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Have fun in Romania.
Ron
P.S. I don’t think Harry’s expecting any presents. Those Muggles he lives with don’t seem too keen on him.
Molly Weasley, mother of seven, put her youngest son’s letter down on the table. A school owl had delivered it that morning at breakfast but she hadn’t had a chance to read it until the evening while a potato soup simmered on the stove. She’d spent most of the day packing for their upcoming trip to visit Charlie in Romania and wheedling Ginny into finishing the last of her schoolwork — maths were a particular battle. Now Ginny was gathering eggs from the chickens and a pair of knitting needles clacked away in the corner.
It was easier to finish the jumpers these days. Only Ginny’s and Arthur’s had to be hidden, what with the boys all away at school or abroad. She’d found a lovely lightweight silver wool for Ginny’s jumper and had hand-knitted a lace pattern around the collar and cuffs. Spells could only do basic patterns – a body, a sleeve – but Molly had to do the designs or any special stitches herself.
Harry Potter wasn’t expecting any presents. Molly still wasn’t used to the idea that the Boy Who Lived went to school with her children, let alone seemed to be close friends with her youngest son. From Percy’s retelling of the Halloween incident, Ron and Harry were close enough to be getting into trouble together. Molly gave the soup an absentminded stir, then walked over to check her knitting basket.
Arthur, Bill, and Charlie’s jumpers were all finished. Bill’s had already been sent on to Egypt by an international owl — she’d had to go into the Hogsmeade to mail it, where she thought she had seen two identical heads of red hair outside Honeydukes, but they were gone once she had taken a second look --- trick of the light, it must have been. No need to mail Charlie’s jumper, since they’d be delivering it to Romania personally. A dragon reserve , really. Molly still wasn’t sure which was preferable, a dragon reserve or a career (if you could call it that) as a professional Quidditch player.
The twins’ jumpers were almost finished, made out of a blue yarn spelled with several of her best anti-stain and anti-tear charms, and tucked beneath them were several skeins of thick green yarn. She’d picked it out of the discount bin at Witchery Stitchery for Charlie, before realizing she’d need at least another skein to accommodate his stocky frame. But Harry had been a small, thin little thing from what she had seen at Platform 9 ¾ — barely larger than Ginny. She’d be able to make a jumper out of the yard she had, and what with his black hair there was no worry about clashing.
They left for Romania in two days. She couldn’t knit the jumper by magic, as Ron’s maroon jumper was still on her enchanted needles. She’d have to knit a simple one for Harry as well as Percy while keeping the spell going for Ron’s jumper, finish the very last bit of Ginny’s jumper, get everything packed, and the house ready for their absence. No matter. Everyone deserved gifts at Christmas.
The Floo sounded behind her --- “Evening, Mollywobbles,” Arthur said as he stepped out.
“Shhh, Arthur!” Molly said, blushing and looking round to see if Ginny had returned from the chickens.
“Nowhere to be seen,” Arthur said, chuckling slightly, “And next year she’ll be gone.”
“Yes, well, perhaps then I’ll make you learn to cook.”
“Mum, I’ve got the eggs! Daddy, you’re home!” Ginny said, practically throwing the egg basket down on the table in her haste to hug her father.
“Ginny, careful!” Molly said, and then all thoughts of green jumpers and famous orphans were forgotten in the small bustle of dinner --- even dinner for three --- and washing up and then bed time.
After Ginny was in bed, Molly returned to her knitting basket and gathered up the green yarn, before settling into a comfortable chair by the fire with her knitting needles and a cup of chamomile tea. She’d just finished casting on when Arthur came in from the shed.
“Who’s that one for?” he asked.
“Harry,” Molly replied.
“Harry?”
“Harry Potter, Ron’s roommate,” Molly said, as if it were a completely ordinary thing that she’d begin a whole new sweater for the Boy Who Lived just a few days before they went on holiday, “Ron said in his letter he didn’t think Harry was expecting any presents. I’ll have time to finish it and send it on with the rest of the boys’ sweaters.”
Arthur was silent for a moment, then chuckled softly, “Well, don’t let Ginny in on the secret - she’ll want to knit it herself.”
“Oh Arthur,” Molly replied, laughing a bit herself. Ginny as a young girl had loved the Boy Who Lived story and the Weasleys had various popularized –and obviously fictional – accounts of his childhood up in the attic. Many small series had sprung up in the years following 1981 and the books, aimed at young readers, could often be found in the discount bin of the used bookstore. “Really, I think she’s grown out of that phase.”
“True, true,” Arthur replied, “Only I think Ron’s letters may have sparked her interest again. She’ll get over it soon enough. Is the door upstairs still sticking?”
“Yes, it is, but could you leave it until after our holiday? Only I’ve still got quite a bit of knitting left now and the packages of sweets still need packing up.”
Arthur nodded and set off for the pantry where Molly kept the finished Christmas sweets. Molly ended up knitting later into the night than she had planned, listening to the wireless alternate between Celestina Warbeck’s beautiful voice and the late night news reports. A Madam Umbridge was assisting Minister Fudge with legislation, the Hogsmeade shopkeepers were reporting that Christmas sales were up 2.8%, and the ambassador from Egypt was petitioning the Wizengamot to relax the rules on magic carpet importations (“strictly for hobbyist use!”). But she was a fast knitter and by the time she had waved out the lights, a new green sweater was taking shape.
Somehow the Christmas presents came together, as they always did, and a few hours before their Portkey journey to Romania, Molly was rifling through her stack of Christmas cards.
“Arthur, I can’t find any!” she said – indeed, she seemed to have a good number of sympathy cards and new baby cards, but all the Christmas ones were gone.
“No matter, Ron will tell him what it is. Better send Errol off to the house elves though, we’ve got a Portkey to catch!” Molly sighed and nodded, watching as Arthur tied one last knot around the parcel, hoping – as she watched their overladen owl take off towards Scotland – that one green sweater was enough.