Part One
Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place number twelve had become an annual practice. Ritual, more than anything. A tradition, strongly valued by those who attended each year, and anticipated with the greatest of interest and careful preparation.
Marius Malfoy had spoken to his wife, earlier this evening, in the light of the upcoming event, which, as usual, was to take place at Perseus and Gladia Black's place of residence with three or possibly four families assembled under one roof. Though, of course, strictly speaking they were all one family. One big, wholesome, slightly disgruntled family. Disgruntled because of current political affairs, naturally. And because of Albus Dumbledore's promotion from the greatest amateur nuisance for the Ministry to Headmaster of Hogwarts. Not really much of an improvement, if one thought about it, but Marius could not help thinking that, if Dumbledore had a whole school under his wings, he might actually stop poking his crooked nose into all kinds of things that really were none of his business. Such as the Manticore matter, for example. Or the Ministry's effort to pull the plug on vampire hunting. Though, of course, he had a few fair points as far as the latter was concerned. Or the abolition of corporal punishment in wizarding schools.
'Ridiculous,' Marius thought, 'if one takes into account that our children will most probably have to be prepared for an upcoming war... by people like him?'
But - pssst! Not a word of the war yet. Not a word of the disaster the wizarding world was heading towards, even if everyone knew about it. Not a word of what was happening on the political stage as long as there were children around - and fools. Like Dumbledore. Marius smirked.
'Are we leaving for the Blacks' place already?' asked his wife in surprise when he stepped into the living-room the same evening as the end of the twelfth hour was nearing, fully dressed in robes and travelling cloak. 'I don't seem to think they'll expect us before the first night watch?'
'Surely,' replied Marius, carefully scrutinizing his son's hair and clothes as he did, 'you are aware of the desolate state the floo network is in these days? It takes decades to travel from one fireplace to the next.'
Delecta nodded simply. 'Of course you are right. Just give me two minutes to get my things together. - Lucius? Have you locked that House-Elf in the attic as I told you to?'
'Certainly, mother,' said Lucius in his usual, well-behaved manner. 'He was screaming like mad, though. I told him I'd sell him to great-uncle Figg if he continued like that, which shut him up immediately.' He smirked. Marius laughed shortly and gave him an appreciative nod. Lucius looked just like his mother when he was pleased with himself.
'We shall be meeting uncle Ferdinant at Grimmauld Place,' he said pleasantly. 'I wonder whether he succeeded in ridding Figg'schen Alley of Ashwinder eggs as he intended to. I daresay he might have wanted to start with their own house... or dump, more like.
'Oh, don't talk like that about their manor,' snapped Delecta in mock indignation. 'They're family.'
'That does not mean I cannot complain about their house going to the dogs,' said Marius earnestly. 'Really, Delecta, you'd be talking differently if you had actually seen it...'
'I am interested in matters of much higher priority as far as our family is concerned,' said his wife, now sincerely snappish. 'I shouldn't be interested in their spring cleaning at all, if it weren't for the fact that they are getting quite a bit of support from the McGonagall line, in case you hadn't noticed.' She set up a dark expression, choosing a particularly ugly shade of lipstick as if driven by a sudden jolt of bad mood. 'Not the people I'd personally choose to get involved with, but I am sure he has his reasons.' And with an elegant movement she shooed a few vampire bats out of her handbag. 'I am ready,' she declared. 'But I wish we could apparate. It'd be so much quicker.'
'Yes,' said Marius, taking the floo powder box and holding it towards his son. 'But you know what Perseus is like. Paranoid to an unhealthy extend. You heard he has made Grimmauld Place unplottable last summer?'
'Yes, I have,' said Delecta, watching Lucius climb into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder in his fist. 'That's just typical of him. I love it.' She smirked while her son was disappearing in a flash of blinding light. 'Still, floo makes me sick.'
'You'll get a nice Christmas dinner at the other end,' said Marius. 'That'll compensate for your trouble.' And he too was gone in a swish of black silk.
The manor at Grimmauld Place number twelve was an old building. Perseus' father had inherited it from old Grimmauld Grindelwald himself. A Frenchman, with Swiss ancestors, who had so tragically died in 1945, in an accident involving the very person who was the centre point of every conversation these days - Albus Dumbledore.
Perseus knew, of course, that, in the open, the wisest thing to do was to pretend that old Grimmauld's death had been for the best of the wizarding community, but part of him hoped that the current changes within the Ministry and the redistribution of certain very important posts would lead to a new era, as far as the communication between magic and non-magic folk was concerned. Namely, the re-establishment of the old pureblood monarchy of 1485.
Frankly speaking, and Perseus found that one could less and less do so in today's society, most members of the Black, and practically all the descendants of the Malfoy/Lestrange line were more or less openly holding the view that the way Millicent Bagnold had chosen for the wizarding society was irresponsible and would lead them all into ruin eventually. An view, which Perseus found he liked to evolve during their annual Christmas dinners, as most members of the family worth mentioning usually bothered turning up - for the very same reason.
Perseus and his wife Gladia had settled down in the latter's study, taking their usual evening drink when they perceived a loud hissing noise from the kitchen, telling them that their first guests had arrived early.
'Really,' said Gladia irritably, 'I bet it's Marius. Yours never bother obeying the politeness of punctuality. A Malfoy is usually five to ten minutes early. Not to mention your brother, who is usually late.'
'Ah, I believe you are mistaken there,' stated Perseus in his usual calm though superior manner. 'Marius tends to overestimate the distance between fireplaces, that is true, but you will find that Mercurius and Gaia are usually dead on schedule. And may I remind you that it was your brother's wife's cousin who -'
One of the House-Elves entered the room in a swift walk. 'The Malfoys, master,' he squeaked, obviously unaware that he had stumbled into and interrupted a conversation. Perseus was not pleased.
'Yes, Kreacher,' he said coolly. 'And next time it will be a knock on the door before you storm into this room, won't it?'
Kreacher blushed, retreating against the wall.
'Yes, master. Sorry, master. It is just that... Mr. Malfoy told Kreacher to hurry.'
'That's just typically of your family,' said Gladia sharply, leaving her study and heading towards the kitchen and its fireplace, closely followed by husband and House-Elf. 'Not a bit of patience. And I won't even start mentioning - Delecta, dear!'
Delecta Malfoy looked up as Gladia entered the room, habitually throwing a very critical look at her opposite's appearance. The lady of the house was wearing her most pompous evening robes and a handful of specially chosen jewelry, causing, Perseus noted, not only Delecta, but also her husband to gape - a little longer, perhaps, than might have been appropriate. Marius, on the other hand, was quick to become aware of his cousin's look at an instant and hurried forward to give him a warm smile and a hearty embrace.
'Perseus! It is a pleasure to see you again.'
'And you, Marius,' said Perseus, allowing a haughty smile to linger on his face for a second, and then proceeded to welcome the rest of the family. 'My, aren't you Lucius? You have grown again since last I saw you. How old are you now, seventeen?'
'Fifteen,' said the boy politely, shaking his relative's hand. 'I am going to be sixteen in January.'
'He is in his fifth year at Hogwarts,' said Marius proudly. 'Prefect, of course. Oh, incidentally, I hear Sirius has not made it in Slytherin after all? Pity, isn't it? But we all knew there was something fishy about that boy's attitude. Always gaping after Muggles, trying to understand their ways... Where is he, by the way?'
Perseus gave him a look that wiped the smirk of his face. 'Sirius and Regulus will join us in a moment. I told them to go to their room until the guests arrive.'
'Well, we are here,' said Delecta pleasantly. 'Call them down, will you? I cannot wait to see them again.'
Marius nodded. 'And Lucius will like a little company, won't you, dear?'
'Our boys are much younger than Lucius,' said Gladia sharply. 'Really, Marius, sometimes I doubt you have anything under that blonde bunch of...'
But at that moment, the large fireplace hissed for a second time and two people appeared from the flames, stepping out and in front of the ostentatiously decorated Christmas tree. The first one massive and powerfully built - instantly recognizable as the soldier Perseus knew he was, the second one tiny, scrawny, though not awkward. The former's son, hardly ever to be seen at family celebrations or, indeed, in the open at all. Gladia's expression lit in the middle of her sentence and stepped towards the newly arrived guest.
'Lance, dear!' she said enthusiastically, suddenly not at all sounding like her grumpy usual self. 'I have been craving to see you. Never make me do without you for three whole months again, will you?'
Her opposite looked down at her along his hooked nose for a moment, then decided to grace his sister with a rare smile.
'I shall do my best, Gladia. How are you all tonight?'
'Excellent,' said Marius. 'Thank you, Lance. Ah, young Severus has grown as well, I see?'
'Not much,' remarked Perseus, scrutinizing his nephew for a couple of minutes before turning his eyes back towards the boy's father. 'Good to see you're back home, Lance. How is Virbia?' He watched the soldier's expression darken slightly, but not change otherwise. Lance's face was usually impassive or sarcastic, but rarely told anything about his true state of mind.
'Better,' he muttered. 'She'll be up again in no time.'
'How long have you been back now?' asked Delecta, obviously in a very talkative mood, while she was embracing her third cousin-in-law. 'I seem to think the borders are rather quiet these days?'
'They are indeed,' replied Lance, barely responding to either, question and embrace. 'I was hoping to meet Richard tonight. Did you hear about his promotion? Second commander. My department. I had a say in it, of course.' He smirked. Gladia gave him a glamorous smile.
'Brilliant,' she said. 'Manus manum lavat, of course. He will arrive later tonight. Rastaban has returned from Durmstrang only yesterday. Horrible school. Keeping their students up there as long as possible. Especially during exam times. An excellent method discipline-wise, of course. Makes them put some effort into their work. But still not the nicest of situations for their families. Rastaban would be about Lucius's age, I presume?'
Perseus nodded, feeling that he should contribute at least something to the conversation. 'A few months older, I believe. But really, Gladia, we are being impolite. What will everyone drink?'
'The real Black-wine, of course,' said Delecta quickly and Perseus hurried to obey her wish, having several glasses and two black bottles of his own, house-made wine appear on the table, which, despite the name, was not black, of course, but had the colour of purest Basilisk venom - an almost insanely appetizing shade of green.
'Should we not wait until everyone has arrived?' prompted Gladia, shooting a reprimanding look at her husband, who realized too late that serving the first drink of the evening would have been the lady's duty rather than his. A pleasant duty, that is, as everyone loved the Blacks' green wine and its surprisingly refreshing taste, not to mention the actual black one, which was not to be served until after dinner.
'Well,' he replied thoughtfully, 'Richard won't be here before very well into the evening and Mercurius -'
At that moment the doorbell rang.
'Is he still too full of himself to use the floo network?' asked Delecta wonderingly while Gladia hurried to open the door. 'One would suppose that it is a lot quicker than coming by foot. Or even using Muggle public transport.'
'He'll have apparated to the front door,' assumed Marius. 'And proceeded from there.'
'He's bringing his daughters,' said Perseus in his usual unperturbed manner. 'There's hardly a way for all of them to apparate right in front of this house, especially when Andromeda and Narcissa haven't got their license yet.' He noticed that his voice was assuming a sarcastic tone and fell silent. A habit. He was surrounded by sarcasm twenty-four hours a day, having married Gladia Snape some thirty years ago. So he had, after a long period of time and a lot of arguments without any actual foundation, decided that one of half of the couple had to maintain their brains - at all times. Especially when there were children to look after. And talking about children...
'Myyyyy, is that my little Regulus? Come here, darling, give your aunty a hug!'
Gaia and Mercurius had arrived.
'Aaaah, and Sirius. Well... we've heard all about your little problem, of course.'
Perseus winced, imperceptibly, and went to greet his brother and the rest of the family. He could not help but notice that Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa, his three stunningly beautiful and intelligent-looking nieces had grown again since last Christmas. He regretted that they met so rarely in the course of the year, all the more when Andromeda gave him a huge, loving embrace, unintentionally letting him realize just how much she had changed over the last twelve months.
'Uncle Perseus. How are you? It's so good of you to organize the Christmas gathering each year. Thanks for the invitation.'
Perseus nodded curtly. 'It is a pleasure having you, dears. - My, is that Bellatrix? An empress if I ever saw one. Come here, love. Let me have a look at you...'
Welcoming pleasantries were exchanged for another few moments, but soon the whole family was assembled around the huge oak table in the middle of the kitchen, parents next to their children, and a couple of empty seats for the awaited Lestranges and Cardinal Figg.
Gladia, having positioned herself between her brother and her husband, right in the centre of the long side of the table, rose her glass to indicate the beginning of the feast. Everyone else followed her example.
'To our family,' she said.
'To the pureblood lines,' said Mercurius.
'To the children,' added Delecta.
'To justice,' said Lance, obviously feeling that he should add his soldier dime. Perseus eyed him with a sarcastic but appreciative grin. Then he raised his own glass, looking around at all of them.
'To us.'
They drank.
The wine was cool and refreshing. Perseus was glad he had thought of jinxing the grape vines early this summer. Waiting until late August always gave the drink such an odd taste of destitution. And you did not want that to happen on Christmas Eve.
It took several people, namely Marius, Mercurius and Delecta, and a lot more of the substance itself to explain this rather simple matter to Gaia, who just would not see the connection of wines and vines. Especially not in cases where magic was involved. What was the point in jinxing the grapes that were going to be squashed afterwards and turned into something completely different anyway? Perseus thought that sometimes his sister-in-law did appear as rather one of the slow sort, but then again, that was probably why Mercurius had married her in the first place.
In the meantime, Gladia had found some joy in providing her brother Lance with the latest news of the wizarding world within London and some of its more reputable suburbs, namely Richmond, Wandsworth and Lewisham. To put it slightly less sophisticated, and Perseus found that he liked doing so with Gladia every once in a while, she was feeding him the local gossip without the slightest interest in whether he thought listening a worthwhile occupation or not.
'...and you know,' she informed him, choosing to ignore her husband's side-glances, 'how much the Cardinal's family have been craving to get rid of them, so they just decided to do it all in one go and not inform the Ministry at all. You know - personally, I think it's ridiculous to count those bats as vampires in any case, but you know what they're like these days. The Ministry, I mean. Refusing to accept our joint motion of classifying Muggles as magical beasts for a start. But you know all this, of course. And I was not going to get into politics, was I? Would you be interested in hearing about Georgina's health? I did come round to paying her a visit the other day, you know. Highly recommendable. She looks like a bowling ball, of course, but the baby is well. Male, did you hear? Meaning, of course, the name Goyle will survive another generation. Not that this is all too exciting.' She laughed briskly and with a cold undertone. Perseus raised his head and an eyebrow at her. It was this laughter that had caused him to marry her in the first place. On a cold winter evening in nineteen... nineteen... he could not quite remember. Possibly the wine. Or some general confusion. It happened from time to time. Perseus was getting old. He could feel it in every vein of his body.
Lance, on the other hand, seemed extraordinarily calm and composed despite all the gossip Gladia was forcing down his handsomely built throat. Calm - and very sarcastic.
'Naturally,' Perseus thought, taking another sip of wine. He was Gladia's brother, was he not? Sarcasm was one of the things the Snape branch traditionally counted among their birthrights. But Lance was also simply a very friendly nature, he resolved. Never got too involved in family matters, avoided trouble where he could... but then again, the state of his wife had had a deep effect on him. Perseus could see it in those quiet, blue eyes that looked like they were bearing nothing but endless winter these days, not at all the summer of two or three years ago. Lance was no longer a person to be meddled with. He had grown. Turned from a hot-headed young recruit somewhere near the end of the wizarding world, into a downright soldier and, Perseus thought, throwing a brief glance at Severus, who was sitting timidly at his place, watching Kreacher shuffle in and out of the room, a family person. Obviously.
'They have all sorts of crazy ideas,' Perseus perceived now, realizing that Gladia had taken up the topic of Minerva McGonagall and her part of the family once again. Her favourite, these days. And, apparently, a topic of no little interest for her brother as well. He was all with her - in his own, sophisticated manner, naturally.
'Have they, now?'
'Well... obviously you know Minerva,' said Gladia with just a trace of contempt in her voice. 'And you know that uncle of hers - what's he called... Agnes?'
'Angus,' said Lance calmly.
'Yes, indeed. Angus. Anyway, I am saying, 'Minerva,' I say, 'your uncle is ruining the reputation of the decent wizarding folk.' If you know what I mean. You've heard about the kilt incident?'
Lance nodded.
'Naturally,' Gladia continued, 'Minerva seems rather protective of her family, as would any of us, come to think of it, so she started shouting at me - are you interested at all?'
Her brother hurried to assure her that he was.
'Well, so we got in a bit of a fight. Nothing severe. A few sparks here and there... some burnt skin - but nothing severe. She won't be flying for a couple of weeks, but that is, of course, nothing I have to worry about...'
Perseus' attention began to drift. The wine was finally getting on to him - why had he not stopped after the fourth round? Lance had hardly touched his glass, he noticed. Good man. Always sticking to his principles. Always very aware of what he was doing. Perseus heard his wife laugh once more and helped himself to some more fish and chips.
'...but you don't want do know their mating rituals down there,' he heard her say, obviously evolving a completely new topic now. 'You know how they used to do study trips to the border in the early nineteen-twenties? Though, obviously, the border today isn't what it used to be... And anyway, what was I going to say... oh, yes - you don't want to know how I spent my first night in that village in that particular year...'
'Not asking.'
'Not telling!' Gladia chirred, taking another deep gulp of wine and Perseus decided, once and for all, that it was time for him to join in the others' conversation about families and politics.