Though the house-elves had opted not to attend, a great deal of the first parts of the meeting revolved around whether or not the ambassadors from the other nations should still try to represent their interests.

-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated circa 1952

For once, Harry's Christmas passed without incident. No Dursleys making him cook their meal and then locking him in the cupboard without eating any of it. No brothers ending up in the Hospital Wing of candy overdose. No break-ins to Azkaban followed by Animagus/werewolf tussles in the kitchen. Just normalcy, family, and happiness.

If Mark had been there, it would have been perfect.

No, no, he told himself. Don't think about him. What is, is, and what's the point of spending this great day moping because your brother is a prat? No point whatsoever. Christmas is supposed to bring good tidings of comfort and joy, not wistfulness and melancholy. Be grateful for what you have instead of mourning what you lack.

For the most part, Harry was successful in his efforts to remain cheerful. Only when he was left alone for more than a few minutes did he grow gloomy. Not that he was alone much. Those around him were not blind. They did their best to keep him company, to laugh and be merry.

He spent the morning on Founder's Isle with Saysa, Sirius, Dudley, and the house-elves. The Animagus had acquired a flagon of butterbeer, which he offered to the boys when the basilisk and brownies weren't looking. The cousins eagerly accepted; when the more mature adults reappeared, it was to find Harry and Dudley completely wasted. Saysa very nearly Petrified Sirius before the boys quit their act. No, they explained, we really weren't drunk. Butterbeer doesn't do that to humans. We were just funning with you, really.

Saysa was not amused.

They spent the rest of the morning engaged in a no-holds-barred snowball fight, wizards vs. elves. It took a bit of convincing, but eventually the four non-humans revealed themselves as vicious, conniving little buggers with no qualms about using their magic or (in Kreacher's case) their house-bond to hunt down their targets. The three males were forced to concede defeat.

After the snowball fight, the red-cheeked but happy group retreated to the castle for a light noon meal. The house-elves ate with the Guardian and the wizards, three species mingling together in harmony. Even better, the house-elves ate actual food, not the Elf Pellets which most British wizards fed to their slaves. They hadn't eaten Elf Pellets since arriving on Founder's Isle for the first time, and they definitely weren't going to start again on Christmas!

Especially not if Blaise-as-Apollo's theory was correct.

For a long time, the Smoking Mirror had been confused by house-elves' contented attitude towards slavery. Yes, they were socialized since birth, but even the best-trained slaves rebelled sometimes. Dobby was the only exception he could think of, so he had interviewed the elf many times in an effort to find out what made him different. The answer and its implications were chilling.

The Malfoys, like most Death Eaters, didn't believe in feeding their servants as much as they should. From a very young age, Dobby had shared his meager supply of Elf Pellets with his coworkers, feeding himself with his 'family's' leftovers. He still ate some of the standard-issued food, but not as much as others.

That in itself was fishy enough, but what happened next confirmed Blaise's nastiest suspicions. The elves on Founder's Isle ate regular food, not the pellets. As time went on, they seemed to grow more intelligent and articulate, more conscious of their own individuality, rights, and needs. They also became a bit less obsessively obedient, a bit less haughty towards leisure. Why, even Kreacher, who was still the most fanatically devoted of them all (for reasons that had very little to do with Elf Pellets and lots to do with Slytherin's Horcrux locket), had taken sick days!

So one of Blaise's projects for winter break, when he wasn't trying to save his stepfather's life, was to compile a list of Elf Pellet ingredients, including all the potions within them. He hadn't found anything yet- wizards, unlike Muggles, didn't have to disclose the ingredients in their food products- but he had the feeling that the results wouldn't be pleasant.

No, no. Harry shook the thoughts of Elf Pellets and slavery-inducing potions out of his head. It was Christmas, and he was determined to enjoy it.

When lunch was finished, he Portkeyed back to the CC to fetch Remus and the presents they'd bought. Sirius, Dudley, and Saysa retrieved their own gifts, and they spent the next two hours opening their new presents- or, in Harry's case, the presents addressed to their current form. Pollux Riddle had received a few gifts of his own from relevant political figures and a couple of the pureblood girls he'd rescued, which made Harry very happy that Daphne had suggested sending gifts to the leaders.

Harry would have liked to stay longer, but Remus had decided to hold a Christmas party for the werewolves and Aurors (who had really just been invited out of courtesy. Everyone knew that no Auror but Tonks would deign to consort with lycanthropes) and needed help with the last-minute preparations. He and his godfather transported home and got to work. Tonks had come to help, casting Enlargement Charms all over Remus's flat while Harry levitated decorations (including some mistletoe, which he made sure to point out to Tonks) into place and Remus worked on snacks.

The party itself was just as fun as that morning: laughing werewolves drinking Firewhisky and butterbeer, swapping stories and jokes. Some of them even mingled with Tonks and Harry, often to thank them for their magical contributions to the party.

Oh, yes, Harry thought, raising his butterbeer glass to toast St. Nick, this is a good Christmas. I should have uneventful holidays more often.

The day was almost over by then, the sun long dead, the stars bright and brilliant. Harry fully believed- and with good reason- that nothing weird, unnatural, or otherwise un-Christmassy would happen that day.

He really should have known better.

But in the boy's defense, while the strange event did occur in the same room as him, it wasn't centered around him. It was centered around Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.

The werewolf and Auror had spent a great deal of time together that night, though Moony carefully avoided Tonks's attempts to lure him under the mistletoe. As the evening progressed, he couldn't help but notice that she was growing steadily more pensive, more determined. Finally the lycanthrope could stand it no longer. "What's wrong, Dora?"

She met his gaze with eyes as hard and clear as diamonds. "Remus. Promise me you'll hear me out before saying anything, okay?"

Normally, he would have objected. He believed that their relationship, such as it was, was hopeless, that a Dark creature and an officer of the law could never be together. But that night, he was a teeny bit drunk, a tiny bit high on the Christmas spirit of hope and reconciliation. Instead of protesting, he just sighed and asked, "Dora, is this really the best time to bring that up?"

"Oh, it's not that," she assured him. "I admit that that was a factor leading to… to this decision… but it's not the only one."

"What decision?"

She wagged a finger at him. "Nuh uh, wolf-boy. You need to promise to hear me out before I spill."

"Okay. I, Remus John Lupin, do hereby solemnly swear that I shall endeavor to hear Miss Nymphadora Tonks-" She swatted playfully at him. He dodged with an unrepentant grin "-out and not to interrupt her disclosure of a grand, mysterious secret. Does that suffice, or should I find a stack of Bibles?"

She pretended to think it over. "Hm… how many Bibles?"

"How many did you want?"

"Nah, I suppose your word is good enough. Probably. But can we step to someplace a bit quieter? No, no," she added, correctly interpreting the look on his face, "your virtue is safe with me. This really doesn't have everything to do with us."

"All right. I don't think that Harry would mind us talking in his room."

Just to be safe, they made their way over to the boy, who was demonstrating his Animagus transformation to a trio of children in wolf form. Pinions cawed his greeting before transforming back into a human boy.

"Harry, would you mind if we used your room for a bit of quiet conversation?" Remus kept his face blank, straight. Hopefully that would minimize the inevitable teasing.

His godson just grinned at him. "As long as 'quiet conversation' isn't a euphemism for snogging, sure." He attempted to waggle his eyebrows. The attempt failed.

"It's not," Remus assured him dryly. "Dora promised that my virtue is safe with her."

"Oh." Harry actually looked a bit disappointed. "Well, okay, then."

Thanking him, the two adults made their way into Harry's room. After the noise of the party, the chamber seemed remarkably quiet, especially once Tonks cast a couple charms. Remus smiled. His enhanced hearing needed the break; how the other werewolves could put up with all that racket he had no idea. "So what did you want to talk about?"

Tonks didn't answer right away.

"Dora?" Remus was beginning to worry. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really," she sighed. "It's just that you're not going to see sense about this, and I'm still trying to figure out the best way to phrase it." She lifted a hand to her chin. Her hair, normally bright pink, faded to plain brown. "Let's see…. Remus, your people don't trust me."

He winced. "Sirius and I have talked about that. We think that they just need time to get used to you, to realize that you're not a threat."

"I know, and I've thought about doing that. But then I realized that I'll always be an outsider with you and yours, even though I threw my lot in with yours months ago. No, Remus, don't interrupt me. They don't trust Aurors, and some of them never will. I don't blame them- we've been gits to you- but that puts me in a bit of a bind."

She sighed heavily, sank down into Harry's desk chair. "They don't trust me because I'm not a werewolf."

Remus's heart froze, skipped several beats. "You can't be serious."

She forced a grin, forced an attempt at humor. "That's my cousin."

"Dora-"

"I know, I know, that was horrible." Her smile faded. "But yeah, I am serious. I want you to bite me, Remus. I want to become a werewolf."

Mark Potter's Christmas was just as fun as his brother's. He was at Hogwarts, of course- he loved that castle more than anyplace else- with Ron and the other Weasleys. He quite liked the Weasleys, who had proven more loyal to him than his own twin had. They were good people, good friends.

Throughout the morning, he opened his mountain of presents (candy, a Broomstick Servicing Kit, a jumper from Mrs. Weasley, a couple books, two rare Chocolate Frog cards….), laughing as he offered Ron huge handfuls of sweets. In the end, the redhead managed to snag over half his friend's food and the cards, though Mark kept most of the other things for himself. He wasn't entirely certain what to do with the blow-up poster of an American Quodpot team, though, or a few of his other gifts. He settled for stashing them at the bottom of his trunk.

After that, it was time for a delicious, though not particularly nutritious, lunch before he headed off to Professor Dumbledore's office for perhaps an hour. They chatted about nothing in particular before the headmaster sent his young ward off to 'enjoy his youth.'

As Harry helped Remus set up decorations for the party, Mark and Ron explored the castle in the former's Invisibility Cloak. A family heirloom, it had been given to him for his birthday the previous summer. Like his father (or so Dumbledore claimed), Mark had usually used it to sneak food from the kitchens, much to the enjoyment of his classmates. That day, though, he was engaged in something a bit more devious: he was seeking out the Slytherin Common Room.

If he had asked Fred and George, he wouldn't have needed to stalk a random first year in green-crested robes through the halls. The fifth years would have led him there directly, without stopping in the Library or chatting with Professor Sinistra when she ran into her in the dungeon. What was the astronomy professor doing in the dungeons anyways? Mark barely refrained from tapping his foot in impatience.

Finally, the first year extricated herself from the conversation and continued onto the Slytherin Common Room. "Tinsel," she said, not bothering to lower her voice. She couldn't see anyone, had no idea that two older students had just committed her password to memory.

Ron managed to catch a glimpse of the Common Room, though Mark did not. The coast was almost clear, the redhead announced; they just had to wait a couple minutes to make sure that the girl was gone before they went into the chamber. This time, Mark let himself tap his feet. He used the tapping to count to one hundred fifty, then two hundred, just in case.

"Tinsel," Ron told the guardian. The door swung open. The Gryffindors rushed inside, swung it shut behind them. It wouldn't do for anyone to see the open door and suspect that someone had penetrated the serpents' defenses.

Wicked smiles broke out across the boys' faces. "We're in," Ron whispered.

"Way to state the obvious," Mark teased. "Now come on."

They had tricked Percy into giving them a list of the students who were staying at Hogwarts. Most Slytherins, like Harry and all of his dorm mates, had decided to go home. The little first year they'd seen was one of the few who had chosen to stay behind. However, enough students had left that ten of the fourteen rooms, including Harry's, were completely empty, and would stay that way until after the New Year.

Ron and Mark were only third years, and not particularly studious third years, at that. But inexperienced or not, they still had enough magical know-how to rig a few Dungbombs and fireworks into exploding at just the right moment. When the Slytherins came back, they'd be in for an unpleasant surprise- especially since Ron had charmed some of their blankets and mattresses. Mark took care of the pillows.

Some of the beds escaped their attack, though only because their owners had thought to ward them permanently. The others relied on recasting their enchantments every night, which was quite impractical.

The seventh room the boys entered made Mark hesitate a bit, slow down ever so slightly. His eyes flickered towards one of the beds. He tried to enchant it, was not surprised to find it permanently warded.

Harry had always been a wee bit paranoid.

The boy thought back to a Christmas gift that he'd sent, unopened, to its sender. A pang resonated through his chest. He scowled, shook it away. Harry deserved it. Harry was a prat. Harry had chosen Slytherin House over him, his own brother. So Harry deserved to get his present sent back.

The hurt in his chest faded, was replaced by anger. Mark scowled, the expression making his face almost ugly. He pushed more power into his mistletoe and dragon wand, trying to overcome his brother's protection through sheer brute force. He'd heard somewhere (he couldn't remember where, nor did he much care) that dragon wands were the strongest. Harry's had a phoenix feather, which meant that…. Actually, Mark didn't know what phoenix feather meant. All he knew was that it was less powerful than dragon heartstring, so he should be able to overpower anything cast by his brother.

The magic, though, seemed to disagree. Harry's wards remained firm, strong; no enchantment Mark cast stuck to his brother's bed or blankets, nor even his pillow. "Give me hand, will you, Ron?"

The two boys cast together, their actions perfectly in sync. Nothing. Whatever Harry had done confounded their magic.

Mark scowled. Jinxing Harry's bed had been one of their main objectives. He would show the Slytherins that not even their oh-so-impenetrable fortress was safe, that not even their oh-so-sacred leader was immune to Gryffindor's power. Harry and the Slytherin competitors for the Tournament of Houses, those were his main targets.

Funnily enough, none of the competitors' beds had been warded. Perhaps they assumed that no one would try to attack those who were carrying their House's meager honor. It had been very, very easy to hex them.

"Maybe we should get the floor," Mark suggested. "Harry's tricky, but I don't think he warded the floor beneath his bed."

He was right. Harry was not yet paranoid enough to ward the stone beneath his bed (though Mark had no doubt that this would change after New Year when the prank went off). They set a couple of particularly amusing/vicious spells into the floor, just because he'd given them so much trouble.

Then Ron's stomach growled. Mark raised an eyebrow. His friend blushed. "I'm hungry," he muttered unnecessarily.

Mark shrugged. It wasn't like they were pressed for time. "We'll come back tomorrow." He didn't mention that he was getting tired, weak. The Boy-Who-Lived was supposed to have almost-infinite magic. He wasn't supposed to get tired after a few first year level hexes.

They slipped out of the Slytherin dorms completely unseen. Slipping into an abandoned classroom, they hid Mark's cloak in his bag before continuing to supper at a leisurely pace. "What'll you do tomorrow, Mark?" Ron asked. "Well, besides that."

His friend grinned. "I dunno. Maybe I'll take that Firebolt Sirius Black sent me for a spin…." Wouldn't the other teams be shocked to see that!

Their conversation turned to Quidditch and their team, which was doing well in the unofficial tournament (they conveniently forgot that Harry had organized and conceived of the aforementioned competition). Mark was grateful for the subject change, grateful for the redhead's enthusiasm, grateful for the distraction from a Christmas package returned unopened to its sender. Just grateful in general. Even without Harry, life was good.

"No." Remus's voice brooked no argument, no thought of argument. "Absolutely not."

Tonks groaned. She knew he'd react that way.

"Become a werewolf?" Remus's voice was growing louder, higher in pitch. "No! Not you. Do you have any idea- but you do. You've seen how they treat us. You've seen-"

"I've seen that you're cured," she snapped.

"Ah, but they don't know that." He laughed, just a bit hysterically. "They don't know that, so nothing's changed. You'll be hated, ostracized-"

Tonks stomped on his foot. The werewolf's eyes went wide; he fell silent. "Quit panicking for one bloody second and answer me a question. How do people recognize werewolves?"

"…We live here?" Remus was uncertain, hesitant, clueless as to where this might be going.

"Nope. Let me try again: how did your friends figure out that you were a werewolf back when you were going to Hogwarts?"

"They noticed me going missing every full moon," he admitted, "but I don't see how this is relevant."

Tonks grinned, a rather wolfish smile. "They saw you vanish on the full moon. But you guys are cured. You don't have to change on the full moon anymore. You can transform whenever you want."

Remus's jaw hung open. He made tiny little spluttering noises, unable to form a word.

"But if I'm a cured werewolf, I won't have to transform on the full moon. They won't know I'm a werewolf at all. They'll think I'm just another Auror, but you guys will know better." The wolfish grin grew wider, more pleased with herself. "And since you'll know better, the other werewolves will be able to trust me."

"Dora," he said weakly, "you don't have to-"

"Why not? As long as I wait until Tyr's back, it won't hurt. I'll have more strength, improved senses, and an ace up my sleeve in the form of a large, sharp-toothed predator. I won't suffer socially- I'll improve my relations with the pack. And…" she glanced away. Her hair fell in front of her face, masking her eyes. "… there are some other benefits that I can think of, though I'm not stupid enough to make this kind of change for a guy I haven't even dated yet."

Remus groaned. Tonks realized how it sounded. She amended, "Okay, that came out wrong, like I was trying to guilt you into dating me. I wasn't. I'm not! It's just… well, it would be a nice side benefit, right?" She chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"Dora…." Words failed him.

"I've thought a lot about this," she continued, reduced to babbling nervously. "Because it's a big decision to make, you know? A real lifestyle changer. But I've weighed the pros and cons, and I can't really think of a whole lot of cons. If anyone sees me change, all I have to do is show up one night on the full moon and they'll see that I'm not transforming. Problem solved. It's pretty much foolproof." She groaned softly. "Okay, maybe not foolproof, but-"

"You're certain?" Remus's words cut through her chatter.

"More certain than I've ever been in my life," she replied promptly, without hesitation. "And no offense, Remus, but I think I'd do this even if I'd never met you. I hope I'd do this if I'd never met you. I mean… you know the way I feel, but I'm more than just a lovesick little girl. I do have a life that doesn't center around you, you know." She chuckled. "Of course, it still centers around werewolves and Pollux's goals and the law, all of which involve you, so it's not as distant as it should be, but-"

"Dora?"

"Yes?" Oh, Merlin, were there tears in his eyes. She looked closer. There were. Aw, crud. She'd reduced him to sniffling. While she did appreciate sensitivity in a man, this was a bit embarrassing.

"Two things." He held up a hand with two fingers raised. "First thing: you talk too much."

Tonks blushed. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

"Second thing…." He cupped her chin, lifted her head to meet his gaze. His face was very, very close, closer than it had ever been. "I think Harry's been listening in on us, because that wasn't here earlier."

"What?"

The two looked up. A clump of mistletoe which, just as Remus had said, had not been there earlier hung innocently above them. A rather big clump, too, with huge berries and a fat red bow.

"I don't know if I should kill him or thank him," Remus chuckled. His face was still very close to hers, their noses almost touching. "What do you think I should do, Dora?"

"Thank him, then kill him," she advised. Her cheeks were red, brighter than the mistletoe's bow.

Remus grinned, years melting off his face. "Actually, I think I'll decide based on the final results of his meddling." And, that being said, he drew her in for a kiss.

An hour later, Harry was the recipient of two very, very heartfelt thanks.

Because the werewolf thing was kid of inevitable, to be honest. Tonks is smart enough to see that, even if Remus was still in denial.

Thanks to everybody who gave me advice about the updating schedule! I'm going to aim for an update once every three weeks. In other words, you'll see me again on Good Friday, March 29. Until then, my friends, adieu!

-Antares