BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

o. The Happiest Time of the Year

December 24th, 1979

     The night Natalie Yates died was different for everyone.

For ordinary muggles it was fairly normal, aside from the pure white backdrop of evening snow dusting every windowsill and rooftop. Christmas Eve it was. Lights dotting every building and bush, trees decorated to the nines, stockings hanging on every fireplace mantle, and presents neatly wrapped or messily taped together under trees. Families were gathered inside chatting over cider, children laughing with hot chocolate mustaches and bright, giddy smiles.

Anticipation flooded every bone in their bodies. They eagerly awaited the morning so as to rip open their presents, to dress in their warmest jumpers and handmade beanies and mittens to play in the freshly fallen snow, still soft to the touch.

The streets were quiet, just as quiet as one would expect on Christmas Eve. Quiet enough to hear the rings from Santa's sleigh, at least the children thought.

For the Yates, it was much the same if not a tad bit chaotic. Six stockings sporting spots on the mantle above a roaring fireplace each one with glittery lettering, and two trees towering over the mounds of presents gift wrapped in colorful paper. Each member could be seen through their frozen windows running to and fro in their matching ugly jumpers. Everything had to be perfect for the little one's unexpected arrival that very evening. It was their first Christmas after all.

Bartholomew frantically rubbed white hair dye on his greying beard, not forgetting his twirly mustache. His prized Santa costume laid on the tub by his feet. It was tradition in his household to dress as the jolly fat man for his children. He'd never break it. He'd rather be damned. Bernelle Yates was in her office at her sewing machine, wiping sweat off her brow as she stitched together the torn Santa hat. God forbid her brother keep the damned hat away from the dogs.

The twins Tom and Tim chased little Lonnie and Lorette Yates around with bright red noses and antlers on their heads, while Joelle and Lucien hid under the dining table sneaking sweets. As they ran through the hallway, Martha was not far behind with the morning's newspaper rolled up in her fist ready to whack them for the ruckus. There was only one member who was not running around like a headless chicken. And that was Nessie.

He was never a problematic child but one would think that with him being the youngest and all, aside from his cousins, nieces, and nephews. But he proved those rumors wrong. With him never causing trouble, he found quiet ways to keep himself entertained and those hobbies included cooking.

Oh yes, Nessie was the cook of the family. Christ knows old Barry Yates couldn't cook a can of soup over an open flame. And forget Auntie Elle! Who knows how her kids managed to survive that atrocious meatloaf.

If anyone needed anything, Nessie was the obvious choice. From the best baked breads to the most mouth watering dishes, he knew it all. He slaved away all Christmas Eve, slapping his baby cousins hands with wooden spoons when they dared to knick a sugar cookie, and even having to shoo his own dad for trying to have a taste of the batter to his famous Christmas cake (One of his personal bests, he'd never tell anyone the secret). Honestly, the lot of them!

Truthfully, everything had to be absolutely perfect for the arrival of his baby niece or nephew. He couldn't say he was exactly thrilled when he heard the news but as time passed, the love grew. His usual Christmas diner became tripled with the news Natalie was expecting that very night. He might not have shown his panic but when his buttered yams showed the slightest bit of being burned, he nearly fainted on the spot. Safe to say, the Yates were entirely alike.