Note: Written by kuchikopi


London was dreary. Despite the promises of an idyllic Christmas, Alphard's arrival back in Blighty was heralded by ice, smog, and not even an inch of snow. If his father and uncle (or cousin, honestly, it was easy to lose track in the old families) were not both obstinate mules, he would have suggested having a Christmas abroad. A warm beach sounded lovely, if untraditional, and so many of their number were traditionalists. Perhaps when the children were a bit older, it would be possible to convince everyone, as it would occupy them. It did raise the unfortunate image of his father in beach shorts, which was not helped when he opened the door to Number Twelve.

(Although it had been passed to his sister and her husband about five years before, their father still had a tendency to think he lived there.)

"Is there a reason you're standing on the doorstep giggling like you've lost your mind?"

Alphard shrugged. "If you'll step back, I'll giggle like a loon within the house."

Expectedly, his dear father just gave him a withering look and stalked back into the house. He didn't seem in too bad of a mood, however. Alphard already knew the cause of that. He followed the smell of cinnamon and cloves up to the drawing room where he was confronted by the groups of family as they tended to gather: The Reading Corner, none of whom had books at the moment but were perhaps somehow absorbing them from the bookcase in lieu of it. A staunch corner with the smell of hot toddies, undoubtedly what had drawn his attention, was quickly joined by his father to talk about something terribly boring. Property taxes or something of that sort. A gaggle of women were sitting at the window with the bassinet, including his mother.

"Hello, mother," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She at least looked quite happy to see him, if somewhat pre-occupied. "Is this the new one?"

"The new one," his mother said, instantly looking back to the child. "He's a baby, not a new broom."

It had been four, perhaps five months since the birth of the second boy into the family in a generation, and the collective sigh of relief was still colouring the festivities. You would think his father had squatted and given birth to the thing himself, the amount he had written about it. You had to learn to skim-read with his father's correspondence. Still, he wasn't averse to having another nephew – Sirius had just turned two. This one was quite a bit tinier, but perhaps he just wasn't as chubby as his brother had been. He seemed far more fascinated by his own fingers than the women around him. In all honesty, the fingers probably gave a more engaging conversation.

"It must be so lovely to get out of all of that heat," Melania said.

Yes, much worse than black ice, crowded streets, and a bland food.

"You're getting a tan, though," Druella said. "We're considering Italy this year. The girls should travel a little before they go to school; it's such an enriching experience."

"Are you using the salve I sent?" Mum immediately demanded. "You have skin like paper, you'll burn."

"I'm taking my skin care seriously," he reassured. "Where are the girls?"

"Bellatrix is with her father," Druella said. "She's still at that age where she doesn't like to be seen fawning over babies."

"Some of them don't grow of out that," his mother said. Ah, the snide commentary. He was wondering when it would be coming.

"Excuse me, I better find the hostess before she thinks I'm rude," he said, mostly as an excuse to get out of the group.

Instead, he managed to find the girls and bestow their usual gifts. Bella would have to wait until later, but he imagined she'd quite like cursed objects. Cygnus' youngest, a porcelain doll of a six-year-old, he gave a doll of her own. Andromeda was getting a little older, bordering upon nine, so she seemed to be enjoying having a camera.

"You're late," Walburga said, in-keeping with her usual lack of tact. She was down in the dining room, supervising what looked like organised chaos.

"I took the boat," Alphard gave as explanation.

"And that hair dye is fooling no one," she added. "You look like you're having some sort of mid-life crisis. "

Unlike the rest of jovial festivities, Walburga tended to take the holidays too seriously. Everything had to be perfect, and with the world's fussiest people in their mother and Cygnus' wife looking on, she tended to work herself into a terrible mood.

"Is that bump number three or are you just bloated?" he responded mildly.

"Have you actually seen your nephew yet?" she said, before redoing one of the perfectly fine place settings.

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "But aside from the occasional outlier, you've seen one baby in this family, you've seen all of them."

As if she suddenly thought of it, his sister turned on her hell to face him. "You didn't bring that woman, did you?"

"No," Alphard said.

"You're a decade too old to be going around calling a woman a 'lover' and running off to fanciful places." And the responsibility rant was coming. "This house should have been yours, and instead you're gallivanting off and don't have the decency to have children of your own."

"I suppose I might have one or two," he shrugged. "I don't generally ask about the aftermath."

"I'm going to hex the person who told you that you were funny," she grumbled.

"You're going to hex your mother?" he asked. "Will you calm down? Everything looks wonderful."

"Has anyone, upon being told calm down when they were agitated, ever actually calmed down?" Walburga said, before exploding at what he believed was his grandmother's house elf rather than her own. "WHY IS THAT ONE RED? WHY WOULD YOU SET SIX GREEN AND THEN PUT IN A RED? UTTER INCOMPETENCE!"

Alphard decided it was probably quieter back in the drawing room.

Of course, it turned out that the drawing room was not particularly quiet either.

It seemed that someone, undoubtedly Druella, had decided an excellent use of her daughter's gift was to try and get a family portrait, but it seemed as if someone had woken up a very irritable toddler from a nap too early, judging by the meltdown. Andromeda was valiantly trying to keep hold of the squirming toddler on her knee, where her younger sister was settled quietly with the baby on the other side of the sofa. Bellatrix stood behind the sofa, looking ready to scream out anyone who suggested she give it a try.

There was a variety of ideas being put forward:

"Has anyone tried giving him the whisky? It worked with the children when they were young."

"It just requires a firm hand, and saying to stay still."

"Perhaps we should just take the photograph; it's certainly realistic."

Though he had little experience around babies themselves, Alphard did have some experience breaking a language barrier. Generally, giving someone something like they tended to calm them down, and most people seemed to find chocolate to be an excellent ice breaker. He went over into the shot - much to the annoyance of Ignatius, who was waving him away, as he had the most camera experience (apparently) - and encouraged each of the girls to take a piece. Then he put one in Sirius' hand, which resulted in the desired effect - though blotched red, he was quiet and still.

"I'd take it quickly if I were you," he said, pushing to get out of the way.

They managed to get in two photographs before the toddler vomited, not over Andromeda, but his little brother and youngest cousin – who promptly shrieked, and the baby had to be taken off her. Personally, he thought the look on her face made it a much more interesting photograph, but after Druella's shrieking, he promised to destroy those ones and give her the nice ones. He did the latter, but kept the others as well – it was something to show both Sirius and Narcissa once they had their own respective babies on the way.

The realities of family.