Hey! It's Christmas (Well. It's February where I am in 2011. But it's like, ten months and five days! Is it plausible to get excited?) 1976!

This one is for Brittany di Angelo who requested the party at the Blacks! I hope you enjoy it – if it turns out a bit angsty on Sirius's part, I'm sorry. I didn't realise how angsty it was getting until I read back through, and even then I liked what I had written.

Thank you to Scandalacious Intentions for all your lovely reviews, and to everybody who has favourite and reviewed so far! :D

"Put them on!"

"Why should I?"

"Because you're a wizard, and that's what wizards wear!" Walburga Black bellowed at her son, brandishing some state of the art dress robes at him. "Instead you insist on looking like some filthy animal in those clothes you so desire to wear!"

The party had been talked about all day, and Sirius was sick of it already. The fact that Bellatrix and Narcissa would be there was bad enough, without mentioning the numerous amounts of other pureblood, high society, prejudiced wizarding folk that would be attending, asking him awkward questions about who he was to marry and how he would use his inheritance. He normally named some Muggle girl; though once he had experimented by telling them he was in a serious relationship with a werewolf named Remus and that they were considering taking it even further. He had received many disdainful looks from the attendees of the party and a lattice of bruises afterwards, but it had been fun.

"Animal?" Sirius's eyebrows shot up into his mop of black hair. "You might want to recheck your political correctness. They're called 'Muggles' now, Mother, and they're rather intelligent."

"Don't you talk back to me, boy!" Walburga snapped, reaching for her wand and pressing it into Sirius's jumper. "I may not be able to physically beat you like your father can, but I'm quite capable of a cruciatus curse!"

"They're illegal," replied Sirius with a tut, shaking his head in a disparaging manner at Mrs Black.

Walburga raised her wand.

"Go on," Sirius challenged her. "Curse me."

Walburga seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "You no good brat!" she snapped savagely, stowing the wand away, causing Sirius to smirk. "Just put the robes on!"

"Anything for my Mummy," Sirius said with a smile, before twirling away from her in a manner he knew would aggravate her most.


"I love Christmas," Vera Lupin stated fondly as she wrapped a piece of tinsel around the tree.

"You could have charmed that," pointed out her husband, John, who was watching her over the brim of his Daily Prophet with a smile playing at his lips.

"Yes, but where's the fun in that?" Vera snapped, hanging a bauble on one of the branches. "You purebloods don't do anything. It's a wonder you aren't all grey slobs. Tell him, Remus."

Remus raised his eyebrows at his mother. "Tell him what, Mum?"

"That all the fun is in the manual decorating of the tree!" Vera said as she brandished a sprig of holly, although her raised voice suggested otherwise. "When we were growing up, we used to love putting it up and decorating it. When we went to Hogwarts, of course, the trees were beautifully decor, but there was no fun in them. A Christmas tree is supposed to be like an explosion." She threw her arms out in an enthusiastic gesture, knocking the tree over.

John looked up briefly, stifled a laugh and returned to his paper. Remus smiled, standing up to help his mother.

"I think, now that we have had the experience of constructing the tree manually once, it's time to use a helpful charm," he suggested gently. Vera turned to look at him exasperatedly.

"It was a nice thought," she assured herself, before flicking her wand out to sort out the disarray of Christmas ornaments on the floor. At once they began to mend themselves, the tree righting itself into its original stance (though it seemed a little less wonky) as baubles and tinsel danced around it, shrouding it in sparkly decoration.

"I hate Christmas," snapped Vera, letting go of a struggling strand of tinsel so that it could join the other ornaments.

Remus smirked. "Well, I'll cook for us tomorrow then," he offered kindly. "Take the stress off your shoulders. Providing you have already bought the food."

Vera clapped a hand to her mouth. "I can't believe..."

"You've forgotten the turkey, haven't you?" John smiled knowingly. Vera looked very upset by this fact.

"I've ruined Christmas!" she moaned.

"Dad and I figured you'd forget," Remus told her gently. "So Dorea and Charlus bought an extra one. I'm to collect it tonight. I have my orders."

Vera looked relieved. "What would I do without my beautiful boys?" A smile split across her previously despairing face, lightening her features.

Remus smiled.


"I think the tree should be red and gold," James stated with a smirk.

Dorea turned to glare at him amiably. "Green and silver's better."

"Ugh, no," James grinned. "Red and gold. Tell her, Dad."

"Why are we even debating this?" Charlus asked with a smile. "No tree of mine will be decorated in anything other than the colours of Godric."

"You two team up against me," Dorea sighed theatrically. "Slytherin's not that bad."

"Slytherin is awful."

"You're half-Slytherin."

"I'm a bloody Gryffindor."

"I'd have been disowned."

"Sirius hasn't been."

"Sirius will be," Dorea finished triumphantly. "Then he'll have to come and join our merry band of Black breakaways. Andromeda, he and myself. We'd be brilliant together."

"The tree's still being red and gold," James smiled. Dorea raised her hands in surrender.


"Mum told me to come and get you."

Sirius didn't even bother to look at his brother. "Did she now?"

"She said if you were dressed like a mudblood then she'd send Dad up for you."

"Send the bastard up. He can do his worst."

Regulus started to sound a little desperate. "Please Sirius. I think he's going to really hurt you."

This wound Sirius up. He rolled his head to face his brother. "And you've chosen this particular moment to start caring have you?" he asked, his tone causing Regulus to flinch. "That's all very shit, Regulus, but I don't care anymore. Just leave me alone."

Regulus bit his lip. Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Are you still here?" he asked nastily. The younger boy rolled his eyes.

"I tried to warn you, but would you listen?" he said. "Don't expect me to call the healers when Dad beats the shit out of you."

"Shit's a nasty word," snapped Sirius, rolling back over. Regulus didn't even dignify his response with an answer.


"I've lost a sock."

"Well get another one then."

"I can't get another one," growled Peter, looking up at the one who had offended him so. "It's my only one! They were limited edition Quaffle socks signed by the Tutshill Tornados! They cost me four galleons!"

Peter's brother looked up with raised eyebrows. "I think you'll find judgments are easily passed on somebody who spends that much on a pair of socks."

"Shut up, Benjamin!" Peter squeaked crossly. "I have to find them, Mum'll kill me if I've lost them."

"So Mum bought them for you?"

"No, but I promised her that if I spent that much money on them I'd look after them!" Peter said, desperately lifting up each of the cushions on the settee in his frantic search. "Oh, Merlin! !"

"I'm thinking of leaving," Benjamin said at that moment.

"You don't live here anymore anyway," Peter snapped, not bothering to look up. "Shit shit shit, where are they?"

"I mean, leaving the country," Benjamin expanded. Peter stopped where he stood. "It's just the society will frown on India and I marrying here. We'd have to do it abroad."

"You're going to leave me here?"

Benjamin bit his lip as he nodded. "But you could come and live with us after school..."

"No thanks," Peter said coldly. "Go leave the country with precious India. Leave me and Mum. Break her heart."

"Pete..."

"You know she's ill, don't you, Ben?" Peter continued sourly. "You know she might die? Or did that pass completely over your head?"

"Pete..."

"Apparently, the death of our father caused it," snapped Peter. "Emotional stress. Perhaps if you left, it'd finish her off and you'd be happy."

And he left the room before Benjamin could even attempt to explain himself.


"What did you get?" asked Vera enthusiastically. Remus looked at the hat that had fallen out of his cracker.

"A fez," he said.

"Brilliant," she grinned. "Much better than mine, anyway."

"Why, what did you get?" John asked her.

"A balaclava," she shrugged, before pulling it on. "Does it suit me?"

"Not really, love," John said. "I prefer to be able to see your beautiful face."

"Oh please, not at the table," groaned Remus. "You're both like, fifty. Could you avoid getting horny around your son?"

They both laughed.

"You'll have to tell James to thank Dorea for us," Vera commented. "This turkey's beautiful."

"All compliments to the chef," John said dotingly, pulling on the bonnet that had emerged from the final cracker. "Does it suit me, son?"

Remus smirked. "It brings out your eyes."

"I knew canary was my colour."


"More wine, Abraxas?"

Of course Abraxas wants more wine, he's a freaking alcoholic, thought Sirius bitterly as he sat at the dinner table, glowering into his plate. He hated these pretentious parties, filled with only those deemed the noblest pureblood families. Though of course, they never scrubbed up as well as the Blacks. It amused Sirius how many all seemed to have the same protruding nose. Inbred, he thought. But me and Reg turned out okay looking, he reminded himself.

"Just a drop, Walburga," Abraxas slurred in a drunken manner, though he still managed to solicit the words with an air of importance. Walburga's nose shrivelled a little as Abraxas continued, "Can't have your guests getting tipsy, can we?"

Sirius snorted, causing everybody at the table to stop and look at him.

"I do apologise," he said calmly. "I think I am ailing a cold." From the corner of his eye he could see Regulus smirk before pretending to cough into a napkin to hide his face. "Apparently my brother is sickening for it too."

With that, scraping of the plates resumed, and they took it in turns to ask Sirius questions.

"So, Sirius, boy, how old are you now?"

"He is fifteen," Orion answered for him.

"Sixteen, actually," corrected Sirius automatically. But it's okay that you didn't send me a birthday card. I'll live.

"Do not speak out of turn, boy."

"Sixteen?" Davenport Bullstrode questioned. He scratched his obtruding chin with thought, before delivering his verdict. "Good strong age."

That's ten seconds of my life I'll never get back, thought Sirius. He smiled at Bullstrode.

"Sirius?" Orion prompted. "What do you say?"

"Oh, thanks," Sirius said hastily, though he wasn't sure what he was thanking Bullstrode for. One look at his father's face showed him that this wasn't the right answer. "I suppose it is."

"It's a shame about the Sorting, isn't it?" Adrianne Goyle commented.

"It's a sensitive subject," Walburga pitched in before Sirius could ask what shame she was referring too. So many shames. "Sirius has an underlying condition which we are sure to treat. Nothing too serious, though sometimes he acts a little odd, like he's addled. It's like he's Confunded. He will be a satisfactory heir, but Dumbledore refuses to allow the boy a re-Sorting. Therefore we shall merely glance over the fact that he was Sorted into the wrong house."

Sirius looked up with wide eyes at his mother. What was this shit she was spouting? He wasn't mental; if anything he was the sanest of the lot of them! Walburga shot him a glance that suggested clearly that if he opened his mouth, he would be cursed into oblivion.

"Oh, poor soul," Adrianne cooed, her expression towards him changing to one of someone talking to a very small child who had grazed their knee. "Well, you're very brave, aren't you, Sirius?"

From then, people did not ask him questions, more questions about him to his parents. In a way, it was better not having to talk; he could concentrate more on quashing his anger.

Some of Bellatrix and Narcissa's Slytherin friends seemed to find this hilarious; Lucius Malfoy muttered something to Narcissa that made her snort in a manner similar to a donkey into her pudding.

He was starting to feel more and more livid.

"May I be excused?" he asked in a voice as civil as he could force it. Before he received an answer he was leaving anyway, perceiving a worried glance from Regulus.

He slammed his bedroom door shut with all his might before he began to tear it apart in anger, kicking the chest of drawers so hard that he thought he may have broken his toe.

"Shit!" he muttered, the pain that spiked through his foot only adding to his extreme fury. He could no longer contain it.

At some point during his rampage around the house in which he sent the row of elves heads flying, he alerted the prestigious group of people.

Narcissa, who obviously had been sent to check, shrieked back to them that he had gone "truly wild" and was tearing apart the house with no remorse. By this time more and more people had come to see what the eldest Black boy was doing, before Orion barged his way through and caught Sirius by the scruff of the neck.

Sirius, at once, blinked and looked around as if he had awoken from a dream. "Sorry, everybody," he said in shock. "It must be my condition."

The guests seemed to accept this and began to return to the dining room with minimal chatter.

Orion's comment was a breath. "You're going to regret this child." And he began to march him roughly upstairs to his room.


They had compromised in the end; red and green was after all the Christmas colour scheme, and gold and silver cutlery was used on the table.

That didn't stop Charlus and James sitting at the table with Gryffindor ties tied around their heads.

After a conversation that involved the three Potters arguing over just who was better at flying, the family had found themselves in the extensive grounds, James on his new broom, Charlus and Dorea on slightly older versions ("Unlike you, I don't need a state of the art broom to kick your mother's arse"), racing each other around it.

Admittedly, Charlus had cheated like a pig, so the race was really between James and Dorea. And the outcome had been spectacular.

"SUCK IT UP BOY!" screeched Dorea as she zoomed triumphantly around the orchard. "The old Black girl's got it in her!"

"Humiliation to the highest degree," muttered Charlus to his son, who grinned. "Let me guess, you just let her win, did you, Jim?"

"It's Christmas," James shrugged with a smile, and he clapped his father on the back. "Bad luck, Pa."


Peter,

I'm sorry. I have to go.

Maybe one day you could come and live with us, you and Mum. It'd be cool to see you both again. Or maybe you hate me now and you don't care anymore.

Whatever.

The thing is, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry I'm a crap brother. I should be there more to help you, what with Mum being ill. It's just... you know me Pete, I've never had so much as an ounce of responsibility in my entire life before. I'd have fallen apart. You're made of stronger stuff. If it was you who was leaving, you'd face me with your parting words.

I'm a coward, I know.

Peter's hands shook from anger. He had abandoned him completely now. He'd gone. He was probably far away now. He hadn't even left an address.

Peter turned the page over in search of one tiny contact detail. On the other side of the parchment he found writing. His heart leapt up in hope, only to be dropped again.

P.S. It's me who took the sock. I wanted something to remember you by. I left four galleons in my dresser.

Peter sighed miserably as he stood in the dark house, willing back the tears that threatened to spill over his eyelids.

"Merry Christmas, Wormtail," he mumbled sadly, before curling up into a ball and letting the tears come.

Hope it was okay! :) Even if a bit Sirius heavy yet again :)