Snowflakes fell in pretty little whorls over breakfast, tumbling into oblivion from the enchanted sky of the Great Hall. Sirius Black watched them gloomily, picking disinterestedly at his bacon. Across from him, Peter was fussing over his Charms homework. James was at Quidditch practice, and Remus the hospital wing. The full moon was tonight.
Sirius was bored and edging dangerously close to the waters of outright melancholia. Almost overnight, the castle had transformed itself, teeming with tinsel, positively sodden with Christmas cheer. Great snaking garlands of evergreen adorned the bannisters of all the stairs, and blinking fairy lights hovered throughout the halls. Someone — probably James — had charmed the fourth floor corridor to snow perpetually, resigning a grumbling Filch to spend most of his day shoveling it out so students could trudge through to class. Even Peeves had caught the holiday bug, zooming in and out of classrooms, belting naughty versions of carols at the top of his voice.
Sirius, however, found it all repellant. Every snowflake, every gaggle of girls tittering under bunches of mistletoe, every refrain of "We Wish You a Merry Piss-mass (And a Happy Poo Year)" did nothing but dampen his fast-plunging spirits.
"Is it Silencio or Silencio?" fretted Peter, flipping through his Standard Book of Spells with ink-stained fingers.
"Want me to demonstrate on you?" Sirius offered spitefully, and Peter shut up. If Remus had been here, he would've told him off for that, but honestly, how many times was Sirius expected to go over Charms with Peter? If the boy was too thick to get it the first time…
He was spared further consideration of this matter, however, as the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived looking pink-cheeked and miserable. James alone was in good spirits, and he greeted Sirius happily, collapsing onto the bench and pausing only to correct Peter's homework ("No, Pete, you've got it all backwards. Here…"), before turning his attention swiftly to breakfast. "Bacon!" he delighted, adding a generous heap to his plate.
"Good practice?" asked Sirius, raising his eyebrows at Aisha Collins, who had sat down next to Lily Evans and seemed to be trying to thaw her fingers over a cup of tea.
"Bloody freezing," said James cheerfully.
"I thought Montgomery would let you off on good behavior, seeing as you won the last match."
"Can't waste a perfectly good weekend," explained James through a mouthful of toast. "Madam Hooch always closes the pitch when it gets too cold. We won't be able to practice again 'til it thaws. Oh look — the post."
A flurry of owls swept overhead, and a moment later, the Potters' large eagle owl landed before James. His friend settled in comfortably to read a long letter from his mum, sharing bits of toast with the bird in an absent-minded way. Sirius himself didn't get much mail, apart from the subscription he'd taken out for the Daily Prophet, but he glanced up anyway, watching the last few owls stream in. As he sought out the tawny bird coming to deliver his newspaper, something else caught his eye: It was Glaucus, the handsome grey owl his parents had bought Regulus after he'd been sorted into Slytherin. For a cringing, miserable moment, Sirius thought the owl was headed his way — not again, hadn't his mother just had her fill of berating him for the month? — but then it swerved in a graceful plunge towards the Slytherin table and settled itself with dignity next to Regulus. The owl ruffled its feathers elegantly as Sirius's brother untied the letter from its talon.
The sight of his brother caused a surprising twist of guilt. They hadn't even spoken since they'd boarded the Hogwarts Express in September. Sirius didn't often seek out his brother. Regulus was an unpleasant reminder of the home awaiting him outside the castle walls, and what's more, the people his brother hung around generally didn't approve of Sirius any more than he did them. But still, he ought to have at least checked in…
For about the hundredth time since James had told him, Sirius found himself obsessing over the fact that Regulus had joined the Slytherin Quidditch team. It wasn't out of concern for Gryffindor's prospects. Sirius knew as well as anyone that positions on the Slytherin team were given not on merit but name. Sirius doubted very much that his brother was any good, but it didn't surprise him that Lestrange wanted a Black on his roll call.
All the same, Sirius had a bad a feeling about it. Regulus had always been a bit of a loner at school, and Sirius was comfortable with that. It meant his little brother wasn't cozying up to Bella and Cissy's cohort of Death Eater enthusiasts.
Uneasily, he remembered Regulus discussing articles about Death Eaters with Lucius Malfoy over the summer, when the brothers had been trapped at Black Hall and Cissy kept insisting on bringing her boyfriend by for tea. Regulus had later brought up those same articles at dinner with their mother, but Sirius hadn't thought too much of it at the time. Sure, he'd been disgusted, but he figured Regulus had just been trying to score points. It was constant work, being in Walburga Black's good favor, and Regulus had long since decided that was where he liked to sit.
But if Regulus was now on the Slytherin Quidditch team, that meant he was rubbing elbows with Lestrange and Avery and Mulciber…and they were as surely a part of the You-Know-Who fan club as anyone at school.
Don't be an idiot, Reg, Sirius thought with a tinge of desperation. His brother was only fourteen. It wasn't as though he could sign up for Death Eater camp tomorrow. All the same, maybe it was time to have a chat with baby brother.
"Mum says hello," said James, and Sirius pulled his gaze back to the Gryffindor table. "Says you're welcome to come for Christmas hols, which you should, as I've told you a hundred times…"
"I wish," muttered Sirius.
"What's stopping you?"
A woeful hoot and sharp peck at his arm notified Sirius that the Daily Prophet's owl had arrived and wished to be paid. He dug into his pocket, selected a handful of knuts, and stuffed them into the owl's pouch.
"Oh good, the news," said Sirius, and he disappeared behind the Prophet's protective folds.
He could feel James watching him; he could sense his frown and the faint crease of concern in his brow. But then James simply pulled out a piece of parchment and began to compose a letter to his mum. He always did that, wrote back right away. Sirius couldn't remember a time when James had failed to respond to a letter from his parents. He wondered vaguely what that must be like.
The only letters Sirius ever got from home came exclusively from his mother, and they were usually nothing more than a laundry list of complaints about Sirius's failings as a son and man. Spiteful old pig of a woman, his mother, just trying to get a rise out of him. She was surely bored and going mad locked up in that horrible old house with all her ancestors barking criticism at her from the walls…so she liked to have a go at her son every now and then, harass him a bit, that'd make her feel better…stupid cow…
Seeking distraction from these unpleasant thoughts, he redirected his attention to the Daily Prophet. The front page was devoted exclusively to articles on increased Ministry security and Eugenia Jenkins' latest political troubles: Another handful of politicians had called for her resignation. Abraxas Malfoy had apparently published another terrible op-ed, and Sirius was mid-flip through the paper to find it when a headline in the Society section caught his eye and nearly made him choke on his tea.
NARCISSA BLACK ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO LUCIUS MALFOY
The photograph underneath showed Narcissa looking unbearably smug. Her sleek blonde hair was twisted in some elaborate coif, and she was dressed in fine silk robes, embroidered with pale silver stars. Beside her stood Lucius Malfoy, a vision in green, tall and arrogant, a snarl of a smile on his face, one arm wrapped possessively around Narcissa's waist, the other resting imperiously on an intricately carved cane. Its head was a silver serpent with emerald eyes that glistened even through the photograph. Malfoy's robes oozed expense, and his hair was every bit as blonde and fine as his fiancée's. Sirius loathed him.
He skimmed the article with a scowl. It was one of those fluffy engagement pieces, pronouncing the upcoming nuptials, "the society wedding of the year," and talking about the beautiful, noble-blooded bride. He wasn't surprised by the engagement — everyone knew it was coming — but still, he felt irritated. Narcissa was going to be unbearable.
No wonder his mother was in such a foul mood. Though they unhappily saw rather a lot of each other, the Blacks were neither a close nor affectionate family. There was certainly no love lost between his mother Walburga and her sister-in-law Druella. Walburga resented both of her brothers who, despite being younger, surpassed her for inheritance by dint of their sex. It was stupid, but the Blacks, being an ancient family, followed ancient rules of inheritance: Walburga, first-born but female, would get nothing.
Thus it had been a bit of a coup d'état for his mother when Cygnus and Druella had produced only daughters — Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa — while Walburga provided the Blacks with two healthy sons, the eldest of which would inherit everything.
The Black fortune was once again in Walburga's grasping hands. That her son and heir was proving himself to be a failure and a blood traitor was awful enough, and now to watch the daughter of despised Druella make a perfectly respectable — nay, advantageous — marriage…it surely would be too much for Walburga to bear.
Maybe, if Sirius was very lucky, the shock of it would kill her.
Almost unwillingly, Sirius's gaze drifted back to the Slytherin table, just in time to see Regulus gather his things and head out the door.
"I'll meet you in class," said Sirius abruptly, and he marched off before James could protest.
The entrance hall clamored with the usual noise of morning routine, students hurrying to and fro, late for breakfast or scrambling off to finish an essay before class. As he swept through the hall, Sirius tried and failed to locate his brother. Surely he couldn't have run off so quickly…but then he saw him: Regulus was climbing the grand marble staircase with the haughty, bored Black expression he had perfected through years of practice. Sirius twitched his wand in his pocket and watched as Regulus's shoelaces disentangled themselves from the fastidious knots in which he kept them. As his brother knelt down to re-lace them, something Regulus made an exacting, arduous process, Sirius strutted over. "All right, Reg?"
Regulus stiffened, then straightened up and turned towards his older brother, his eyebrows arched, whether in disbelief or disdain, Sirius wasn't sure. "You're talking to me. In public."
"So?"
"You never talk to me in public."
Sirius frowned and dug his hands a little deeper in his pockets. "That's not true."
"Funny, this is the first time we've spoken since summer, and it's nearly Christmas."
"Well, we run in different circles, don't we?"
Regulus snorted. "That's putting it mildly. So what do you want?"
"Why do I have to want something? Can't I just stop and check in with my baby brother?"
Regulus grimaced, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk. Regulus hated being called that. "How many times do I have to remind you I'm only a year and a half younger than you?"
"Apparently a few more, baby brother."
"Shut up." His laces corrected, Regulus continued his ascent of the stairs. Sirius followed.
"Heard you made the Quidditch team," he said in a throw-away sort of tone.
"Yes."
"Didn't know you even cared about Quidditch."
Regulus eyed him warily for a moment then shrugged. "Cissy thought it would be good for me."
"Ah. Cissy thought. Good for you, or for your social standing?"
"Oh shut it, Sirius, I don't have to j-justify myself to you."
"But you do to Cissy."
Regulus flared. "At least she shows an interest."
"That's right. I forgot, you always needed external validation."
"Shut up, Sirius."
It was hard for Sirius not to antagonize his little brother these days. It hadn't always been this way. There had been a time when they'd been close, friends even. If not friends, then allies, united against the tyranny of their mad mother and cruel father. Back then, Sirius hadn't resented his brother. Little Reg, with his scrawny limbs and nervous hands and st-st-stammer that still occasionally came out when he was upset, despite all the specialists and spells their mother had subjected him too. Itty bitty baby Reg, who once reordered their library by size and color, who kept his peas and carrots divided by some invisible, uncrossable line, who was so intent and orderly, yet still managed to spill the decanter of wine over fresh table linens…the blossoming stain of red on white…the silence that preluded their mother's tempest of a temper. Little Reg hadn't been a threat, he'd been something to be protected. And Sirius had done that, the best he could.
Well, usually.
He tried to tell himself that Regulus merely towed the family line as a means of survival — hadn't he, Sirius, done it for years before? He tried to tell himself that it wasn't a betrayal, Reg's sudden ascent to favored son, that he, Sirius, didn't take it that way, and that most importantly, he didn't care one bloody way or the other…but the truth was, it stung to see Regulus sitting on the throne that had once been his, even if he'd willingly vacated the seat.
Sirius sighed. "Look, just be careful, all right? I don't want — you shouldn't get too mixed up with that lot. They're a bad sort."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "You know, most people say that you hang around a bad sort."
"Your definition of 'most people' begins and ends with mother, doesn't it?"
"At least I care about my family."
"Yeah. I know you do."
It was an awkward moment, the two brothers poised at the top of the staircase, ready to head in opposite directions, the air between them charged with years of unuttered words.
Regulus spoke first: "I guess you saw about Cissy."
"What, her betrothal to Lord Locks-of-Gold? Yeah. Read all about it. I can't believe she's marrying that ponce."
"I can," said Regulus. "They're p-perfect for each other. Just think of the money she'll save on hair potions."
Sirius let out a loud, surprised laugh. The lines of Regulus's frown un-bended and for a moment the boy looked almost pleased with himself.
"There'll be a big hullabaloo over the holiday, of course," continued Regulus. "Cissy wrote me, said she plans to double the Christmas party as an engagement celebration."
"She would. Why celebrate the birth of Christ when you could celebrate Narcissa and the fat new rock on her finger?"
"You'll have to be there, of course."
"Like hell I will. As a matter of fact, I haven't decided if I'm going home at all this year."
"Sirius, you have to." His brother's voice was suddenly grave, pleading. An echo of smashed crystal and books hurled across the foyer. "Please just come. Don't make this difficult."
Difficult. What an unsatisfactory word for what their family was.
"Please, Sirius."
He looked at the boy in front of him and for a moment, Regulus was 'baby brother' again. Something to be protected.
"Yeah, all right," said Sirius gruffly.
"You promise?" Regulus urged. "You promise you'll come home for the holiday?"
"I said all right!"
"Okay." Another uncomfortable pause. "Thanks."
Sirius grunted. "See you around, baby brother. And Reg?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't be an idiot."
As the week carried on, however, Sirius found himself regretting his promise to Regulus. The thought of boarding that train, of getting off in London, of locking himself in that madhouse again…it made him feel sick to his stomach. James, meanwhile, was blithely pestering him with reasons he should come to Potter House for the Christmas holiday.
"Mum always puts on a great show for Christmas dinner," James told him as they left Charms one afternoon, "and we can play snow Quidditch!"
"Snow Quidditch?"
"Yeah, it's like Quidditch, but with snowballs. It's great."
Sirius was spared the need to respond as Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald passed by and, curiously enough, James's attention was abruptly absorbed elsewhere.
"—and Florence said that Anson's been published three times in Charms Weekly!" Lily was saying to a slightly less enthusiastic Mary. "Three! Isn't that incredible?"
"Yeah…" agreed Mary, though she sounded rather bored.
The girls walked off, and Sirius was slightly amused to notice James scowling after them. "What's so impressive about that?" demanded James. "Publishing a paper. Anyone could do that. I could do that."
"Sure," agreed Sirius, trying not to smirk, "but you haven't."
James frowned at this, then shrugged and dove back into his crusade to get Sirius to come to Potter House. But it was pointless, and they both knew it. Sirius always went home for the Christmas holiday. He had to. If he didn't, there would be consequences.
Remus returned after the moon looking bedraggled and miserable, but the icy chill that permeated the castle at least gave him the excuse of wearing a thick, woolly scarf that obscured his freshly-scarred face. Full moon aside, Remus seemed to be running himself to exhaustion. He hardly had time to recover before he was off again, this time having been recruited with the rest of the prefects to decorate the twelve massive fir trees Hagrid had hauled into the Great Hall. Indeed, prefect duties seemed to be consuming all of his spare time. Between that and the swamp of O.W.L. homework with which they were increasingly saddled, his friend was nearly frantic.
"Blow it off," suggested Sirius.
"I can't. I missed patrol the other week, and Lily's had to cover for me too many times anyway."
"She can decorate a stupid tree by herself."
"But that's not fair."
So Remus, still looking like death on a bad day, scurried off to the Great Hall. James and Sirius hung behind in the common room, James attempting to walk Peter through the Animagus process yet again. Sirius felt unreasonably annoyed by everything: Peter's incompetence, James's cheerful persistence, the holly hung over the fireplace, the students around them all chattering about their holiday plans…
"Hi boys."
Sirius looked up to see Alodie strolling over, holding a fussily-wrapped box. He just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Anyone fancy a bonbon?" said Alodie, holding out the box. "My father sent them, but I'm trying not to eat sweets."
"Why not?" said James, and Alodie laughed as though he'd made some clever joke. Sirius suspected she was on a diet — Narcissa was always going on about this or that fad diet. The other boys helped themselves to the chocolates, but Sirius merely watched disdainfully.
Alodie, having bribed her way into the conversation, perched cheerfully on the arm of James's chair. Sirius supposed he ought to give her credit for perseverance, even in the face of such brutal obliviousness. "So, headed home for the holidays?" she asked.
"That's the plan," said James. He threw a glance at Sirius as he said this, which Sirius avoided by glowering into the fire.
Alodie went on: "I for one am looking forward to it. It'll be so nice to get out of the castle, won't it?"
"Yeah," muttered Sirius. "Whoop-de-fucking-doo."
Alodie eyed him curiously. "Don't you go home for Christmas? I thought your family had that big party every year."
James blinked in surprise at this comment, but Sirius merely grimaced. Alodie Blunt was what his cousins would call a 'pure-blood hanger-on.' She was pure-blood, allegedly, but she wasn't of old Wizarding stock, like Crouch or Gamp or Black, and she knew it. Her parents obviously cared about blood, name, and status, and so she'd been raised with an inferiority complex. It came as no surprise to him that someone like Alodie knew of and remembered the opulent celebration to which she would never be invited.
"Ah yes," said Sirius moodily. "The Annual Black Family Holiday Flagellation. I can hardly wait."
"You don't want to go?" pried Alodie.
"Whatever gave you that impression? I count the days."
Alodie looked as though she was going to interrogate further, but James, no doubt sensing danger, intervened. "You'll have to excuse Sirius. He's rather overdosed on Christmas spirit."
"It was all the bonbons," said Sirius.
"Okay…" said Alodie with an uncertain smile. "Well, I'll be off. You can have the rest of these if you like. I'll see you later, James."
"See you," said James obliviously.
She left, and Peter helped himself to another bonbon as James observed Sirius. "You know, you don't have to go to that Christmas party."
"Will you give it a rest?" snapped Sirius. "We both know I'm not going home with you for the holiday."
There was a pause, the only sound the rustling of bonbon wrappers as Peter glanced uncomfortably between James and Sirius.
"Why not?" said James in a quiet voice.
"Because I can't, all right?"
"Is it because it's my place and you're worried your family will freak out like they did this summer? Then I'll stay here. We can both stay here. Christmas at Hogwarts is always a lark, yeah?"
"Don't be stupid. It's not — I have to be there. That's the whole bloody problem."
"But why?"
"It's complicated. Just drop it, okay?"
Sirius stood abruptly and stormed off to the dormitory, knocking the box of bonbons off the arm of the chair as he went, leaving James and Peter and their bewildered expressions behind, chocolates spilled haphazardly across the common room floor.
Sirius flopped himself down face-first onto his bed in the dormitory. He punched the pillow a few times before finally resting his forehead on his fists, breathing heavily, trying to get control of the rage that had been seeping through him the last few days.
Then came the thud of footsteps on stairs and the door creaked open. He looked up to see James enter. "What a surprise," Sirius muttered.
James ignored this comment and leaned against the post of the bed, observing him with a somber expression that Sirius recognized. It meant James wanted to have a 'talk' about something he had deemed 'important,' and there was no stopping him when he got like that.
"I don't understand you," said James. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You hate it there, you hate it. Just the thought of going back is turning you into a different person, so why go if you don't have to?"
"Because I do have to."
"No, you don't! That the whole point! You're making yourself miserable over nothing!"
"I told you to drop it, James."
"And I ignored you. Why are you torturing yourself?"
Sirius scowled at the wall. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing it looks like you're determined to be a martyr for no good reason."
"You don't know my family, okay?" Sirius's voice, against his wishes, grew louder, angrier. "If I don't go, it will blow up into a whole…thing."
"So?" said James. "Who cares? You won't be there to deal with it!"
"Yeah, but Reg will!"
The words were wrenched from him, desperate and angry. They hung in the air between the two boys like something dirty, something unspoken that should have remained so. They never talked about Regulus. Sirius had made it clear when his brother started his first year at Hogwarts that James — and by extension Remus and Peter — were to have nothing to do with him. No talking, no pranking…nothing.
James was watching him with a confused expression that inexplicably stoked Sirius's fury. James had always liked to call Sirius the brother he never had, but that was a problem — because Sirius already had a brother. And maybe James couldn't understand it, but Sirius had an obligation to Regulus.
"Like it or not," snarled Sirius, his temper getting the better of him yet again, "he's my brother — not you. And I promised him, so you can just fuck off about this, all right?"
Sirius regretted these words as soon as they spilled out, but he couldn't take them back because they were true. James merely blinked, a look of hurt on his face that would keep Sirius awake for nights to come.
"Fine," said James, and he walked out of the dormitory without another word, leaving Sirius alone with his fury.