The Voldemort Diaries—Chapter 56 (Rockin' Around the Death Eater Tree)

December 21, 2000

The children had finally gone home on the Hogwarts Express, and the teachers of Hogwarts heaved a sigh of relief. Already several had gone off on holiday, leaving a skeleton crew to mind those unfortunate few left at school—not to say all of those professors currently remaining were staying, but that semester business had to be wrapped up rather than holding it over till the new term. Bayly fell squarely into this bracket. He planned to give the lab a thorough cleaning, finish up the grades, and get home to his wife.

He hadn't expected to be detained by a visitor, especially one wholly unrelated to school affairs. He looked up as Minerva entered the Potions lab. "Professor, what is it?"

"This gentleman is here to see you." She motioned over her shoulder, where the top of a head was visible beyond her bun. "Mr. Goodman says he is family." Her eyebrows had moved up so far they were almost to her hairline. The pitch of her voice expressed firm disbelief, but that she'd like to hear it from Bayly himself before throwing the man out on his arse.

"Jorab," said Bayly as the man moved into view. Startled and a bit befuddled, he mumbled, "He's dating my mum." He certainly wasn't going to perjure himself by proclaiming kinship.

Minerva whirled on the wizard in the hall, squinting behind her square lenses. "Not quite related, I'd say. You look very familiar, Mr. Goodman."

"I came to visit Severus Snape a few years back—my brother and I," Rab explained. Why was it every time he got near this witch he felt like a sixteen-year-old boy about to be scolded? It wasn't bad enough she checked him for glamour charms as he entered, now she was questioning his identity?

"Ah, yes, I remember." She eased back, her muscles losing their pouncing tension. Severus told her they'd helped find the book that Lucius Malfoy had used to go through the Veil and come back out again, alive—with Narcissa and the Black brothers. "Bayly, if you're busy, I'm sure Mr. Goodman can meet you another time."

"No, it's fine," said Bayly. He waved the man in and smiled to Minerva. She nodded and walked out, giving the other fellow a sharp gaze that clearly said she would not be deceived. If only she knew how deceived she already was by this former Death Eater!

Rab came in, laid his heavy cloak on a lab table, and seated himself on one of the stools; the young man sat opposite him. Growing suddenly nervous, Bayly asked, "Is Mum okay?"

"Yes, she's perfectly well," Rab said. "I guess I ought to get to the point and let you get back to work. On Christmas Eve I'm planning to ask your mother to marry me."

Stunned silence. Bayly merely stared, not knowing what to say. Mum and Jorab had only been together about four months, maybe five. Then again, he'd loved Gloria after knowing her a very short time. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen this coming. At last he said, "Are you asking my permission?"

Rabby snorted involuntarily, mentally kicking himself for it. He'd not come to antagonize the kid, and now that they'd developed a satisfactory relationship, he didn't want to imperil it. "No. I'm asking for your blessing. For myself, I can do without it, but your mother—you know how she is."

"So you basically don't give a rat's arse what I think, is that it?"

"No, that's not it," Jorab backpedaled. He took in a deep breath, held it, and let it go. "It's…weird. If she accepts my proposal, I'll be your stepfather. Believe me, that notion freaks me out as much as it does you."

Bayly shook his head in astonishment. Could this sad sack be any more offensive? "So it freaks you out to consider being part of my family. What the hell did you come here for, Jorab? If Mum marries you, I can't stop her, but I will not be treated like a pariah in my own mother's house!"

"F—k," said Jorab, jerking up from his seat to pace the floor. He ran his hands through his cropped hair. Nothing was coming out the way he'd intended. "I suck at this, alright. I came to have a civil discussion, not to insult you or piss you off. I was thinking about your dad, Dolohov, and how I don't want you comparing me to him."

"I don't see any reason I would," Bayly replied calmly.

"And I don't know how to be a father, I never had any kids," Rab went on, sounding slightly hysterical. "I don't wanna be like mine or yours. How am I supposed to act?"

Now it made a whole lot more sense. Bayly gave a droll smile. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a kid. I'm nineteen and married. I don't expect you to play the part of a dad." Severus Snape is my dad.

Was that a touch of relief on Rabby's face? "So we'd be what? Friends?"

"I hope so," Bayly answered earnestly. "Any fool can see Mum loves you. Do you feel the same about her?"

"I would kill or die for her," responded the other without a moment's hesitation.

"That's all I need to know to give you my blessing," said Bayly, offering his hand. "Good luck." As if he'd need it; Mum would be ecstatic come Christmas Eve. He almost wished he could be there to see it, but no—it was private. Jorab deserved that, and so did Mum.

"Thank you." Jorab shook his hand and took his leave, almost bumping into a young wizard coming into the lab. "Sorry, mate." That face, why did he know it? Holy hell, that was one of the brats who'd come to the Department of Mysteries in the failed attempt to get that godforsaken prophecy! It was the one Bella had tormented, Longbottom! The one whose parents he'd helped torture into insanity.

Rab slid past him and hurried down the corridor, his stomach in knots. If Bayly knew who he'd been in that other life, he'd never in a million years let him near Livonia. And Rab wouldn't blame him. Why couldn't the mediwitches and mediwizards fix the Longbottoms? Surely after all these years they'd developed some new therapies, or new medicines. He should talk to Snape about it; he'd invented several of his own potions and spells—and Aline had done so, too, for her mother and for Narcissa. If he or Aline couldn't come up with a cure, it truly was hopeless. And that thought made him want to vomit.

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December 25, 2000

A wickedly sharp 'pop' sounded in Spinner's End, loud enough to attract the attention of anyone present—assuming they were awake. Kreacher appeared, his wrinkled hand clutching onto Sirius' pantleg. He couldn't bring himself to hold onto his detested master's hand, nor should the wretched human wish him to. Kreacher glanced around hopefully, his orb-like eyes scanning the room, the staircase, the kitchen door, then his countenance fell as he noted no one rushing in to see what the noise was about.

Sirius aimed his face at the elf and shook his head in warning; he'd ordered Kreacher to keep silent, and silent he must stay. That didn't mean he had to like it. The house elf scowled hatefully and shuffled to the sofa, where he hopped up and sat there with his limbs straight and stiff. Sirius lit the tip of his wand with a dim lumos, barely enough to navigate the room without stumbling.

In the far corner of the living room, on a low table, Regulus had set up a tabletop Christmas tree decorated with blue and violet bows and bright miniature ornaments—round bulbs, tiny wooden sleds, lifelike cardinals. Now that he'd gotten close enough, Sirius saw that the tree had muggle lights wound about, with a cord to plug into the wall. Tempted to see what it looked like lit up, he nevertheless bypassed it as he withdrew a wrapped, four-inch box from his pocket. He stared at the box for a long minute before sliding it under the tree. It pained him to note it was the only present there.

"Merry Christmas, brother," he whispered. He turned and made a gesture to Kreacher, who heaved a put-out breath before slowly crawling off the sofa and tottering back to his master, then gripped his trousers so tightly it twisted against Sirius' skin, and disapparated.

A couple of hours later daylight peeked in the windows of Spinner's End, though it wasn't till much later Regulus woke and stretched. As he did every day, he got up and headed downstairs to the only loo in the place, then made for the kitchen for some coffee. If he knew Kreacher, the elf had left him some goodies for a holiday breakfast. Sure enough, on a platter on the counter were stacked a variety of sweet treats and festive breads. A single plate set on the table, covered with a large metal top to hold in the heat, for the heating charm had long since been cast. Reg lifted the cover and smiled: scrambled eggs and bacon, buttered toast, fried potatoes, all steaming hot.

"Thank you, Kreacher."

After breakfast, he wandered into the living room and plopped in front of the telly; he got up and went to the tree, plugged it in, then grinned again. It sure was pretty, and all his. That was strange. He picked up the obviously hand-wrapped package left by Sirius and turned it over in his hands. No name…unless you counted the tag claiming to come from Father Christmas. He wasn't quite gullible enough to fall for that. Since no one except Severus (and his blood relatives) or Lucius had unhindered access by floo, and the doors were warded, it had to be from one of them. Or Kreacher…but house elves didn't give gifts to their masters.

Furrowing his brow, he ripped off the paper, letting it drop to the floor. Cautiously he opened the box, and his heart skipped a beat. Inside lay an old, worn, toy muggle car with chipped yellow paint and a broken passenger door that hung perpetually in the 'open' position. He fingered the metal object pensively. How long had it been since he'd seen it?

It had been July of 1968, he remembered, because he'd been seven. He'd sneaked into Sirius' room to watch out the window, as he sometimes did. Sirius often yelled at him to stay out, but Sirius wasn't here, and he wanted to look. His own bedroom faced the back garden, not much to see, but Sirius' tall window faced the street where muggles went by all day long. Today, a small group of boys and a girl were playing in the street with miniature objects he couldn't see from the house. He felt the urge to hide himself behind the velvet curtains, then recalled that he didn't need to worry that they'd look up and see him, for Mum and Dad had told him that no one could see inside unless they were normal folk (witches or wizards).

When they'd left, Regulus noticed a spot of yellow where they'd been playing. Excited, he ran out of the room and down the stairs, slowing himself to a forced walk by the time he'd reached the front door. His parents might not like him investigating muggle affairs. He casually sauntered out, closed the door, then raced to the curb and picked up the toy. A car. He knew that because he'd seen actual, real muggle cars going by many times. He wondered if it could roll on its own, but when he set it down and waited, nothing happened. He gave it a push and it rolled a short distance before coming to a stop. Unenchanted didn't mean it couldn't be fun.

With his heart pounding in his chest so fiercely he feared everyone must be able to hear it, he slipped the toy into his pocket and strolled back into the house. He was doing something very bad, something forbidden, and it scared him…and empowered him. So this was how Sirius felt when he disobeyed and got their parents angry.

"Regulus, where were you?" came his mother's shrill voice. She emerged from the parlor, eyes locked on him.

"Just outside for a minute," he answered weakly, his hand instinctively curling round the car in his pocket.

"How many times have I told you not to go out there without permission?" she continued, coming closer as his breathing grew shallow. "Those filthy muggles might steal you away and eat you! They're savages, son."

"Sorry, Mum," he whispered in a near whimper. If she kept it up he'd tattle on himself, he knew it. Why did they even live here if it was so dangerous? And those kids didn't look like they meant to eat anyone.

As quickly as that the witch turned her back to return to the parlor. "Next time I'll inform your father and see what he thinks of you skulking in the street with the rubbish." She may as well have said Dad would tan his hide, for that was certainly what he'd threatened more than once.

"I'll be good, Mum, I promise." When the woman made no reply, he hurried up the stairs to his room and shut the door behind him. Almost reverently he withdrew the toy from his pocket and set it on the floor, giving it another light push. It creaked across the wooden slats, making his heart leap again. He had a secret!

The secret hadn't lasted long. Two weeks later Sirius had come barging into his room as if he owned the place—which Regulus had thought blatantly hypocritical, considering how obnoxious he was about his own privacy—and caught his brother playing with the forbidden item. Sirius had merely stopped and gaped at first, then he slammed the door and stomped over. Regulus cowered against his bed, clutching the car to his chest.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I found it."

Sirius held out his hand, waiting. "Give it to me."

"No." Reg's fingers hurt from how hard he gripped the toy. "It's mine."

"If Mum and Dad catch you with it, you'll get a belting," Sirius warned, and Regulus wondered if he intended to tell on him. "Reg, I'm not trying to steal it, I'm trying to protect you!"

Reg hesitated. It was true, he'd be in big trouble if caught. But he liked this toy, it was fun. "You'll get rid of it," he said softly.

Sirius glanced behind him. "No. I'll keep it for you in my hiding place."

"What hiding place?"

Beckoning his brother to follow, Sirius poked his head out the door, then scampered across the hall to his own room. Reg followed and shut the door, curious. The older boy rounded the bed and then gave it a hard shove that scraped it across the floor only a few inches. Beneath the frame, Reg saw a wooden slat that bore more marks and scratches than the rest in the room; sure enough, Sirius pried it up with the edge of a butter knife to reveal a neat little hiding spot already occupied by a muggle snapshot of some kind and a few odds and ends that made no sense to Regulus.

Sirius looked up at him and smiled. "If you put it here, they won't find it."

"And if they do?" asked Reg skeptically.

"They'll think it's mine," answered Sirius with a shrug. "You're my brother. We gotta stick together, yeah?"

After zooming the car back and forth between themselves for another hour, Reg had put his toy in the hiding spot, and often over the next years he'd retrieved it to amuse himself, always cognizant of the fact that Sirius was sticking his neck out. If Mum and Dad had discovered the car, they'd have punished Sirius for it, not Regulus.

He'd forgotten how close they'd been as boys, despite their arguments, despite Sirius' irksome need to be the center of attention. Sirius had been willing to risk a beating in order that his little brother be allowed to have a secret toy…that had to count for something, right? Maybe he had done it only to get over on their parents; he'd liked doing that. Yet he'd had ample opportunity for pissing them off without involving Regulus. Had Sirius really changed so much from that person he used to be, the one who protected his brother? Yes, he'd been a shithead on many levels, but at his core he was still Sirius…wasn't he? Was this Christmas gift meant to be a reminder of the time in their lives when they'd been a team instead of attacking each other?

"Damn it," Reg murmured into the quiet air. He'd go over to Grimmauld Place later and find out what the deal was. For now, he'd rather relax until he had to get ready for dinner at the Malfoys. Snape and his family were coming, too. He'd better prepare the gifts he'd purchased and failed to wrap for the lot of them. Then again, wasn't that what elves were for? "Kreacher!"

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"And I'm sure Severus has told you that Lucius never liked parties," Narcissa was saying to Aline in the parlor off the main sitting area, where the group had retired after dinner.

"I believe the term is loathe, darling," Lucius corrected her gently. Not that it had ever stopped his father from requiring his presence, nor his wife from forcing him into 'festive mode' every year. Still, it must have made an impact, or he was simply mellowing; he didn't despise them nearly as much as he used to.

"Have you heard of my first Christmas ball?" asked Draco, smirking at his sire. "I don't remember it, but I've heard about it quite a lot over the years."

"Do tell, Lucius," prompted Severus, smirking right along with his godson, enjoying seeing his friend squirm.

The Malfoy patriarch glowered at them both, then set to the tale:

They were everywhere Lucius looked. Nott and his wife had brought their infant son; Goyle was standing across the room drinking firewhiskey with Crabbe while holding his baby son as his three-year-old daughter played between his legs. The Zabinis had a couple of children as well…and the Patils with their twin girls.

"I swear to God, if the Weasleys show up—with or without their horde—I'll avada kedavra myself in the head," Lucius muttered to no one.

He'd wandered off alone to get a drink and take a break from the pretense of enjoying himself when he saw it. No, it couldn't be! Just when he thought this soiree couldn't get any worse, he glanced across the room at his lovely, sensual wife in her long, slinky red gown. She was carrying Draco, who was dressed in a miniature suit of dress robes and wearing a—a muggle version of an elf hat on his head?

He practically flew over to her and yanked the silly hat from his son's head. "Narcissa, what are you doing?"

She snatched it back from him. "Do you mind?"

"Of course I mind, that's why I took that ridiculous thing off him," Lucius retorted. "He's not a court jester."

"He looks adorable," Narcissa countered, arranging the pointed stocking cap on her son.

"Why is he even down here? He should be in bed."

Narcissa sniffed, pointing with her chin at the children scattered throughout. "If they can bring theirs, I certainly can bring mine. I'm proud of Draco, he's so much cuter and smarter than the rest."

"Naturally he is, he's a Malfoy," Lucius readily agreed, as if it were so obvious it didn't require stating at all. "That's not the point. Why are all these kids here? Didn't you specify on the invitations this was an 'adult only' party? Or am I the only one who got that memo?"

Narcissa pursed her lips guiltily and looked heavenward. "I may have forgotten to mention the adult only part."

Forgot? Or wanted an opportunity to show off Draco? He could hardly be angry when her motives were so admirable. Draco deserved to be shown off. Nonetheless, it brought a bunch of snot-nosed rugrats into his home. He grumbled, "Lovely. In an hour we'll have a slew of cranky brats squalling around—"

"Lucius, it isn't proper manners to insult your guests," said Abraxas from behind him. He came around to take Draco from Narcissa. "I've already instructed Sisidy to set up a nursery so she can watch the children when they fall asleep. Dobby will still be available if we need anything."

"Well I simply don't see how this 'oversight' happened," Lucius commented. He knew he ought to let it go, he couldn't very well send them all home. He found his eyes resting on Goyle's baby son, a square headed bruiser like his father.

He watched in amusement as Abraxas hauled Draco over to talk with Goyle and his father—three generations of the burly bunch all in one place. Draco peered keenly over Abraxas' shoulder at the other baby and babbled something imperiously; Gregory Goyle's expression became more dull-witted, if possible, then he extended his hand with the rattle he was holding. Draco smirked and took the toy.

"That's my boy," drawled Lucius smugly.

"That's my godson," Severus corrected him with a grin from behind him. "He knows how to get what he wants, like his father. I didn't realize you enjoyed children's parties so much."

Lucius gave him a withering glare. "That's Narcissa's doing," he lamented, leading him to a quieter spot near a far entrance of the ballroom. "What have you been up to?"

Snape heaved a sigh, his whole body slumping. "The master has ordered me to apply for the teaching post at Hogwarts again. I shouldn't have told him I heard the position was opening up."

In spite of himself Lucius had to laugh. Snape, who despised children on the whole, was poised to become a teacher! Wasn't life cruel?

"It's not funny."

"Sure it is, in an ironic kind of way," Lucius chuckled.

"How would you like to deal with a bunch of nitwits day in and day out? And I can't even quit or kill them," Severus grumbled snarkily.

Lucius had to say he'd abhor being ordered into that position, and trying to be supportive he said, "Well, there's always hope. Maybe you won't get the job."

Severus gazed back with a world-weary, glassy eyed stare. "You call that hope? The dark lord spent the better part of our conversation torturing me so I'd know what to expect more of if I fail. I think it would behoove me to try my best."

"Yes, I suppose in the scheme of things that would be prudent." Lucius drifted off, his countenance registering revulsion and horror. Instinctively and very quickly he backed into the doorway and out into the hallway with Severus in pursuit.

Snape glanced over his shoulder for the cause of his friend's distress. Surely Lucius wouldn't be leaving if there were a threat to his family! His wand had appeared in his hand as his eyes swept the ballroom. "What is it?"

"Bella!" He spat the name in a hiss resembling Lord Voldemort's tone. "Who invited her?"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Lucius, you're acting like a wuss! I thought something was wrong!" Severus stowed his wand, barely keeping himself from slapping the man.

A curl of Lucius' lip greeted him. "So you like her now? Why don't you go talk to her?" With another sneer he gave Severus a vicious shove in the direction of the ballroom, inadvertently missing the doorway and bouncing him off the wall. "Oh, sorry then," he said sheepishly.

"Moron," griped Severus, straightening up and rubbing his sore arm. "In case you forgot, this is your party. Shouldn't you be in there?"

"Traitor," sulked Lucius. "Technically, it's the Malfoy party, and my father is there. Are you sure you don't want to go flying or play chess or something?"

Severus merely cocked an eyebrow.

Alright, fine, he'd go in to his child-infested, Bella-despoiled gala. It was one night, he could make it through one night, right? Grimacing, Lucius stormed past his friend muttering, "You're turning into my father, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Severus, smirking as he followed him in.

Aline leaned against Severus, laughing. "You two sure had a lot of interesting times together in your youth."

"You've not even heard the best one," Regulus said impishly, looking pointedly at Lucius. "I was dead by then, but from what I gather, it went like this. It all began with an innocent slip-up on the time…"

Looking strikingly handsome in their new Christmas outfits, the Malfoy family apparated into the foyer of the church they attended sporadically—that is, for Christmas, Easter, weddings, and funerals. Draco let out a loud disgruntled wail at the sensation of being squeezed through a pipe, but a gentle jostling in his father's arms soothed him quickly.

"Are we late?" asked Abraxas, appalled at the prospect. Malfoys were never late…well, except Lucius on occasion, but seeing as that generally coincided with Death Eater activity, he chose to ignore it.

"The schedule said ten o'clock," Lucius responded much more calmly than he felt. He pointed at the pocket watch in his hand that read three minutes till ten. "It's not my fault Draco poops and pees every hour like clockwork and we have to change him. Blame him."

"He does not! You leave him alone!" Narcissa whispered fiercely, dragging Lucius by the arm toward the body of the church which looked to be quite full.

An usher came along to lead them to an open pew. Unfortunately, the only ones not crowded with people were at the very front, causing the Malfoys to practically trot alongside the usher as they traversed the entire length of the church with the congregation looking on. They settled themselves in and glimpsed about.

"I don't recognize anyone," Abraxas mentioned quietly with an odd note in his voice.

Lucius, under the guise of handing Draco to Narcissa on his other side, gave a cursory look around. He wrinkled his nose. What was with the clothes these people were wearing? Had they no sense of style? "I see the Weasleys and their army over there." He jerked a thumb across the aisle. It seemed more than peculiar that none of their acquaintances were here.

The next moment they were bid to stand and sing while the priest proceeded down the aisle. As he got closer, Lucius' stomach lurched. This wasn't the wizard priest who always presided at the services! Being that there were only two wizard priests in all of Britain, it seemed patently absurd to think they'd have moved the other one to this parish.

This couldn't be happening, he couldn't have got the time wrong. Okay, he could have, what with the turmoil of a child to throw things off, but it was unlikely. He thought the schedule had read 'wizard mass at 10:00', but what if it had really said 'no wizard mass at 10:00'? Or had it said the wizard mass was at 8:00? He didn't remember, he'd checked it weeks ago…

Narcissa's insistent elbowing in his side was getting a bit annoying. He turned to her with a plastered-on smile. "Yes, dear?"

She leaned in close to his ear and clipped, "That's not our priest."

"Ah, so it isn't," Lucius agreed, facing forward, mind racing. If this wasn't their priest and their acquaintances were conspicuously absent while the muggle-loving Weasleys were here, it could only mean one thing: they were in a muggle service. For a second he had to concentrate on not throwing up. Must not panic, it will upset Narcissa and Father.

"Lucius!" hissed Abraxas, looking none too pleased. Apparently he'd figured it out as well. So much for not upsetting him. "I believe you got the wrong time."

"Should we leave?" asked his son.

As if in answer, the congregation all sat down, leaving the Malfoys standing. To leave now would be to parade themselves back down the aisle in front of all the vacuous, gawping eyes of a crowd of imbecilic muggles, causing a spectacle. Malfoys did not make spectacles of themselves, it was one of the Rules. As one, they dropped into the pew, utterly mortified. If anyone ever got wind of this, they'd never live it down!

For the next hour they stiffly, self-consciously went through the motions, all the while acutely aware of their horrendous situation. Narcissa hugged Draco so tightly to her he cried out in protest, kicking and squirming to be let down to crawl and drawing more attention upon them. She steadfastly ignored her husband who'd got them into this predicament, as did Abraxas; Lucius was grateful for the latter. Better ignored than smacked for incompetence, though that might be forthcoming when they got home. It was an honest mistake, for crying out loud! It wasn't as if he'd planned this joyous little excursion of being plunked down in the middle of a plethora of drooling muggles!

After the service they waited in their pew for the muggle fold to file out, intending to sneak into the side wing and apparate away lest they be accosted by any of the beasts.

Arthur Weasley, who'd noticed with interest the Malfoys—and who hadn't noticed?—came over as his family followed the crowd. "Happy Christmas, Lucius. You, too, Narcissa and Mr. Malfoy."

"Happy Christmas," they all mumbled back. They didn't look happy at all.

"I must admit I'm…surprised to see you here," Arthur remarked, hoping for some sort of explanation, though not expecting one, not from the imperious Malfoy clan.

"That makes all of us, then," Abraxas announced in a tight lipped snit, with another accusing glance at his son.

Lucius forced a smile that looked as forced as it felt. "Nice of you to stop by, Arthur, don't let us keep you."

He gave Narcissa a nudge and she walked to the far end of the pew, followed by Lucius and Abraxas. Together they slipped over into a corner and disapparated, leaving behind nothing but a memory.

"Then Lucius showed up at my house to regale me with the horrors he'd endured," Severus chuckled, recalling the event fondly. He continued the story where Regulus had left off:

"Stop that damned smirking," Lucius growled. He tossed back another swig of whiskey. For muggle swill, it tasted surprisingly like firewhiskey.

Severus attempted to stop smirking, unsuccessfully. The whole idea of the Malfoys being surrounded by muggles for a full hour with no means of escape was just too delicious. "Sorry, Lucius, but you brought it on yourself. Learn to pay attention. And I see you managed to escape unscathed."

"Humph!" snorted his friend. "Not if you count the humiliating hour-long lecture I got after church. My father was in fine form, let me tell you." Another swallow of whiskey. "Now neither of them is speaking to me."

"They'll get over it, though if you go home drunk I don't foresee anything beneficial in your future," drawled Snape as he capped the bottle and stowed it in the cabinet under the coffee table.

"Are you a fortune teller now, Severus? I wouldn't have thought," Lucius snapped.

"This is Christmas, Lucius. Stop with the self-pity and try to have a good time."

Right then Eileen came in from the kitchen with a plate of fresh baked cookies and a sliced fruitcake, which she set on the coffee table. "Lucius, have something to eat. In a little while the goose will be done, you're welcome to join us."

"Thank you, Mrs. Snape, it's very kind of you." When she merely stood there waiting expectantly, he picked up a slice of the cake to nibble on and raised his eyebrows. To his amazement, it was actually quite good. He'd have to get the recipe for the house elves.

"Mum, can we watch our program?" asked Justina as she and her twin trooped in from their room. Lucius noted with satisfaction that they were wearing the new robes the Malfoys had gifted to them. "Hi, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hello, Tina." Why did her salutation make him feel so old? He was tempted to ask her to call him 'Lucius' when a black box a couple of meters away flickered, brightened, and came to life; suddenly there were people in it—talking and moving! His jaw dropped.

"Never seen a telly, huh?" Julius grinned. "He's exactly like Regulus."

"Am not," Lucius replied in what would have been a defensive tone had he not been so distracted and enthralled by this strange new magic…not to mention the effects of the alcohol catching up with him.

With his head buzzing from whiskey and a chunk of fruitcake in his hand, he settled back into the sofa to examine this beguiling new object called a 'telly'. Later he'd have Severus teach him this magic. This might turn out to be a great Christmas after all!

"So, you were like me, eh?" said Regulus, nudging Lucius in the side. "Never got around to getting yourself a telly, though. Did he ever tell you about the time at the Millennium Ball when he made me start a fight with James Potter?"

"Really?" asked Aline, leaning in so far she almost fell off the couch. That didn't sound like something Lucius would do…or did it?

Lucius rolled his eyes. "For one thing, Regulus, that is off topic. For another, I had to get my father off my back—and it's your fault to begin with! You told him Potter was there…anyway, let it suffice to say this Christmas has turned out far better than some of the previous ones."

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It wouldn't be Christmas if there were no rum-spiked eggnog, a blinking tree in the middle of the room, and an argument brewing, now would it? Marshal, lounging on the sofa of his flat, levitated the punchbowl onto the coffee table for easier access. He scooped out a large tumblerful and handed it to Dolph, then scooped another for himself. It felt strange not to have Rab here, but he was otherwise engaged with Liv. Marshal smirked at the pun.

"So Rabby tells me you're a vigilante," Dolph observed dispassionately. "I thought we'd all agreed to try going straight."

"No, you both agreed for me," Marshal remarked. "I told you before that I'm doing my part by ridding the world of some of the scum. I'd say that counts."

"Who are you to judge who is scum?" asked the other, lifting an eyebrow.

"Oh, please," scoffed Marshal. "I only knock off ones the court system fails to take care of—you know, serial rapists, child murderers that go free for lack of proper evidence or a misfiled paper or some bullshit. Ex-Death Eater or no, I doubt you'd call them the cream of the crop."

"I'm wondering how you know, really know, they're guilty."

"I force them to drink Veritaserum," said Marshal. For Merlin's sake, he wasn't bloody stupid! "And you, of all people, ought to understand the need to rid society of vermin. Don't act all innocent, Dolph, you killed Varden for less!"

Touché. He had killed Varden for molesting his brother, whether his uncle had done the same to anyone else or not. And in theory he wasn't opposed to taking out the trash, so to speak…it was more that Rabby would give him hell if he joined in. Rabby would be disappointed in him, even though he'd no longer be killing innocent people, and he couldn't deal with that.

Well, he had to say something, he couldn't let Marshal get the last word. "It's kind of hypocritical, isn't it, to pretend you've gone straight when you haven't?"

Marshal's lips curled upward in a smile that chilled the other man, who instinctively understood it didn't bode well. To prolong the agony, he took a good, long swill from his glass. "I'm not so sure. Rabby realizes the truth, whether he likes it or not. Now, if you want to talk hypocrites, let's talk about the way you were looking at Snape's wife the other night. To his face you act the friend, behind his back you covet Aline. That's not very sportsmanlike."

"F-k you. I never said a thing about Aline."

"Lately," Marshal corrected him. "I recall Malfoy saying you'd flirted with her once when you were drunk."

"I don't need this." Dolph got up, polished off his eggnog, and slammed the cup on the table.

"Oh, did I make you mad?" taunted Marshal, laughing. "I'm not gonna tell anyone. I'm merely pointing out that you're not so bloody perfect yourself."

"If you think I'm going to join you in your criminal-elimination spree, I'm not." Nonetheless, he sat down once more. Unspoken were the words, 'I can't'. Damn it, why did he feel drawn to this stupid escapade? Perhaps for the same reason he'd enjoyed muggle hunts years ago. Looking back was useless and counterproductive, he'd learned that much. Firefighting gave him the rush he needed, he could leave cleaning up the streets to Marshal. "Let's have some more of that eggnog."

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"Just thought you'd like it back," said Sirius, shrugging nonchalantly. He stirred his tea for the fourth time, lending credence to the fact that he wasn't as relaxed as he'd like to pretend.

"I'm a wee bit old for toy cars," Regulus replied guardedly. He'd not sat down since coming to his old home, wary of whatever Sirius may have planned.

Sirius shrugged again. "It's yours."

"Thanks." Reg paused, and in the silence it felt heavy and awkward. In the background, Kreacher huddled near the stove supposedly tending the water in the pot, his huge, floppy ears perking to listen. "Happy Christmas, Sirius. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"You did," said the older man, and Reg saw in his wry smile the handsome lad he'd been long ago. To answer Reg's confused expression, he added, "You're talking to me again. I'd say that counts as a big step toward healing the mess I've made. It means a lot to me."

For once in…well, he couldn't say how long, Reg believed him. "You are a colossal prat," he said, smirking. "But you're my brother. We gotta stick together, yeah?"