Boxing Day solo Locked

Meanwhile, in a narrow brick townhouse, chaos ensued.

"Dad!" Rebecca stuck his head over the railing and yelled down the stairs. "Where did you hide Bink's Christmas sweater?"

"I TOSSED IT OUT!" came a reply from the kitchen.

His mother burst out from across the hallway landing, her fuzzy robe askew over her nightgown. "I SPENT WEEKS KNITTING THAT DAMN THING!" she huffed.

His father emerged from the kitchen covered in flour and looked up despairingly at his wife. "Dear, he hated wearing it. It was animal cruelty."

Binks the cat, who had thus far been clutched in Rebecca's arms, let out a disgruntled mrow! and wiggled free to dash under a tatty old chair. While his parents started threatening each other with their wands, Rebecca slipped past them down the stairs and walked into the little kitchen.

It was still a disaster from yesterday, there were crumbs everywhere, stacks of washed dishes that hadn't been put away, and a fork stuck inexplicably in the ceiling. His parents had hosted Christmas dinner, which meant they'd had to squeeze both of his sisters and all of his aunts, uncles, and cousins into their flat. Now that his muggle relatives were gone, someone could have cast a quick cleaning charm to set things straight, but no one had bothered.

There was a half-mixed bowl of cookie dough abandoned on the rickety kitchen table, which Rebecca set about to stirring. By the time he'd readied a baking tray, Morgan wandered into the kitchen. "It's too early for mum and dad to be having a row," she yawned.

"It's actually noon," Rebecca remarked. Morgan ignored him and took a seat by the counter.

"Where's Emelia?"

"Out with Mathew, she's showing him around the city," Rebecca answered as he slid the cookies into the oven and wandered over to lean onto his older sister. She pushed him off with a good natured shove and ruffled up his dark hair. "You're a menace," she informed him. "And a rat. Go brush your hair, you look like a pygmy puff."

He stuck out his tongue at her but did what she said anyway, padding his way up the narrow stairs to his bedroom. His parents were still throwing insults and jinxes at each other in the hallway, but he ducked under a wayward spell and was otherwise unbothered.

Cleopatra clicked her beak from her perch by the window and Rebecca smiled. The owl was by far his best Christmas present to date, even with the attack on Diagon Alley that had occured during her purchase. The memory of the explosion sat uncomfortably in his chest, but he ignored his unease as he tossed her a treat.

As far as Christmases went, this had been a good one. It was weird being away from his family for so long, and even weirder to not be able to talk about where he'd been the past few months. "Private school in Scotland," was what he'd ended up telling his muggle cousins, while his magical relatives gave a knowing smile.

Hogwarts was fun, but at the end of the day it was still a school. It was nice to have a break for the holidays... but he already was starting to miss spending time with the new friends he'd made.

Rebecca knew some of them had their own Christmas parties to throw, though to be honest it didn't sound like much fun to him. Stuffy pureblood wizards hanging around with a bunch of other stuffy pureblood wizards... blegh. He'd pass. His mom was a Muggleborn anyways, so even though he was Wizard-born he doubted his family would qualify for an invitation.

He didn't know how Morgan could stand it, working at the Ministry and being surrounded by those prats. Whenever he asker her about it she just gave him a suffering look and told him that he was too young to understand.

He picked up a hairbrush and scowled. He wasn't too young, he knew the real reason was because they didn't have money.

Dad was out of work at the moment, and Mum's job working the front of Quality Quidditch Supplies wasn't exactly glamorous. He'd overheard his parents' worried whispers late at night, and felt the tense atmosphere when Morgan announced her new job at the Ministry. Working for the government paid well, even if it was basically selling your soul to a group of classist elites and sitting at a desk until you die--

Cleopatra bit him painfully on the ear, essentially ending his angry train of thought.

It didn't matter! This was the holidays, he was out of school for another week, and there were cookies that needed to be taken out of the oven before they burned.

The tension in their family, worries about the attack in Diagon Alley, it all could wait. Everything could wait.