‘You’d think that they’d dust us off before they put us put on display each year,’ a deep voice grumbled. ‘Every time it’s the same thing. They bump the boxes containing us down the attic stairs, not caring if we get another dent or two, then they haphazardly display us for a few weeks before they throw us into boxes again and cart us back up to the attic. You’d think that being wizards they’d have thought of a better way of doing that by now, wouldn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ a high-pitched voice answered. ‘I have never been put into a box or up in an attic. That sounds like quite an adventure and a bit of fun.’
‘Not much fun, frankly, when you are stuffed into a box in the dark, with nothing to see and no-one to talk to’.
‘Oh gosh, that does in fact sound pretty awful. What do you usually do, when you are not in the attic.’
‘Normally, I stand here until they put the candles in and put me on the table.’ Realising he had a captive audience, he stood up a bit straighter and continued pompously, ‘I am a most precious candelabra, you know, a family heirloom they take out for special occasions.’
The candlestick was sorry now that he had already admitted to being discarded and neglected in a box in the attic for most of the year to this clearly uninitiated artifact.
If his audience had picked up on this, she did not let on.
‘Have you been here long?’ she enquired pleasantly.
‘Longer than time itself,’ the candlestick answered importantly, in his deep voice.
‘Well, I may be new and have Made in Taiwan stamped on my bottom, but even I know that you cannot be older than time. That is just not possible, but I can see that you are very old, and if I may say so, there do indeed appear to be a few dents showing here and there, and do I detect that one of your arms is somewhat off-centre?’
‘That is neither here nor there,’ he rebutted gruffly. ‘Pray tell me, what exactly are you? I do not recall seeing you before?’
‘I am a snow globe and, as I said before, I am new.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘Not much, but if you pick me up and shake me, the snow starts to swirl around inside me,’ she giggled.
‘What use is that?’
‘No use, really, but it seems to give people joy. Do you give people joy?’
At that question, the candlestick paused. Did he give people joy? It wasn’t a question he had ever asked himself. Back in his youth he had been needed all of the time to guide the way and to provide light for his owners to write by or to allow them to read, or do needlepoint, or make potions in the cellar potions store. Back in those days he was regularly polished and well looked after, but lately he was just brought out for decorative purposes a few days of the year and sometimes they only put the candles in at the last minute and did not even light them. No-one had ever shaken him or picked him up to stare at him, as he had seen the kids do with the snow globe. He had even observed the adults at times picking up the novelty item and giving it a surreptitious shake.
Given joy to people sounded like a noble calling.
Before he could ponder this question any further, he heard a young boy’s voice shout ‘My turn’ and before he knew it he was rudely shoved out of the way and felt himself tumbling down from the mantelpiece.
‘Now look what you’ve done’, he heard another, slightly older, voice admonish.
‘Daaaaaaddy, Draco Junior dropped the old stick thingy!’ the voice shouted.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Not long after, the candelabra felt himself being lifted into the air.
Summoned by his daughter’s cries, the Dad had appeared and with a swish and flick had moved the candlestick over to the ottoman beside the door.
He hoped the Dad would examine his damage later, after he had dealt with his fighting offspring, as his arms felt decidedly more lopsided after the fall.
From his position beside the door he overheard the Dad mutter under his breath, ’How did I end up allowing this Merlin forsaken Muggle artefact into my house? Who am I kidding, how could I have refused?’
If the candlestick’s interpretations of the mutterings were correct, the Dad found that it was always easier to give in to Granger than to argue with her and furthermore, the idea that it would make his Faaaaather turn in his grave was an added bonus.
Truth be told, the Dad secretly liked seeing the snow slowly swirl inside the globe and float around the small facsimile of a castle, surrounded by miniature spruce trees, before the flakes settled again at the bottom. Indeed the candlestick had seen the Dad give the little globe a shake once or twice, when no-one was looking.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
To his disappointment, the candlestick was forgotten for quite a while.
As he was laying discarded on the ottoman, he pondered again the question of giving joy to people. ‘The old stick thingy’ comment from the daughter certainly did not give him much hope in this regard.
He asked the ottoman, did they gave joy.
‘I never gave this much thought,’ the ottoman replied.
‘Me neither until that foreign upstart mentioned that her mission in life was to give people joy.’
That wasn’t quite what the little snow globe had said, but the candelabra was inclined to exaggerate things a bit.
‘Well, my softness can be a comfort, I suppose,’ the ottoman mused.
Indeed, the old candlestick had to agree that his current position was far more comfortable than the floor or that box of odds and ends he had spent the past number of months in.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
‘There, all fixed,’ he heard a beautiful melodic voice say. ‘Now, I will just give you a little polish and put some nice candles in you and you will be as good as new,’ the voice continued.
It sounded like her words were accompanied by the tinkling of little silver bells and when her soft hands slowly started to stroke all parts of him, the candelabra thought he was in candlestick heaven.
‘Now there is someone who brings joy,’ he thought.
‘I will just put you up here, out of the way of the kids, beside the old carriage clock, until I set the table,’ the lady with the soft hands and beautiful voice said.
‘You can do whatever you like with me’, the now shining candelabra thought to himself. It had been a very long time since anyone had been this nice to him.
‘Enjoyed that, did you,’ the ancient carriage clock cackled.
The candlestick blushed.
‘She is quite something, isn’t she?’ the clock continued, ‘She’s a breath of fresh air and doesn’t hold with any of the wizarding traditions, not like the previous mistresses of the house and I should know, I have been here since the house was built. The things I could tell you, would make your candles stand on end, young man.’
Young man? The candlestick had not been called young in many decades. This day was getting better by the minute.
‘You flatter me,’ the candelabra said. ‘I cannot recall when anyone referred to me as anything but old.’
‘Oh, I remember the day you were brought into this house. You were part of a special commission. Did you know that? That peacock feather design isn’t your garden variety pattern, you know…’
The candelabra felt his heart fill with joy at the thought that he was special.
‘… not like that mass produced Muggle toy, you got knocked down for,’ the clock continued.
‘How do you know that it is mass produced and a Muggle toy?’
‘Well, you stand here long enough and you will hear and see all sorts of things.’
‘When Hermione…’
‘Who?’ interrupted the candlestick.
‘Hermione Granger…’
Ah, the candle stick realised, the person the Dad had been muttering about earlier, when he was sorting out the row his kids were having.
‘…She’s a Muggleborn and has been coming around here quite often since the war.’
War? the candelabra questioned silently in his mind. How long had he been up in the attic for?
‘She is like a walking encyclopaedia, always orating about this fact and that fact, she even recited the history of the carriage clock going back to the early 19th century in France, when she caught sight of me the first time she was in this room, as if I needed to be reminded of that. Anyway, I am digressing. You asked me how I knew it was a Muggle toy and mass produced. First of all, keen observation. I may be old, but I am not blind. Any object that requires manual shaking to work, is clearly not magical and the fact that it has no purpose other than to amuse the kids, suggests it is a toy. Secondly, that Hermione person likes to talk and I overheard her saying something about not normally buying things that are mass produced, but that she simply could not resist this little snow globe, as it reminded her of Hogwarts.’
It was amusing to hear the old clock mimicking a clearly superior sounding female. ‘So now we have a Muggle ornament taking centre-stage on the mantel,’ the carriage clock concluded. At the last mention of the word Muggle, the clock had wrinkled his old clock face.
‘Do you have something against Muggles?’ the candelabra enquired curiously.
‘Not particularly, but having heard the Pureblood rhetoric my entire life, I suppose it sort of rubbed off on me. Not that young Draco holds with that talk any longer, mind you.’
‘The little kid?’ the candelabra asked incredulously.
‘No, the father of course,’ the clock laughed. ‘I suppose to me everyone is a little whippersnapper.’
That made more sense.
‘I meant to ask you,’ the candlestick said, after a pause. ‘Do you think you give people joy?’
‘Don’t know that I do, to be honest. After all, I mark the passage of time, which can de joyful of course, when you are awaiting a visitor or looking forward to a special event, but as one gets older I am a constant, and often stark, reminder of the time that has passed.’
‘Well, if it makes you feel better, you have given me joy today,’ the candelabra said in earnest, ‘by calling me a young one and pointing out that my design was special. I have not felt special in a long time and it is nice to think that I was once appreciated, rather than discarded with other odds and ends up in the attic.’
‘Why thank you, young man, you have just made an old clock feel appreciated too.’
‘We sound like a mutual admiration society,’ the candelabra remarked and they both started to laugh.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When he was next moved to the dining table by those now familiar soft hands and placed beside an ornate porcelain vase with flowers, he was feeling much better, having been regaled with endless stories by the wise old carriage clock, but he still asked the vase if she brought joy.
‘What a funny question to ask,’ the vase giggled. ‘I suppose the flowers I carry bring joy to the family, as they smell nice and brighten up the room and I suppose without me, there would be no flowers to do that, so I suppose I bring joy.’
‘I suppose you do indeed,’ the candelabra said with a smile.
As the table was being set for Christmas dinner, he asked several other items if they brought joy, as they were being placed nearby to add to the elaborate festive atmosphere of the table setting.
The porcelain dinner service and silver cutlery rebuffed his question. They considered themselves simply indispensable and did not concern themselves with frivolous thoughts of joy.
The crystal finger bowls filled with warm water and rose petals, tentatively agreed that the fact that they sparkled and looked pretty and helped clean sticky fingers, should probably rank them somewhere on the joyous scale, but were unsure where exactly. The linen hand-embroidered serviettes felt that the finger bowls certainly gave them some joy, as the worst of the dirt was already removed before people wiped their fingers on them. They were slightly more ambivalent as to whether they themselves brought joy and ranked themselves somewhere below the finger bowls.
‘Dear sweet Merlin’, the candelabra thought to himself, ‘how did I end up with a ranking scale and where would I put myself and my other research subjects on that scale?’
Blasted finger bowls and their idea of a joyous scale. No wonder some people thought them pretentious.
When asked, the crystal wine goblets were one hundred percent sure they brought joy.
They straightened their elegant stems and declared importantly, ‘How else would people be able to enjoy their wine?’
‘Nothing stopping them from drinking from the bottle, I suppose,’ the candelabra suggested tentatively and somewhat mischievously after his encounter with the equally self-important dinner service.
The response of outrage that followed this suggestion was deafening and the goblets refused to engage in any further conversation.
‘No joy there then,’ the candelabra thought sourly, but secretly pleased at having put the goblets in their place.
When he had exhausted the items on the table, he concentrated on the space above him.
He looked around and realised that with the large chandelier above the table, the family did not really need him to give light, not like in the olden days. The candelabra sighed to himself. Did that mean he didn’t bring joy to the family?
The mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above him most definitely seemed to think it brought joy, and in fact declared itself to be ‘most joyous of all’, especially at this time of year.
No sooner had the mistletoe made this declaration or the peace and quiet was disturbed by a familiar voice wailing, ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daaaaaddy, Cassie says that those things are full of nargles. I do not like naaaaargles, make them go away!’
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It didn’t take Draco long to come to his son’s aid.
From his vantage point on the dining table, the candelabra heard him ask his daughter, ‘Where on earth did you get that idea, Cassiopeia?’
A bit more forceful than necessary, in the candlestick’s opinion. He wondered what nargles were and vowed to ask the old carriage clock when next he got the chance. He straightened himself up to his full height to get a good view. ‘This is going to be good,’ he thought to himself and he did not intend to miss a single part of this conversation.
‘I heard Uncle Harry say that to Uncle Neville in the garden, when Uncle Neville was cutting some,’ the daughter answered, her lip trembling.
From the look of surprise on Draco’s face, this had clearly not been the answer he had been suspecting.
‘Well, my Faaaaather always put up mistletoe for the holidays,’ Draco said a lot more kindly to his daughter, ‘It is a Malfoy family tradition.’
The candlestick liked the idea of tradition, but at the same time wondered if that was enough of a reason to hang an infested bunch of leaves and berries from the ceiling. He wondered what the lady of the house with her lovely voice and soft hands would have to say about this.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the object of his affection swooped into the room and took charge.
She shot her husband an enquiring look.
With a sigh, Draco explained, ‘Cassie overheard the Witless Wonder telling our friend with the green fingers that there were nargles in my surprise decoration. Junior apparently doesn’t like nargles and is throwing a bit of a fit.’
The look on his wife’s face said ‘Why am I not surprised,’ as clearly as if she had spoken the words out loud.
She gave her daughter, who was on the verge of tears, a big hug and reassured her that Uncle Harry had only been joking about the nargles.
'There are no nargles in this mistletoe, I have been checking all the mistletoe in the garden regularly to make sure of that, but if you are worried about nargles, we can make butterbeer necklaces later to keep any nargles away,' she assured her children.
Looking from her husband to the offending mistletoe, she remarked, ‘Myyyyy Daddy put no stock in the silly traditions attributed to this parasitic plant.’
With a flick of her wand she vanished the mistletoe before either Draco or Draco junior could utter another word.
Draco muttered exasperatedly, ‘And what are we to do with the empty spot now?’
‘How about some nice Dirigible plums,’ Luna suggested, as she magicked a lovely display of the versatile fruit so loved by her own father.
‘Do they have nargles?’ both Dracos asked simultaneously.
‘No Darlings, they are completely nargle-free,’ Luna assured them with a smile, as she kissed each Draco lightly on his forehead.
‘No point in telling them that they are full of perfectly harmless wuzziewoos,’ she muttered to herself after the kids and their father had left the room.
‘So much for that smug mistletoe being a fountain of joy,’ the candelabra laughed to himself, forgetting that its vanquishing had technically just brought some joy to him just minutes ago.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Finally, all preparations for Christmas dinner completed, the candelabra heard Luna giving instructions to Draco to show their guests into Malfoy Manor’s grand dining hall.
The candelabra was thankful that the old carriage clock had been in such a talkative mood and had filled him in on all the background of the house during the time he had been up in the attic, which apparently was a lot longer than he had ever experienced before.
The candlestick had been informed that this was the first time since the end of the war that this room was being used, having undergone a complete refurbishment to banish every trace of its recent sordid history.
After the war ended, ten years ago according to the carriage clock, the house had initially stood empty, but five years ago Draco had asked Luna what she would think about moving into the Manor. He had first offered to rebuild her parental home, but Luna did not think that she would ever be able to restore what she had lost there.
On condition that she would have free reign in refurbishing and cleansing the house, as she saw fit, they had moved into Malfoy Manor some years ago. If there were any ghosts of the past still lingering in the house, they were either very well behaved and therefore tolerated, or so well hidden that none of Luna’s spells could detect them. Every single inch of the Manor had undergone the Luna treatment and the house was now a warm and comfortable home for all the family. It was hoped that one day Draco’s mother would move in with them, but so far Narcissa had been unwilling to spend more than a few hours in, what she still considered, her house.
One of the selling points of the Manor had apparently been the garden. The carriage clock maintained that Luna had fallen in love with the garden a lot faster than with the house, or even her husband, if truth be told.
She particularly liked the rose garden and with the help from her friend Neville she had restored the gardens and the glasshouse. The glasshouse now housed many a magical species, some of which were rescued from the ruins of Luna’s old house and were now being crossbred by Neville, who seemed to be spending most of his time in the Malfoy gardens and, from some of the conversations the carriage clock had overheard, it was clear that Luna suspected that he actually lived in the glasshouse part-time. Harry was another frequent visitor, but his interest appeared to be less in botany than in the botanist, much to the amusement of Luna and even of Draco, who had started to look forward to observing Harry’s clumsy and not so subtle, yet completely ineffective, attempts of attracting Neville’s attention.
Surprisingly enough, it had taken the two former arch rivals hardly any time at all to let bygones be bygones after the war. Apparently, Harry’s attitude was, if Luna could forgive Draco, he certainly could for her sake and, according to the old clock, Draco would have moved heaven and earth to please his wife, including being friends with the Boy who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding world or whatever accolades he was given these days. Evidently, he always wanted to be friends with Harry. What little wizard boy his age had not dreamt of being friends with the famous Harry Potter growing up, but when they finally met in person, when they were old enough to attend Hogwarts, he had gone about it the wrong way and things had gotten worse from then on. Nothing safe time travel could have fixed those initial mistakes and while Draco wasn’t averse to time travel, he was very aware of the dangers, maybe more aware than most. One small mistake and you could end up as your own grandfather. So finally being friends, ostensibly for his wife’s sake, was like a dream come true. Unfortunately, it had taken their respective friends considerably longer to come around to the idea of their friendship. But slowly, as the visible scars of the war started to heal and the rebuilding process was taking shape, the unseen wounds also gradually started to mend. Some of their friends had settled their differences through a shared profession, such as Milly and Ginny, who as professional Quidditch players realised they had more in common than they thought and had slowly formed a bond that actually seemed to be turning into something more than friends, if Luna’s intuition was to be believed.
With so few wizarding families, chances were that people ran into each other all the time and trying to avoid people when shopping, or at functions or quidditch matches was quite frankly exhausting, Draco had one day confessed to his wife.
This had prompted her to organise a Hogwarts reunion last year, the first of its kind, at which Draco had rekindled his friendship with some of his house mates and thanks to Luna’s diplomacy, most of their friends now managed to be at least civil to one another. It had taken the most eccentric Ravenclaw in Hogwarts history to bring these stubborn Gryffindors and proud Slytherins together and it was a real credit to her no-nonsense attitude that they were hosting a Christmas dinner for some of their friends to ring in a new era of friendship in their newly redecorated dining room.
The room, once dark and foreboding, was now bright and airy and full of hope for the future.
From his vantage point on the dining table, the candelabra observed the guests entering the dining hall.
In traipsed Hermione and Ron and their two children, Rose and Hugo, followed by Harry, Neville, Ginny, Molly, Blaise, Theo, Pansy and Greg and their twin sons, Vince and Sevvy, among gasps of Oohs and Aahs, as they took in the wonderful dining scene.
Hermione seemed pleased to see the small snow globe in its prime location on the mantelpiece. It took Draco Jr less than a second to drag along Rose, Hugo, Vince and Sevvy to show them how to make it snow inside the little globe, under the watchful eye of his sister.
Neville and Harry were admiring the gorgeous vases with flowers from the garden, arranged more beautifully than Neville himself could have done.
Blaise and Theo took in the careful design of this magnificent room and the candelabra would not be surprised if they would be asking Luna for decorating tips, if ever they were in need of an interior decorator. Even Pansy, who looked the embodiment of pureblood etiquette, appeared to give the room a reluctant seal of approval as if acknowledging that her own mother would have been proud to show off such an exquisite table setting to her friends, had she still been alive.
Ginny, Molly, Ron and Greg appeared more interested in the promise of delicious food, as the tantalising smells coming from the kitchen were enough to make their stomachs rumble in anticipation.
As the guests were making their way to their assigned seats, the candlestick kept a close eye on Neville, who wasn’t at all looking where he was going. The botanist appeared to commit to memory every detail of the intricate way his hostess had arranged the flowers in the huge vases for future reference. Distracted, he tripped over young Sevvy, who was crouched down on the floor to catch the chocolate mouse he had dropped and which was now scurrying away between the seats. Neville went flying straight into Harry’s arms, who for once was in the right place at the right time and by the look on his face wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to not only catch Neville, but hold him tight for as long as was decent, given their surroundings. Judging by the blush on Neville’s face, the message Harry had been trying to convey for the past number of months had finally been received. Harry’s green eyes twinkled and he gave Neville a big smile, as he righted him and showed him to his seat, which was conveniently next to his.
The old candlestick noticed Hermione and Luna exchanging knowing looks across the table, as they watched the little scene.
The candlestick did not think that this was the outcome the two women had envisioned when they presented the kids with an enchanted chocolate menagerie as a little Christmas treat, but sometimes Lady Fortuna had her own way of doing things.
‘Trust Snape’s namesake to be Neville’s undoing,’ Luna whispered softly to herself and the universe.
When Draco led his mother Narcissa into the room, the candlestick noticed that she took a moment to take in what, once upon a time, had been her glorious domain. Judging by the straightening of her shoulders, she hadn’t failed to notice her daughter-in-law’s influence in the interior decorating and the choice of unusual decorations, but as she turned her glance in his direction, she let out a shout of delight.
‘Oh, you used the old candelabra and you restored it to its original glory. How wonderful!’ she exclaimed, clasping her hands in delight, as she turned to face her son. ‘I love that old candlestick. It was always my favourite Christmas decoration. For me it won’t be Christmas until those candles are lit.’
In shocked surprise, the candlestick watched Narcissa walk over to the table where he stood, more erect than before, and before he had a chance to fully comprehend what was going on, he felt his decorative peacock feather design being stroked lovingly.
Out of the corner of his eye the candlestick could see Draco stealing a glance at his wife. He looked as if he was about to say that this had all been Luna’s idea, but noticing the infinitesimal shake of her head, he said instead, ‘In that case, would you like to do the honours, mother?’
With a flick of her wand, Narcissa lit all five candles and watched with satisfaction as the old candelabra cast its festive glow over the table.
This was the moment for the candlestick to shine in all his pride and glory.
He shone brighter that evening, than ever before, now that he had finally discovered that he did bring joy after all, at least to one member of the family.
As he cast the table in as much festive light as he was able, he heard Draco say,
‘Happy Christmas, mother,’ as he kissed her on the cheek.
Somehow the candlestick did not think he would be dragged unceremoniously back up to the attic this year. Maybe seeing his mother this happy would mean that the son would take better care of the old candelabra in the future.
A candlestick could but dream.
The candelabra watched, with a slight pang of jealousy, as the beautiful creature who had lovingly restored him and polished him and had given him back his mojo, slid her arm around her husband’s back.
‘Merry Christmas, Draco’ he heard her whisper, as she affectionately nuzzled her husband’s neck.
Maybe he had given joy to more than one member of this family, the candelabra sighed happily, as all around him the cheerful clattering of voices continued throughout the evening. Even the wuzziewoos, in the Dirigible plum display, buzzed contentedly from their vantage point above the table.
The End