A/N: It's Christmas tomorrow! At least for the Blacks. Also, if it wasn't clear before, I've decided that Yule is basically exactly like Christmas, apart from the name and a couple of 'Muggle' traditions (Father Christmas, sweaters etc.)

WC: 570

Thursday 24th December 1970, 7:15 PM

Mother puts up his stocking on the chimney. Regulus, it says in nice shiny letters. Or at least that's what she says, and he hurries to agree.

"We'll be needing a bigger one for you," she says, "You've been such a good boy. You deserve more presents that what can fit in here!"

Then, she puts up Sirius' stocking.

And, of course, what isn't said is that Sirius's stocking is too big and he doesn't deserve anything, no presents, no nothing, not even the lump of coal their tutors threatened them with when they were younger. Mother likes to embroider Regulus' stocking, so it's covered in little trees, presents and branches of holly. Sirius's is plain apart from the golden letters of his name.

Regulus wonders, just a little, if this blatant favouritism of his mother is a good thing. He finds her a little overwhelming, truthfully, and he thinks Sirius would actually like it if she were to congratulate him for something. Well, maybe not now, but before.

He's not even here to see the putting-up of the stockings. He was sent to bed early because he spilt his glass at dinner, which was a real shame because they had been allowed to have pumpkin juice at dinner, and that was something special. After all, he had seemed very distracted all day. Regulus too, but that was because he was bored out of his mind. For Sirius, it was more like all of his attention was somewhere else. So, that's he ended up in bed at 7 PM again.

Given the sheer number of times Sirius has gone to bed early, Regulus wonders what he does. Does he read a book? Rage against their mother? Lie on his bed and think of nothing? No, none of these sound like something Sirius would do. He knows that, but it makes him wonder what happens.

This day has been nothing like yesterday, when they all went out and played in the snow. It had been such fun, and so unexpected. Even when Sirius broke his nose, it was still the best day of all the holidays. He hasn't said a word to Mother about his nose, and there's something fabulous, about that complicity they all share now, Regulus's broken nose. It's fun, sharing a secret.

Though, of course, it seems like he's the only one who still remembers the event. It's not much of a complicity if no one else give you you're-in-the-secret looks. Bella, of course, spent the day preening under the attention as she usually does. Meda was slightly distracted, but has learnt the skill Sirius has yet to master: paying attention when it matters. Narcissa was all high-and-mighty, all that playfulness from yesterday gone. Sirius was… himself. And Regulus. Regulus was alone, as usual. All of them had gone back to being 'as usual'.

"What do you want for Yule?" Meda asks him as she puts her own stocking up.

"Some books, and maybe a set of gobstones," he answers.

"That's nice," she says.

So it is. Soon, all the stockings are up. Soon, they're all in bed. Yule Eve. It's not as exciting as it used to be, not like when he was little and bursting with impatience. On the contrary, it feels a little anti-climatic, for some reason. Maybe the Yuletide spirit is a little broken inside him, a little shattered.

Maybe tomorrow will be nicer.