing train was getting annoying.  Then they sent their RC car and plane after Donald before he sets foot in the living room.  When Gerty arrives for kisses, the boys arrive in scuba gear.  By dinner, the roasted turkey has been replaced with a live one, ticking Donald off, and wrecking the piano, cancelling carols.  After the turkey chase, the turkey ends up going up the chimney and in Santa’s outfit. It’s not so much the appearance of the turkey that’s hilarious, it’s the implication that Santa knew that the day was on repeat.  In an attempt to save face, the boys attempt to leave with their sleds, but then read the card that was attatched to one of them, a poem written by Scrooge about the true meaning of Christmas.  The next loop can be seen as something similar to Bill’s philanthropist loops in the film.

In this loop, the nephews use the Junior Woodchucks Guidebook to convert the sleds into a gift for Donald.  When morning comes, they give a bag of nuts to Chip’n’Dale.  They then make Donald breakfast and tell him that they need to wait until the family arrives.  By dinnertime, they eat ham instead of turkey, with the turkey eating with them.  The nephews then reveal their gift to Donald: a snowboat.  The loop ends with Donald and Daisy kissing under the mistletoe.

The next morning turns out to be Boxing Day as Donald wants to give his gift a try, only for it to fall apart as he goes down the hill.

The next segment is A Very Goofy Christmas, which is an original story with some elements of Miracle of 33rd Street and “Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus”.  Goofy and Max (in his very last appearance as a child) are writing letters to Santa and shoveling snow from their driveway and sidewalk.  Pete arrives and insists that “an old guy in a red suit cruising the whole world in one night using reindeer that fly” is practically impossible.  Despite this, Goofy wants to help his son beleive in Christmas magic and the spirit of Old St. Nick, as they have a Christmas Eve dinner with a neighboring poor family.  Dinner goes without a hitch, but then when Goofy tries to act as a department store Santa, things go haywire as Max feels betrayed.

Goofy decides that in order to cheer his son up, not just with Old Stuffed Bear, he’ll prove that Santa exists that night even if he has to stand out in the cold.  After two false alarms (a pug in jingle bells and Big Time Beagle attempting to rob from Pete), Goofy is the one that begins to doubt Santa’s existence and Max is the one that is willing to cheer him up, dressing as Santa like earlier that evening.  As Goofy follows his son up the chimney, they see Santa flying by and dropping Max’s gift into their hands.  Plus some well deserved Karma for Pete.  Max then decides to share his gift with one of the poor kids.

The final segment is a retelling of O. Henry’s classic tale of The Gift of the Magi.  In this version, Mickey has a harmonica without a case and Minnie has a pocket watch.  Both of them have the intention of getting a gift to compliment their treasure, a chain for the watch and a case for the harmonica.  Mickey’s job at Crazy Pete’s at first seems to be enough to get him the chain, but then when he helps a poor family with a smaller tree rather than a 10-ft Nova Scotia pine that Pete was trying to force upon them, Mickey’s paycheck is confiscated, but needless to say, karma bites Pete again as he accidentally sets his ten-footers ablaze.

On Minnie’s end, her job at Mortimer’s only ended with her getting a fruitcake from her tightwad of a boss (and this was the same Mortimer that has attempted being a casanova time and again, even if it means humiliating Mickey).  Back to Mickey, he participates in a toy drive held in the park to tide over until the Firehouse Five return from putting out the blaze at Crazy Pete’s.  The firecheif compliments Mickey’s harmonica skills and that its worth its weight in gold.  This gives Mickey the idea to trade his harmonica to get the chain.  With the chain in hand, Mickey and Minnie decide to open gifts, only to learn that they traded their treasures to get the other’s gift.

In my head canon, they receive a surprise visitor, the shopkeeper who gives them their original treasures back, claiming them to be new presents altogether.  This is partially based on versions of the story where the shopkeeper is the main character and oversees the exchanges between treasures and gifts, as seen on an episode of Sesame Street with Gordon playing this to Ernie and Bert.

The movie ends with Mickey and the gang singing a medley of carols (Jingle Bells, Deck the Halls, We Wish You a Merry Christmas).

The first segment on the second movie, now done in CG, is “Belles on Ice”.  This segment was partially inspired by Michelle Kwan’s performance at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics and her performance as Mulan in “Reflections on Ice”.  The plot involves Minnie and Daisy having a figure skating duel that escalates out of control, with the two of them realizing that their egos got the best of them.  Original concepts for the segment included a parade float contest, a store window display competition and a cooking show bake-off.

The next segment is “Christmas: Impossible”  The segment begins with Scrooge having Donald, Daisy, and the Nephews over at his mansion (with its own zip-code) to celebrate the holidays.  On Christmas Eve, the nephews cause a ruckus, which leads to Scrooge talking to them about cleaning up their act if they ever want to get on Santa’s Nice List, of which he is not.

I should bring up that there was one thing he always wnated from Santa but never got: a set of bagpipes.

A little problem with that Mr. McDee, you made yourself a set before you emigrated from Scotland to America and even used it against Ma Beagle.  And of course these pipes predate the Number One Dime.

Anyways, with this plothole out of the way.

The nephews decide that the best way to get on the nice list is to head to Santa’s Workshop at the North Pole and write their names on it.  After finding the list room locked and getting the key from Santa’s office (the original script called for an ice cave with a hungry polar bear swimming about), they are about to head in there and set things right for themselves when they lose the key in a pile of fake keys belonging to a key themed toy

In when brainstorming ideas about the toy in question, the animators pitched at least ten ideas, nine of which are seen above.  My personal favorites being Key-to-My-Heart Kate, Dog Pound Pals, and Who-Dini the Owl.  The winner of the contest was Jailbreak Bob only because of Jeff Bennet’s demo reel as him (“Lemme out, see?”) proved to be the coolest.

One thing leads to another as the boys accidentally gum up the progress made by the elves, almost ruining Christmas, with the elves comparing this to the “Sleigh Crash of ’64”.  The nephews decide to help fix this mess and escape back to the list room, keyless (Santa took it back having assumed to have lost it), but end up sneaking into the list room behind the janitor.

Pulling up Duckburg on the monitors, they find that they are indeed not on the list, but instead write Scrooge’s name on there.  The next morning, they find tons of presents for them, including a Jailbreak Bob (“Be good this year, see?  And have a Merry Christmas!”), the Idiot’s Guide to Manners, and a new set of bagpipes for Scrooge, ending the segment with Santa sending a letter saying that “there’s always room on the Nice List for those who think of other first,” and Scrooge playing Deck the Halls on his new pipes, very badly.

The third segment is more or less a montage called “Christmas Maximus”.  This more or less follows Max (now in his 20’s) and his new girlfriend Mona, spending the holidays at Goofy’s after leaving from college, with Goofy trying hard not to embarass Max, and eventually strengthening the bond between the two of them.  In a rather interesting move, Mona is voiced by Kellie Martin, who voiced Roxanne in the original Goofy Movie.

Next is Donald’s Gift, and I can tell you one thing from listening to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” over and over again.

Donald is not amused.  All he wants is some peace and quiet and a piping cup of hot chocolate.  Daisy and the nephes arrive to take them shopping at Mousy’s, but Donald doesn’t want any of it.  But he is forced to regardless.

Donald finds a cocoa stand and gets a big cup of it.  This is where things get wierd as every noise he hears throughout the department store is in sync to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”, culminating in him ending up in the black-lit display window playing the same song.  In his rage, he destroys it but is shamed upon by his family and thrown out by security (“Fer cryin’ out loud, where’s yer Christmas spirit!”)

Trudging home, Donald comes across an uncoordinated group of carollers trying to sing the song.  Donald takes over conducting and together, they produce a beautiful harmony that draws in all the townsfolk.  Soon the crowd draws in Daisy and the boys, who see Donald finally showing some Christmas spirit. Donald apologizes and joins in on the singing, making sure to sing from his heart.

The final segment is Mickey’s Doggone Christmas.  In this story, Mickey is trying to set up a party with Pluto, but Pluto accidentally causes a powersurge which not only ruins the set up that Mickey had, but gets him sent to the dog house.  Mickey then heads out on his own to fix the damage in time for the party, all while dealing with a crazy snowplow truck.  Pluto decides that enough is enough and runs away, taking the next train behind his backyard.

The train ends up taking Pluto to the North Pole, where he sees Santa’s reindeer training for the big night.  The main two deer of the special are Dunder and Blitzen (voiced by Jeff Bennet and Jim Cummings respectively).  As Pluto is not wearing his collar, Dunder decides to adopt him as “Murray,” as in “Murry Christmas” *faceplam*

Mickey returns home to find that Pluto ran off and calls his friends to rally a search party.  “Murray” meanwhile is hacing fun with the team, but soon feels homesick.  Mickey meanwhile has been handing out fliers of his missing bloodhound, and soon takes his request up with a mall Santa, revealed to be the real deal and from “Christmas:  Impossible”.  Santa tells Dunder and Blitzen that Pluto is homesick, and is prepared to take him back to Mickey.

The movie ends with Mickey and Pluto reunited as the gang arrives in the snowplow truck.  As it happened, when Minnie heard Mickey’s call, she made calls to the rest of the gang, with Scrooge buying a snowplow company to aid in the search, Goofy happened to be the running gage snowplow.  All together, they sing the medley from the previous film as the film comes to a close.  This ending seems to imply that this was going to be the last part of an ongoing story where Mickey and Pluto were setting up for the party and each decoration brought up a different memory, leading into the stories.  This would also help explain why the “Angry Man” appears in each segment, as well as the elves and Dunder mentioning the Sleigh Crash of ’64.

All in all, despite what Rotten Tomatoes may think, these two movies are the perfect holiday experience for fans old and new as well as friends and family alike.

Mickey’s Nth Upon a Christmas While I know that Thanksgiving is nearly a week and a half away, my local radio stations have decided to take the opportunity to play Christmas songs, with the big offender being FM 93.9 WLIT.

[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

5 Christmas Decor Fails to Never, Ever Try at Home

istock; realtor.com

Adding holiday lights to your home’s exterior is a time-honored tradition that shows your neighbors just how much you love Christmas and how creative you are! Yet sometimes, sadly, these well-intentioned efforts can take a dark turn.

Don’t believe us? Let these recent Christmas decor fails below show how even the most innocent string of lights can lead to trouble, from $2,000 fines and 911 calls to a night in the slammer. Consider this a list of what not to do this year.

1. Don’t do holiday displays that prompt 911 calls

Remember that scene from “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” where Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase) attempts to hang lights, loses his ladder, and ends up clinging to the roof? Chris Heerlein of Austin, TX, recently decided to display the same scene with some lights, a ladder, and a dummy. Pretty darn funny, right?

Alas, the Heerlein family’s display looked so convincing, one passerby thought the dummy was real—and called 911. According to the Washington Post, cops soon arrived only to realize it was a false alarm. Since then, the Heerleins have added a sign saying, “Clark G is part of our Christmas display, please do not call 911″—to keep other easily duped good Samaritans at bay.

2. Attracting crowds? You may have to pay to control ’em

Kris and Thomas Apruzzi‘s light-filled holiday display at their home in Old Bridge, NJ, was so incredible, it traditionally attracted huge crowds—and therein lay the problem. Because the glut of cars in the area was causing gridlock, the city informed the Apruzzis that they’d have to pay for the cops dispatched to manage the masses around their home. The cost for their services? $2,000 per day. 

The Apruzzis refused to pay, telling CBS News, “We’re getting a lot of support from the neighbors and from the public.” This standoff isn’t over yet, although talks are in the works to move this display to a bigger area where cars can drive through without cop control.

3. Don’t try to make money off your onlookers, either

For the past 30 years, Lee Sepanek of Phoenix had been putting on a show-stopping holiday light display in his yard that regularly ran up a whopping $10,000 in supplies and electric bills. To help offset those costs, he came up with a genius idea: selling hot cocoa and cookies to all the hungry light-lookers!

Yet in 2017, city officials told Sepanek to stick a fork in his budding business venture, because he lacked a sales permit. Unable to afford the display otherwise, Sepanek pulled the plug.

“I even bought a whole bunch of new stuff,” Sepanek lamented to Phoenix’s Fox 10. “Now they’re in storage.”

However, he did set up a GoFundMe page with the hopes he’ll receive enough donations to bring back the light display. So far, he’s made $1,220—at that rate, he may be up and running, oh, around five years from now.

4. Don’t blast holiday tunes 24/7

If you’re a big fan of everything from Wham‘s holiday hits to the Chipmunks crooning about Christmas, you may want to keep this in mind before you set up speakers to blare your yuletide favorites for all to hear.

In 2016, New York City attorney Nick Wilder was subject to his neighbor Lisa Maria Falcone‘s holiday display featuring a singing reindeer—equipped with a loudspeaker blaring “Jingle Bells” from 7 a.m. until midnight every day. According to the New York Post, Wilder sought a government injunction to force her to stop, and also complained about how he’d like his neighbor to “show some Christmas spirit by being considerate and stop annoying the entire neighborhood.”

Whether Wilder’s efforts to silence his neighbor paid off or not remain unknown, but suffice it to say we feel (or rather, hear) his pain.

“I like a Christmas song on Christmas Day. But I’m tired of hearing ‘Jingle Bells,’ like, 700 or 800 times a day,” he told the Post.

5. Don’t hang your lights in X-rated shapes

WARNING: Contains strong language Watch the moment the police ask Steve McGawley to take down his Christmas lights.https://t.co/fSlL2KkHxk pic.twitter.com/d7wITSn99l

— Lancashire Post (@leponline) December 21, 2016

In 2016, Steve McGawley of Blackpool, England, decided to string up the lights in front of his home to look like something you might see only at the Playboy mansion: a massive, twinkling penis.

After eliciting a whole lot of head-shaking from the neighbors, McGawley’s display brought the cops to his door, asking him to take it down. According to the Blackpool Gazette, McGawley offered to turn it off, but the cops said that wasn’t enough. In the end, they arrested him, and, once released, he issued an apology by (you guessed it) restringing his lights in a different shape—as the letters S-O-R-R-Y.

The post 5 Christmas Decor Fails to Never, Ever Try at Home appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

from https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/christmas-decor-fails-to-not-try-at-home/