A Serious of Bizarre Events

With every passing moment, Christmas was drawing closer, drifting across the Atlantic on the back of ashen clouds laden with winter’s bounty: snow. The temperature was in a near constant state of nought or below. The house to which Melissa Finnigan had moved with her brother in the September had yet to truly feel like home.

There were well supplied cupboards brimming with food begging to be eaten and there was a television whose satellite box was fed more channels than the children had time to watch. Hot water sprung in thick jets down over them as they stood in the shower and there was always a warm bed to retreat to in the evenings. Yet despite all of these reasons to love their situation, Millie especially loathed the place. Elliot was much more amiable about the whole affair by comparison; she just had an incurable case of the mulligrubs where living with her mother was concerned.

That particular morning saw little sunshine. The cloud cover hung thick above the heads of those that wandered, drifting over the sky with laziness akin to that of a feline on an early weekday; because for a cat, every day was a weekend. The particular cat that is the hero of our story was not home that morning. He had been out far longer than usual and though he was known to spend countless hours out at night, he always came in for some milk and a bite to eat in the mornings before the couch called to him.

The cat came in a little after eleven, for those that are worried about the fate of dear Lucius. He was simply out all night, enjoying the company of the she-cat that Millie had bought Trent for Christmas. He came in, meowed as loudly as humanly cat-ly possible and got Lavender out of bed. Lucius – 1, Lavender – 0.

Millie rose at about quarter past eight, bright and early – almost offensively so – to greet the day with excitement brimming in her belly at the prospect of going out with Trent. She bounced down the stairs, nearly tripping over a coat in the process but landing easily enough on the soft, fluffy rug that was spread out over the hallway floor to take the chill of the wood panels. Millie turned a little, her eyebrows furrowing, and leant down a little to pick at the collar of the auburn coat that had been left strewn across the chairs. She knew it not to be Lavender’s – it wasn’t garish enough, besides, it didn’t smell like hers – so it had to belong to someone else, someone who was with Elliot.

Curling her lip at the thought of her brother ever getting a shag, Millie unceremoniously dropped the coat and bounced down the hallway into the kitchen where after a light prelude breakfast she sat and drank some hot tea while the bacon cooked. It was not long before the creak of the stairs announced the arrival of another person. Lavender wouldn’t be up yet, Millie knew, having had an eventful night herself and Elliot’s footfalls were much harder so it had to be his evening friend.

Millie had expected a waif with a shock of bright red hair, a mirror image of Sarah, wearing perhaps a button down shirt of Elliot’s and little else. No instead the person who appeared around the door was a young man who she recognised as a seventh year Hufflepuff. His name was one she could not quite place but as she took him in, he had the air of someone who had been ravished by a hurricane. His hair was stuck on end in every direction and his lips were pricked a bright pink that brought a wry smile to Millie’s mouth. His eyes were drooped with weariness but he seemed optimistic enough, though his cheeks rightly shone with the rouge of embarrassment.

“Hi Millie. How’re you?”

“Stephan?” The word, the name, left Millie’s lips quicker than she had first thought it would. So her sub-conscious remembered him. Her conscious mind was rather stunned, though. “Err. Nice coat.”

The man smiled and nodded in thanks before moving towards the kettle which Millie informed him had only just boiled. He was quick to make up two cups of tea and the girl watched him as he hurried, his ill-fitting trousers – probably Ellie’s - slipping further down on his hips as he moved about the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Stephan smiled at Millie once he was done but was quick to hurry away, clearly as put off by her as she was by him.

Bizarre. That was the only word for it.

Looking at the time, Millie realised that Trent would be there soon and bounced back up the stairs to get ready, though making sure that the cooker was turned down so as not to burn the bacon.

Once back downstairs everything was ready and with a flick of her wand she had two plates made up. Looking at her watch, Millie frowned a little but a smile spread back over her face at the sound of the door bell and she turned, her smile widening as she made her wand down the hallway once more to the door where she hoped to find Trent behind it, no doubt awkwardly bobbing back and forth on his heels as he waited for her.

"What's taking that boy so long, Garry?"

"It's not even been five minutes, Des!"

"What? No, that cannot be ... I called for him more than ten minutes ago!"

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did! Memory's failing you, old man. Now, could you please be a sweetheart and go see what he's up to in his room?"

And before he could protest, Gareth decided otherwise, feeling the intensity of his wife's stare as he avoided her gaze and took comfort in his warm cup of tea. With a sigh, Gareth propped both hands against the edge of the dining table and raised himself from his seat. Desdemona made a slight sound of approval before reaching for the daily crossword.

*

Trent was not allowed out of the house without a cup of piping hot tea. Desdemona sat with her hands gripped around her own cup of tea, beaming with pride at the dishevelled figure of a grandson that she adored. Gareth, having settled back into his chair, resumed with the daily news. A Christmas catalogue fell out, and the old man began looking through the pages for boy toys. Having noticed the quick diversion of attention, Trent attempted to spy at the toys on sale, secretly hoping that his grandfather still remembered how much he adored Lego toys. Before he knew it, Nan began to speak. Yet, he found it hard to pay much attention to her. Thankfully, she did't seem to notice her lack of audience. She was a lovely, lovely woman. Sometimes, though, she waffled on incessantly.

*

As he made his way to the Christmas market, Trent marvelled at how easily snow could make things look brand new. London, with all its history and mess, looked almost like the perfect city to be spending Christmas at. Not that he had any choice in that; neither had he travelled enough to pass much of a judgement about the matter. Still, he loved the streets he grew up at, the streets he had adventures at, and the streets he walked all his life, even when he didn't stop to take in the sights. There was, undoubtedly, something optimistic in the boy's spirit; quite unlike his typical pessimism. Christmas was all around, indeed. Even Trent bought into it.

*

As soon as the doorbell rang, Trent felt a sudden urge to have that cigarette he had been craving since the voice of his grandmother woke him up. The rule still applied. He wasn't allowed cigarettes, and that was the only major letdown of living with his grandparents. With a sigh, he stuck both of his hands into the pockets of his coat, and waited for the whiff of Millie that he would always catch even before he saw her. Feeling awkward as usual, and in the cold too, the boy began to bob back and forth on his heels.