"And I suppose you'll be hosting the party this year, Mrs. Malfoy?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's slow voice echoed over the cubicle wall.
"Says who?" Came a cheeky female voice from the other side.
"Says most of us, I believe."
"Oh, perfect." A head popped up and peered into Shacklebolt's space.
"And what is your concern, honey?" The female voice said.
"Beatrix, I don't know what the grandparents are going to say to having these for an evening party?" Scorpius Malfoy said uncomfortably.
"Bilgewater, Scorp. They'll be fine. I'm more worried about the kids wreaking havoc."
Beatrix Malfoy Apparated downstairs with a loud crack. Her husband, Scorpius, was fiddling with his hair and sternly telling the six children to not bother the guests. "No snowballs, nothing."
"You heard your dad. Go get your snow gear on, you can play outside till bedtime." Beatrix added.
"Ooh, Mummy, you look a-ma-zing." The oldest girl said, her eyes playing over her mother's evening gown.
"Thanks, Perenelle. Off you all go."
As the kids turned away, Scorpius stepped forward and kissed Beatrix's cheek.
"I'd kiss you back, but that'd screw up my lipstick." The woman chuckled. "An honor, hosting the Auror Christmas party, is it not?"
"Well, inevitable, considering that you're Head of the office. But I like how Grandad put it."
"Hmm? Was he unhappy about it?"
"Not necessarily. This is what he said, and I quote 'Auror Christmas party, eh? Another word for headache.'"
Beatrix guffawed. "Well, the grandparents can stay upstairs if they like. Oh, someone's here!" The doorbell rang cheerily in the stillness and Beatrix hurried to open it.
"Scorp, come say hi, it's the Weasley clan!"
o(O)o
The grandparents that Scorpius and Beatrix had been talking about were, of course, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. At the moment of the Weasleys' arrival, they were half-asleep in a big armchair in their room upstairs, a fat novel alone on the floor by their feet.
Narcissa stirred and muttered, uncurled and stood, stretching. Her husband opened one eye. "Where you going?" He muttered.
"Downstairs." Came the light answer. "You're going to stay here and snooze, I suppose."
Lucius nodded.
"You silly recluse." Narcissa leaned down and kissed him. "Get over the past." She said more seriously.
"Not now, Cissa." He responded sleepily. "Come back soon, the bed's a tad cool without you."
"No promises."
THUMP! A snowball whacked into the bedroom window as Narcissa went into the bathroom to tidy herself. Muttering irritably, Lucius rousted himself out of his chair and slid back the glass. "What is it?" He called to the six children below. They clumped together to hide the pile of snowballs they had been making. Lucius scowled.
"Will you help us, Grandad?" Shouted the youngest girl. "We let the peacocks out!"
"Accidentally." Added one of the boys hurriedly.
"Fine."
"Thanks!" The troublemakers shouted and let fly!
Lucius slammed the window and waved his wand at the snowballs melting on the rug.
"Do that to your face too, Luce." Narcissa said. "Your hair is wet."
He chuckled, his scowl relaxing into a smile. "I should be more on my guard where snow and the grandkids are concerned."
"Indeed you should." She pulled him in for a kiss. "But you have to be thankful for them."
"I suppose so."
o(O)o
"Please come snowball fight with us, Grandad!" The kids pleaded as their great-grandfather crunched across the snow toward them, a peacock under his arm.
"In this darkness?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'd hurt myself. Another time."
"Awwww…"
Lucius shut the last bird in the hutch and turned. "I'll get you all hot cocoa before bed. Promise."
"Hurrah!" The six troublemakers cheered.
"Thank you?" Lucius hinted.
"Oh yes…ahem, thank you." The eldest said. The others were doing some kind of war dance, intermittently shouting "Hot cocoa!" into the frosty air.
"Well done, Wilhelm." Lucius gave the boy a massive wink. Will grinned.
The war dance ended as Lucius turned to go inside, when he was surprised by an enormous burst of laughter. "What is it?" He demanded, slipping his boots off on the mat.
"Your face!" Shouted one.
"Your nose!" Called another. "It's all red!"
Lucius slammed the door peevishly.
As he walked away, the second eldest, Perenelle, noticed something. "Did you see Grandad's socks?"
"No. What was up with them? Were they a funny color?"
"Purple with green dots!"
o(O)o
Lucius walked quickly through the big social room, looking away, attempting not to be recognized. It would be an embarrassment if he was, for the past still weighed strongly on the Wizarding World, and some were sure to remember at least his stint in Azkaban. Kingsley Shacklebolt, for one. Lucius could see him, standing a little taller than the rest, that revolting earring still dangling from his earlobe.
The former Death Eater shuddered and hurried his steps.
Beatrix was drifting about, enjoying conversation, laughing, chatting away about various topics. This was her element.
Mr. Arthur Weasley and his son, George, were sharing ridiculous prank stories with a rapt group of Aurors. One of Beatrix's former professors, Julius Winterbrook, and his protege, Credence Langley were discussing Defense Against the Dark Arts with Scorpius and Narcissa. Dear old Credence, Beatrix thought. He is one awesome friend.
She hurried over and joined her husband and grandmother-in-law. "Hullo. Just checking that Scorp here doesn't need rescuing from Credence's boring stories."
"Says who that they're boring?" Credence fired back good-naturedly.
"You know they're not, Credence, Bea is teasing. Go on."
o(O)o
Lucius had just settled himself into his armchair with his book again, when Narcissa entered. "Come on, dear, don't just sit up here. Come socialize."
"No. You know my feelings, Cissy."
"Luce, Bea said she wants you around to handle the kids if they get too crazy…"
Lucius gave a dramatic eye roll. "Fine, I'll go."
"Thank you, love." Narcissa smiled. "I'd kiss you, but it'd smear my lipstick."
They made their way downstairs, Lucius attempting to appear somewhat calm. Beatrix spotted them straight away. "Hullo, grandparents! Glad you rousted the recluse out, Narcissa."
Lucius couldn't supress a grin. "The recluse? Me?"
"Yes, you. Oh, Mr. Harry Potter, Mr. Weasley, hey! How's it going?"
Of all things to ruin a moment. Lucius thought. This idiot now. He edged away, but noticed fiery red hair in his way and decided against risking the attention of the entire Weasley clan.
"Well." Responded Mr. Potter, smiling. "And, good to see you" he nodded at Narcissa, "oh, and you too." There was a slight edge to his voice as he greeted Lucius. Arthur Weasley's brilliant smile disappeared and the expression that replaced it displayed baleful dislike.
The elder Malfoy couldn't help the obvious high color that ran to his face. He looked down.
Beatrix sensed awkwardness and searched in her mind for something to say. The room seemed to quiet at that moment.
SPLAT!
A snowball, perfect in its gravelly melting glory, dripped down the side of Lucius's robes and to the floor. Beatrix scowled and hurried to the door. Banging it open she shouted, "Get inside this instant, you troublemakers!"
The six children sloped inside, headed up by the eldest.
"Who threw that snowball?" Beatrix asked angrily.
"Uh, Hawkin did." Will said quickly, pointing to his second-youngest brother.
"Your actions belie your words, young man." Lucius stepped forward and grabbed his great-grandson by the back of his coat. "Bed. All six of you. Go on."
"Awww…" The rabble-rousers chorused.
"Off you go!"
Lucius followed the six upstairs, leaving Beatrix, Narcissa, Arthur Weasley, and Harry Potter laughing as the chatter began again.
"And so the recluse escapes, eh?" Narcissa chuckled.
"Indeed. Poor dear, frightened of his reputation." Beatrix said, tutting.
Harry shook his head. "He's not the only one."
"No?"
"I hate my reputation too."
"Not surprised."
Arthur smiled. "Pfff, you mark my words, Miss Bea, old Mr. Malfoy'll get over it."
"I'd like to see that day come." Narcissa said.
o(O)o
"Come on. Just slide down the sheet rope. It's not far to the ground." Will gestured to the haphazardly constructed escape route.
"Nah." Perenelle backed away. "I don't wanna get in trouble."
"Aww, come on, P.D." Hawkin said. "It'll be fun."
"Yeah, the worst is that we'll get sent back to bed." Will added. "Besides, Mum will be mellowed, with that heady wine she likes."
"And Grandad will be in bed, fast asleep, dreaming of snowballs!" The youngest, Artemis, added.
"Ok, I'll come. But you take the fall for this one." Perenelle conceded.
"Wait, Will, how d'ya know that wine is heady?" Leanna (the fourth-youngest) asked.
"Don't ask." Will shot her the Look. He quickly disappeared over the windowsill, followed by his siblings.
The six crept to the parlor window, peeping inside to watch the grown-ups. To their surprise, their Grandad had rejoined the party and was now sitting on a sofa talking animatedly to Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Beatrix approached the window and the children ducked into the bushes. The shutters creaked out over their heads as she opened the casement and Charmed it to keep the cold out.
"That was close." Whispered Will as the troublemakers poked their heads out again.
Suddenly, the grand strains of an orchestra swelled out of the wireless in the corner. Beatrix began to sing, and soon, all and sundry had joined in.
"Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o'er the plains…"
Even Perenelle got carried away and began to sing along. Will clapped an hand over her mouth. "Shut up, sis."
As they listened, the children began to creep inside, taking up positions behind chairs and under coffee tables. Will's eyes began to rove around the room until his gaze fixed on his great-grandfather. Lucius was singing, the lines of worry and age in his face gone, perfectly at peace. He looked ten years younger.
A sneaking thought began to creep, with the melancholy strains, into Will's tired mind. Perhaps this was the last Christmas he would have with someone he loved. Granmum. Grandad. Curse the thought…
As the song swelled to a close, the rabble-rousers gathered around their Grandad silently. He didn't notice, reminiscing, no doubt, over past, unhappier Christmases.
Guests began to move around, getting their coats, wishing their hosts a happy Christmas, preparing to leave. Lucius sat, his arm around Will's shoulders, unaware.
Suddenly, he came back to life. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"It's Will's fault." Said Perenelle. "He convinced us."
Will wasn't listening. His eyes were glossy, glittering with tears. Lucius wisely let him be for the present.
"Go back to bed, kids." Beatrix said from behind them, sounding very mellowed indeed. Five of six trooped out, along with the guests. Someone magicked out the candles and the only light left was the dying fire.
"What's wrong?" Lucius asked his great-grandson quietly, maneuvering him onto his lap.
"Oh, not really anything, just, j-just, I, well, I though that, w-w-what if this is t-the l-l-last C-Ch-Christmas I have with y-you o-o-or Gr-Granmum." Tears overwhelmed the young boy and he buried his face in his Grandad's robes.
Lucius stroked his hair quietly, waiting for the sobs to die down.
"You're right." He said.
"W-w-what?" Will hiccuped.
"It might be the last Christmas you spend with me."
A renewed outburst of crying greeted this statement.
"But, then again, Wilhelm, it might not be."
"T-true." The crying continued.
"Oh, Will." Lucius felt a lump beginning in his throat. "I won't lie. I'm getting old. I'm tired. I'm in pain, much of the time."
More crying.
"But you know what I worry about?"
Will didn't know.
"I worry about you dying."
"What!" Surprise this time. No hiccups.
"You, your sisters, your brothers, your mum, your dad, any of you." To his surprise, Lucius felt a tear slide down his face. "If it happened…it would kill me too."
"I'll stick around, Grandad. Promise." Will said strongly.
"Good. Besides, I'm not really old yet." Lucius added with a sudden grin as Will pretended to help him up from the couch.
"How old are you?"
"Go to bed."
"Tell me. Seriously." Will pulled a straight face.
"Fine. I was sixty-five when you were born."
"Oh golly. You are old."
"I am not! Go to bed, you scamp." Lucius herded his rambunctious young great-grandson up the stairs, laughing like a younger, happier man.