Author's Note: So this is Maeve's Christmas, basically. It gives you a better look at her family and may help explain some stuff about the characters. I didn't put it in Disenchanted because I felt like, not only was it long, but it got anyway from Tom and deals primarily with A LOT of OC's (Most of which will be introduced later and in more manageable doses) which I felt like might confuse the issue. But, for those of you who really love Dis, I felt like I'd give you a little extra reading material while you wait for the next chapter…Enjoy and Review!

"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; but splits in the skin that wont heal because there's not enough material." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

"BOMBARDA!" Maeve was aware of was considerable pain as a very heavy wooden dummy struck her across the sturdy dragon-hide chest plate and knocked her to the ground. She rolled on her side with a groan and tasted blood, the inside of her metal mask slick with perspiration. Laughter rang out, oddly distorted from behind her opponents mask and the dummy flew towards her once more.

"Protego!" The dummy bounced painfully off Maeve's shoulder and she gritted her teeth, throwing out an arm to steady herself on a pillar. Gasping for breath, she aimed her borrowed wand at the black-clad figure across from her.

"Incarcerous!" An orange jet of light shot towards her masked and armored adversary.

"AHA!" The attacker lunged out of the way but the ropes caught in their legs and they yelped and fell to the marble with a thud, wriggling to extricate themselves from the weak binding charm. They succeeded and fired back, the strangely warped voice ringing with force: "Petrificus totalus!"

Maeve's spine snapped rigid and she fell backwards, her mask flying off as she hit the ground. Concussive pain hammered through her head from where it struck the marble and she winced internally, starring up at the vaulted glass ceiling of the third atrium. There was a breathless whoop of triumph and the distinct snapping sound of footsteps across stone. The silver mask had slits for the eyes and a emboss for the nose but was otherwise featureless. A black glove gripped the edge and pulled it back over the stunningly beautiful face that it protected. Bobbed hair the shade of cornsilk framed the pointed, aquiline features. Eyes that shone with the azure brilliance of a tropic sea glinted guilelessly down at Maeve's immobile form.

"Come on, little sister, you weren't even trying." Arria Medea Sinclaire tapped Maeve's chest with her wand, rocking back on her heels and standing with a languid movement. And she thought that she'd been out of practice!

"Not me…" Maeve gasped and struggled to her elbows, panting. Arria felt a twinge of guilt when she saw the streak of blood dribbling down her chin. Maeve wiped it away with the heel of her glove and stood up, glaring at her wand hand in betrayal. "This wand just doesn't work as well as my own."

"Shush, you know that father would go absolutely mental if he realized that you lost Cassandra's wand. Just tell him I beat you fair and square. It doesn't do to be punished simply because of wounded pride." Arria gave her a sympathetic look, into which Maeve scowled unashamedly. It was all very well for her perfect sister to claim another victory. Maeve turned and strode out of the building, her booted feet crunching through the thin layer of snow covering the cobblestone walkway that lead to the behemoth part manor, part castle that was her home. It stood out stark and formidable against the gray midwinter sky, much more affluently designed than even the Malfoy's elegant manse.

" 'Eve, forgive me-" Arria winced as the huge, intricately carved double doors flung open with a bang and her little sister swept through them, strands of golden hair escaping her braid.

"Never mind. Let's go to the kitchens and get something to eat." Maeve tossed her cloak at the waiting house elf, too tired to bother with civility. The elf called Bobbin shrieked with terror as the heavy black wool floored her.

The marble tiles to the back entrance hall were jet black and gleamed like shiny volcanic rock, each individual tile inset with a jewel of a different colour at it's heart. In the center of the antechamber their was a fully grown willow tree, wide enough at it's trunk that one could embrace it and have their fingertips still be a third of a metre apart. Through the drooping branches of the willow, a small figure could be seen rushing along the second floor balcony to the grand sweeping staircase to their left.

"Back from sparring? How did it go? Did Arria beat you again?" Maeve's head snapped up and she gazed through the stairway railing at the aristocratic little face of her youngest sibling.

Ambrose Damocles Sinclaire rushed down the elegant staircase, his brilliant jade eyes bright with seven year-old boy enthusiasm. The expression, however, did not reach the rest of his adorably noble features. He was wearing a stylish, powder-blue set of dress robes, already dressed for the Christmas party slated to take place tonight. One of the houselves had even fixed his fine, white gold hair back into a miniature ponytail. Maeve, despite the intentional jab at her spell work, smiled down at him as he hopped off the last stair.

"Hush, Amby. I only beat her by the slightest margin this time-" Arria swept their brother up into a huge hug, kissing him on the forehead lovingly.

Arria was so affectionate, warm where the rest of them were cool. She was full of vivid life, Maeve thought, and envied her unguarded personality and the innate beauty and poise she radiated. Arria Medea Sinclaire could simply skate across the surface of life while the rest of humanity was forced to wallow in it's disappointments, she alone was impervious to its trials and tribulations. She was joy incarnate and Maeve both loved and despised her for it.

"-Don't you look dashing, Amby! Did father buy you those new robes?"

"Yes…" Ambrose looked uncomfortable, suddenly squirming to be released. Arria set him down reluctantly, bending so that she was at his level. Maeve looked on sympathetically, shaking her head. Arria never did understand Am's personality, let alone Maeve's. She'd been born in a time where parental relations were so much better, she couldn't grasp how quickly her younger siblings had been forced to grow up.

"Don't baby him, Arria. You do look good, though, little brother. Did mother or father send you to fetch us?" Maeve gracefully and graciously stepped in on behalf of both parties, unfastening her braid.

"No, but Bugsy did. She was sent to pass along the message that you needed to stop sparring and get ready for tonight. You especially, Arria, because-and I quote- 'Master Rowle is attending'."

"Maeve, could you grab me that ribbon?"

"Did you forget your wand?" Maeve looked at her sister oddly and pointed her cherry wand at the bright fuschia ribbon hanging over her vanity table. "Accio."

"Oh. No. I just didn't want to reach for it is all…what do you think?" Arria twirled, the sea-foam green taffeta floating around her ankles like wings.

"Mother will never let you get away with something so modern, Ari. I don't know what you think your playing at-" Maeve began tiredly as Arria wrapped the pink ribbon around her middle. That simple strap of fabric made all the difference in the world, emphasizing every perfect curve and creating the illusion of ample bust when Arria's true chest size was little more than average. Not that that breast size really matters where Arria's concerned. Maeve reflected glumly, plucking at her own dark emerald green gown and gazing at the mirror sadly. She herself looked like some sort of exotic, victorian plant stem.

"Oh, what's she going to do? Tear it off me as I descend the grand staircase? She cant do that in front of guests, 'Eve. Besides, you forget: I'm twenty three years old and more than capable of dealing with her." Arria gently nudged her sister away from the closest mirror and peered at her face, fixing her wavy, platinum hair. Maeve felt unbidden envy and jealousy swell in her heart and turned her back and childishly folded her arms over her chest.

"Yes, I suppose she cant. Besides, whatever you wear you know that Rowle's still going to fantasize about tearing it off of you." The blow was below the belt and cutting to the extreme, delivered with all the vitriol Maeve could possibly force into her tone. Something tipped over and Maeve turned to see Arria desperately snatching at cosmetics as they rolled off the table, her hands shaking.

"Come here." For an uncomfortable moment, Maeve thought Arria might be planning to hit her. Arria sniffed and made an impatient gesture towards the chair. "I want to do your hair."

Maeve moved silently to the chair and sat down, half expecting Arria to tear it out by the roots. She needn't have worried, Arria ran the brush through the golden strands tenderly. She worked quickly and efficiently, her deft fingers creating intricate braids and using her wand to curl pieces that escaped the elegant sort of bun that she'd created. As she worked, she began to speak; her voice quavering uncertainly.

"I love your hair, 'Eve. You know that, don't you? I would kill to have hair this colour and length, medieval sorceress hair…like Rapunzel." Arria laughed mirthlessly, tears still edging her nervous tone.

"Who's Rapunzel?"

"Oh, nothing. Just some old fairy story I heard once." Maeve felt a slight tug at her hair and winced in pain. Rapunzel certainly wasn't a name she was familiar with from Beedles fairy tales. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch out interminably and Maeve leaned back into Arria's relaxing touch, letting it lull her into drowsiness.

"I love you." Maeve's eyes snapped open and she looked at Arria in the dressing mirror, astonished by what she saw: Arria's Caribbean-storm eyes were rimmed with red and tears streaked her cheeks, trailing makeup. Her normally full lips were strained tight against sobs. She continued, gasping out the words like they were knives. "I love you and Ambrose and Mother and Father! I don't want to lose any of you when I…and I really don't want to marry Rowle."

"Well," Maeve murmured, a little shaken. "You might want to do something about that quick. Megaera's already planning out your wedding in the fall-"

"Don't you understand? Maeve, I don't love Dante Rowle! I mean, did you love Septimus?" Arria squeaked desperately, shaking Maeve by the shoulders with enough force to rattle her teeth.

Septimus. Ah, so Arria did have a little bit of true Slytherin/Sinclaire left inside her to strike back for bringing up Rowle. Maeve had thought about Septimus Weasely many times after her parents had told her that they would one day be married. To a little girl of thirteen, the prospect had been at once terrifying and exhilarating. Septimus was kind, funny and moderately handsome if once could get past the carroty hair and the muggleworship. None of this had mattered to Maeve, not really. Septimus was her prince, perfect and untouchable and everything a young pureblood girl could dream of having. He would not betray her because what was that kind of betrayal? Maeve had not known it then, that opening her heart and trusting was the quickest and most painful way to die. Along came an insidious muggleborn mud blood and everything she had been promised since birth, every cherished hope was dashed like a pretty seashell dropped from a gulls beak. Maeve opened her mouth and forced out the bitter, coppery lie:

"No, I didn't love Septimus. But Arria, that doesn't matter. You cant just-"

"No, Maeve you did love him. Maybe not truly, but innocently. It killed you, it made you so much colder when he ran off with Marianne-"

"Well, I certainly don't love anyone any more, do I? I learned my lesson!" Maeve spit with surprising force, standing up so quickly she almost knocked the chair over. Arria stepped back quickly, looking stunned and even a little frightened. Maeve's furious gaze swept the room, now that she looked, something seemed wrong about it. There were so many objects in the room that were alien, that Maeve didn't know the name of. Muggle objects. Something clicked in Maeve's brain and she felt her fury smoldering away to nothingness in disbelief.

"There's another man, Maeve." Arria interrupted, her expression fierce. "But none of you are ready to meet him yet. We can love anyone Maeve, Mother and Father cant always dictate for us. And you cant be bitter and loveless forever."

In a whirl of floaty, seafoam fabric, Arria turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Maeve stared at her reflection in the mirror and felt frozen, as though if she tried to move, her body would splinter to pieces. It was easy to forget that lively Arria remembered how to be cruel, that she had the capacity for it. She didn't mean it. She'll apologize before the night is through, you'll see. Maeve got to her feet slowly, shaking and trembling. Despite this barely adequate mental assurance, something in her felt irrevocably shaken. Maeve fled from the room and for once in her life, was infinitely grateful for the Yuletide Celebration that would distract her from all her betrayals.

"There she is! My little niece of the night!" Maeve turned and beamed as her uncle swept her into an icy, bone-crushing embrace, his long black robes wrapping around her like bat wings. He held her at arms length so he could get a better look at her, beaming a sharp toothed smile. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're the best suited out of all of them for an immortal life!"

"Uncle Apollonius! I thought father didn't send you an invitation this year because …" Because you terrify sane people, Maeve thought guiltily. Uncle Apollonius was the Sinclaire family's worst kept secret, and certainly their most entertaining one: After being blasted off the family tree for being a squib, Apollo couldn't stand being constantly ridiculed and practically excommunicated from the magical world at large. In retaliation and a desperate attempt to stay in touch with his estranged magical relatives, he'd chosen to become a vampire. And turned out to be far more successful in death than he'd ever been during his mortal life-time. Apollonius Guivre Sinclaire was currently head of the largest kiss of vampires in Europe.

"Haha! But er, yes. If you want to be technical about it, I'm gate-crashing. I hypnotized your Sister's Idiot into inviting all of us over the threshold." Apollonius chuckled nervously, snagging a glass of red wine off a tray as it floated by at waist height. The tiny houself beneath it struggled to compensate for the abrupt redistribution of liquid and he put it back, twitching slightly. "Heh, nervous drinking habit. Not the right fluid, unfortunately."

"When you say 'all of us'-?" Appollonius ran one hand anxiously through chestnut hair streaked with gray.

"Don't worry little one, it's only a quarter of the kiss. And they're on their best behaviour this time…not like last year…But there's someone I want you to meet!" Oh no. Not again. Maeve struggled helplessly as Apollonius drew her inexorably through the crowd, grinning the kind of vampiric smirk that was capable of clearing a ballroom in seconds.

"Really, Uncle, I've got people to greet and mother will go ballistic if I'm not surrounded by pureblood boys at all times." Her pleas were ineffectual and desperate as he all but dragged her to her doom.

"Exactly! You need a body guard and I've got just the vampire for the job. He's very young, Maeve and you must not deny me this one favour. Besides, little 'eve, you owe me." Apollonius laughed in his hearty, nervous way and pushed her along so that she proceeded him into one of the slightly darker drawing rooms. Maeve sighed and shrugged off his restraining grip on her elbows.

"There's a good girl! I trust you to keep a good weather eye on him. Belvedere?"

"Yes, master?" Maeve jumped as a dark haired young man materialized out of the shadows. He was tall, pale and blue-eyed and smiled at her with the kind of hungry look that was exactly what it implied: He was hungry for sustenance, not intimacy. Oddly, this was a comforting thought.

"Belvedere, boy, how many times have I told you to call me uncle Ap? Now listen closely: this is my niece-" The rest of the conversation was carried out in a frequency too high for her feeble human hearing to comprehend. She was almost certain it involved variations on the command 'no biting'. After a moment, the boy nodded reluctantly and walked towards Maeve, offering his arm and smiling the careful smile that vampire's consciously employ to hide their canines.

"Buonsera, piccolina dolcezza." Maeve stared at the vampire parading her through the halls over her own home like he'd grown a second head and then fumbled to return in her own, stilted Italian:

"Capisco un poco Italiano; tuttavia grazie, signore Belvedere." She replied weakly, glaring at her Uncle out of the corner of her eye. Trust Uncle Appollonius, after all that she'd sacrificed(well, not much…since she'd never had her parents favour to begin with.) to send him and annual box of bloodpops for his Biting day and remain his niece even though estranged…to saddle her with an Italian fledgling. Her faithless vampire Uncle waved blithely in her direction, beaming gloriously.

"A pleasure, madonna, to find anyone who knows the language at all in this company. I would kiss you, but I might be tempted to bite…and it would not be seemly." He murmured apologetically, gazing around the decorous halls they strode through. Maeve let the young vampire do most of the talking. He described in great detail the architecture of Florence and Venezia, his smile fond as he reminisced.

"Maeve! Maaayy-vaah?" Maeve blinked as Belvedere pulled her to a halt, a distasteful expression on his face as Julian Black strode up to them; cheeks rosy with whatever he kept zipping from the large goblet he held at his hip. He grinned like a fox and nodded to Belvedere, who responded by smiling with a mouthful of fangs and a hissing 'Saluto, Idiota.'. The insult either went unnoticed or escaped Julian's grasp and he turned his attention back to Maeve.

"How are you, cousin? And Arria…marrying Dante, big step, very big step for the family. You know I always wanted her betrothed to me? But first cousins don't get a go of it-" The word drivel side of Julian's drunkenness was showing, and Maeve found the lanky twenty-two year old irritating at the best of times.

"…You should leave, ragozzo." The way Belvedere said the Italian for boy drew out the already rough syllables to a growl.

"Is this one of your mad Uncle's rabble of family-friendly bloodsuckers? What'll you do to me if I don't? What if I just take my cousin for a stroll? I'm sure auntie Meg wouldn't mind-"

"Make yourself scarce, Julian." Maeve jerked away as he reached out to try and snatch her arm.

"What'll you do if I don't? Tell my Mummy?" Maeve reeled from the smell of alcohol on his breath and the realisation of how very, very drunk Julian was. If he thought that aunt Alecto Black wouldn't personally beat him in the middle of the Sinclaire's Yule celebration then he was inebriated beyond reason.

"I will drink you dry as a desert, imbecille." Belvedere took a step forward and Maeve's threw an arm out, only to have Julian grab her wrist in a painfully tight grip. Other's were starting to notice, past the haze of holiday punch, that something was happening.

"Julian, that is enough. Let go of me, you drunken idiot-" A fist that was not Belvedere's landed a roundhouse punch to the side of Julian's face and sent the Black Families eldest son sprawling. A boy who looked somewhat familiar was standing over Maeve, shaking his hand out and wincing.

"Bugger, that hurt. I think your ugly face broke my hand, Jules. Again." Maeve whirled and grabbed Belvedere's wrist.

"We better go before Aunt Alecto shows up-"

"Now this is how you throw a party in Italia!" He cried enthusiastically, oblivious to the shocked and horrified looks he was getting from the surrounding party-goers.

"Right, well, you nasty git. Time for us to be off, before auntie psycho comes baying for our blood." The mystery saviour grabbed a hold of a girl who'd been standing by in a fuschia dress and dragged her along, close at Maeve's heels.

Up three flights of stairs, crouching below a decorative balcony banister as a petite woman with jet black hair marched by with her fists clenched and he thin lips curled in a sneer, and down a long bleak hallway before taking a passage out onto a balcony that looked over the snow strewn and winter blackened gardens, encased in glass and with a warming charm placed upon it. Maeve collapsed against one wall, the green silk of her dress pooling around her legs as she kicked off her heels and pressed her forehead to her knees, breathing hard. Belvedere calmly folded his legs beneath him, his grin all fang. They're two unlikely companions flopped down on a loveseat against the opposite wall, the brunette in the pink dress giggling madly into the familiar boys chest.

"Who are you?" Maeve asked, catching her breath.

"Ah, right. Well, I'm going to assume your not to adverse to the uninvited crashing your soiree; since if my eyes don't deceive me your date is a vampire." The boy pushed himself into a semi-reclining position and grinned cheekily.

"Are you a vampire?" Maeve asked imperiously, raising an eyebrow. She didn't like parties at all, actually. And having to deal with more people than necessary in the place where she lived was certainly a disposition. However, the boy had helped her.

"No, of course not. Names Alden Blishwick…I'm Malcolm Nott's cousin. Well, ex-cousin to the little twerp now, I suppose." Maeve took a moment to process the information and then turned her green gaze on the girl in his arms, who was looking at her with large, wary brown eyes.

"You're a muggle, then?"

"Ahah! I knew there was a reason she smelled different…less spicy." Belvedere clarified, smiling and immodestly pleased with himself. "How do you do, Madonna-?"

"My name," The muggle girl gave Maeve a very sharp look. "is Clary Washburn. I'm actually a muggleborn."

"She's of non-magical parentage." Maeve clarified for the vampire sitting next to her, trying to rein in the instinct to immediately dislike Clary. After all, it had been a muggleborn who'd stolen Septimus and they just generally seemed to be an unscrupulous lot.

"Be nice, girls. Or I take my marbles and go home. Don't take it personally, Clare…Maeve's just jealous because she's just as much an outcast as you are. She's not a Slytherin, last time I checked there wasn't a pureblood prospect in sight and she's not big on people, magical or non-magical. And might I remind you, Sinclaire Heiress, that I just saved you and your companion from a very sticky situation. Had he lunged for the Black family's Jules, somebody would have thrown around phrases like 'Direct violation of Ministry codes of conduct' and you'd have had a lynch mob on your hands. So, if not your thanks, at least your tolerance is owed." Maeve gave Alden an appraising look and then nodded reluctantly.

"Aunt Alecto is going to go ballistic when she realises a blood trai-you-attacked Julian."

"I doubt Julian will make anything of it, even if he does remember it in the morning." Alden rolled his eyes and stroked Clary's hair back from her forehead tenderly. "He'd never let anyone know that I-Terrible Blood Traitor that I am-knocked him down with one punch. Creepy prospect for you, though, having to marry your own cousin."

"Haven't you heard? I'm unmarriageable." Maeve replied coldly, sighing and resigning herself to the rest of the night confined to the glass balcony with a blood traitor, a vampire and a muggleborn. The whole thing sounded like a bad joke. Belvedere made a scoffing sound and shook his head.

"No, Madonna. You are radiant."

"Arria is the radiant one." Maeve replied, gazing out at the remnant's of the snowy gardens below them.

"Ah, Sinclaire: We're all the scourge of the pureblood plague here, just embrace it."

"I am not scourge," Belvedere murmured, his accent sharpening with mild outrage. "vampires do not care for petty wizarding prejudice."

"Yes, you do. It's like the difference between being a blood vampire and being a bitten vampire."

"Ah, I see. So being born as I am, it determines my status among other's of my kind, yes?"

"Yes, so-"

"But then, I am a born vampire who chooses the company of vampire's who were bitten. As your Uncle was bitten and runs a kiss of mostly bitten vampires, I am still free of prejudice."

"HA! I like this one, Sinclaire! What's you're name?" Alden asked as Clare giggled into his chest. Maeve cast Belvedere a betrayed look. The vampire shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"Belvedere Vitale de Firenze."

"See, Maeve? We're all in the same boat-"

"Don't presume to be familiar with me, Blishwick, or force yourself into a social tier on which you no longer have a foothold to deal judgment-" There was a knock on the door and they froze, Maeve biting her tongue in surprise and wincing.

"We're not here!" Alden hissed, clapping a hand over Clary's mouth. Without further announcement, the door opened and in stepped the most unlikely of characters: Rafe Lestrange. He glanced around the room in shock for a moment, his dark hair in disarray and sweat on his brow.

"Oh." He said, glancing around. "Ah, I can see this room is…ah, occupied. I'll just go-"

"No, Rafe, stay." Maeve beckoned him and patted a spot on the marble beside her. "The blood traitor and the muggle have taken the couch."

"The guest list…well, it isn't what I expected. You think with this lot around Mum wouldn't be getting such a hard time." He shut the door behind him and walked over to where she sat, and seated himself beside her.

"They weren't invited, they gate-crashed."

"Yep, walked in right behind the vampires." Alden retorted, his smile one of shameless pride. Rafe looked at Maeve but her gaze was focused on Alden's smug expression.

"At least the vampires are family."

"Yes, well. The family is hungry. I will see you before we leave, yes." Belvedere kissed her on the forehead in a platonic way and left the room, nodding once to Rafe on his way out. Clare started to giggle and Maeve shot her an irritated look.

"Quiet, Muggle."

"Hex's and curses may break my bones but words will never hurt me." Clare muttered, casting Maeve a teasing and disdainful look. Maeve raised an eyebrow to add to her glare.

"Hex's and curses are words, Muggleborn. You were a Gryffindor when you went to Hogwarts, weren't you?" Rafe laughed uproariously and even Alden smirked a little at the jab.

"So says the pureblood who landed in Ravenclaw."

"It's been known to happen, purebloods ending up in a house other than Slytherin. Only a Gryffindor would see in such black and white terms." Rafe supplied simply leaning back against the wall with a smirk.

"Oi, Lestrange. I assume you were trying to get away from the party for a reason and not just to harass my fiancee. Tell us your story, Merlin knows we'll find out through the grapevine anyway." Alden retorted, propping himself up.

"It's none of your business, Blood traitor." Rafe spat, baring his teeth as his honey colored eyes hardened to bronze.

"Hey now, Lestrange. We're on a truce here: Maeve tells no one we were here and covers for me by informing all the rumor mongers that, the fact that I assaulted him notwithstanding, Julian was trying to make off with her. We mutually agree not to spread the blasphemous message that she was seen in the company of a vampire and that she hid from all her possible suitors. Also, Auror's honour, we swear only to insult you whilst semi-joking and that this is a neutral ground of, if not understanding, then at least listening to the complaints about we have about how society treats us. Now, can we all stop with the blood traitor this, the pureblood that, and thankfully the Mud-word hasn't come up yet." Reasonable, in that infuriating way that only an ex-Hufflepuff can be reasonable.

"This truce is rife with black-mail, you know." Maeve sighed and seemed to slump against the wall.

"Nobody's perfect." Alden shrugged, then looked at Rafe. "Want to talk about it?"

"I got sick of trying to keep everyone from tearing my mother to shreds, alright? Like I said, Blishwick, it's none of your business." Rafe snapped, looking at Maeve. "She's practically crying right now, for fucks sake. Single pureblood mother of a practically extinct surname with only one son and a husband who…I just cant deal with it right now…" The breath went out of Rafe and he pressed his clenched fists to his forehead. "I hate Christmas, damn it."

"I'm sorry." Came the small female voice from the couch.

"Don't say that! It's not your fault, it's mine!" Maeve reached over and touched Rafe's shoulder gently. He shuddered once and then collapsed into himself and sighed.

"Well, I'm glad I'm free of all that. Whew." Alden said jovially, stretching his legs and grinning a smile that was all false. If Maeve needed any further confirmation that Alden was bluffing, she need look no further than Clare's troubled expression.

In a sudden flash, it came to her: The screaming fights, the curses, Blishwick being blasted off his family tree. A sobbing and hurt Alissa Greengrass, who could do nothing but clutch the veil of her wedding dress to her eyes and turn the white silk translucent with tears, who thrashed against his comforting embrace and screamed abuse in his sorry face and spat at him. His little brother refusing to speak to him, to even so much as look at him. Who owled back the Christmas gift Alden had tried to send him. A brief second was all it took for her to see it, and she could not tell whether she had imagined it or not. Maeve could just see it, something in Alden's eyes…

"Well, we all better get going before they send out a search party for you two and find us here. Merlin knows your other crazy Aunt Tisi would write something in the Prophet about an orgy of pureblood and muggle debauchery." Alden grasped Clare's hand and Maeve rose to her feet, helping Rafe up. The four young witches and wizards walked down the hallway in an almost companionable silence. The sound of the party began as a tiny buzz and then rose to a dull roar as they left the living quarters part of the mansion and entered the area where most of the ball and sitting rooms were. They were just on the fringe, almost to the elegant double stairway when they heard an angry masculine voice that echoed dissonantly and wove a cacophonous harmony with a more frantic female one. Their was a scream and a cry of pain and the sound of glass shattering. Maeve's blood ran cool as she recognized the voices and shoved Rafe and Alden out of the way. She hiked up the skirt of her gown and ran toward the stairs.

"ARRIA!" She shouted, disappearing around a corner to her left.

"Shit." Alden exclaimed, racing after her with Rafe and Clare close at his heels. Paintings and heirlooms and decorations and finery blazed past as Maeve half ran half stumbled down the marble steps. Rafe, Alden and Clare stopped at the second landing, appalled by what they saw: The giant double doors had been thrown open and a blast of icy air blew a whirlwind of powdery snow into the massive entrance hall. There was a thin, feminine figure slumped in the center, her turquoise dress had been torn in several places and now hung off one trembling shoulder. Bobbed hair the shade of corn silk stuck up in disarray and had come free of it's curl. A bust of some family member had been knocked from it's pedestal and lay about the shiny marble in white matte shards or ruin. Maeve was desperately trying to hug her sister, to get Arria to show her her face.

"Arria! Arria, let me see! Are you alright? Did he hex you…Arria, what happened?" Maeve grappled with Arria's bruised wrist as her older sibling tried desperately to push her away, one hand clamped firmly over her eyes as the sobs burst from her throat with a misery so strong it seemed it was choking it's host.

"Fine! I'm…fine! Just-I just have to go up to my room for a while, alright?" Arria ripped her wrist from Maeve's grasp and retreated across the marble a few steps, straightening and pulling up the torn strap of her dress. Her other hand fell away from her face and Maeve gasped in surprise. One perfect, Caribbean green and blue eye was swollen shut and blackening, her lip swollen and blood beading across the bruise on her cheek. "Don't worry, it's alright. I'm alright, Maeve. I'm okay, just don't worry."

"Arria-"

"Leave it!" She snapped in a semi-hysterical voice, mounting the stairs on which the other's stood with as much grace as she could command with a limp. She nodded to them as she passed, her beautiful smile ruined by blood and tears. She disappeared down the long hallway and they descended the stairs to where Maeve stood, staring blankly at the shattered bust at her feet.

"Reparo." Alden murmured, pointing his wand at the shards. Rafe placed an arm around Maeve's shoulder and squeezed once. She didn't move, just stared at her reflection in the marble.

"I'm sorry, Maeve, I better go find my mother. See you at school?"

"Yes, at school. Goodnight." Her voice was hollow, but she brushed her fingertips along the back of his hand reassuringly.

"Goodnight, little sister." Rafe pushed open a door at the side of the atrium and stepped into the golden light of a crowded sitting room and was gone.

"Well, this has been jolly good fun. It isn't Christmas until random people crash it, a drunken family member hits on you, there's a punch-up and you end up locked in a room with your sworn enemy." Alden said, his friendly smile clearly taking effort to put into place. Maeve looked up at him and sighed wearily, shrugging her shoulders.

"This is true. All the same, I'd say the parties over-" As if on cue, her mother's magically magnified voice echoed around the house and drunkenly announcing that it was time for all of them to leave, but if they were 'too utterly pissed' to apparate or take the flew network home they could stumble about until they found a decent place to pass out and that she frankly didn't care what happened to the lot of free-loaders, because they oughtn't be here in the first place, anyway-

"Ah well, she sounds hammered. You going to be alright here, Sinclaire?" Maeve sighed and nodded, flicking her hair back from her face in irritation.

"You should go, Blishwick. Rue-" She snapped her fingers and the house-elf appeared in a puff of smoke.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Find these two their coats and escort them out. No one need know of their presence, so take care to be discreet. Do you understand?" Maeve instructed, smoothing the emerald fabric of her dress and straightening. She glanced at Alden and Clary and felt a brief stab of discomfort at how close and comfortable they were together. Clare leaned into her fiance, their hands entwined and not an inch between them as they looked down at the little house elf, Alden fond and the muggle shocked by the tiny creature before her. Maeve turned to go-

"Hey, Sinclaire?"

"Yes?" She glanced over her shoulder, a sheet of gold obscuring her view.

"Thanks and…happy Christmas. You know, the rest of it."

"Goodnight." Maeve exited through the door that Rafe had left ajar, drifting through the post party chaos. She was quick to shake off the blood traitors and mud blood's gestures, but it left a nasty little niggling guilt in her throat that was hard to swallow. Abraxas was in the corner with his father, looking nerve-wracked. Aunt Tisiphone had shifted from the stages of happy drunkeness to sleepiness, her cheeks pink and her red curls spilling down her face, her head on Megaera's shoulder. Maeve tried to sneak past, her mother's eyes were closed, maybe she could get away with not speaking to her-

" 'Eve, come sit with me." Megaera's voice was half-whine, half croon. Megaera turned her aquamarine blue eyes on her daughter, their glacial appearance dimmed by alcohol consumption. She smiled and tipped forward slightly, her toga like gown revealing a bit of cleavage as she leaned over. She reached out with one graceful arm and touched Maeve's elbow with a gentleness Maeve cropped up to inebriation.

"Mother, I'm busy."

"Please?" Megaera's fingers closed on Maeve's wrist and pulled her down onto the loveseat. Megaera brought her face close to Maeve's and pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "My beautiful 'Evey."

"Mother-" Maeve disentangled herself from the awkward embrace. Megaera grappled with her weakly and before flopping sideways in the loveseat, out cold.

Everyone was slowly but surely migrating to the entrance hall as a fleet of house-elves rushed around with coats and cloaks. The mass exodus had probably been encouraged by father who wasn't a social butterfly on his best day-someone yanked her backwards by the wrist into one of the window seats and she was plunged into darkness. Someone placed a finger to her lips as her heart hammered a frantic staccato against her ribcage.

"Greetings, dolcezza. I promised I would see you before you left, eh? And here I am." As her eyes adjusted to the light, Maeve relaxed fractionally.

"And here you are. Been enjoying the party?"

"Ah, your tone. It savour's strongly of bitterness…this has not been a good celebration, then?"

"No, it's like this every year. I'm just weary of it, I suppose." Maeve heaved a sigh and leaned back against the window.

"You have not lived long enough to sigh so tiredly, Madonna. This life you have, it is full and yet it 'tis empty. It 'tis like the girls I drink from, no? Full of blood and yet so little in their heads and hearts. It is not the blood that counts, dolcezza. It 'tis the life, 'tis the passion-" Belvedere paused when he saw her smile and raised an eyebrow. "What you smiling for?"

"You just sound very Italian." Maeve chuckled and tried to dash the weak smile from her face. It was an expression at odds with her deep need to disappear to her room and sob.

"I sound very vampire. You have been drained of your passion, your family they do this…they are like a starving kiss, no? They bleed others, they bleed themselves until dere is nothing left. Then they are in pain because they hunger, but there is still nothing. Apollonius, he sees it. He doesn't want it for you." Belvedere's accent seemed to be thickening as he spoke, his eyes turning a little wild. Maeve understood then, her Uncle's ploy had been much cleverer than she'd ever expected.

"Belvedere, I'm fine."

"Dolcezza, you cannot lie to me. I can taste your sadness like a perfume. Listen to me, you want to die forever, or you want to die once and live?" He murmured softly, blue eyes appraising her.

"That-" Maeve spoke just as gently, stroking the back of his ice cold hand with her thumb. "-is a very generous offer. We shall be life-long friends, I think. But I shall have to decline, for what your asking…I will not let my family become anymore starved of life than it already is. It would be cruel to leave them."

The young vampire regarded her for a moment, an appraising look on his face. His blue eyes flicked down to where she held his hand and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He reached forward with his other hand, cupped her jaw and gently kissed her on the cheek.

"My Madonna, when I lived, she was like you. She was clever but she was unhappy. Beautiful and bitter, they called her. So bitter that I was not enough, she preferred oblivion. You are not her, though. You are clever, bitter, beautiful and strong. And clearly, you are discriminating-" Belvedere took on a playful tone and stepped back from her, gesturing to himself with a smile. "-I mean, who could resist this kind of handsome?"

Maeve laughed then, genuinely, for the first time that night. It was a sound that surprised her, that almost scared her. She spread her arms wide and embraced Belvedere, pressing herself against the cold and solid body. He hugged her back, chuckling throatily into her hair with breath like a winter breeze. You do make friends with the outcasts, don't you? She wanted to freeze this moment of joy and have it forever, because it felt truly lovely. Nothing is as important as this, really.

"There, Dolcezza. That 'tis what you need." He stepped back from her and something in her protested greedily the absence of his solid comfort. "I should be going, piccolina. They think I been staked if I stay any longer."

"Appollonius wont be disappointed that you haven't recruited me?" Belvedere was halfway out the window, straddling the granite banister.

"Recruit? We a family, not the military. But he is never disappointed, he is-"

"Appollonius." They finished in unison and smiled at one another. Belvedere leaned forward suddenly, stealing a kiss and grinning full fang at her shocked expression.

"What? I'm Italian, you think I'm gonna miss a chance to kiss a pretty madonna goodnight? Buanotte o sigoni d'oro." With that, he stepped backwards off the ledge and his laughter plummeted into the snowy night. Maeve stepped to the ledge and inhaled the freezing air into her lungs, let it burn her chest with each flake that melted there.

"Thank you." She whispered to the starry sky as the laughter of Belvedere and his family kissed the frozen night with warmth and life.

"The bond that links you to your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life." ~Richard Bach