Author's Note: Merry Christmas! I had two Christmas chapters for 1996, and it didn't feel right to post just one.

~EA

Christmas Conversations

December 24, 1996

It was snowing in the Lake District, which made everything beautiful for the holiday, but Adrian wasn't feeling particularly festive.

He had been isolated for the past two months at his family's estate, only going out a handful of times to meet Kenneth Towler so they could exchange codes and scout discreet, safe meeting locations. Kenneth and Bill had also found a few potential leads in some of the Gringotts accounts, so Adrian had poured over those for lack of anything better to do, but he couldn't make any connections between where the money was going and why. The organizations listed were likely fake, and Adrian assumed they corresponded to a set of codes that would reveal the real organizations, and he didn't have the key to break the code.

He and Kenneth reported the information to Professor Dumbledore regardless, who gravely commented that thousands were trickling away, likely to Lord Voldemort, but without knowing the codes it was impossible to figure out where the money was funneling. And, like Adrian and Kenneth, he had no idea what the erroneous organizations might be. Bill had noticed a couple of coded patterns in his work, too. It was probable that Gerald Harper knew the secret codes, but breaking into his office to see if he had a cheat sheet would be very difficult. Fortunately, that was not Adrian's job. Instead, Professor Dumbledore had thanked him for simply offering support to Kenneth and asked him to continue helping where he could from the shadows.

Now it was Christmas Eve, and Adrian found himself standing beside a tall window in the back parlor — the more homey parlor that his family used for personal gatherings, rather than the formal parlor his mother used for entertaining. Everyone else was laughing and enjoying the evening, but Adrian felt distinctly sullen.

Atticus, Bridget, and his grandparents had arrived yesterday from France. Of course, the very first thing his mother noticed was Bridget's ring, because his mother always noticed things like that, and it had set off a flurry of excited cries and giggling from both women, which mostly made Adrian cringe.

He had glanced discreetly towards his father during that moment, but his father only gave Bridget a small smile and welcomed her to the family. Adrian was stunned. It wasn't that he didn't like Bridget. He did. He would rather have her for a sister than anyone else, if he was honest.

No, what bothered him was the fact that Atticus hadn't mentioned this to their father beforehand, when both brothers had been told it was necessary to talk to their father if they wanted to marry a girl. That had been the bloody rule, damn it. How had Atticus gotten away with it? How did Atticus get away with everything? Was it just because their mother was good friends with the MacMillan family? Bridget's uncle was Alania's oldest friend. Or was it because the MacMillans were wealthy purebloods? He suspected that was more likely the case, but still…

It also didn't help that, with the arrival of his brother and grandparents, there were now three pairs in the house — Alexander and Alania, Atticus and Bridget, and Cyrille and Mildred. Adrian felt like the odd one out, the only one who didn't have a significant other, almost as though he were still a child in a room of adults and couldn't be part of their conversations. Which wasn't true, damn it, but it did make him feel rather isolated. So he stood forlorn by the frost-coated window, gazing into the darkness as snow flurries swirled close to the cold panes. He was sure he felt more alone tonight than he had at any point at Hogwarts in Slytherin House. Truthfully, he'd hated feeling alone ever since his seventh year, when he'd learned how nice it was to be friends with someone.

Unexpectedly, his mother's voice said quietly from behind him, "It troubles me to see you so sad, mon fils."

Adrian jolted slightly and glanced at her in surprise. He hadn't even realized she was next to him.

"What's wrong?" she murmured, stepping closer and turning her gaze to the snow, her hand falling on his shoulder as she leaned against him.

He shrugged half-heartedly. "The war, I guess."

"Have you been doing anything for Albus recently?"

"Not particularly." He sighed, petulant and moody. "Just providing moral support for another person in the Order. He's invisible too, like me. I've been trying to help him by looking over some information he's been collecting, since I can't really do much else right now."

Her hand slid into his hair, brushing it off his forehead. "I know you don't like being at home all the time, but I still worry that the Death Eaters will try to recruit you if you go to any society events —"

"Don't worry, Mum. I have no desire to go to any parties or society events," he assured her. That was at least true. Adrian did not want to be around any of his old classmates. Not having been around them for several months had been a relief. He didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't. He'd deliberately evaded recent invitations to Christmas parties at the Parkinson and Montague residences, even.

"Good." She frowned. "But, despite that, I do wish you had some friends. Non-Death Eater friends, I mean. I wouldn't mind that, you know. I hate to see you so lonely. I wouldn't mind you going out with good people."

"Well, that's a bit impossible right now, isn't it? I made my decision to help Professor Dumbledore. This is just part of it. It won't always be like this. One day, someone will hopefully defeat the Dark Lord. And then maybe our world can change a bit."

"Were there ever any girls you liked at Hogwarts?" she asked.

Adrian stiffened at the random, abrupt change in the conversation. "Why on earth would you ask that all of a sudden?"

The corner of his mother's mouth turned up. "We were talking of friends, weren't we? And with your brother officially bringing Bridget home…" (which was a bit of a joke, Adrian thought, because Bridget had been visiting them at the holidays ever since she'd transferred to Paris with the bank back in 1993), "I was curious if there was ever anyone you liked. The best partner in life is someone you can be yourself around, someone you can be friends with, like Atticus and Bridget. I didn't know if perhaps you had ever let your guard down around anyone at Hogwarts. But that's probably silly of me, isn't it? You so rarely let your guard down."

He knew he was blushing; all he could think about was how he and Alicia had gotten on so well, and how wonderful it had been to drop his mask when he was with her. Trying to cover the fact that his whole face was probably pink, he scoffed, "Cripes, Mum, I'm only eighteen. Bit young to be thinking about marriage, don't you think?"

"Maybe. But you've been so down the past two months, that I couldn't help but wonder if it was just the war or something else. If you were missing someone special."

Adrian's fists were in his pockets, thank goodness, because he clenched them tightly to steady his breathing. "Even if there was, it wouldn't matter. It would be foolish to get involved with anyone in the middle of the war. Unless, of course, you're Atticus. He seems to be able to get away with things others can't."

His mother's eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought you liked Bridget."

"I do like Bridget. I'm really happy Atticus is marrying her. That's not what I meant." Adrian felt flustered; his mother was chipping away at his defenses too easily and too quickly. "It's just…" He glanced at Atticus, Bridget, his father, and his grandparents, who were standing around the fire, deep in conversation. Assured they couldn't overhear him, he said quietly, "Father always said Atticus and I should talk to him before we brought someone home, and I know for a fact Atticus didn't. It doesn't matter, I suppose, because Bridget is a pureblood and you're friends with her uncle, but her family are considered blood traitors among more traditional Slytherins. Isn't father worried about that? He has to deal with those types of wizards as an investor. Aren't you both worried about what people will say when they find out who Atticus is marrying?"

His mother's expression was thoughtful. "The MacMillan family are purebloods who maintain a high social position. Their being blood traitors isn't quite as much of an issue because there is wealth involved. True; the more traditional Slytherins probably wouldn't marry them these days, but the MacMillans aren't snubbed, either. And, as you said, Straun has been my dearest friend since I was at Hogwarts. He and I are both very happy about this. So is Bridget's father. It's not as if we didn't see it coming."

She glanced back at Atticus and Bridget. After a moment, she murmured, "Atticus has been out of Hogwarts for seven years. He lives in France and has little to no contact with his old classmates. Those are all factors in his decision, and in our decision to accept his choice. There may be some minor repercussions, but I confess, I don't particularly care." Her lips curved sarcastically. "So Hera Warrington and Camilla Nott don't invite me to the next garden party or society tea. I daresay I shall survive. Besides, all of those people know how eccentric I am. They will probably just blame me for instilling such odd values in my sons, or some such rubbish, and I've heard all of that before."

"So you're telling me, if I wait seven years and move to another country, I can marry whomever I like?" he half-joked.

She gave him a look: a deep, searching look that unnerved him, and she mused, "Now I'm quite curious to know who you do like."

"No one." He rolled his eyes.

"I don't believe that." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "You, Adrian, are far too handsome not to have been involved with at least one or two girls, if not more. And I also noticed your mood took a definite downturn after Halloween, for some inexplicable reason. It makes your maman wonder."

Adrian felt his neck grow warm, despite standing beside the cold window.

Halloween? That was when Towler had baited him about Alicia and all the dates she'd been on that autumn with Gilbert Royle.

Hoping he sounded off-hand, he replied, "Just the weather."

She was watching him shrewdly, but she didn't press. "And yet, I don't think so. Enough, though. Come away from the window so we can open gifts."

"Atticus already gave me my gift. Back in August," Adrian protested, as his mother looped her arm in his and pulled him back towards the fire. He had been perfectly content to sulk by the window, damn it. He didn't want to be around three happy couples.

"Well," his brother said cheerfully, turning to grin at him, "Turns out you're in luck. I have another gift for you."

Adrian rolled his eyes again as Atticus used his wand to direct a small square package from beneath the tree to his younger brother. When Adrian pulled the paper off, he discovered it was another diary. This one was in English, thank God, though the writing was just as cramped. However, unlike Atticus's writing, all of the letters were capitalized, the first letter of each sentence and proper noun being slightly larger than the other letters. He didn't recognize the handwriting.

"Bill Weasley and I keep in touch. Discreetly," he added, catching his father's eye.

Adrian glanced at his father; Alexander's face was a mask of indifference. It was impossible to know what his thoughts were. The Weasleys were absolutely blood traitors; anyone who wanted to remain in high society would have no interaction with them unless it was completely unavoidable. It was an entirely different situation from the MacMillan clan. The Weasleys were poor; they had no social position whatsoever.

Atticus went on, "Because we both went into the same profession, but in different countries, we agreed to stay in contact and exchange notes. It's useful for Curse Breakers to compare notes, and Bill and I always got on well as prefects. He duplicated his diary when he left Egypt this summer and sent me a copy. I made a duplicate for you. I thought you might find it interesting."

"Thank you," Adrian said quietly. "I'm sure it will be."

"Well." Alania beamed. "Everyone sit down and I'll have the house elves bring up dessert while we open gifts. I know Cheffy made a Christmas cake and all sorts of other things for tonight, and he's been dying to send everything up for us to taste."

He supposed, in the end, he had had a nice evening opening presents and having dessert with his family. But now, it was just past midnight and he was in his room, lying in bed — and the conversation with his mother kept playing in his mind. The fact that she was so close to figuring out why he was so depressed nearly made his throat close up. He didn't need her realizing he fancied a girl; she would latch onto that in a heartbeat and wouldn't let up until she knew everything.

And then there was his father. Alexander Pucey was more traditionally Slytherin. Deep down, Adrian had always known why his father had insisted his sons talk to him before proposing to a girl. His mother had said it all by the window: she and Alexander were conscious of how their family looked to the rest of society, even if Alania was considered eccentric. Alexander was a powerhouse investor and he needed to keep up appearances with others in their social sphere.

Adrian finally couldn't stand it anymore. He threw back the counterpane, grabbed his dressing gown, shoved his feet in his slippers, and stole downstairs, intent on going all the way to the kitchen to get something to drink that might help him sleep. But as he passed through the corridors, he realized a light was on in his father's study.

Startled, Adrian paused. He'd thought everyone went to bed, but perhaps not. He hesitated only for a moment before changing direction. He would check and make sure everything was alright before he headed down to the kitchens.

When he got to the door, he knocked softly, because he didn't want to barge in if his parents were together. Merlin, that would be horrid. But his father's voice answered immediately and quietly bade whoever it was to enter, so Adrian unobtrusively slid into the room.

"Oh, Adrian." His father's brow furrowed; he was sitting in one of the two leather chairs beside the fire instead of at his handsome, large desk. "I wasn't expecting you. Couldn't sleep?"

Adrian shook his head. "No."

"Me, either. Sit down." His father waved his wand and a second glass of warm, spiced brandy appeared on the side table between the two chairs.

Adrian slowly sat down, unsure what to say. He cupped the glass in his hands, feeling the gentle heat against his palms, but his mind was too muddled.

"What's wrong, son?"

"A lot," Adrian admitted.

His father gave him a rare smile — just the corner of his mouth curving slightly beneath his dark beard and mustache. "True."

There was a long pause. Adrian took a deep breath.

"There's something I don't understand," he faltered.

His father looked at him curiously, and Adrian took that as permission to continue.

"You told us — Atticus and me — that if we were interested in someone, we should speak to you before proposing to a girl. But I know Atticus didn't talk to you first. He told me so." Adrian swallowed the lump in his throat.

His father's face was mask-like; it was impossible to know what he was thinking. "Ah. You were wondering why I accepted Bridget without complaint."

Adrian nodded. "I know she's a pureblood, but some traditional Slytherins technically consider her family blood traitors these days. Don't get me wrong — I like Bridget. She and I get on really well, and I'd rather Atticus marry her than anyone else. But… won't that make things harder? On you?"

His father was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, he sighed and said, "When I originally told the two of you that, we were in a deceptive lull between the wars. The Dark Lord had disappeared, but I had a feeling that he wasn't gone. At the same time, a number of his supporters slithered back into society and escaped Azkaban. Many had willfully joined him, but suddenly they were claiming bewitchment — despite everyone knowing damned well otherwise. When we returned from France, I wasn't sure how many of those old supporters would believe whether I had gone to the continent on business as I claimed, or if I was actually fleeing the Dark Lord, which was the truth. Back then, I was trying to think of how to navigate through all of that, and I didn't want the two of you to deal with more difficulties than necessary. I knew, when Atticus was sorted into Slytherin, he would likely face angry, accusing comments from other Slytherins about my actions during the war. I could do nothing to prevent that, and I hated it, but there had been no possible way for me to stay in England and escape recruitment or death at the time."

Adrian thought back to how Atticus had told him that there were, in fact, other Slytherins who had berated him for their father's actions, even though Adrian himself hadn't experienced the same bullying. He disliked that his brother had had to deal with that. In general, he hated that other Slytherins felt the need to bully at all. It just wasn't right. The idea of an eleven-year-old Atticus being bullied and hazed was sickening.

His father continued, "With the Dark Lord still alive, some of his supporters walking free, and those supporters frowning at the fact that I had been in France for four years, I knew that if you or Atticus married someone who wasn't socially acceptable, you would both lose social standing and credibility. Especially if either of you married a muggle-born, a half-blood, or a blood traitor whose family was without any wealth or position."

His father paused, and Adrian didn't interrupt. After a moment, Alexander went on softly, "Back then, I wasn't as concerned about who you would choose, because you were still very young. But I was concerned about your brother, because he was older and would most likely find someone before you did. If he chose someone while you were still at school, his choice would have affected you far more. I was hoping that Atticus would not find someone to marry until you had graduated, because I knew if he picked a witch that other purebloods would have solid reason to disdain, it would make your life incredibly difficult. Being in Slytherin House is not easy; Atticus getting bullied for my decisions in the first war was proof of that. He's never told me if that happened, but there were definite signs. I didn't want the same to happen to you."

Adrian looked down at his glass. No, it certainly wasn't easy being in Slytherin.

"To be honest," his father continued, "I wasn't necessarily thinking of myself or your mother. We are not much involved in society as we once were, and your mother is well-known to be eccentric. The other purebloods in our social circles know she will do as she pleases and they simply say it's Alania being Alania, that it's just the French in her. Then, too, my funds are perfectly secure these days and I don't need to invest as I used to. I'm also very selective about who I invest with. I actively avoid working with anyone I even suspect of being a Death Eater. I make plenty of income from interest alone. I wouldn't want you or Atticus to think you can be idle in your lives, but you and your children and at least two or three additional generations will never want for anything."

His father sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to the fire. "As for Bridget, specifically: The MacMillan clan is extremely wealthy and powerful. They may lightly be considered blood traitors these days, but they hold a very different position than the Weasleys." He snorted quietly. "Your brother might stay in contact with Bill Weasley for professional reasons, but he also knows damned well that it is inadvisable to be overly friendly with Bill in a social setting. But, I also know I cannot stop Atticus from doing as he pleases. He just turned twenty-five. He's been living in Paris for several years. He is his own man, now. He has his own house and makes his own money. He is, however, very aware of the highly volatile nature of the society we live in. I doubt he stays in touch with anyone in his Slytherin class from Hogwarts and he doesn't attend many social functions in England because his life is in Paris. I suspect that any repercussions from his marrying Bridget will likely be minimal. And, too, your mother is good friends with Straun. People know that. Even though that wasn't how Atticus and Bridget met, people will likely assume your mother had something to do with it."

Which, Adrian thought, was everything their mother said. It seemed she and his father were of one mind about this.

"However," his father added, a touch more sharply, "had Atticus made this decision even two years ago, I would have been more concerned. It would have affected you more, because you still had to navigate your way through your final years at school, and I would have had words with him. I would have asked him to wait until you at least graduated from Hogwarts."

Adrian stared at his brandy. "And me?"

"Hm?"

"Does the rule still apply to me?" Adrian asked quietly, not daring to look at his father. "Now that I'm out of Hogwarts and we're back at war?"

The pause was unnerving. Finally, his father murmured softly, "I hadn't expected you to fall in love at eighteen, Adrian."

Adrian flushed and muttered angrily, "I'm not in love. But… yes, if you must know, there was a girl I fancied. Only, don't tell Mum. She tried to get it out of me earlier and I wouldn't tell her. You know how she would be if she ever thought —"

His father chuckled. "I do know. Go on."

"The girl and I… we broke things off at graduation. We both agreed things were too dangerous and unpredictable with the war on. But… I haven't been able to forget her." He felt a lump in his throat again. Admitting it was hard, and to his father no less, who likely would not approve of Alicia's background or blood status, especially given how this conversation had gone so far. He added crossly, "I just need to try harder, I guess, and put her out of my mind."

"What is she like?"

Adrian shrugged in a half-hearted sort of way. "She was brilliant, really. We were tied for first place in our year. We were prefects together —"

"Katie Bell's friend?"

Startled, Adrian looked up. "How —?"

"Back in October," his father waved one hand idly to the side. "When the Bell girl was cursed, you said you knew of her because you were friends with one of her best friends, and her friend was a prefect in your year."

Adrian flushed. He couldn't believe his father remembered that remark. "Er, yes," he muttered. "We were assigned a lot of prefect patrols together during our last year, especially. Umbridge thought it was entertaining to put us together because she assumed we hated each other, and we allowed her to believe that. We got to know each other pretty well over several months."

"I'm going to assume this young lady's blood status is questionable, given the nature of the preceding conversation."

Adrian's flush deepened and he kept his eyes averted. "She's a half-blood. That's why we kept our friendship secret. And I hated it. It wasn't fair to her at all," he said bitterly. "She said she didn't care, because she knew how dangerous it was, but I still hated it. It was hard, too — sneaking around when I didn't want to treat her like that, but knowing if I didn't, all of Slytherin would be after us both. I wouldn't risk anyone hurting her because of me. In fact, I had actually resolved not to get involved with her because I didn't want to sneak around with her, and because I knew you wouldn't approve of her, but…"

"But," his father filled in quietly, "sometimes, you can't stop how you feel towards someone. Even if you know it's dangerous or would create social difficulties, you can't always stop yourself from falling in love."

Adrian could feel his face burning. "I wasn't in love with her," he stammered again, definitely flustered now. "I fancied her, sure, but it wasn't —"

"Did she return your feelings?"

Merlin! He could feel the flush going down his entire body! He sputtered, "It doesn't matter any more. I haven't talked to her in six months."

The silence stretched. It went on for so long that Adrian started trying to think of ways he could get out of the study and back to bed, and hope this whole conversation had been a nightmare. How could he have been so foolish as to admit all of this to his father?

But then Alexander sighed and said in a troubled voice, "Well. As I said. When I made that rule, you and Atticus were much younger. I was worried about politics and how other people would see our family, especially knowing I had fled to France to avoid being recruited by Death Eaters. But… things are changing. We're in the middle of a blood war again, the Dark Lord is back, his supporters have returned to him, and I can't flee to France a second time. You and Atticus have both made your decisions and chosen Albus's side. While no one knows of it just yet, they will eventually. That alone will put you on the wrong side of any number of people. Plus, if Albus loses the war, we will all have to flee if we can, and it may be impossible. I don't know."

He looked at Adrian again. "Regardless, I would still want you to talk to me if you met someone you want to marry. But not because it's a rule I want you to follow, or because I want to control your life. I want you to talk to me because you are my son, because I want to know how you feel. If you're angry or upset or in love, I would simply like to know what's going through your head. I fear you have too much of me in you; you keep things to yourself and you wear a perfect mask to fool everyone around you. That served you well in Slytherin, Adrian, and will serve you well with your peers in life, and through this war, but you don't have to wear it around your family."

Adrian swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "I fell into the habit when I first got sorted, and I do it now without thinking."

"How long did it take you to drop it around her?"

At that, Adrian almost laughed. "So fast it scared me. At first, in fifth and sixth year, it was incredibly confusing and it threw me off; I barely knew how to act. I was often terse or cross with her because it startled me so much, and I didn't like anyone breaking my defenses down that easily. But by halfway through seventh year, I was being myself around her without thought. It was such a relief when we were together. By spring term, I looked forward to every second I spent alone with her, just because I knew I could be myself for a bit, without having to wear a mask and pretend to be someone I wasn't."

His father smiled at him. "That was how I felt with your mother, when we met. I could be myself around her, and not the person I had to be around everyone else."

Adrian sipped his brandy for a moment, before he finally said, "It's a moot point anyways. I doubt I'll ever see her again." It was an awful thought, but he had to face that possibility — whether he wanted to or not.

"Never say never," his father murmured shrewdly. "If I'm being perfectly honest with you, the fact that you fancy a half-blood witch isn't as damaging as the fact that you've sided with Albus in a blood war against the Dark Lord. So I hope, if you do meet her again, that the war will be over and Albus's side will have won. Then things like blood purity may not matter as much." He straightened at that point and leveled Adrian with a sharp gaze. "But I do have one more question for you. You won't like it, but I have to ask because I'm your father and that is my duty."

Adrian felt his gut clench with anxiety as he wondered what else his father could object to, but he nodded.

"Money attracts a lot of attention. I know Bridget isn't after Atticus's fortune because the MacMillan family is as wealthy as we are, and Bridget herself has a sizable dowry. But I would assume that a half-blood witch very likely has no fortune or social position at all. This girl wasn't trying to get close to you for yours, was she?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "No. She isn't like that."

"I would hope not, but it happens more frequently than people like to believe. We are sometimes blinded in such cases. I won't allow anyone to use you that way. To say nothing of how your mother would react."

"This girl was too honorable for that. She's a Gryffindor."

His father frowned. "There are plenty of Gryffindors who do not hold to honor the way the Sorting Hat sings about it during the Sorting Ceremony."

That brought to mind something else. Unable to stop himself and keen to deflect the very idea that Alicia wasn't honorable (because that certainly wasn't true, and he didn't want to try and convince his father tonight), Adrian asked, "I've always wondered — why does our family choose Slytherin?"

"What do you mean?"

"All four of us were sorted into Slytherin, but we don't exactly think or act like normal Slytherins."

His father's eyebrows contracted. "There are a lot of adjectives that describe Slytherin House, just as there are a lot of adjectives to describe the other three houses. All values can have both good and negative connotations. Ambition, tradition, shrewdness, cunning, resourcefulness, self-preservation, determination, cleverness… all of those things can be viewed as negative or positive. We are Slytherins, all four of us, but I like to think we manifest the goodness of those qualities, rather than the negative qualities the elites in our society insist upon. Though, of course, those people think of the attributes as positive themselves." He snorted. "Maybe one day, after the war is over, if the Dark Lord falls, Slytherin House can be seen as something more positive than what it has been for centuries."

They fell silent for a bit. Adrian kept sipping his brandy, his mind turning everything over. His father was always such an enigma, it was so hard to read him, and yet he was sure they'd talked more tonight than ever before. He still felt a bit confused though, and he hated that.

His father suddenly murmured, "I plan to start coming up with a list of code names, phrases, and safe meeting locations that we can use in the future if needed. It's been on my mind lately, especially knowing you and Atticus are both discreetly helping Albus. We need to make sure that we, as a family, can reach each other even if we are separated. I need to make sure both of my sons have a way to get home. At some point, your mother and I will likely put a Fidelius Charm around the estate, and we would not want to lock either of you out."

Adrian nodded. "That makes sense. And it would be nice to know this is a safe place to come in an emergency. Would you be the Secret Keeper?"

"No. Your mother will be our Secret Keeper. I cannot talk her out of it. Not for lack of trying. She is determined. Your grandparents will likely place the same protection around their chateau in Gassin, and I intend to tell Atticus to do the same to his home in Paris."

"Probably a good idea," Adrian agreed.

"I have to travel to Paris in early January," his father went on. "I need to finalize some recent investments there and I can help your brother set the charm around the townhouse in advance, just as a precaution. That way at least one residence will be under the charm going into the new year. I'll need you to stay here with your mother while I'm gone."

"Of course." As if he would do anything else.

"Well." His father sighed heavily. "You'd best get back to bed, it's well past one. I'm not sure if I've given you more reason to lie awake half the night, or if the brandy helped."

Adrian smiled. "The brandy helps. But there is a lot in my head, still."

His father smiled in return. "That's the trouble with being a smart Slytherin, Adrian. You always have a lot in your head."

Author's Notes:

1. Bill's handwriting is credit to Mandy, who described it in one of her stories (I think emOrder of Mercy/em).

2. Also, it was Mandy who reminded me that Adrian's parents would probably want to make sure a witch wasn't after his money, and I hope she doesn't mind me using that trope. I definitely need to credit her with that.