My Favourite Things
Girls in white dresses and blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on your nose and eye lashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favourite things
25th December 1973
“Réveillez-vous, réveillez-vous! C’est Christmas!”
Groaning, Ara Black tried to bury herself in her pillows to avoid whatever was making the bed move so much. For once, she’d actually been having a good dream. Well, she was half certain it was Sirius’s dream she’d been tuned into (considering that it featured him broom racing James and Reg and absolutely trouncing them) but it was still very pleasant.
“Allez, Hermie.” The bed shook again.
“Find your own nickname for her.” Sirius grumbled beside her, trying to bury himself within the duvet.
“Not if it gets you both out of bed.” Regulus sang, yanking the duvet off of the twins. They let out a hiss, sitting upright and glaring simultaneously. “Merry Christmas.” He grinned, unfazed.
“Merry Christmas, Reg.” The twins yawned together, smiles breaking out on their faces as they regarded their baby brother and his messy bedhead. Crookshanks sat upon his lap - the kitten sneezing as Reg picked him up and placed him on his shoulder. Somehow, he’d managed to train the half-kneazle to grip on without harming Reg beneath with his claws.
“Effie said to come down for breakfast. We’ve already let you both sleep in for far longer than planned.” Regulus grinned, straightening his collar.
Indeed, their younger brother was already dressed for the day - a soft green shirt that complimented his grey eyes, paired with a simple grey vest. A look to the clock by their bed revealed it was already mid-morning.
“Donnez-moi une minute.” Ara yawned, dragging herself from the bed to the wardrobe as her younger brother grinned and the other stuck his tongue out at her language. Bless Sirius, he had never quite grasped French.
If there was one drawback to constantly sharing a room with her brothers, it was that every single wardrobe had a mismatch of all their clothing crammed together. Sirius’s red and black shirts next to her skirts and dresses, next to Reg’s yellow jumpers. Her own clothes were stuffed in the back - under layers of jumpers and slacks. After all, she was the least enthusiastic about her outfits.
She grabbed clothes for both her and Sirius - throwing his on the bed as she began to get dressed behind a divider in the corner. She untucked her necklace from her shirt, if only because Regulus wore his proudly that day.
It was something she would always be glad to have done. Making those matching crystal necklaces for that first proper birthday of theirs. An heirloom to share in, without distasteful past - all gold and brightness.
Ara grinned as she felt Sirius’s necklace in their mind, slipping onto his neck in matching display - the gemstones glinting in the morning lamplight.
“Do you recon Effie and Dory will let me wear this?” Ara asked as she emerged from behind the divider. In her hunt of the wardrobe, it was clear Ara had decided to forgo trying to find her own clothing. Instead, she donned a pair of Regulus’s trousers and a shirt from Sirius as her outfit.
“I don’t see why not.” Reg shrugged, Crookshanks mewing in agreement. “Dunno why you get so worried about what they’ll say. As if you aren’t their favourite.”
“As if she isn’t Charlus’s favourite too.” Sirius barked a laugh, running a hand through his tangled hair.
“Oh, va te faire voir!” Ara stuck her tongue out in a juvenile manner, her brothers snickering in reply. “Are we going down to breakfast or not?” She raised a brow, her brothers erupting into chuckles as her face reddened.
Without another word, she strode from the room in a huff - her foul mood only halted as her brothers rushed to catch up, linking arms with her once they were by her side. Regulus rested his head on her shoulder, only just taller than her.
Breakfast was a usually extravagant affair. The marble dining table was covered by a soft red tablecloth - licks of green and gold stitching along the edges. Coating the surface entirely, were plates and bowls all awaiting the Black trio. Cooked breakfasts with pastries and fruit bowls - biscuits and pots of tea or cafetière.
James grinned lopsided as Ara sat on his right, running a hand through his messy bedhead as he passed her a cup of tea. She accepted it with a stifled yawn - her face engulfed by messy curls.
“There my darlings are.” Dorea smiled, sharing an amused look with Euphemia at their messy appearances. “I’m glad that your brother could rouse you both. I trust you slept well.”
“Yep.” Sirius popped the ‘p’, sliding onto the chair to James’s left - Regulus fitting in-between Ara and Charlus with a smile shared between him and the elder Potter. “Merry Christmas.” He and Ara spoke together, smiling at their caregivers with unspoken gratitude. It was, after all, their very first Yule away from their family. Their first with light and merriness and actual presents.
The family ate with happy debate - gossips over the newspaper and things Dorea had overheard when she’d stopped at Twilfitt and Tattings to buy Charlus a new waistcoat. There was an easy pleasantness to the Potters and their conversations, especially in the morning. Words flowed as smiles blossomed and eyes sparkled. Regulus beamed as Charlus ruffled his hair for his improved grades in Potions. Sirius and James chatted away about prank ideas and previous plots they hadn’t discussed with the Potter adults. Ara would interject to explain where she had helped or altered plots - the Potter women cooing that she really was intelligent when she was motivated.
The siblings begrudged that was often the case for them all. Unless a subject particularly interested them, it was incredibly difficult to find the motivation to excel. It was why Reg struggled with Potions and Astronomy. Why Sirius loathed Care of Magical Creatures. Why Ara broke more quills in Divination than any other class. Still, these adults - entirely separate from themselves - believed in their potentials. That they were smart beneath the bluster and brain fog. And Merlin, the siblings could never word their gratitude.
There was simply something indescribable about the feeling of that Christmas morning.
Last Christmas, Ara was betrothed to Flint. She was given a book on beauty charms, and told to stop being unruly and strong-willed or face the consequences. Sirius was lashed across his feet for having eavesdropped on the dinner with Flint, and Reg had nearly been locked in the cupboard for crying.
This year, they woke to laughter. It was such a jarring difference. The curtains shone light with twinkles of gold, and the house was alive with Lightness. A magic so unlike their own that it was so very relieving to experience. It was as though being washed clean. Dunked below the surface and pulled out and into a warm embrace.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone enjoy my bread so much.” Euphemia spoke happily, watching as Sirius took a third helping.
“I always appreciate good bread.” Sirius spoke as though her words offended him, but only as they suggested he did not appreciate the finer things.
“When we were kids, Kreacher used to call him the ‘little loaf fiend’.” Reg laughed. “He always got into the fresh bread he made.”
“I’m sure Poppet will be thrilled to know you enjoy our baking. Knowing her, she’ll send you back to Hogwarts with a trunk full of goods.” Euphemia smiled, levitating the butter towards him as he ran out of it on his plate.
“You help the elves with cooking?” Ara asked, excitedly - a look exchanged between her and Regulus.
“Oh yes,” Euphemia nodded, smiling to herself, “took me years to get Poppet to let me help. She was my nanny elf first, you know?” They shook their heads. “Practically raised me, she did. When I left my awful family, she was the only one I took with me. She has always been my friend, foremost.”
“That’s how Kreacher and me are.” Regulus blushed, smiling as he looked up at Euphemia. “I feel so awful leaving him there, but he doesn’t get along with Sirius.”
“Hardly my fault that he’s rotten.” The boy in question scoffed.
“Oh, give it a rest,” Ara rolled her eyes, “it’s hardly his fault that Walburga uses him as the rod.”
“Better than when she tries to use him as the carrot.” Sirius shuddered, the siblings breaking into laughter at the silliness of Kreacher attempting to reward their good deeds.
His kindness extended as far as Regulus, and no further.
“I’ve always been glad for Poppet and Pippy,” James smiled, the left of his lips quirking higher than the right, “if it weren’t for them, I recon I would have killed myself by now with one of my adventures.”
Breakfast was ceased with dabs of napkins and new cups of tea - placed on a tray to be walked through to the sitting room.
The tree was livelier than any of the siblings had seen before. Gorgeous and green - bushier than Ara’s hair and brighter than Lily’s eyes. Decked with streamers and magical candles - enchanted to flicker in random shades and colours.
The base was hidden beneath the piles of presents - each set into piles of different colours.
Crimson for Charlus, bottle green for Dorea, a bright yellow for Euphemia and cobalt for Fleamont. Plum paper for James, as apparently it had been his favourite as a child. Sage for Regulus, to match the greens of his bedroom. A soft lilac for Sirius, the boy grinning at how his and James’s presents almost matched.
And orange for Ara. A shade, paler than the fruit - closer to Crookshank’s fur. Like the edges of a sunset; streaks of glitter across the vivid paper.
A small grey and black pile to the side - clearly having been checked and resealed.
Stacked in firm piles, tall enough to reach their middles. Organised in wicker baskets and wooden boxes.
The first present to note, was that James received an owl. The cage pulled out from behind the tree - the owl looking rather bored as it flittered around the cage. Coloured deep maroons and burgundies, eyes wide and bright yellow.
“With the amount of post we send between us, we ought to have a special messenger.” Monty had laughed after a joke that he ought to have bought the owl sooner, a twinkle in his eye that James understood.
It was not a gift for him alone, but a way for the Black siblings to communicate if necessary.
A gesture he understood completely.
There was something about the Black siblings that simply drew a person in. Sirius would forever be his best friend. Something about the two that pulled them together, joined them like puzzle pieces lost at the bottom of the bag.
But there was something about Ara that was magnetic. James watched as his Uncle Charlus pointed out something in a book to Ara, her laughter twinkling through the room as the older man reached around her shoulders and hugged her gently. She hardly flinched anymore, looking up at him with a beaming smile as she nattered on about some new theory on the dimensional properties of time magic.
His attention was quickly pulled back to the unwrapping as jumpers and scarves, books and quills, cookery ware and dinner plates, were all pulled from paper and ribbon. The Black siblings beamed as the piles kept continuing; gawking at their growing hordes of gifts. Sirius shared each present with James, showing the bespectacled boy with utter excitement. James nodded and smiled, commenting in the right places with hushed reverence.
It was times that these, that he chided himself for forgetting to appreciate these moments. Especially in the wake of the Black family trauma. Sometimes, it was difficult to acknowledge just how privileged he was. Because James Potter knew that he had not experienced a single hardship in his life that wasn’t just him getting in on someone else’s problem. Potter Manor was a warm quilt in comparison to the raggedy blanket of Grimmauld House.
He grinned as Ara scolded Sirius for ripping into the pile before given permission - Regulus sharing a knowing smile with James as the two bickered over paper and ribbon.
Once all the colour-coded gifts were undone and the paper was on the fire or in the bin, the grey pile was ushered over to the Black siblings. Two black envelopes attached - one upon the three presents that were certainly from their parents. They opened those with disappointed shrugs. Two books on Dark Magic and a hairbrush. The books confiscated by Charlus, the brush thrown Sirius’s way for when his hair had grown back properly. The remaining gifts sat within their own basket - constructed of twists and twirls and tawny twigs.
“These are from Bella.” Ara smiled, reading the second note. “She’s still in France, so she sent over some French goodies for us to share. Apparently there’s some muggle chocolate in the bottom.” The boys grinned as they dived in, yanking the muggle confectionary to the top of the basket.
“Since when has Bella paid attention to muggle stuff?” Sirius frowned as he found the muggle bar - inspecting its sleek and expensive packaging once he’d torn the paper away.
“Since Cissa’s wedding.” Ara replied sharply. “I told her about the muggle music and how Remus gave us muggle chocolate. She’s trying to be nice.”
“You spent years reliving what she did to that bloody bird.” He muttered under his breath, Reg’s sharp inhale informing him that it was not the thing to say.
“And I forgave her.” Ara replied icily. “I suggest you move on from the topic before I get cross.”
He felt it. Gulping, he nodded, her anger receding as he shared his apologies over the bond.
“How is she?” He probed gently.
“She’s bored out of her mind.” Ara admitted. “Apparently the Lestranges keep trying to get her to come back to England, to join them, but she keeps holding them off. I don’t think he’ll let her for much longer.”
“Then we’ll be there when she comes back.” Reg promised.
“Exactly.” Sirius nodded. “Blacks look after their own, after all.”
“Really?” Ara blinked, looking up at her brothers nervously.
“Promise.” Sirius nodded, smiling at her softly. “Even if I don’t like her, doesn’t mean she isn’t your favourite cousin.”
“Exactly.” Ara nodded back. “We got lucky that we could have a cousin each. Imagine if there was some poor lonely cousin, without a counterpart to get along with.” She sighed, a little sad at the notion. If she were not there, she dreaded to think of how Bellatrix would have been. To be the only mad one, even if only for eight years… she couldn’t imagine the burden.
I ought to write her back, Ara thought loudly.
I ought to write Andromeda, Sirius thought back, we’ll do it after tea.
——
Despite swearing it in their mind, the twins ended up too distracted that evening to remember the letters they had planned to write. After all, Monty found his old gobstones board and Charlus challenged Dorea to a chess match - which simply had to be seen. They’d spent the evening drinking Monty’s tea blends and eating turkey sandwiches and tangerines; low and steady tunes from the record player in the corner of the sitting room.
By the time the twins had remembered their letters, Dorea had been gently ushering them to bed. She’d kissed their foreheads and told them that they could do it tomorrow, threatening lightly to tuck them into bed extra tight just to stop them. Begrudgingly, they’d snuggled in beside Regulus and promised themselves that they would do it right after breakfast the next day.
It seemed the universe was not in on their plans.
Boxing Day began with the flash of the Floo and the stumbling of the McKinnon daughters - their hands over their ears. With bleary eyes, they begged to stay for the rest of the break, citing their baby brother’s screaming as having finally driven them to insanity. Apparently the storms were getting to the infant, and the infant was getting to his older sisters.
With a laugh, Euphemia had hugged the girls hello - smoothing their hair and smiling warmly as she whispered that it would be nice to have a full house for the holiday.
“But after you’ve both had a nap, I think.” She laughed lovingly, in a way that only Euphemia Potter seemed able to do. “I don’t have the guest rooms sorted, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to sleep today in Ara’s room.”
“Is that alright?” Marlene yawned, looking to the curly haired girl as she regarded her with fond amusement.
“What’s mine is yours and all that rubbish.” Ara waved a hand dismissively in a gesture eerily identical to those made by her twin. It broke as her smile cracked a little wider and she stepped closer to her friend. “It’ll be nice not being outnumbered by boys.” She grinned, Marlene laughing with her. Her younger sister Daisy stepped in beside them, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.
The older Gryffindors hadn’t put much thought into Marlene’s sister. After all, the dramatics surrounding the Black siblings took their friends attentions. Most of what they knew were regurgitated childhood stories, or complaints of stolen jackets. Of their difference in personality - Marlene more blunt, her sister far softer. Now the McKinnon sisters were side by side, their similarities were striking. Same blonde hair and bright eyes. Sloped noses and lean builds. Their only difference was that Marlene was fractionally taller, and Daisy had a neat short bob. In their matching jumpers with matching sleepy scowls, they really did look alike.
“Can we sleep yet?” The younger girl spoke through a yawn, looking up at her sister with annoyance.
“Come on, then.” Ara laughed, wrapping an arm around Daisy to shepherd her to her room.
After that, the day was quickly derailed. The boys went off to play a friendly pickup game of Quidditch, offering for Ara to referee. Instead, Dorea and Effie had informed the boys that they would be having a girl’s day and dragged Ara away - the younger witch shooting panicked looks to her laughing brothers.
That was how she’d ended up in Effie’s sitting room with the older witches. Though Ara had always dreaded the idea of going to her mother’s ‘ladies teas’, if this was what they were like, she might have been willing to say she regretted such a judgement.
“I’m only saying, Effie, that if the Minister wants to be beyond reproach, he ought not to spend so much time on trivialities like portkey laws.” Dorea spoke idly, a hint of a grin in her eyes as her sister-in-law’s face purpled at her words.
“Dorea! He only made them Ministry monitored.”
“And what if I want to go to Berlin on a whim?” Dorea asked. “Should I expect Aurors on my tail?”
“You know perfectly well why they must be monitored.” Euphemia darted her eyes towards Ara anxiously.
“A few bag eggs does not make a rotten bunch.”
“But a few bad apples taint the lot.” Ara spoke.
“Well said.” Dorea nodded, clearly having found something in Ara that she had been waiting for. Something Euphemia could simply never possess, even if she had once been a Slytherin. “Effie, darling, might you fetch us some of Monty’s tea? I trust your tastes.” Dorea asked, in a frankly obvious motion to dismiss her sister-in-law.
Still, Euphemia took it in stride. Smiling as she looked to Ara with fond exasperation towards Dorea.
“Certainly, Dory. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
With that, the two Blacks were left in the room alone. Ara under Dorea’s scrutinising eye.
“Not that I don’t enjoy watching you ordering your family around, may I ask why you booted Euphemia?” Ara asked politely.
“As much as I enjoy my sister-in-law, she does not have our temperament. She is a Potter with the eyes of a Burke, I’m afraid.”
“Still a useful look to have.” Ara tried to advocate for James and his mother.
“Perhaps.” Dorea mused. “Enough to pass to her son, I suppose. Still, better to have just us for this conversation.”
“And what conversation is this?”
“About that meddlesome Headmaster, perhaps?”
“Oh.” Ara’s eyes widened. “Him.”
“Yes. After your letter regarding that meeting, I’ve been keeping an eye on his dealings. I believe we may be part of a very small group of witches that do not trust that man.”
“You too?” Ara gasped. “I felt awful for not trusting the Headmaster!”
“I believe that is how he prefers it.” Dorea sighed. “It is far easier to have a finger in each pot and tied to each web string if you craft an image of altruism.”
“Has he said anything to you?”
“He asked to perhaps visit over the holidays, to discuss some new political group he’s forging.” Dorea frowned, looking to Ara with heavy eyes, “I informed him that I would not join any groups unless my husband approved, and Charlus promptly told him no.” She smirked, eyes glazed as though reliving the memory with great amusement.
“He wanted to know about my dreams.”
“The ones you like to pretend don’t exist?” Dorea asked pointedly, arching a brow softly. Indeed, the elder witch had only been informed of Ara’s nightmares having substance beyond her family life, in that letter. To which, she had slammed her head on her desk, attracting the attention of her husband at her dramatics. Charlus had laughed fondly, until he had read the note himself- his mood dampened by the knowledge that one of their wards might be a ruddy Seer (even if she vehemently disagreed).
Still, Dorea and Charlus frankly had no idea how to address such a thing. Or how to attempt to help the girl with her nightmares and visions.
“He wanted me to keep them to himself.” Ara fidgeted, twisting her thumbs in her lap in a decidedly unpureblood gesture of discomposure. “I think he’s waiting for something from me. Some kind of information. And I’m terrified because…” she looked up, through her lashes, with fearful eyes, “I think this civil war is about to get so much worse. Dory, I don’t think we’re going to survive it.”
Euphemia returned to the gentle playing of the piano. Which was surprising, as Dorea was hideous at the playing, despite her best efforts. As she entered, she soon caught sight of her sister-in-law sat gracefully in an armchair - fingers dancing along as a smile twitched at her lips. There was something to her eyes, a sorrow burning at the edges.
Behind the piano sat Ara Black, slender fingers moving in a practiced manner. Eyes shut and mouth pinched as she played her way through.
It was odd. That juxtaposition of gentle tune with pained expression.
“How lovely.” Euphemia remarked once Ara had finished the piece. The girl suddenly froze, eyes jutting wide as she let out a nervous laugh.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” She shrugged nervously.
“It goes to show,” Euphemia nodded with a bright smile as she approached the piano and kissed Ara’s hair, “you play beautifully.”
“Most Blacks are taught an instrument at a young age.” Dorea informed her. “It isn’t the most pleasant experience but it is a useful skill to learn.”
“Do your brothers also play?”
“Only Reggie.” Ara grinned, a little more self-assured. “Sirius tried but he’s awful. No sense of pitch.”
“Such a shame.” Dorea sighed, her lip twitching. “I suppose the only thing going for that boy is his hair.”
“It has grown back in rather nicely.” Euphemia replied thoughtfully, as Ara stifled her giggles.
There was something so lovely about the odd relationship between the two sisters-in-law. Both so utterly different, and yet so eerily able to fall into banter and gossip with balance. From all of Lily’s complaints about Petunia’s jealousy, and Marlene’s complaints about Daisy’s attitude, Ara hadn’t ever really thought about if she’d had sisters instead of brothers. Especially considering her childhood of hearing Bella and Cissa screaming at each other while Andy sat in the middle, pinching her brow.
It seemed a curse for magical families, for the sisters to not get along.
Even if they weren’t related by blood; Euphemia and Dorea Potter were sisters in all the ways that mattered. Despite their bickering and whispered comments, it was clear that the two witches were genuine friends.
We ought to write Andy and Bella tonight, Ara thought very seriously, her twin’s eyes glassing over as he knocked the bludger.
Oh, bugger, I knew we’d forgotten something!