𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

" yuletide "

✤ ✾ ✤

. . . DECEMBER, 1975

FROST COATED the fence rows in the early light of dawn. The small farm was already wide awake to greet the new day. Chickens fluttered across the lawn in clusters of brown, yellow, and white. The sheep too were already spread out past their pen, grazing in the frozen grass of the field.

Maeve stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply once. Their farm dog, Tory, immediately perked up and launched himself down the hill to round up the sheep. He wasn't very good at his job and occasionally the sheep began herding him. Today, however, he chased the sheep right into their pen and Maeve locked up the gate.

She and Sorcha had split up their chores so that they were on opposite ends of their property at all times. It was all well and good with Maeve, anyway. Sorcha loved to take care of their two horses, and Maeve was still wary of them after she had been thrown off once while riding as a little girl. This morning, though, Sorcha had decided to sleep in, so it was only Maeve left to walk the yard and feed the chickens.

When they arrived at King's Cross Station yesterday afternoon, it had been nothing but awkward. Their parents were glad to see all three of them, as they normally were, but the tension between Sorcha and Maeve was too sharp to ignore.Christmas was still Maeve's favorite time of the year, no matter how much it angered her to have to spend the holidays at home with Sorcha. 

 Everywhere she looked, there was a festive air to the world. Their dad had strung up colored lights on the edge of the roof, and garlands of pine and holly decorated the fence at the front of their property. Though there was no snow, the frost gave the hills the look of being dusted in powdered sugar.

The door to the house slammed shut and her dad emerged. He held an axe over one shoulder and was bundled in a scarf with the Wicklow GAA crest. Tory barked and ran right up to him.

"Keen to go with me and get the tree?" he called, smiling at her as he scratched Tory behind the ears. Her dad always waited until she was home from school to go and chop down their Christmas tree. It was one of her favorite traditions.

It wasn't a long drive to reach the Christmas tree farm. They drove past Declan's pub on the way there, as well as the old stone church. Once the village faded the roads turned back to dirt. Maeve stared out the foggy window and leaned her head against the cold glass. Tory sat between them in the middle seat, panting with anticipation as they drove.

"So what's the story with you and your sister?" her dad finally asked. The truck slowed. An old wooden sign stood in front of a cattle gate that read, Byrne Farms.

Maeve frowned. "Nothin'."

"Nothin'?" he repeated as he put the truck in park just outside the gate. "Mae, I'm not an eejit. I've done ye the favor of ignoring it for a time, but it's gettin' difficult to deny.

He saved her from a response by getting out and unlatching the gate. Even when he got back into the vehicle, he said nothing further. Unlike her ma who would pester her until death or answer, her dad knew that Maeve would only speak when she was willing.

The big white farmhouse that had been half of her childhood came into view. Her grandparent's home put theirs to shame with the sheer amount of lights and tacky Christmas decor that cluttered the lawn. They went all out every year and her grandad swore it was better for business on the Christmas tree sales front. For now, though, Maeve knew her grandparents were still asleep. They had farm hands that did the early work for them now that they were older. One of them, Deirdre, waved as they pulled up.

Maeve pulled on her gloves and wool hat as they hopped out of the truck. She carried the axe, and her dad carried the small sled they would use to haul their selected pine back from the fields. Tory bolted through the grass, running as fast as his long legs could carry him.

"Sorcha and I have been fightin' for a long time," Maeve began as they walked along.

He just looked at her. "If you're just gonna tell me what I already know, save your trouble."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't want you and ma to worry about it. We're workin' it out between ourselves."

"You don't speak a word to each other anymore," he remarked. "I rarely see you in the same room. We used to have to pull Sorcha out of your bed in the middle of the night because you refused to sleep without each other. You used to be inseparable."

Used to be. "We've grown apart."

"C'mere to me," he began. "I don't need to know every detail of what's goin' on with you two at school. I probably wouldn't even fully understand it if you told me, anyway. But whatever it is, it isn't forever. You'll forgive each other in time."

Maeve didn't have the heart to tell him that he was wrong. He looked too hopeful, so optimistic that his daughters would find it in themselves to get along. He didn't know about the Bludger, the truth of the Quidditch suspension, or the terrible things Maeve had done to Sorcha in their third year that had started it all.

"I'm sure you're right," Maeve said, braving a smile. She looked ahead to see Tory standing with his tail wagging. "I think we found our tree."

Later that morning, after they had brought the pine home and listened to her ma's yearly rant about the tree being too big to fit in the living room, Maeve was laying on her bed and listening to her A Charlie Brown Christmas record. She hummed in time to the music and stared at her guitar which sat in the far corner of her room. Why she had even brought it home, she didn't know. She hadn't touched it since the summertime.

Three quick raps echoed on her window pane. Maeve launched off of her blue and purple quilt and ran to unlatch the window. Oat flew in and dropped three letters on her desk before staring at her with his wide eyes, waiting for a snack.

"There's two rats in the barn for you," she told him. Aoife's pesky cat Serafina had killed them that morning, but Maeve hadn't been keen to bring it inside. Oat knew the drill and flew off and away.

Of the letters sitting in front of her, she recognized only two. One was the pale pink stationary of Avanti Singh, and the other was covered in Elara's glittery star stickers. The third was by far the most formal. It was a narrow envelope with a small return address scrawled in the top corner: Katerina Collins, 79 Culross Street, London. Maeve ripped it open immediately.

Maeve,

I'm sorry we were unable to finish our conversation at the party. At first, I didn't understand why you left in such a rush, but your friend Lily explained everything. Though you may not believe it, I can sympathize with your struggles. It is not easy to fight with a sister. Mine too went to great lengths to ensure I was always kept on my toes. But I digress.

What I am writing to ask is to request your company in London while you're on holiday from school. Though I don't have many connections to Trinity, I have friends from Oxford who would love to meet you. I think you would find it interesting to speak to them as well. They will be in London for the full week before Christmas. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you are able to make the journey.

Cheers,
Katerina Collins

Maeve stared at the parchment, absolutely dumbfounded. Not only did Katerina not think she was a right idiot, but Lily Evans had been the one to mend everything for her. Your friend Lily. Maeve hadn't truly thought of them as friends, but she realized then that maybe she ought to.

She continued to think of the letter all throughout the afternoon and into the evening. Even the Christmas baking wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that she had no easy way to reach London.

Cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the kitchen. Particles of flour danced in the sunlight of the cold December evening, and Maeve whisked the batter. A light Christmas music was playing on the record player in the living room, and she was grateful for the solace. Sorcha had since left to spend the day at a friend's, which was ideal for Maeve.

Aoife's footsteps creaked down the stairs as she padded into the kitchen holding an empty mug. "Smells grand in here. Is that tea bread?"

"It is," Maeve smiled, brushing a hair out of her face with the back of her hand. She and Sorcha used to do all of the Christmas baking together. Now, it fell largely onto Maeve.

Aoife rubbed at the sleeve of her tasteful Christmas jumper. With the white ribbon in her hair, she looked like Clara from the Nutcracker ballet. "So, that Katerina woman wants you to come to London this week?"

Maeve set down the bowl and waved her wand over it and said "Locomotor", setting the spoon to mixing on its own. It left her free to put her hands on her hips. "Were you nosing in my things?"

"I went into your room for an extra blanket. You left it out on your desk in plain sight."

"That's a terrible excuse."

Aoife tilted her head to the side like she always did when she was about to ask Maeve for an enormous favor. "Well, what if I went with you?"

"To London?"

"Yeah. We could stay with Aunt Josey again. And London is so pretty at Christmas time," she continued. Their Aunt Josey was their ma's younger sister who worked for the Ministry in London. They only saw her around holidays, as she was normally too busy traveling.

"What's in it for you?"

Aoife fiddled with the tea kettle. "Ana invited me to her family Christmas party again."

And there it was. "Make up another story, tell her you're busy."

"I had the date wrong," Aoife whispered, as if Ana could hear. "I told her I wasn't busy. I thought she was just going to ask me to come visit her!"

Every year, Ana invited Aoife to her family's party, and every year Aoife came up with an excuse for why she couldn't go. One year she had a dramatic case of the stomach flu, another they were traveling to Galway to visit family that they didn't have. Anything but telling her best friend the truth, which was that Aoife was incredibly wary of Ana's extended family. It was for good reason. Ana's family were Purebloods, members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that believed in blood purity and the cleansing of Muggle-borns. Ana was one of the few who didn't agree.

"I always feel bad for her." Aoife looked around the warm kitchen where years of pleasant memories were stacked like dishes on a shelf. "Ever since she started seeing that Ted Tonks, her mother has been threatening to disown her. She only wants me to come to the party so she doesn't have to be there alone. I owe her that."

"And you think I owe you the favor of coming along?"

"No," Aoife told her diplomatically. "You own me the party because I'm giving you a chance to visit Katerina. We'll tell Ma and Dad that I'm going with you to London because you aren't of age and I want you to be safe."

"And we'll lie to them about Ana's party?"

"It isn't lying," Aoife sniffed. "We just won't tell them. Ma would never let me go to that party if she knew."

"For good reason," Maeve muttered. She poured the batter from the bowl and into two tins. Just because they were Halfbloods didn't mean they were safe from an entire family of bigots. Finally, after she had pushed the tins into the oven, Maeve said, "You're lucky I like Ana, I don't think I would put up with this for anyone else."

Aoife immediately brightened. "So you'll come?"

And Maeve couldn't help herself from asking, "Why didn't you ask Sorcha?"

Aoife's expression darkened. "Sorcha already thinks I'm one of those terrible Death Eaters. I'm sure she thinks I'm hiding a Dark Mark under my sleeves. If I invite her to this party she'd think I've fully gone under."

Maeve threw her oven mitt down on the table. Her stomach twisted with words unsaid. She hadn't told Aoife what Sorcha had said about her at the party, or why exactly it was that Maeve had made a fool of herself and abruptly left. Aoife already had her suspicions. There was no reason to add fuel to a fire that was burning Maeve alive.

"Alright. When do we leave?"

✤

IT TOOK a good two days before their ma agreed to let them go alone to London. It wasn't the travel that bothered her, but rather it was their Aunt Josey. Maeve had always wondered if the bitterness her mother felt towards her sister had been inherited by Sorcha.

"You'll be fending for yourselves," she warned. "Josephine can hardly care for a cat, let alone two children."

"I'm not a child," Aoife protested. She was freshly seventeen as of two weeks ago and had flaunted it at any opportunity. "I'll be there to take care of Maeve."

Maeve bit her tongue. Arguing about her status as a non-child wasn't going to win them any points.

"I think it's a marvelous idea!" Their dad said, grinning. "This woman seems like she'll be a real help to you, Mae."

"My sister–" Ma began to protest.

But Dad just waved her off. "The girls will have a grand time. And Sorcha and I will be havin' a riot here until you get back."

Sorcha barely looked up from her copy of Witch Weekly. "Grand."

They flew to London on Friday morning, four days before Christmas. Ana's party was that evening, and Maeve was due to meet with Katerina and her friends the next afternoon. Heathrow airport was packed with travelers and it took them ages to get out to the front where Aunt Josey was waiting with the car. It was cheaper than a Portkey, but took infinitely longer to travel the Muggle way. Still, Maeve enjoyed walking through the airport. People were hugging and laughing left and right. There was so much love to be felt as it left and arrived back again.

When their Aunt Josey saw them, she waved wildly. "Oh, my girls!" she sighed, wrapping them both in a tight hug. She was a shorter, jollier version of their ma. Always quick to laugh and filled to the brim with stories from her travels. "Hop in, then. Don't mind my things in the backseat."

Maeve opened the front door and was greeted by the sight of a caged Niffler. "Um, Aunt Josey?"

"Yes? Oh, that's just Norman. I'm watching him for a friend who's away this week. Scoot the cage over, yes, that's it. Now hop in!"

Aoife and Maeve exchanged a concerned glance. As soon as the car doors were closed, Aunt Josey pressed her foot to the gas and they lurched off into London. Maeve, who was not easily made motion sick, felt ready to throw up by the time they reached the driveway of the small townhouse. Poor Norman also looked a bit ill.

Josey hefted the cage out and carried it into the house. "So, Niamh told me yer seein' a woman who went to Oxford tomorrow, Maeve?"

"I am," Maeve told her. "Slughorn introduced us, and now she wants to speak with me again. Her husband went to Trinity, too."

"Good old Sluggy," Josey grinned, pushing the door open with her hip. Maeve and Aoife dragged their suitcases in behind her. "I never was one for Potions, but I liked him alright. I'm sure he makes for a good head of house, right easy to break the rules with him."

Aoife laughed. "He isn't one for discipline."

"No, and neither am I, which is good for you two. A Pureblood party, girls? Are you out of your minds?"

Aoife and Maeve both stared at her. "How did you know about that?" Aoife asked quietly.

"Not much gets past me," Josey huffed. "That friend of yours, Ana. Her uncle works in the Ministry and was going on and on about the family party he'd be hosting tonight. I thought it was odd that you two suddenly wanted to come visit me. Is this Oxford woman just another one of your tall tales, Maeve?"

"No, she's real, I swear," Maeve defended. "Aoife just wanted me to come with her to the party as well."

"I've told Ana no every single year that she's asked me to come," Aoife said stubbornly. "Trust me, I don't want to go either. But I want to be there for her."

Josey looked between the two of them. "Well, I'm not yer ma. I won't stand in your way. But be very careful. I know that Ana of yours is a lovely girl, but her family–" Josey blew out a frustrated breath "–most definitely is not."

✤

ONCE the sickening feeling ended, Maeve found herself standing on a London street in front of row upon row of the same well-kept townhouses.

"Shit, Aoife," Maeve said, stumbling. "We are not doing that again."

"It was cheaper than a taxi," Aoife defended, though she too was looking pale. She had only passed her apparition test the day before they had left for London. Though the journey from Aunt Josey's had been rough, they were at least standing on the correct street. A dark sign read Grimmauld Place, confirming they were in the right spot.

Maeve straightened out the velvet skirt of her dress. She stared at the stone steps in front of them. "I thought it would be–different."

"What did you expect? A Victorian mansion on a hill with a lightning storm?" Aoife snapped. She always became snippy when she was nervous.

"And maybe some bats for effect."

They walked up the steps together, but before they had lifted a hand to the knob, the door swung open. Ana looked incredibly relieved to see them. Her deep green dress looked incredibly expensive, made from fine silk and edged with tiny, tasteful pearls. It made Maeve feel like a child playing as an adult. Her carefully selected velvet and lace was too simple, too Muggle. Her stomach plummeted.

This was going to be a long night.

Ana ushered them inside. "I've been watching for you from the window for nearly an hour. This is unbearable."

The party, if it could be called that, was already in full swing. A slew of haughty wizards were spread between a large parlor and expansive dining room. There was no Christmas tree, not even a garland of simple lights. The only sign of cheer was the hearth that roared on the far side of the room.

"This is a lovely party," Maeve said politely, scanning the sea of dark colored robes. "I especially enjoy the color coordination of outfits. Is there to be a funeral to follow?"

Ana hit her on the arm. "Don't poke fun. If I start laughing we're all in for it."

"How long does this go for?" Aoife whispered to her friend.

"Until people start to leave," Ana told her. A disgruntled house elf was carrying a tray of champagne around the room. Ana grabbed one of the crystal glasses and took a large sip. "Could be hours."

While she and Aoife began to talk, Maeve continued to gape at the room. It was lavishly furnished but rather like a museum. Even if she felt comfortable enough to sit down, she thought it might not be allowed. One person, however, was sitting comfortably on the chaise in front of the hearth. Sirius Black stared into the flames ahead of him. He was buttoned into a sleek suit cloak in the cut favored by only the upper class of wizards. A strange sense of vertigo pulled at her senses, and she could hardly reconcile this Sirius with the one who had shoved her into a broom closet, or even the one she had last seen outside of Slughorn's party. All of his visions of grandeur seemed to have evaporated into brooding.

"Do I know you from school?"

Maeve turned to face the boy who had suddenly materialized beside her. He was a carbon copy of Sirius. Regulus Black had the same dark hair, but his features were sharper, less friendly. It made the boy look significantly older even though he was the younger brother.

"You might. I'm a year ahead of you."

He made a face. "You're in Gryffindor too, I presume?"

"I'm a Ravenclaw," Maeve said, unable to keep the haughty tone out of her voice.

"But haven't I seen you with Sirius?"

"You're thinking of my sister," Maeve told him, wondering how many times the phrase would fall from her mouth for the remainder of her life. "We're twins."

"I see," Regulus said.

"Tell me," Maeve began. She knew she shouldn't poke and prod at an event such as this, but she couldn't help it. "Do you accost everyone who walks through this door?"

His posture lost its steadiness. "I'm sorry, I don't tend to enjoy these parties. They bring out the worst of me."

"Does anyone enjoy them?" Maeve found herself asking. Though she knew that Regulus was not as open-minded as his brother was, she found herself wondering if he might not be so bad after all. It would be easy to get pulled into the undertow in a family such as this.

The boy cracked a small smile. "My mother loves to entertain."

"I see. She's big on the Christmas cheer as well, yes?"

Another grin. "Perhaps not, but the food is excellent. I'm glad you finally arrived. I thought darling Andromeda was going to wear a hole in the carpet in front of the window."

Maeve studied him. It was impossible to tell what he thought of her being here. Aoife had already been pulled into conversation with a portly, balding wizard and Maeve was desperate to avoid any unnecessary chatter. She already felt like she was being watched. "Is there a restroom?"

"At the top of the stairs," he told her politely. "It was lovely to meet you."

Maeve doubted that.

She didn't find a bathroom when she reached the top of the elegant staircase, but instead another large room for entertaining. It was far more intimate, but the wallpaper was incredibly detailed. Shades of green spread across all four walls, creating the branches of a great tangled forest. She stepped closer to examine the writing. It was a family tree. All of the generations of the House of Black were spread out before her. She found Ana and traced her finger between her two sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix. And then just a little farther, below Walburga and Orion, was Sirius.

In his outfit downstairs, Maeve could have been fooled. Sirius looked as though he belonged to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. To live in a house like this was a punishment. She was met by the unpleasant reminder that in a wizarding world at war, the Purebloods placed her neatly in the category of traitor. Her Muggle fashions, her love of Muggle sciences, her desire to attend a university, all of it painted her as the villain.

Maeve prayed that this party would end quickly.

✤ ✾ ✤

a/n I've been sitting on the Ana-is-short-for-Andromeda thing for so!! long!! I know it isn't incredibly significant but I'm obsessed with little hidden things like that, and it also gives Maeve another layer of nuance to her connection with and opinion of the Blacks.

Sources on reddit and everywhere else on the internet don't entirely agree with how much older Andromeda was than Sirius, but it's usually between 4-7 years. This squishes it down to a measly 2. The only thing this really affects in relation to the story at large is how old Tonks is, which also only affects her age gap with Remus, which also is a relationship that has always kind of irked me a bit anyway (I'm so sorry if you have strong opinions about this). Considering this book is only focused on the Marauders Era, it isn't going to drastically affect anything to have Andromeda being the same age as Aoife. But it will make for some fun scenes in the near future :)

More Black family Christmas Party to come, and this time from Sirius's POV!