fox - r.lupin

- c h a p t e r - f i v e -

edited.
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a/n

guys...FOX has over 1k view...like WHAT? thank you so much for reading and sticking around to read violet's story! it means a lot! but yeah!

anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! sorry it took so long for me to get anything new up!

~ gwenlee
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Violet had waited all day to open her box––very impatiently, if one may add.

    Her mind would wander in the middle of doing something–distracted by the fact that she had a box upstairs from some of her best friends on the planet calling her name.

    It was torture for the eleven-year-old.

    On the other hand, Violet spent the whole of Christmas day with her mother and father, having the most wonderful time.

    She had spent the morning making cookies with her mum and dad, and then they had a delicious breakfast of french toast, eggs, and bacon, with pumpkin juice to drink. The three had eaten their breakfast in their decently large family room before they played board games until someone (her dad) started making up rules, and her parents actually started to argue–full-on pointing fingers and shouting.

    When the tension was to the point of exploding, Violet stood on the table and started impersonating singers, actors, and actresses–cutting the air like a knife as she did an exceptionally life-like impersonation of Elvis, an American singer. 

    Her mum was still yelling at her dad while he just stared at his eleven-year-old in surprise and absolute humour.

    But it wasn't until Violet slipped off the coffee table and slammed her elbow into the fireplace poker that her mum stopped yelling and gave a shout of surprise and panic–worried her daughter had been injured when she just laid prone on the floor.

    Except, Violet didn't cry or scream; she just stuck her thumb up and, in her Elvis voice, exclaimed, "Thank you very much, everybody...that is all!"

    After that, everything was right as rain again.

    They played in the snow till late in the evening. While Violet had gone to get back into her pyjamas and get warm, her father and mother made a lush Christmas dinner of honied ham, potatoes, roasted vegetables, and tarts for dinner.

    Then it was Violet's favourite part of Christmas.

    The opening of the colourfully wrapped gifts.

    She had received a selection of Muggle novels from her father, a new moving poster from her mother's travels–one of a bunch of witch-ballerinas dressed in beautiful blue costumes, turning on air from a Russian ballet–and a very intricate drawing of a bowtruckle from her grandparents.

    Then–the boring but practical gifts were next–she received socks from her other Muggle family members. She actually liked the socks she got–well, most of them.

    She received fun patterned socks from her more open-minded Muggle family members–this year, they were sunflowers, puppies, and little cartoon birds. Her more narrow-minded and afraid Muggle relatives, she got socks she could wear for more formal occasions when she didn't wear boots to cover up her fun socks.

    But every year, since the years, she had noticed–so around the age of nine–she made a critical emphasis on her love for the socks–for her dad.