Restraint

Sirius

At Hogwarts, most kids enjoyed getting messages or presents from their families. Not me. Apart from last year's Christmas present – a pair of socks and a daunting spellbook on dueling – my parents hadn't sent me anything since they'd blown up on me for being Sorted into Gryffindor. By second year, I'd gotten far more messages and care packages from James's parents than my own. I thought I'd situated myself at a safe distance from the hurricane of disapproval and wrath otherwise known as my mother.

That's why the sight of my family's snowy owl tapping her beak on my bedroom window one blustery December morning made me feel sick to my stomach. It was like I'd been selected for a draft. The message was all business, straightforward and stiff: I would be coming home for the winter holidays this year, or I could kiss my summer privileges goodbye. Last year, I'd stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays. Evidently, that hadn't sat well with my mother.

I didn't really understand her thought process. During my first summer back from school, my mother had permitted me to meet up with my "degenerate" friends every week or two. She'd even dropped me off at their houses a few times, though she always acted like she was venturing into a sewer. I'd assumed she'd done it out of desperation to be rid of me. I would've bet that she only wanted me home for Christmas to show the rest of the family that I was still alive.

Regardless of my mother's motive, those shining moments with my friends had sustained me through three months of misery and boredom. I couldn't bear the thought of losing them. So, if the price of freedom was to sit in an uncomfortable chair in uncomfortable dress robes and make small talk with my aunts, uncles, cousins, and uppity family-friends at our annual Christmas Eve party, I supposed I could manage that. It was only one night.

A makeover was not part of the deal.

I liked to think the whole pre-dinner episode was Regulus's fault. I'd done a good job of ignoring my family until he decided to test my patience. It was around three in the afternoon on Christmas Eve when the git waltzed into my bedroom, leaned against the doorframe, and said, "I hope you realize you have to socialize like a normal human in a few hours."

I shot him a glare from where I stood on my bed, magically sticking posters to my wall like a conductor and his orchestra. "Merry Christmas to you too."

My brother raised his eyebrows as he took in my new décor. "I see you've done some more redecorating." He paused to frown at a recent addition: a poster of a blonde in a polka dotted swimsuit. "Why isn't she moving?" When the realization hit him, he sighed.

I feigned an innocent tone. "What? You don't like it?"

His dark eyes combed over the red and gold Gryffindor tapestries, intermingled with Quidditch banners, posters of Muggle models, and Muggle magazine clippings of motorcycles, hot rods, and biplanes. "I can't say I appreciate the color palette. And I think those women are a bit old for you, among other obvious issues."

His weary tone reminded me of all the times Remus tried to warn James and I not to do something stupid, even though he knew we'd do it anyway. The thought made me smile. That was one thing that made my brother more tolerable than my parents: he'd given up on changing me.

"I'm thirteen, Reg. They're probably twenty-something. In about ten years, that age gap wouldn't matter."

"Are you planning on informing Mother that you're attracted to Muggles?" He asked uneasily.

I shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I'll drop a hint at dinner tonight."

His eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"What's the big deal? I'm not only attracted to Muggles – and you'll carry on the family name once you marry a pureblood." Regulus sighed again. Ignoring him, I put up the last Gryffindor banner and paused to assess my design. His intent gaze made it hard to focus, but I was determined not to take his bait.

"Andromeda's not coming tonight."

That announcement launched my stubborn ignorance out the window. Watching Drom snap at her snobbish sisters was one of the only good things about attending family dinners – apart from sharing whispered inappropriate jokes with my Uncle Alphard. "Why not?" I demanded.

"Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella cut her off."

He might as well have doused me in ice water. Numbly, I stepped down from my bed.

"She married a Muggleborn and got pregnant," Regulus went on, crinkling his nose. "Some Hufflepuff boy from school. Mother got the letter from Druella a few days ago. She's already burned her name off the tapestry." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "You'd have known if you ever left your room."

His jab only added to my resentment. "So where is she now?" I asked snippily. "Or are we all supposed to pretend she doesn't exist?"

"Who cares? She's probably living with her Mudblood husband."

"You should care because she's the only sane cousin you have! And if you say 'Mudblood' again, I'll make you eat slugs."

Regulus seemed annoyed that I was getting so worked up – as if our cousin and her future family weren't worth the energy. "Is this the hill you want to die on?" He asked blandly. I scowled harder, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, whatever. Don't take it out on the messenger. I just figured I'd let you know before dinner, so it didn't come as a shock. You're welcome."

"You're only doing this so I won't embarrass you by bringing it up in front of everyone," I grumbled. He shrugged, and I sighed. "Is there anything else I should know, messenger?"

"Uncle Alphard's recovering from Spattergroit, and Bellatrix is bringing her husband."

I hoped this was a cruel joke. "We traded Alphard for Rodolphus? You're kidding, right?" Regulus grimaced a little, and I cursed under my breath. I was starting to wish I'd taken my chances with Mum and gone straight from Kings Cross to James's house for the holidays. "Is Narcissa is bringing that Malfoy prat again too?"

Regulus frowned and said, "Lucius isn't that bad," which meant yes.

I groaned and started softly hitting my head against my bedpost. I was seriously considering knocking myself out just to have an excuse to stay in my room.

My brother smiled wryly as he watched me. "Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?"

"Easy for you to say. They like you."

"Why don't you try being more likable, then?"

I might've smacked that smug smirk off his face if he was standing closer to me. "I'm plenty likable," I growled. "They're the ones with the problem!"

He put on a look of realization. "Ah. Is that why you usually end up storming off to your room halfway through dinner?

Hot rage raced through me like wildfire. "Yes, actually – because I'd rather not be a kiss-arse like you!"

He snorted, looking smug. "Oh, please, Sirius. I don't need to kiss up to them, because you do the exact opposite at every turn. Just look at your room! I could've been in Hufflepuff, and they would still like me better."

"Expelliarmus!"

Regulus flinched as his wand flew out of his pocket and into my outstretched hand. I pointed it at his head and whirled it in a motion I remembered from messing with my friends. With no flash or indication of magic, the nonverbal incantation turned his hair fuchsia. With his confused look and his neatly combed pink hair, my brother looked hilariously out of character. I laughed, proud of myself. Then I pointed his wand at myself and performed the same spell.

Regulus watched in horror as my hair turned pink. His hands darted to his head, like he could feel the new color. "What did you do?"

Smirking, I tossed his wand back to him. "I didn't do anything. You cast that spell with your wand. Too bad it backfired on you. Looks like we'll both have to go to dinner like this."

His voice went as low and dangerous as a twelve-year-old could manage. "Change it back."

"That's not a very polite way to ask."

"I'll tell Mother," he threatened.

I rolled my eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure, you will." Regulus hated involving our mother in our disputes just as much as I did. Regardless of who got punished (though it was usually me), the outcome was never pleasant. It typically involved lots of screaming or hitting – sometimes both.

He balled his hands into fists. "I mean it, Sirius! Change it back!"

I pretended to consider it. "No, I'd rather savor this. Stop acting like a prat, and I'll fix it before dinner."

BANG.

A purple flash from Regulus's wand threw me to the floor, and Sickle-sized boils popped up all over my arms. Almost at once, our mother's shrill voice echoed down the hall: "What are you doing in there?" She sounded much too close for comfort.

I dropped my wand onto the carpet between us. "Wow, Reg. Hexing your brother while he's unarmed? That's low."

Regulus's eyes widened with fear. Then he chuckled darkly. "You think she'll believe your word over mine?"

"It is Christmas Eve! I will not have you two fighting when—" As our mother thundered into my doorway, she seemed to lose her train of thought. My heart flipped as she took in the new Gryffindor banners and Muggle posters. Awful timing. Her furious eyes homed in on me, but confusion twisted her expression. She scanned over the scene: me sitting unarmed on the floor, and Regulus standing with his wand pointed at me, both of us sporting bright pink hair.

"Kitchen. Now."

I picked up my wand and followed her downstairs, already regretting my decision. In my eagerness to get back at my brother, I hadn't considered the risk of getting myself into far worse trouble than him. If my backup plan worked, he'd probably just get a slap on the wrist or a scolding, but if our mother found out what I was up to...

I held back a tense sigh. It'd be a miracle if this goes in my favor.

When we reached the kitchen, our mother turned those deadly eyes on us again. Regulus and I stared back, silent and stiff. It seemed neither of us wanted to test our luck.

"Explain."

"He used my wand—"

"He's lying, he tried to—"

With a swish of her wand, Mum used the Silencing Charm on me...and only me. I scowled as Regulus smirked, but Mum's stern look wiped his haughtiness away. He explained, "He took my wand and used it to make our hair pink. He's trying to pass it off like I did it."

I shook my head and glared, silently arguing my point. Mum locked eyes with me, held out her hand, and commanded, "Wand." I stared at her blankly. She raised her eyebrows in a threatening way: Do you want to make this worse for yourself?

My last shred of hope crumbled, and I gave up my wand. As I'd expected, my mother knew the Reverse Spell; I'd seen it used a few times when I'd broken rules at Hogwarts. But I'd really hoped she would've used it on Regulus's wand – or both of our wands, for that matter.

"Prior Incantato," she murmured, and my wand emitted an echo of the last spell it'd cast: the red flash of the Disarming Charm.

By the cold look in my mother's eyes, I knew that the case was closed – and I was dead. A small, annoying part of me told me it was my fault, but a much larger part of me was angry. My mother had seen Regulus pointing his wand at me, listened to him, and then made her conclusion without even hearing me out. Meanwhile, Regulus got away with ticking me off and hexing me like it was nothing. If he'd been framing me, I would've been furious. As a matter of fact, I was still furious. It was completely unfair!

Mum vanished the boils from Regulus's curse. Then she tried to remove the pink from our hair without success. Her eyes widened, and she tried again. The outrageous color remained. I put on a politely confused face, but she didn't buy it. She unsilenced me and returned my wand.

"Fix this, or you'll be sitting through dinner with no hair at all."

I mirrored her glare as I gauged the weight of her threat. Would she be more mortified to have a son with pink hair or no hair? Her dark eyes were a little too manic for my liking. Reluctantly, I reversed my spell. Regulus let out a breath of relief as his hair (and mine) turned black again. Then Mum smiled – which unnerved me a lot more than her anger.

"Petrificus Totalus."

Her spell gripped me with paralysis. Panic made my heart pound against my ribs like a caged animal trying to escape. I didn't blame it. Being paralyzed at the hands of my outraged mother was near the top of my list of worst possible situations to be in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Regulus grinning victoriously – but his expression morphed to horror as Mum summoned a flat-bladed knife from the kitchen. I was horrified too, but for a different reason. I had a sickening idea of where this was going, and I'd rather have had whatever Hitchcockesque punishment my brother was picturing, if it was anything short of murder. I yelled profanities in my mind and tried with all my might to move, but it was no use.

"Mother," Regulus said in a small voice. "He changed it back. You don't need to..." He drifted off as he realized what she was doing. "Oh." He seemed strewn between shock and dread, like he understood the wrath that our mother was about to invoke.

"Quiet, Regulus," she told him, still wearing that disturbing little smile. "I've wanted to do this for years."

Get away from me! I shouted, but my mouth remained clamped shut, and no sound came out. I tried to convey my hatred with my eyes (the only part of me I could move), but my mother seemed immune. That figures, I thought cynically. It's like trying to fight a dumpster fire with a candle.

She started to slice off my hair, using the blade and Diffindo interchangeably. Her face was unpleasantly close to mine, and chills rippled through me every time her icy fingers brushed against my scalp. That went on for ten agonizing minutes, until she took a step back and vanished the hair that had fallen to my feet – leaving only a quarter of that length for my head. She smiled again as she examined her work. "You look just like your father – and you should be proud of that."

My father approves of mass killings, disappears for days at a time, and doesn't give a damn about me! He's a horrible man and an even worse father!

Fortunately, my vocal cords were still frozen, or that knife might have been going through my neck.

"Come with me, Regulus. I could use your help preparing the dining room."

My mother placed my wand on the kitchen counter and left without another word. Evidently, she intended on leaving me stranded there until the paralysis wore off – as if the compulsory haircut wasn't enough.

Regulus hesitated. With a furtive glance at the dining room door, he picked up my wand and pointed it at me. I half-suspected he was going to hex me again, just to add salt to the wound. Then I noticed the discomfort in his dark eyes. "I'm going to let you go," he whispered. "If she asks, I'm telling her you recovered enough to reach your wand and free yourself, and you're going to go along with that story. You're also going to go to your room, quietly, and not yell or smash anything for the rest of the night."

Of course, all kindness in this house came with a price.

"Finite Incantatum."

I staggered a little as I regained the use of my legs.

The dining room went quiet. "Regulus?"

"Coming, Mother."

My brother left my wand on the table as he slipped through the door. I collected it with shaky hands and snuck up the stairs to my room. That much, I could do. As for the part about not smashing anything...that didn't work out so well.

I locked my door and paced around my bedroom in a violent whirlwind. Young children's magic tended to respond to strong emotion – and mine was currently tearing posters from my walls and throttling my curtains. I stopped to take a shaky breath, and the ruckus ceased.

There was no way I was going to confront the rest of my family at dinner looking like this. I'd been refusing to let my parents cut my hair since I was nine, and I'd grown fond of keeping it at least three times as long and twice as untidy as my male relatives. My appearance was the only thing besides my bedroom that I had some semblance of control over in this house, and I would not let that be taken from me...especially since I was going back to Hogwarts in less than two weeks.

I tried to wandlessly channel my magic into something more productive, like fixing my hair. A quick examination with my hands told me that failed. I cursed my prank-based spell knowledge; I knew how to change hair color or turn it into wings that lifted its owner into the air, but nothing to grow it. Asking for my help from my family was out of the question, especially with Drom and Alphard not coming tonight. There was only one other person who I could turn to on such short notice, and I really didn't want him to see me like this.

It took a few more minutes of pacing for me to admit defeat. I pulled the two-way mirror out of my dresser – and I made the mistake of looking at my own reflection. The sight was like a stab in the gut. My mother was right: I did look just like my father. In a detached way, I knew the short haircut could've been much worse, but it was exactly the sort of traditional, militaristic style that my folks would approve of. I looked more like my father than I looked like myself.

Disturbed, I mussed my hair to make it as unkempt as possible, but there wasn't much to work with. Then I sighed and muttered into the mirror, "James Potter."

Like always, James answered in a few seconds. Unlike always, his jaw dropped. He looked appalled.

I started before he could say anything: "Do you know how I can grow my hair out in three hours or less? Preferably less."

One thing I loved about my best mate was his talent for reading a room. He understood my urgency and wasted no time asking unnecessary questions. "I can ask my parents. Give me a second."

He returned to the mirror a minute later, wearing a determined frown. "My mum knows a spell, but she said it's complicated and can have nasty side effects if it's not done right. It's also more difficult to perform on yourself than on someone else. But there's good news: a few weeks ago, she bought this magical product that's supposed to make your hair grow when you use it in the shower."

"That's great, but I don't see how that helps me," I said tiredly. "I live in a Muggle neighborhood. I'd have to walk to a place that sells it, and the nearest store is probably in Diagon Alley. Even if I could jog there and back in time, I'd still have to shower and be ready for dinner—"

"Yeah, duh. That's why I'm delivering it to you," James cut me off cheerily.

"What?"

"I have the stuff, a broom, an invisibility cloak, and your address. I think that covers it."

I shook my head, vaguely frustrated at the lack of hair hanging in my face. "We've talked about this. You can't just show up at my house. My parents are weird about who's allowed here. If they see you—"

"I seem to remember a clause in that conversation about emergencies. No offense, mate, but this looks like an emergency to me. Besides, you can't stop me. I'm already on my way out."

James knew exactly how to argue with me, but I still didn't want him getting grounded on Christmas Eve because of me. "I know your parents aren't as strict as mine, but I can't imagine they'd want you flying your broom into the middle of London in broad daylight, cloak or no cloak."

His voice took on a falsely innocent tone that I knew and loved. "I may have told them that I was the one trying to grow my hair out, and I may have left the water running in the shower."

I started to smile. "Let me guess: you also may have gotten your broom and climbed out the bathroom window?"

James gave me that lopsided mischievous grin. "I'll be back before they even notice I'm gone."

I shook my head, but I couldn't hold back an identical grin. "Have I ever told you that you're brilliant?"

His hazel eyes gleamed. "You could say it more often. Any instructions for me?"

"My window is the one on the top left. Knock and I'll let you in. Keep the cloak on until you get inside."

"Got it. See you in a few minutes."

"Thanks, mate. I owe you one."

His face vanished from the mirror…and for the briefest moment, I was smiling at my reflection.

About six minutes later, there was a quiet rap on the glass. I jumped up from my bed, double-checked that my door was locked, and opened my window to a rush of cold air. With a soft thump and a flicker of movement, James climbed through. I shut the window as he pulled off the invisibility cloak and dismounted his broom. My best mate was buried beneath a heavy winter cloak, gloves, and a Gryffindor scarf. His schoolbag was slung over his shoulder. He pulled his scarf down to reveal an amused smile. "Hi there, stranger."

"Is it that bad?"

"I probably would've punched you if you'd looked like that when we first met."

I snorted. "You almost punched me anyway! You're telling me it was my hair that stopped you?"

"I dunno, maybe," James joked as he dug a small green bottle out of his schoolbag and handed it to me. Then he blinked and looked around. "Oh, wow! I love what you've done with the place! It's like Godric Gryffindor and Marilyn Monroe went to a Quidditch game together! Has your mum seen it?"

I shrugged casually. "She's given it a passing glance. She didn't appreciate it much."

He walked around the room in a slow circle, beaming as he took in the entire red-and-gold explosion. "Well, it's a shame she doesn't know art when she sees it."

I wanted to hug him or beg him to stay for dinner. Instead, I took a breath and said, "You should go. If my mum catches you here, she might change her mind about letting me visit you in the summer." James considered me with a frown. "Don't worry," I insisted, smiling and brandishing the bottle he'd given me. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see me looking like myself at dinner."

He didn't smile back. "She did this to you?" He asked uneasily. I heard the real questions behind that – the how and why.

His suspicion was reasonable, but I rolled my eyes at him like it wasn't. "It's not a crime, mate. That's what mothers do. Your mum cuts your hair." When his expression didn't change, I mustered a weary smile. "James, go. I'll be fine."

"Solemnly swear it?"

My friends and I typically used that phrase lightheartedly, but James's sober tone made him seem a decade older, like a father concerned about his kid. (At least, that's how I imagined a concerned father should sound.)

I put a hand over my heart. "I solemnly swear it – so quit worrying about me."

"Somebody has to do it."

I marched him back to my window. "Then let me return the favor. You need to get home before your parents find out you've been flying around London."

"Wanna come back with me?" James suggested as he mounted his broom.

"Of course, I want to, but—"

His face lit up. "Then let's go!"

"—I can't, James. First off, that defeats the purpose of you sneaking out. Plus, it's Christmas Eve."

"So?"

"I'm not going to barge in on your family's holiday. Besides, if I skip dinner tonight, Mum will ground me for the rest of break and then some. That's kind of the whole reason I'm here, remember?"

James pouted. "You wouldn't be barging in on my holiday. You'd be enhancing it. And your mum can't ground you if you aren't home anyway."

I was tempted, but my summer privileges were on the line. "Sorry, mate. You'll have to enhance it yourself."

"Is there any chance you can come over tomorrow or Boxing Day?"

I pondered that. "I'm sure I could convince Mum to let me leave for Boxing Day," I decided.

That seemed to cheer him up. "Hopefully by that time you'll look like you again. Let me know if that stuff works."

I gave him a salute. "James Potter, you're a lifesaver."

He mirrored my gesture with an impish smile. "Don't mention it, mate. Good luck with your folks."

I opened the curtains for him, and he tossed the cloak over himself. With a rush of wind, he was gone. I felt a pang of sorrow as I closed the window, but it was washed away by the thought of spending a part of my holidays with the Potters. In fact, I was practically skipping to the shower afterward, plotting my escape. I was sure I could bribe my mother into letting me leave on Boxing Day. It wasn't like she enjoyed having me here anyway. It would be a win-win for everyone involved.

...But I would not be showing up to dinner looking like a carbon copy of my father.

As I felt the conditioner take effect under the hot water, I made two promises to myself. First, I vowed to make it through the rest of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day without any more incidents – whatever it took to convince my mother to let me spend Boxing Day with the Potters. And after that, I would learn that hair-growth spell from James's mum, no matter how tricky it was.

When I finally wiped the steam off the mirror ten minutes later, I laughed. My hair fell all the way to my stomach in a black sheet. I looked like a pint-sized member of a heavy metal band. I was tempted to keep it like that just to annoy my mum, but I decided against it. A few careful Diffindos left my damp hair hanging just below my shoulders. I sighed in relief at my reflection. Then I scowled stubbornly at myself.

"All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and act proper for a few hours, and you get to see James. You can do this."

That grim pep talk was still floating around in my head as I returned to my room and put on the outfit that I knew I would be forced to wear anyway: a set of stuffy black dress robes, because who wanted to dress colorfully on a holiday? Then I marched downstairs and found my mother and brother still in the dining room, bustling around with cleaning spells and table settings. They'd put up some sparse and classy Christmas decorations – nothing too cheerful. The house elf, Kreacher, was tending to the food.

Regulus looked up when I entered. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, like he was going to ask how my hair had come back or why I'd willingly dressed myself like Wednesday Addams. I raised my eyebrows in warning, and he closed his mouth and went back to setting the table. At least one other person in this house had some sense.

I summoned my most polite tone. "Is there anything I can help with, Mother?"

Regulus flinched and almost fumbled an expensive-looking wine glass, and Mum stared at me like I was some alien who had just strolled into her house. Ordinarily, I might've laughed at their reactions, but this time I just stood there with that calm, haughty look plastered on my face. I would never be the son my mother wanted, but I could be a damn good actor when I needed to be.

My mother narrowed her eyes at me like she knew I was up to something. Fortunately, her tone was civil – and she didn't mention my hair at all. "You can take over for Regulus while he gets dressed."

I resisted a smirk at Regulus's disgruntled look. He abandoned the table settings to go put on his own uncomfortable clothes, and I resumed where he left off. I finished his chores silently and efficiently, but I knew this was the easy part. Keeping my cool was going to be a lot harder once the rest of the family arrived, especially after the Andromeda incident. I could only imagine the Muggle slander and not-so-subtle comparisons that would be flying around tonight.

I was just lighting the candles in the chandeliers and along the table when the grandfather clock chimed six. Thirty minutes to ignition.

"Sirius."

I looked up at my mother. With her pale skin, shimmery red dress, and calculating eyes, she looked very much like a vampire. The thought made me feel a little better about taking after my absent father, who was 'away on business' until later tonight. (Thank Merlin for small mercies.) I maintained the same unassuming air as before. "Yes, Mother?"

"What do you want from me?"

I blinked at her innocently, but her suspicious gaze didn't waver. "I want to go to James's house for Boxing Day," I admitted.

"Is that all?"

I hesitated. "Christmas Day too."

She raised her eyebrows, and I thought I'd gone too far. Then she said, "Keep this up until dinner is over, and the Potters can have you for the rest of your break.

My heart jumped for joy, but I forced my face to stay calm. "Deal."

"I expect you to be quiet and polite," she emphasized. "Not a toe out of line."

I nodded. Anything to get away from this place.

I'd never realized how heavily I relied on sarcasm as an outlet.

As the night dragged on, I felt more and more like a ticking time bomb. If not for that deal with my mum, I might've stabbed several people with my fork before we'd even started eating. Sadly, the only ones in range of my violent fantasies were Regulus on my right and Lucius Malfoy on my left. Regulus was an angel compared to the rest of my family – or maybe I was just used to his brand of superiority. And as much as I'd have liked to stab Malfoy for making one too many snobby remarks, I figured my mother would consider attacking a guest even more impolite than attacking a family member.

I'd already held back a whopping thirty-two sarcastic responses by the time Kreacher had brought out dessert. Whenever I was tempted to let out a particularly snarky comment, I pictured packing my trunk and heading to James's place, and I put on a condescending smile or took a long sip of my water.

By the time the clock chimed seven, I was starting to wish I was drinking was something stronger.

As Kreacher cleared away the dessert plates, my cousin Bellatrix spoke up, with the air of someone cheerfully prodding a sleeping bear: "Are we going to address the elephant in the room?"

To my displeasure, she had seated herself directly across from me, and she was watching me intently with a sadistic smile. Her wild black curls were done up for the occasion, but the disturbing glow in her dark eyes was as untamed as ever. I tore my eyes away from her and fixed them on my empty glass, racking my brain for a lie that would explain my new behavior.

"What are you referring to, dear?" My mother asked in a honeyed tone.

"We're short a few people this year," Bellatrix pointed out airily. "My sister, for one."

I froze. Oh. That elephant...

I glanced up from my glass to see my oldest cousin's malevolent gaze still on me. I realized that she didn't enjoy this topic any more than the rest of them; she was doing this to test me. I tried not to let her get to me, but it wasn't easy. She might as well have been kicking me under the table and asking repeatedly, "Can you feel that? Did that hurt?"

"Your sister is right here," my aunt Druella said simply, raising her eyebrows at the blond woman across the table. Narcissa was sitting next to Malfoy and watching Bellatrix with a sort of resigned unease, the way a babysitter would watch a child who was about to throw a fit.

"I was referring to my other sister," Bellatrix went on callously. "The one who ran off with that Mudblood, the Tonks boy. Can you believe she's gotten herself pregnant? What a disaster! I'll have a few choice hexes for her if I ever see her again, the filthy blood-traitor."

I felt anger ripple across my face. I'll have a few choice hexes for you if you don't shut your mouth! I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath, forcing a disinterested expression. Thirty-three.

"Bella," my aunt warned. "Do not speak of her anymore."

Bellatrix's tone turned sickeningly sweet. "It's not your fault, Mother. Every parent has at least one screw-up." Her eyes drifted deliberately to me.

It must be tough having two, I almost said. I bit my tongue, hard. Thirty-four.

"That's harsh," Regulus replied for me. "I can't help that Professor Slughorn hasn't given me perfect marks. I swear, he has it out for me."

I was so surprised by my brother's joke that I forgot to be irritated. Bellatrix frowned at him like she was wondering if he was arguing with her. I thought I understood his motive a little better. Regulus might enjoy getting on my nerves every now and then, but he wasn't a big fan of conflict. The way I understood it, he would only do things that were out of his comfort zone – like lying to Mum or sticking up for me – if he thought it would make his life more peaceful.

Most people would've taken Regulus's bait and changed the topic, but Bellatrix was another breed of psycho. "I was referring to your brother," she said tartly, undeterred from her mission. The air in the room seemed to solidify. Everyone within three seats of us stiffened like they sensed a storm coming.

"Oh, were you?" I tried for innocent curiosity, but a hint of sarcasm leaked out.

She examined me with narrowed eyes. "You've been unusually quiet tonight, Siri. I expected you to have said something obnoxious or run off to your room by now."

Not trusting myself to meet her eyes, I stared at her forehead and shrugged. "Must be a full moon."

Her malicious grin slowly returned, reminding me of a predator that had just cornered its prey. "This little act of yours is adorable, but it would be much more fun if you threw yourself across the table at me like you so clearly want to."

As I dug my fingernails into my chair to restrain myself, I recalled a myth that Remus had told me about. Some poor bloke's eternal punishment was to roll a huge boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down every time he was about to reach the top, no matter how hard he tried. I could relate. Getting along with my family was my pain-in-the-arse boulder, and I was so close to the top of the hill. But it was only a matter of time before I ran out of energy. Soon, my temper would get the best of me, and I'd be right back where I started. It made me wonder why I even bothered.

James, I reminded myself. Do it for James.

Bellatrix's eyes glittered, like she knew I was about to snap. I stared back at her as mildly as I could, determined not to let her win.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She laughed. My uncle Cygnus gave her a stern look. "That's enough, Bella."

She shrugged off her father's anger and waited until her parents were deep in conversation with some pompous pureblood from France who was new on my parents' guestlist this year. (A relative? A dignitary? Some rich bloke from the Ministry? I couldn't care less.) I tried to focus on my mother, who was smiling and laughing – a rare display of emotion for her – with one of her equally uppity friends from Hogwarts. Then Bellatrix leaned in and murmured, "What did she bribe you with? Money? A broom? Some time away from her?"

I did my best to ignore her, but evidently something in my expression indicated the answer.

She started to grin again. "I bet you can't wait for tonight to be over. Are you going to visit your blood-traitor friends for Christmas? Or maybe you have a Mudblood girlfriend you're going to run away with?"

That sounds a hell of a lot better than this, I wanted to say, but I continued watching my smiling mother like I was deaf to her mocking. Do it for James, I chanted over my pulse pounding in my ears.

"I know you're planning on being the next one off the tapestry, just like my failure of a sister," she jeered with relish. "You like her, don't you? Do you miss her, little Siri? Do you miss dear Andromeda?"

Evidently, thirty-five was my limit.

I opened my mouth to not-so-politely ask her to shut the hell up when Narcissa, of all people, came to my rescue. "Bella," she chided. "He's being well-mannered for once. Stop pestering him."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at her sister, lazily swirling the wine in her glass. "Don't pretend that he's changed. Give him a few years, and he'll be following in that bitch's footsteps."

There was sudden crash and a shriek. Everyone at the table jolted and turned to Bellatrix, whose eyes had gone wide. I watched, happily surprised, as she picked a shard of her broken wine glass out of her hair. The dark red drink had exploded all over her face and her gold dress, making her look even more like a serial killer than usual. Seeing that affronted expression on her wine-spattered face was the highlight of my night – and maybe even my year.

When she got over her shock, Bellatrix shot me a hostile glare. "You!" She growled, jumping up from her chair.

From that point on, the typical chaos ensued.

Defiance shattered my composure. I leaped to my feet and glared back. "I wasn't even looking at you!"

"You were pointing your wand at me under the table!"

"I was not!"

"Let's see your last spell, then!"

I hesitated. Innocent or not, I wasn't eager to give up my only means of defense with Bellatrix looking ready to murder me.

Thankfully, I didn't need to. Before I could decide whether to confidently hand her my wand or tell her to piss off, Regulus blurted, "It was me!" He winced as both family members and dignitaries ogled him in disbelief. "I was just staring at her glass," he explained timidly, blushing. "My magic must have acted on its own. I didn't mean to—" He clammed up when he saw Mum's furious expression. "S-sorry. I'll fetch a towel," he yelped, and he rushed out of the room.

I gaped at him as he left. I wasn't sure what surprised me more: the action or the confession.

Slowly, I sank into my chair as my shame-faced brother returned and handed Bellatrix a dry dish towel. As my cousin wiped her face and our guests started chuckling about the joys of juvenile magic, something so strange happened that I wondered if I was imagining it: Regulus smirked. I was so astonished that it took me a second to realize my mouth was open again. As I tried to cover up my surprise, I wondered if acting skills ran in the family. Did he deliberately shut her down and play it off as an accident? That seems like the Slytherin thing to do...and he knows as well as I do that Mum won't stay mad at him.

A warm rush of pride coursed through me, and I had to fight a smirk of my own. I would've bet that my brother's "accident" had nothing to do with defending me and everything to do with keeping the peace, but that didn't stop my mind from raising a cheer.

At the very least, it seemed like I wasn't the only one who was sick of Bellatrix's shit.

I had to give Regulus credit: his distraction helped immensely. Bellatrix was subdued for the rest of the night, and I somehow got through it without a single angry outburst.

When I returned to the sanctuary (or prison, rather) of my bedroom, I stripped off my dress robes and collapsed onto my bed in relief. Then I remembered my cousin's spiteful eyes, and all my pent-up anger rushed back. I felt disgusted with myself for not snapping at her even once. She deserved so much worse than having her drink explode.

I shoved my face into my pillows and screamed as loud as I could. That made me feel a little better. It also made me feel exhausted. I groaned and rolled over to stare at my ceiling. Why is my family such a train wreck?

At least Reg isn't half bad, a little voice tried to comfort me. I smiled at the memory of Bellatrix's expression when her glass had shattered. I was glad I'd decided to buy a decent Christmas present for Regulus this year. Admittedly, the Sneakoscope was intended to be a joke, like all my recent presents for him. I figured he could use it now that he was at school, since he'd be constantly around a bunch of untrustworthy Slytherins. I'd laughed at the idea, thinking the anti-trickery device would be going off like mad even when he was alone. But now that I thought about it, unless his self-preservation was involved, Regulus wasn't much of a liar.

Maybe it'll come in handy after all. He can see who his real friends are.

That grim thought was derailed when I noticed the familiar glow coming from my nightstand. Still lying flat on my bed, I picked up the two-way mirror, and James face appeared. He brightened at the sight of me. "Your hair is back!"

I chuckled. After that horrendous dinner, the hair catastrophe felt like a week ago. "I left it a bit longer than usual," I said with a wink, and he laughed. Then he sobered up and watched my eyes.

"How did dinner go?"

I tried to reign in my sarcasm and failed miserably. "How do you think?" James's worried frown reappeared, but I was out of energy to sugarcoat. "I'm never doing that again. I mean it. I don't care what Mum threatens me with. I'd rather sneak out all summer or leave this place for good than put up with that."

James didn't seem opposed to that. "Are you coming over for the holidays?" He asked hopefully.

"I can come for tomorrow, if you want. Mum said I could stay with you until we go back to school."

He reacted like he'd just won the lottery. "No way! She really said that? That's—that's great! When are you leaving?"

I couldn't help but smile at his excitement. "As soon as possible."

That big grin on his face almost made it all worth it. At least someone enjoyed having me around.