A/N Written for Hoggywartyxmas on LJ. I've used some Pottermore elements, and Filius's diary. But there are some parts I've written myself, and they wouldn't have been half as decent without the help of my two wonderful betas, Kelly Chambliss and Tetleybag.

+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+

After breakfast, Filius did a brisk round of refreshment spells and mistletoe-work. Replacing it where it had gone missing, retrieving the missing mistletoe from where it shouldn't be. There was an official rule at Hogwarts that mistletoe was only appropriate in proper, public places. As with many official rules it merely created more work, since students had their own definition of proper . It included, but was not limited to, the canopies of their four-poster beds.

This year, Filch's mop cupboard had been rather an original place; he had to give them that. It was also a fairly safe spot, and he had been that glad of the irrepressible spirit of his students that he had just cast a refreshment charm on the little sprig and a some strong protective charms on the whole cupboard – the students could have a good time, with the Carrows none the wiser.

Back in his rooms, as Filius set out everything he needed for gift wrapping, his thoughts went back to the notion of colleagues as second family. Pomona, Minerva, and Severus all had their own excellent reasons for disliking the idea. Filius himself might have made the comparison, cliché or not, for in his case it held much truth. But Filius had been singularly blessed with his real family.

His sister Philippa had always welcomed him and had given him opportunities to take his little niece and nephews on outings and bond with them. She had been proud when he was made Head of Ravenclaw. And when he had Owled her to say that this meant he could no longer join them on Christmas Day, since he needed to be there for his students, he had received an Owl back telling him that, if he could make it on Boxing Day, the full turkey-and-cranberry-sauce lunch would take place then. He had protested, of course, on behalf of the children. They deserved a proper Christmas.

Philippa had Floo-ed over to tell him that on Christmas Day the young ones would get their presents and would be allowed to choose what they'd eat for lunch. And that they might be young, but they were old enough to learn what Christmas really was about. She had had her way, of course, and on one memorable occasion Christmas Day lunch had consisted of chips, peanut butter sauce, and treacle tart.

Filius grinned as he wrapped his presents for the little devils. A book each – they all loved reading, thank Merlin. A toy and what he called 'the little extra'. Philippa would say he was buying Wonderfully Wicked Uncle status. And if he was, so what? This year would be great. In the past, Zonko had always delivered perfectly satisfactory things, but a few months ago he had discovered the Owl Order catalogue of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. The inspired, innovative ideas of those two wonderful boys would raise Filius's reputation to the stars. He almost regretted the detentions he had handed those geniuses in the past. Almost.

The Decoy Detonators were brilliant. But he would act as a responsible adult, yes, he would. He would carefully point out how very wrong it would be to set them off at Madam Trevelyan's utterly boring annual Turkey Curry Party. He'd make sure the little rascals would fully grasp the amount of upheaval that could be caused. In fact, he might ask his colleagues to cover for him for an extra hour or so and go himself. To see how those things … to see what the kids … that is, to attend the neighbourly gathering kind Madam Trevelyan organized. And to take his share of the blame – he owed the children that much.

That was family: a shared history, shared jokes, and, above all, real support. He was lucky, indeed.

But take Pomona, Filius thought, wrapping the full-colour picture book of the Boboli Gardens that had struck him as the perfect Christmas gift for his Herbology colleague when he had visited Florence that summer. Wouldn't it be awful if Pomona thought her colleagues were like her family?

Pomona's dreadful sister and selfish brother always expected her on Boxing Day, too – to visit their elderly parents. Both siblings claimed it was too stressful to organise a full Christmas family lunch – they had families, small children, they were rushed of their feet already. "It's understandable," Pomona said, unfailingly loyal, "they both want to spend Christmas just with their own family, and I'm glad to do my bit."

It meant that she hardly ever saw her nieces and nephews. She did show their colleagues pictures, occasionally, but those were usually years old, "for those selfish sods can't even be bothered to send her a recent photograph," Minerva would mutter angrily. Pomona spent the whole of Boxing Day listening to her parents' complaints and doing odd jobs about the house, "since everything is always done for you at Hogwarts, so it must be quite nice to be useful for a change, and besides, it's not as if you have any other plans for Christmas" as her sister would point out.

The same argument was used for every holiday and free weekend Pomona had. "They have their families to look after, and I'm fancy-free, as they call it," Pomona always said as she set off for yet another round of what her brother called 'a daughter's duties'. They all felt sorry for her, and Minerva, her close friend since their shared student days, often raged to Filius about "that ghastly lot. But there's nothing to be done about it; Pomona is too loyal by half."

But a few years ago things had changed. When Cedric Diggory had been killed, Pomona's sister had told her that they had plans to go skiing for Christmas, and Pomona could look after the old folks, as it was quite likely there would be changes after the dramatic events at Hogwarts, wasn't it? Most unfortunate that a student in Pomona's care had died, and far be it from her to suggest Pomona was in any way responsible, but the Hogwarts Board … Pomona's position as Head of House …

Pomona had told her colleagues, not out of any genuine concern for her job, but simply because it had hurt her so much she couldn't ignore it.

"That's it," Minerva had said. "That's bloody it. I'm going to take action here and now." Pomona had smiled – they had all smiled. There was nothing Minerva could do, of course, but the support was like a warm blanket to Pomona. And it was the first time after Cedric's death that Minerva had been in full Lion of Gryffindor mode – they had all been relieved to see it.

No-one had given Minerva's statement a second thought. Minerva herself had never mentioned again. It had taken Filius a long time before he had seen the cunning plan.

Step one: hiring a replacement for Hagrid, and selecting pleasant, helpful, cheerful Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Who just happened to be delightfully butch, too. And very capable – trust Minerva not to make concessions on quality.

Step two: introducing Wilhelmina to her colleagues and asking Pomona "to show Willa the ropes, take her under your wing a bit, until she's familiar with the place."

Step three: the most difficult of all. Doing absolutely nothing and allowing things to happen either naturally or not at all.

Step four: agreeing wholeheartedly to a request from Pomona – on their Monthly Meeting after Hagrid's sudden return – that her chimney be made Floo-accessible. Minerva hadn't even asked her for a reason. Filius had been surprised at that unusual lack of interest. Then he'd started thinking, and only then had he realized that this was, in fact, step four of a plan.

Step five had happened a few weeks later, when they discussed Christmas arrangements. Pomona had asked whether they would all think it very self-centred of her if she wouldn't visit her parents on Boxing Day. "Not selfish at all," Minerva had said with a warm smile, "you deserve a bit of fun, my dear, and just for once your family can lump it. You've given them much more than they ever gave back. Spend Boxing Day wherever and with whomever you like. And give Willa a hug for me, will you?"

It was exactly the kind of tactful and clever thing Philippa would have done. And in terms of age Minerva could have been Pomona's older sister. By a few years, a source of perpetual entertainment during the Monthly Meetings.

"You will remember, Pomona, that I am older and, arguably, wiser than you …"

"Oh, I do remember, my dear. And yet such a youthful look about you – if I ever reach your age, I hope you'll tell me your secret …"

Ah, those Monthly Meetings. That too, Filius thought, was part of being a family. Having a language of your own. Monthly Meeting of the Heads of House meant a quick round of coffee and current affairs, and then several hours of drinks and the vigorous exchange of useful information that the uninitiated might call 'gossip' – hence the term "uninitiated".

And, the next morning at breakfast, Severus's polite "Pumpkin juice, Filius? Pomona? Minerva?" and a generous measure of an orange liquid, from a little pitcher brought and brewed by the Potions Master himself. Pumpkin Juice had become such a fixed expression that Filius had once frowned at a first-year who had entered the Great Hall clamouring for it – surely, at that age, one shouldn't have hangovers yet? "I think my little badgerkin actually meant 'pumpkin juice'. You know, made from those big, round, orange things?" Pomona had grinned.

Filius smiled and picked up a fresh sheet of wrapping paper and Minerva's gift.

Minerva and Severus – now there were two people who had excellent reasons to be grateful that they weren't, in fact, family. For years they had sparred together, betted together, and exchanged sardonic smiles. The sexual tension between them had been palpable on occasions, and had Severus not been such an intensely private man, Filius would have asked him a polite variation of "Why don't you just shag her senseless – you know you both want to." Although, in the case of his dear Ravendor, sense less might be beyond the skills of even a man like Severus.

And then, Filius rather thought it was at the start of the Quirrell year, the four of them had met in Minerva's rooms for their first Monthly Meeting of the term. After the coffee and official business, she had risen to fetch a bottle of Firewhisky. And, without being asked, Severus had risen, too, and had opened a cupboard and fetched glasses with the ease of a man who was totally at home. Minerva had poured, Severus had fetched nibbles, and Pomona and Filius had looked at each other and smiled.

Later that year, when they had had their annual discussion of who took which day off around Christmas, Minerva had asked whether it would be very inconvenient if she and Severus had the same day – any day after the twenty-sixth would be fine, she had added, they knew Pomona and Filius would want Boxing Day. Pomona had hastened to assure her that it was perfectly all right, "whatever day is convenient for the two of you, my dear." Minerva had thanked them with an adorable half-smile, and "We are most grateful," Severus had added, with an almost imperceptible stress on we . Pomona and Filius had raised their glasses in a toast, silently, but with watermelon grins.

Minerva would appreciate the book he'd bought for her. She loved poetry, and this edition of Swinburne's work was an exquisite one. On the card that went with it, Filius had copied out the Time Remembered poem that was so much on his mind lately. He had adorned it with an elaborate border of swirls and curly lines – in red and green. If Minerva wanted to, she could take it as a fitting, Christmassy decoration. But Filius knew that his Ravendor would see beyond, would see the intricate pattern in Gryffindor red and Slytherin green, each colour a necessary part of the design, each bringing out what was best and brightest in the other, two halves of a whole. And she would realize why he had chosen that particular poem.

No, they were not a second family. There was nothing 'second best' about what they shared. They weren't even a second set of Founders. True, Pomona was everything Hufflepuff stood for. Loyal, warm, dedicated, hard-working. Minerva was as courageous a Knight as Godric himself – and she would make a fine Rowena, too. He himself had a lot of Ravenclaw qualities. And he had been called a Gryffinclaw often enough to convince him that the Sorting Hat might have had a reason to hesitate.

And Severus? Cunning, yes. Ambitious. Highly intelligent. But, while no-one in their right mind would give Severus the Teacher's Award for Fairness, prejudiced against Muggleborns he was not – against Gryffindors, sometimes; against dunderheads, most assuredly. As a result, Gryffindor's less talented students tended to drop Potions as soon as they could. Filius smiled wryly as he realised how Severus would smirk at that remark. "It is because they drop potions that I want them to drop Potions, before they have to brew something truly dangerous that would burn away the floor," he would say.

But Filius had never seen Salazar's infamous preference for Purebloods in Severus. He hadn't seen it during this dreadful year either. That, too, said something of a man's innermost convictions - it was another spot of light. He would hold on to that thought.

For if he was quite honest with himself, his current feelings towards Severus were not completely unlike Minerva's. He, too, had been deeply hurt that Severus hadn't confided in him. Less than Minerva, of course. The bond between Severus and himself most assuredly wasn't a bond between lovers. It was … it was why he, too, now resented the notion of second family . For he had long thought of Severus as a brother.

Filius had never had a brother, so he hadn't really known how that bond was supposed to feel. Not all brothers were like the Weasley Twins, of course. They were a freak of nature, a one-time occurrence. They had to be – no teacher should have to deal with pranks on that scale twice in his career.

But lately he had been thinking of brothers like Regulus and Sirius, snarling at each other like angry dogs, and like Aberforth and Albus, who had lived in the same village for decades but never even mentioned each other except to make a churlish remark. When Albus had told Hagrid to do as his brother had done, which was to ignore malicious articles in the Daily Prophet, Filius had been pleasantly surprised, but, "actually, I'm not sure it's meritorious, for I doubt Aberforth can read," Albus had continued. Filius had cleared his throat in a pointed manner, and Albus had assured him it was just a very old joke between them – something he often said. But it didn't sound like a joke, although Filius was willing to believe that Albus often said it.

The bond he had had with Severus, however – if there were brothers who felt like that, he congratulated them. During his first years of teaching at Hogwarts, Filius hadn't had any close male friends. He got along fine with Binns, in the vague way of ghostly contacts. And he really liked Hagrid. A mutual feeling, he thought, but Hagrid was an outdoorsy man, and Filius emphatically was not. Also, through no fault of either, a lengthy conversation with Hagrid gave him a sore neck.

And then Severus had arrived. A silent, withdrawn young man. Immensely talented. Wasted on our students, Filius had sometimes thought; this chap should be at a University.

In a few years, Severus had settled into the routine of Hogwarts and teaching. When Albus made him Head of House, no-one could deny it was a well-deserved promotion. The three of them had been anxious, however, Pomona, Minerva, and himself. They got along just fine, and Severus was still very much an unknown quantity. And the only part that was public knowledge was his Death Eater past.

"He has worked hard, true, and Albus does trust him completely. But to make him Head of House?" Filius had wondered to Minerva. Usually, such a mild hint was enough to make the Deputy Headmistress take action. On this occasion, however, Minerva had hesitated. And then she had asked …

Filius returned to his desk, and took out another volume of his diaries. Not an entry he checked often, this one. Not a happy memory. But today of all days was a time to read it again.

+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+