A Very Potter Christmas

Power. Money. Status.

These were the three most important things in the world to the Wizarding elite. Not just to have, but to show. In the chess game that was polite society, it was never enough to have it all — everyone else had to know that you did, or none of it would be worth anything.

That’s why these balls were so important. Because a crown means nothing without a people to rule, and art means nothing without someone to admire it. The chandeliers, the imported champagne, and the six-figure dress robes were like a baring of teeth. A sharp and dangerous reminder that money bites. That power snarls. That status smiles pleasantly above it all.

To be on this level, you had to play with a masterful level of skill. You had to have skin in the game and a full vault at your back. You had to lure people in with a pretty facade, so you could snatch them up and wring them for everything they were worth to you. You had to be willing to say anything, do anything, to get what you wanted. And most of all, you had to do it with nothing more than a few twisted words from a silver tongue. It’s why Slytherins thrived on this environment, where ambition was expected, and ruthlessness was a necessary evil.

James’s mother had always been well-suited to the endeavour — a Slytherin herself from a respected Pureblood family in India, she’d come to Britain for an education and stayed for a Potter, one of the wealthiest men in the whole country. Of course, she was actually madly in love with said man, but that mattered less to the Ton than the fact of her marrying him. Access to his vaults, his assets, his contacts; that’s what people in these circles envied, not so much the love that bloomed between them. But by Merlin, did she know how to use the Potter privilege.

Almost single-handedly had she slipped her way up the food-chain until she lounged like an empress near the very top. She was the real political powerhouse in the family, with an eye for gold and a nose for blood. She used her powers for good, lobbying for equality acts, and protections of vulnerable peoples, and funding for worthy causes, but she did it all using the same slight of tongue and underhanded techniques that her opponents did.

Dad was more… straightforward. He did the smiling, and the shaking of hands, and the friendly dinners with the right people. He was the one that kissed the babies and posed for the photos, after Mum laid out all the pieces for him behind the scenes. Like the family crest, she was the adder, and he was the rose. She was fierce where he was gentle. They balanced each other out, and the fact of the matter was, that it worked. The two of them worked in perfect concert.

As a result, they’d garnered a reputation as a formidable pair amongst the Ton. A reputation, in fact, that James was terrified at the thought of having to live up to. He could joke with his Mum all he wanted that he was more like his Dad — gentle and soft compared to the sharks in these political waters — but it wasn’t actually funny. He felt like a lamb serving himself up to the slaughter. As much as he wanted to follow in his parents’ footsteps and affect real change, he had serious doubts about his ability to succeed. He was a rose without its adder; he didn’t have the teeth he needed to make it in this world.

And that was even before he’d turned himself into a laughingstock at the Longbottom Ball. When he’d sent his reputation crashing down with five tiers of frosted sponge-cake. After that calamity, he wasn’t just at ground zero anymore, he was in the sub-basements, trying to claw his way back to the fucking starting line. He may have debuted already, but today, at the Greengrass Ball, he was practically going to have to do it all over again. Re-debut. And hopefully make a better impression this time. His reputation was counting on it.

His family’s reputation was counting on it.

He anxiously flexed his fingers as Sirius fussed at the strap of his vest.

“You know…” his friend murmured distractedly. “… this almost makes me want to go. If only to wear a fabulous outfit like this one.”

“You look fabulous all the time,” James told him, because it was factually true. You could say what you wanted about Sirius Black, but the bloke always looked like he’d walked straight off a magazine cover.

“Why Mr Potter, you flatter me!” Sirius pretended to fan himself. “And you’re right, I am perpetually fabulous, but I’d still kill for this getup.”

The getup in question consisted of the most ostentatious garments James had ever worn on his body. See, the Greengrass’ reputation was all about beauty. Their patron was Aphrodite herself, and by Godric they honoured her. Everything to do with them was always immeasurably pleasing to the eye. Their looks, their home, their food, their parties. The way they spoke, the way they carried themselves. Every inch of that family was pristinely and impossibly beautiful. And the Winter Ball they hosted every year was no exception.

There was always a theme that the guests had to adhere to, to ensure that the aesthetics of the event met the Greengrass’ lofty standards. Traditional robes didn’t cut it for this family, so everyone had to go big or go home… literally. Every detail — every button, every hem, every stitch — would be inspected with excruciating thoroughness upon arrival, and those who did not make the cut were sent away. It had become something of a test over the years; if you didn’t make it into the Greengrass’ Ball, you weren’t worth looking upon.

James was understandably nervous.

His Dad, Regulus, and Monsieur Trousseau had all collaborated to design a marvel of an outfit that James could have never come up with in a million years. Still, half the battle with elaborate clothing, was how one wore it. James needed to wear it well, lest the clothes wear him instead.

This year, the theme was ‘White As Snow’, which had seen much discussion in the society gossip rags. Supposedly, most people were leaning in the snow direction, choosing white ensembles with motifs of ice and snow throughout. Others braved leaning so hard into the snow theme that they veered into wintery shades of blue and grey. And some took the first part and ran, going for all white outfits and ignoring the snow portion.

James was playing it fairly safe. Or… well… safe in regard to the theme. It was not even a little bit safe compared to James’s regular fashion sense, and he never would have worn such an outfit in any other circumstances.

He was, essentially, dressed as a Snow Angel.

On his feet were snow-boots with steel-toes plated in real gold, his hands adorned with fingerless white gloves in supple dragon leather. His arms were bare, and the robes themselves (if you could even call them that) were pure white with golden accents threaded through — a nod to the Potter House colours. The trousers were made from a flowing chiffon material, draped elegantly and loosely so they almost appeared like a skirt. Meanwhile, the upper body was the real star of the show. A vest was fashioned in white fabric with gold jewels of various shapes and sizes absolutely covering it, the effect like a fractal of ice and golden light shattered across his chest. From his back bloomed two large wings made from white and gold feathers unfurling out from his body.

His hair had been streaked with gold and styled in roguishly unkempt curls by Sirius’s hand. And metallic golden liner framed his eyes in sharp angles to mirror the wings at his back. Sirius had also painted his body in a subtle golden shimmer, applying it to everywhere the light would hit him naturally.

In full effect, he looked like snow in the morning light. Like the sun casting its rays over a blanket of white frost. He seemed to glow with all the glitter and jewels and sequins adorning him, like one of Khione’s snowy servants. ‘White As Snow’, indeed. Here’s hoping the Greengrasses thought so too.

“You can have it after tonight,” James offered, because there was no world in which he was wearing this again. “Though you’ll probably prefer Regulus’s version.”

“Let me guess… he’s in silver.”

James nodded in confirmation.

“Lucky bastard,” Sirius sighed dramatically. “He’s going to look annoyingly good. I’m going to have to steal it from him sometime, if only to prove that I can rock wings better than he can.”

Privately, James doubted that was true. Regulus, in the silver version of this outfit, was going to be an utter vision that no-one else could ever compare to. Not even Sirius.

“I’ll be your lookout,” James said instead, because he’d always have his best friend’s back.

Sirius grinned, pleased. “Try not to touch your face too much tonight. I don’t want you smudging my makeup.”

“The makeup’s on my face,” James pointed out.

“But it’s my work,” he countered dismissively. “And I did an excellent job. There’s no chance in hell the Greengrasses will turn you down.”

“But if they do, can we drown my sorrows in ice cream together?”

“They won’t,” Sirius reiterated before smiling fondly. “But yes, I’ll be your backup plan for the evening if something goes wrong. Which it won’t. You’re James Potter. You got this.”

There he went again, saying James’s name like being James Potter was the bravest and coolest thing a person could do. He wasn’t sure how or when or why Sirius had developed such a high estimation of his character, but it was equal parts heart-warming and imposter-syndrome inducing. He didn’t think he was that cool or brave. He was just James. He fucked up a hell of a lot more often than he would like to.

Still, some part of him knew Sirius was right. All he could really do was keep his head held high and be himself. He was never going to be a cunning snake like his mother, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever shine as brightly as his father either, so the only way forward was to do this his way. To sharpen his teeth and blaze his own trail. He was a Potter. He was born to stand and to dare. Now, he had to follow through.

“I got this,” James repeated, setting his shoulders back and trying to get used to the weight of the faux wings. He clenched his fist to feel the Potter ring on his finger, tucked beneath his glove. It was a heavy burden, but he could carry it all. He must.

“I believe in you,” Sirius told him softly, meeting his gaze. It was strange, sometimes, how much faith Sirius had in him, but he’d always tried his damn best to be worthy of it.

“Thank you. For the help with the outfit. And for everything else.”

His best friend just smiled. “‘Course, Prongs. You can always count on me.” His smile seemed to falter for a second. “With anything, I mean. You can trust me with anything at all. Even the things that might seem difficult.”

James blinked, sensing a shift in Sirius. “I appreciate that Padfoot.”

The boy sighed. “Look, I won’t do this before your big event, but when you get back, we should talk.”

James tensed, his body going into high alert. Ever since becoming an animagus, tensing always reminded him of being a stag and freezing at the first sign of a predator. Sirius wasn’t a real danger to him, but his words still made James freeze. “…Talk about what?”

Sirius gave him a pointed look. “The elephant in the room. I’ve been trying to give you space, hoping you would come to me in your own time, but I’m starting to run out of patience.”

James’s heart raced in his chest. Did he know? Had he clocked on to James’s crush on his baby brother? Was he mad? Was he wary? Would he tell James to knock it off? What if he didn’t believe James about his semi-queerness? What if he didn’t think James was gay enough to be with Regulus? What if, what if, what if?

“Pads…”

“Oh, don’t work yourself up.” Sirius playfully pushed his shoulder. “It’s not like I bite… in human form. We’ll talk about it, man to man.”

“I think I might prefer dog to stag, actually,” James joked weakly.

Sirius bore his canine grin. “Ah, but I do bite in dog form. You’re better off with human me.”

James hastily grabbed his wand and slid it into his discreet trouser pocket, the fabric folds hiding the opening well. “Right! Well, I should probably go!” In his haste, he nearly knocked Sirius over with his wing.

“Whoa! Watch the feathers, angel cake!”

“Angel cake?” He repeated flatly.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of the cake jokes so easily,” Sirius proclaimed with an evil grin. “Have fun tonight, angel delight!”

“What even is that?” James hurried towards the door.

“It’s a type of mousse!”

James grabbed the door handle and looked back. “Not a cake. Not sure it counts.”

Sirius squinted at him irately. “I hope you trip and fall again, sugar lips.”

A laugh tore from James’s throat. “I hate you.”

“Hate you more!”

*

“You look…”

Ethereal. Other-worldly. Like Adonis reincarnate.

“I look what?” Regulus raised an elegant brow. “Were you going to call me handsome again?”

James spluttered, his cheeks heating in an instant. “I— you— well, you erm… you do look handsome. I just— You look nice.”

“Downgraded to ‘nice’,” Regulus affected a dramatic sigh, clearly getting off on James’s suffering based on the smirk curling at his lips. “I shall have to try harder next time.”

James’s mind whirled at what Regulus’s ‘trying harder’ would be like. He already looked painful levels of beautiful. If he tried any harder, James might combust on the spot.

He was in the same outfit James was, though his colour scheme was white and silver rather than gold. Instead of the fingerless leather gloves James wore, Regulus’s were a delicate white lace that gave him a fragile, doll-like air to his appearance. The makeup he wore added to the overall effect, making his already alabaster skin look like precious porcelain. His eyes were wide and doe-eyed due to the white liner in his lash-line, and a silvery shimmer highlighted the inner corner of his smoky grey eyes. 

If James was frost in the light of a sunrise, Regulus was snow in the silver rays of starlight. He looked like the picture of an untouched winter wonderland. Like an unbroken blanket of snow. Like holding your breath in the moment before your fingers breach the surface, and the freezing burn sears your fingertips.

He looked untouchable. Utterly untouchable.

He was, James thought, utterly untouchable. He was James’s best friend’s baby brother. Completely off-limits.

“You don’t need to do that,” James assured. If the other boy looked any prettier, James might do something they’d all regret.

Regulus hummed noncommittally. “You don’t look so terrible yourself, by the way. It helps that you’ve finally learned how to do your hair.” He reached out and tugged teasingly at a curl upon James’s head.

James sucked in a breath, holding statue still. “Erm.” He swallowed nervously. “That’s all Sirius, to be honest. He’s practically appointed himself as my stylist for the season. There’s lots of product involved. And something called ‘diffusing’?”

Regulus let out an amused huff, dropping his hand. “If there’s one thing my brother and I can agree on, it’s the importance of hair care. If you think his shower routine is bad, you should see mine.”

“That explains why your hair’s so perfect all the time,” James blurted out before he could think better of it. His eyes widened when he realised what he said. “I just meant—”

“You meant what you said,” Regulus cut in coolly. “My hair is perfect, and you should say it.” His eyes twinkled, his chin jutted up pridefully.

James’s gaze involuntarily strayed to the hair in question. Inky black locks arranged in neat curls, looking as soft and as shiny as they always did. Sirius’s hair was longer, the weight of it elongating his curl pattern down so it tended to fall in loose ringlets around his face, but Regulus’s was a nest of cherubic perfection atop his head, so flawless, and so exquisite, that he almost didn’t look real. Like surely, he must be a figure carved from marble or painted upon a canvas, because no-one just walked around looking so absolutely faultless all the time. No-one except Regulus.

“You’re right,” James admitted quietly. “You are perfect.”

Regulus’s eyes widened the slightest amount.

“Ah! There you are!” Mum called out, sweeping down the hallway and looking absolutely divine in her flowing white ensemble; like an Ancient Greek deity in swathes of silken fabric that billowed dramatically around her. A furred cape tumbled from her shoulders, like a Queen of a frozen tundra. Her hair was twisted into an elegant updo with pearls dotting throughout it like stars in a night’s sky, whilst matching pearls decorated her layered necklaces and shone beatifically from her ears. “We have a portkey to catch, boys! Hurry up or we’ll be late!”

“Mum,” James smiled wide. “You look incredible.”

She stopped short, halted abruptly by the compliment. “Oh! Thank you, dear.” She subconsciously patted her updo to check it was all in place.

“He’s right, Effie. You look glorious,” Regulus told her sincerely, seeming genuinely taken with her ensemble.

“Has Dad seen you yet?” James couldn’t help but ask.

“No, I was going to get him after I collected you two,” she answered, snapping back into focus. “Speaking of which, let’s go, go, go!”

The two boys hurried along at the woman’s behest.

“He’s gonna lose his mind,” James murmured sideways to Regulus, who sent him a small smirk in return.

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

“We’re so gonna be late,” James asserted.

They were, in fact, late.

James’s Dad was so overcome by the sight of his wife, that he lost control of all bodily functions for a whole minute, just gaping pathetically at the woman whilst James snickered, and Regulus hid his amusement behind his hand. When he finally regained himself, he showered her in compliments and kisses that were sweet at first before they started to feel like a little too much, at which point James was the one hiding behind his hands whilst Regulus laughed quietly. As much as he loved his parents’ love, he didn’t enjoy watching them make out in front of him.

Eventually, they made it to the ball.

This year, the Greengrasses appeared to be hosting the event outdoors in the sprawling gardens of their opulent manor. A ward had been assembled around the area to keep the heat in, so that such inconveniences as coats wouldn’t be necessary, and so that the full extent of everyone’s elaborate garments would be on full display. Still, to accommodate the theme, fake snow was scattered about the landscape and falling in gentle motions from the sky. The faux flakes seemed to glimmer and sparkle inordinately more than real snow would, so it seemed to James more like the place was bathed in glitter than snow.

Elaborately carved ice sculptures decorated the place at every turn, as did sheets of pearlescent white fabric draped artfully along the greenery. Flickering lanterns lit the whole place up, the sun having set hours ago already. The garden itself seemed to be filled solely with white flowers — roses, lilies, orchids, snowdrops, moonflowers. It occurred to James that the family would have had to plan the theme months, if not years in advance, to ensure that all the garden’s flora matched this year’s theme. It was just another sign of the excruciating attention to detail and the immense commitment that the Greengrasses had to their aesthetics.

James wasn’t sure he would be able to live like this. Always worrying about his appearance, how his home looked, how his clothes looked. It was nice to dress up every once in a while, to put in effort for a date, or a loved one’s important event, or even just to feel good about himself on occasion. But every day? To this level? James thought it would tear him apart caring so much about beauty, and he once again found himself immeasurably glad that he’d been born into the family he had.

Late as they were, the Potters ambled up to the grand floral arch of the garden entrance with no queue to speak of and showed their invitation to the security wizards. Upon approval, the Master of Ceremonies announced them with the same formal titles as at the Longbottom Ball, and they took a few careful steps into the garden.

Every attendant was dressed elaborately in all manner of white garments. One woman looked like she’d simply been rolled head to toe in snow, like a blanket of it clung to her skin in a skin-tight suit. Another wizard was dressed in a shimmering netting, that appeared like crocheted snowflakes sewn together. A third witch had painted her skin to look like she had frostbite, her robes faded like she was a ghost who had died of the ailment.

Most people seemed to have gone the route of royalty, wearing regal robes in shades of white, grey, blue, and silver, with crowns and tiaras adorning their heads. Like a whole crowd of Ice Kings, and Snow Queens, Frost Princesses, and Winter Princes.

James didn’t spot another set of wings in the throngs. Beside him, Regulus’s smirk was tinged with smugness — the snow angel thing had been his idea, and it looked to be a fairly original one so far.

The crowd tittered and tweeted at the announcement of the Potters, many people glancing in James’s direction and laughing. His skin crawled under the not-so-positive attention, but he tried his best to ignore it and keep his head high.

“Dare to stand, Heir Potter,” Regulus murmured next to him.

James whipped to face him, surprised but touched at the sentiment spilling unprompted from the boy. “Stand to dare,” he whispered back.

Regulus’s icy grey gaze, lined in white and silver, bore into him like spires of stalagmites. “Show them how you play,” he uttered deliberately.

James felt fire catch within him. Like he was the kindling and all he’d needed to ignite was Regulus’s spark.

Setting his shoulders back confidently, James took a bold stride forward, making himself the first to meet the Greengrasses who had graciously moved to greet them on entrance. The Lord wore a grand cloak made from white leopard fur while his Lady looked as though she had been draped in a thin layer of ice. Like the very fabric of her dress had been frozen and coated in frost. They both looked stunningly gorgeous.

“Lord and Lady Greengrass, I must say I am utterly astounded by what I am seeing.” He bowed respectfully to the pair before offering them his signature lop-sided smile — charming but a touch mischievous. “Oh, and I suppose the decor is beautiful too.”

Lady Greengrass’s eyes gleamed wolfishly. Her eyelashes were painted long and white with gems attached, and they flashed whenever she blinked. “It takes a true arbiter of taste to recognise another. I admit, this ensemble is certainly better than jam and frosting.”

Ah. Straight to it then.

“In all honesty, I’ve never possessed as much grace as either of you,” James said, as though confiding a great secret. “But at least if I fall this time, I can simply spread out and claim myself as a true snow angel.”

The woman blinked. She stared at his wings for a second, then glanced down at the fake snow littering the floor, and a laugh seemed to startle out of her. It was soft and pretty, like the gentle tinkle of a bell.

Lord Greengrass eyed him with new interest. He had a square jaw and piercing blue eyes. James noted idly that he was quite handsome.

Window-shopping, Ethan had suggested. Huh. That was another man that James had looked at and deemed attractive. Perhaps it wasn’t just Regulus? Perhaps he truly was into men?

“An inspired interpretation of the theme indeed,” the Lord conceded, inspecting his outfit. “And executed quite flawlessly. Trousseau dresses your House, does he not?”

“He does, and he does incredible work,” James confirmed. “Though the idea was Mr Regulus Black’s on this occasion.” He gestured to where Regulus stood a few paces behind, and the other boy instantly stepped up to James’s side. “You have met before, yes?”

“Mr Black,” Lord Greengrass nodded in greeting as Regulus bowed. “Yes, we are acquainted. Though, you truly have stepped up this year.”

“Thank you,” Regulus replied graciously. “I have more freedoms as of late due to the sponsorship of the Potters.”

“I know you’ve met my parents,” James seamlessly took Regulus’s opening, “Lord and Lady Potter.”

The pair stepped up and bowed their heads in greeting.

“A wonderful theme this year,” Dad complimented cheerfully.

“Yes, we have been very excited to attend,” Mum added, smooth as butter.

Lady Greengrass took in the sight of them, seeming visibly affected. Her hand braced against her husband’s arm as she stared at them. “My, what a striking picture of a family! Don’t you think, darling?”

Lord Greengrass hummed, eyes alight with satisfaction. “Indeed, indeed. They fit perfectly. Balance of composition, variations in texture, visual dynamism. It’s all just right.”

“We’re happy to have you!” Lady Greengrass declared. “You all look wonderful. Our Lady Aphrodite shall be pleased.”

“Just keep a fair distance from the ice sculptures, Heir Potter. We wouldn’t want another incident,” Lord Greengrass advised, but then he frowned. “Or… no… you would look positively cherubic next to the angel sculpture and the swan sculpture.” He seemed to think deeply on the matter, weighing up James’s clumsiness against his desire for aesthetic cohesion. “Perhaps, just stand there carefully.”

“And watch the wings,” Lady Greengrass added, genuinely earnest. She gazed upon the gilded feathers. “So beautiful. So hazardous. Perfection is precarious, I suppose.”

“I shall proceed with the utmost caution,” James reassured them, dying a little bit on the inside.

But with that, they’d been successfully admitted entrance into the Greengrass Ball. Step one, at least, was over.