A Slytherin Christmas

Olivia LaKady frowned as she surveyed the Slytherin common room, taking in the Christmas decorations and her fellow seventh years. It figures, she thought with a frown. Only we're here over winter holidays.

There were seven Slytherin seventh years-- Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Christian Wilkes, Britton Avery, Ryan Lestrange, Kyra Montague, and Olivia herself. All children of Death Eaters, all soon-to-be Death Eaters themselves, all best friends, and all stuck at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry over the holidays because their parents were too absorbed in the Dark Lord's business to consider them.

Olivia was almost tempted to smile as she noted the very Slytherin decoration. The Slytherin common room, which boasted stone walls, black leather furniture and straight-backed thrones, and green marble floors, was decorated with shimmery silver tinsel bedecked with emerald glass balls. There was a Christmas tree, yes, but the evergreen was bedecked wit h tinsel and two colors of glass balls-- green and silver. The fireplace crackled merrily-- but the flames, warm and pretty though they were, were green. This should be written up in Hogwarts: A History as our house's distinguishing mark, instead of the fact that our symbol is a serpent.

We're lapsing into our silent moments, Olivia noted, once again suppressing a smile. The seven of them were quiet most of the time they were alone together, almost as though they were reading each other's thoughts. Sitting in their chairs, Evan, Severus, Britton, Christian, and Ryan were staring into the dancing emerald green flames. Olivia actually did allow herself a smile as her eyes traveled over Ryan's handsome face and muscled physique. Love you, Ry, she mouthed at him in a rare show of semi-public affection.

"Come here, Liv," he whispered back, and she slipped into his lap. "Look at the fire."

Olivia allowed herself to be hypnotized by the flames. Turning them green-- now with shots of silver sparking-- was an enchantment Christian had picked up while in Spain. It required a hell of a lot of magic to actually transfigure fire, so Christian only broke it out for special occasions. None of the Slytherins were particularly emotional or holidayish, but this quiet time gazing into the flames was their one consent.

Mmm. . . . The drowsiness was settling in on her, and she snuggled against Ryan. Soon she was entering that shadowy world between sleep and consciousness, with thoughts drifting sluggishly through her mind. I remember the last Christmas I spent with Mother and Father, the year before I left for Hogwarts. Mother was wearing those green silk robes, the ones I loved to try on. . . .

"Dear, eat your potatoes," Constance LaKady reprimanded a ten-year-old Olivia.

"I don't like potatoes," whined Olivia, stabbing at the gravy-drenched white lumps with a heavy, engraved silver fork.

"She said eat the potatoes!" snapped Reid LaKady, pointing his steak knife at his daughter. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"Daddy, I don't--"

"How many times have I told you not to call me 'Daddy'?" roared her father, gulping down another glass of Jinxed Jinn.

Olivia shrank back from her father. . . . "Mummy?"

Constance frowned. "Reid, don't you think you've had enough--"

"Back off, Constance!" ordered Reid.

"But, Reid, we have a meeting tonight--"

"I'm well aware of that, Constance!"

"But in your condition--"

"What condition? There's nothing wrong with a little drink! Hell, Alastor Moody the Great Auror himself could walk in here and I could take him down!"

"Well," came a dry voice from the corner. "That could be arranged."

A tall, burly man with shaggy brown hair, tiny, pale eyes, and a malicious grin was standing at the doorway, pointing his wand at a limp form on the floor. Olivia gasped as she realized it was a human-- the form of a middle-aged man with a graying black ponytail and a scar running across his chin.

"Clive!" Reid's voice was suddenly jovial and filled with warmth. "I see you've brought m e a present."

The unfamiliar man, Clive, snorted a laugh. "Took me a while to capture him, put up quite a fight. . . .but it's quite sad to think that Moody calls himself the Ministry's finest Auror."

"Mummy?" whimpered Olivia as she watched the man let out a low, pained moan and shift slightly. He was wearing a set of dark blue robes with "Alastor Moody, Head of Aurors" printed in gold on the breast pocket.

Constance shoved Olivia behind her robe skirts. "Clive, what are you doing here? I asked you not to bring--"

"Connie!" Clive bared yellow teeth in a sort of tetchy smile. "Sorry, didn't know the brat was still here-- thought she was already off at Hogwarts!"

"Quite all right!" boomed Reid. "Did our Lord say anything about what we should do to him?"

Clive's laugh was much more derisive this time. "Well, we're not supposed to kill him. Bloody shame. Just rough him up a little."

"That is a shame," smirked Reid, setting down his goblet of Jinn and reaching for his wand. "Masks?"

"Masks," confirmed Clive.

Reid muttered something under his breath and waved his wand. All of a sudden, three black masks flew into the dining room. He tossed one at Clive and offered one to his wife.

"Reid!" hissed Constance. "I have to take Olivia--"

Olivia's father made a quick gesture to the door. "Hurry up about it, Constance. He'll be waking up any minute."

In a flash, Olivia found herself standing outside the door to the dining room. Constance patted her on the head, whispered, "Stay there," and headed out into the dining room. Olivia pushed open the door to peek in.

Her parents and Clive, now all wearing black masks, were pointing their wands at the man on the floor, who was slowly waking up, shaking his head. A stream of blood trickled down his forehead. "Where am I?" the man demanded in a weak and foggy voice, making a valiant attempt to stand. He slipped on the dark hardwood floor and looked up at the three adults. "Death Eaters! Who are you? Show yourselves immediately!"

I wonder what a Death Eater is? mused Olivia, peering closer in. She found herself drawing back as she realized her parents were waving their wands at the man, mumbling things-- he was crying out in pain-- "Mummy!" shrieked Olivia. "Daddy! Mummy! Father! Stop it!" She felt like she was going to throw up, the room was spinning-- her parents-- her parents were hurting this man-- "Mummy! Father--"

Olivia nearly winced as she remembered. We all had our innocence spoiled, she reminded herself. It was just my turn. It happens to every Slytherin.

Well, Olivia smirked. There's an exception.

Kyra Montague bustled in, holding an armful of brightly colored socks. She blew a kiss to everyone and started to sort her pile of laundry in front of the fire. "I'm sick of green and silver!" she announced cheerfully as she admired a pink-and-gold striped sock.

If any other Slytherin had been there, it might have been a cause for alarm. But they're not, reflected Olivia. And this is just Kyra's true self. Most probably unspoiled.

Kyra was probably the strangest witch in all of Slytherin, but she was still Olivia's best friend, and, quite probably, the love of Christian's life-- and a soft spot among Severus, Evan, Britton, and Ryan. Kyra loved Divination, loathed Potions, didn't particularly like the house she was in, and-- if you traced back seven generations-- actually had a drop of half-blood in her family.

Still, they all loved her. Especially at moments like these, where she said something extremely crazy and did something even worse.

"You can't be sick of green and silver," admonished Christian with a tolerant smile-- the one he reserved for only Kyra. "You're a Slytherin."

"Unfortunately," she countered brightly. "Oh, good, I have seven socks exactly."

"Kyra, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Severus asked, almost lazily, as though he was waiting for her to surprise them all with some crazy Kyra thing.

"I'm sorting stockings for us!" returned Kyra, examining a sky blue sock. "Mmm, I can't decide if I like this one or the gold-and-pink better?"

"Stockings?" repeated Britton, raising one eyebrow. Damn, Olivia wished she could do that. Currently, she was the only seventh-year Slytherin who couldn't. It never failed to irk her. "What for?"

"To hang up," Kyra enunciated slowly, like she was talking to a two-year-old, and a rather thick one at that. "To put our Christmas gifts in."

"But isn't that a Muggle custom?" Six voices chorused at once. The five males by the fire were broken out of their languid trance, and Olivia sat bolt upright on Ryan's lap, absentmindedly smoothing down his dark hair.

"Muggle, schmuggle!" trilled Kyra, shaking back her thick honey-colored curls. "You all know that as much as you hate Muggles, you adore stealing their customs once you've killed them."

As always, Kyra's slightly-- well, insane-- proclamation shocked them into silence.

Dammit, Olivia found herself thinking. Dammit, Kyra, couldn't you just leave us to our silence and let us forget about the fact that we are destined to be the Dark Lord's servants?

The quiet time she shared with Ryan, Britton, Christian, Severus, Evan, and occasionally Kyra almost made her want to defy her parents and not become a Death Eater.

Olivia smirked as she continued playing with Ryan's hair. Well, almost.