Heads and Tails

There was an hour before the students spending Christmas away from school had to leave for the Hogwarts Express. Gathered in one of the secluded spots of the Gryffindor common room were Oliver and Percy, clad in layers of warm clothes, playing chess. Someone, most likely the house-elves, had started a cosy fire. Rebecca's group of girls, and a few boys, had gathered around for a heated game of Exploding Snap. Someone had got a radio to play Christmas tunes. The twins, Timothy and Thomas, had, according to Oliver, snuck out to meet their Hufflepuff girlfriends, though Oliver was quite sure they had actually gone to show the girls the beauty of Feisty Witch's Twenty-Four Positions for a Successful Time, a magazine article that had been published a week ago, instead.

"You sure you don't want to come to the Burrow?" Percy asked.

"No, Dad wants me home," Oliver said, "but can I come if things don't work out."

"Of course," said Percy, "you can Floo over any time."

"Brilliant, thanks, Percy," Oliver said gratefully. He had spent a lot of energy putting on a positive front through Percy's constant worries, Becca's flirting, and Penelope's careful questions, but that didn't change the fact that he was not looking forward to seeing his father or his aunt.

"If you don't come, I'll just send you your gift by owl," continued Percy, flipping through a catalogue while he waited for Oliver to move his pieces. "Do you think Penny's a Spring or an Autumn?"

Oliver did a double take. "A what, or a what? Perce, you've gone all lovey-dovey on me. You're not even going out with her! A Spring or an Autumn." Oliver shook his head. "Honestly."

Percy blushed and threw him the catalogue. "Look! All the necklaces say: 'Pick one in her colour, and she'll love you for life'. How do I know what her colour is?"

"Why don't you just buy her something that doesn't require a colour?" Oliver asked. "A book, perhaps. Or maybe a card that says, 'Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm in love, and it's definitely with you.' She'll love it," he said with a snicker.

"That's not funny," Percy grumbled. "Maybe I'll just settle for some chocolates."

Oliver shrugged, and moved his pawn forward. "Check."

Percy moved his bishop and watched as it broke Oliver's pawn in two. "Not any more," he said softly. He wasn't too fond of Wizard Chess.

Oliver moved his knight. "Clearwater also said I could come to her house if anything. She's not connected to the Floo network, but apparently she doesn't live too far from me." Percy's rook took Oliver's knight. "Not quite sure I want to spend my holidays with a family of Muggles, though."

Percy paid him no heed, and attacked viciously with his queen. Let it never be said he was a bad chess player. "Mum will be pleased to have you. You can meet Charlie, Bill, and Ginny; she's grown since the last time you visited."

Oliver retreated his bishop from Percy's advancements. "Did you hear how all the girls, fourth-year and up, have this wizard porn magazine going on? I heard Liz and Kaylin, from Ravenclaw, talking about it."

"Porn?" Percy asked, shaking his head doubtfully. "It's not allowed at Hogwarts. They could get in trouble."

"Perce, you're not getting the point!" Oliver exclaimed. "What if Clearwater looks at it?" He watched as Percy captured his queen. "It isn't exactly porn, more like pictures of all the hot blokes in Hogwarts."

"All the hot blokes?" Percy echoed. "How would they get the pictures?"

"I don't know. The school is full of girl spies taking pictures." Oliver suddenly looked shocked, as though he'd made a discovery. "The changing rooms! Fred was saying something about what looked like a peephole in the wall... What if they've been talking pictures of me?"

"No one has been taking pictures of you, Oliver," Percy said calmly. "Distribution of offensive magazines is not allowed at Hogwarts. You can't expect every girl from fourth-year and up to be buying and selling something that could get them expelled."

"What do you mean they wouldn't be taking pictures of me?" stated Oliver. "Helen Clearwater is Head Girl. Maybe she's behind all this. She wants me, Percy, I know."

"The only way Helen could want you, Oliver, is if she wanted you dead." Percy smiled. "Checkmate."

Oliver scowled. "Girls are very good at hiding things. I'd say they've been snapping pictures of us and posting them." He ran a hand through his hair, and looked over at Becca's direction. "Eurgh, what if she's been sneaking around our dormitories and stuff? Timothy said he felt like he was being watched once."

"Oliver, you know you're just being paranoid," Percy stated. "Go on, ask Rebecca. Ask her if she's been taking photos of us, and publishing them in ... what's it called?"

"Little Girl's Hogwarts' Hottest," answered Oliver.

"Ah, of course, why didn't I think of that?" Percy said, rolling his eyes slightly. "Go on, then, ask her."

Oliver looked over at Becca, and bit his lip. "Oi, Becca!" he called out. The girl turned around, flushed and looking curious. "Do you take pictures for Little Girl's Hogwarts' Hottest?"

Becca shook her head, but turned around to her best friend Heather, and started giggling. They both turned to look at Oliver and Percy, and then turned back to their gossip.

"See!" Oliver whispered. "She does!"

*

The chief house-elf, Kilcks, brought Marcus Flint's trunk into the main room of Morning Sunrise, the Flint estate. The room was large, with only a few sofas and chairs adorning it. The French doors were all opened, letting in the sunlight. The small fireplace, opposite room where he was standing, wasn't lit. A small bar gave the room a look of business, and two unfinished drinks gave Marcus the idea something had happened, but whether good or bad he wasn't sure yet.

To his left, there was a gracious marble staircase that led to the second floor. A door nearby opened to the kitchen, gardens, and library. Kilcks neither stirred nor said anything; he waited patiently for his young master to give an order.

"Marcus!" a feminine voice called. Down the spiral stairs glided a woman as beautiful as Aphrodite herself. Dressed in a white robe, Marcus's mother was a vision of everything pure. She rushed towards Marcus and embraced him.

"Hello, Mother," Marcus whispered, returning the hug. "How are you?"

"Oh, my darling!" His mother looked at him. "You're even more handsome than when you left for Hogwarts. Come. Your father is upstairs."

Marcus turned towards the house-elf. "Kilcks, take my things to my room." The house-elf nodded and disappeared with a pop, trunk and all.

Marcus followed his mother. The empty glasses in the bar downstairs didn't fool him. His mother never drank, so that meant that either his family had arrived a day early, or his father had company.

A graceful man was staring out the window when Marcus and his mother reached the sitting room upstairs. It was the only room for gatherings on that floor, since every other was either a bedroom or a bathroom.

"Lauren, I thought I asked you not to interrupt -" the man stopped when he saw Marcus. "My boy! You're back early." He moved forward to take a closer look. "How splendid to have you back, Marcus! We've just got top horses from America. I know how much you like to ride."

"Broomsticks," said Marcus, stiffly. Looking at his father made him sick sometimes. While his father had many elf genes - slight build, handsome eyes, straight hair - his nose wasn't very charming. Marcus, unfortunately, had inherited this nose... not to mention large teeth, which he promised he would charm once he was out of Hogwarts. He hadn't inherited any of these traits from them.

"Maybe you should go take a bath, Marcus," his mother said softly. "A nap as well, if you like." She smiled at him, like a mother did to a newborn child. "Your relatives will be arriving around six. You'll want to be refreshed."

"Of course," Marcus said, with a short nod in his father's direction. "Excuse me, Father."

"Of course, of course, a bath," his father mumbled, glancing at his wife, and then looking back at Marcus. "Do hurry, though, for I would like to show you the new stables. We used mahogany wood to restore the roof of the stables. O'Connor, who owns some of the best racing horses, says he'll come to add a few charms to stop mites and other insects."

Marcus bade his mother goodbye and rushed to his room. Apparently, whoever had left his drink untouched had also left early.

"Edward," Lauren said, carefully. "What did Lucius Malfoy want?"

Marcus's father glanced at her tiredly. "Nothing, nothing, m'dear. Why don't you go see if the house-elves have prepared a meal for mother's arrival? You know she only will eat the best."

"Of course, dear," Lauren said, touching her husband's shoulder. Kissing his forehead, she left quickly.

*

Marcus opened the door to his room, one of the biggest in the house. A large canopy bed with light blue sheets stood in the middle. To the right was a balcony, and on the left, the door to the connecting bathroom. One of the walls was actually a built-in shelf where many books on the Dark Arts had gathered dust from little use.

Marcus watched the mirror near his bed with disgust. Unlike most mirrors, this one had a terrible sense of humour. In it lived the soul of Amelia Le Blanc, someone his family had cursed. If Marcus's history was right, Le Blanc had been the lover of one of his great uncles. When his great aunt found the two of them, she cursed Amelia into a mirror, so that the attractive woman would never sleep with anyone again. Somehow Marcus felt this legend was extremely cheesy.

"Hullo, Amelia," Marcus said, testing to see if she was still there.

Suddenly a black-haired woman, perhaps in her late twenties, appeared in view. She smiled at him, and gave a curt nod. "Young Marcus," she said charmingly, "how nice to have you back."

"Same as you, Amelia," Marcus said, taking off his heavy cloak. "What news do you have for me?"

"Mr. Lucius Malfoy was here, sir," Amelia said. Marcus's father had used a sort of charm allowing Amelia to be anywhere in Marcus's room as long as the object was able to give a reflection. It was a great thing for Amelia, who continuously used this to search for the latest gossip.

"What did he want?" asked Marcus suspiciously, taking off his Slytherin jumper as well. "Did he bring that devil spawn of his?"

"No, sir, Mr. Draco wasn't here." Amelia glanced appreciatively at Marcus's chest, when he threw his shirt onto the bed. "Your father and Mr. Malfoy were arguing out in the main garden. I could not hear them..."

"Was my mother there?" Marcus asked, stripping off his trousers. He ducked behind one of the bed's curtains so Amelia couldn't see him.

"No, at least not from where I was." She pouted. "Your French doors don't give much of a view."

Marcus wrapped a sheet around his waist. "I'm going to go shower. If you dare appear in the bathroom mirror, I shall break that." He indicated her current mirror. "And you know what would happen."

"It'd be seven years of bad luck for you," Amelia said grouchily. Marcus took the chance to dash in for a bath.

*

Marcus looked at his reflection carefully. Dressed in black silk robes, he adjusted the olive-green cape around him. He didn't look too bad, but he felt there was still something missing. One of the house-elves had combed his hair carefully and, for some strange reason, a thick mist of some Muggle cologne hung around him.

"Master Marcus, your father is awaiting you in the main garden," one of the smaller house elves squeaked.

Marcus nodded and returned to his reflection. Amelia smiled at him and urged him to go. Tying the strings of his cape once more, he left the room and headed down the stairs.

"Everyone's already gathered outside," a young woman said, as he reached the bottom step. "Your family has outdone itself. Elfish music, Marcus? Sometimes I wonder why our family hasn't just moved to the tree tops and start playing the harp and flute."

Marcus observed the girl in front of him. "Larissa, what a pleasure to see you again," he addressed his older cousin. "Is Grandmother here already?" He offered her his arm.

Larissa took his arm gingerly and followed him outside. "Yes, she is. Already started complaining about the hedges. Apparently, Uncle Edward doesn't have the house-elves tend to them as much as they should."

Marcus heart skipped a beat as he saw most of the Flint family before him. His mother's relatives wouldn't arrive until tomorrow.

"Hullo, mother," Marcus said, as Larissa let go of his arm and gave her aunt a peck on the cheek.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. "Good evening, Marcus, go say hello to the rest of your family." She turned him in the direction of his grandmother. "And don't, for the love of Rowena, say 'hullo'."

"Marcus, my boy!" bellowed Larissa's father, Frederick, "How you've grown! Come look, Odette, look at him." Marcus's aunt hurried to her husband's side.

"You look marvellous, Marcus," she said. "Quite the dignified gentleman, I imagine you are."

"Good evening, Uncle Frederick, Aunt Odette." Marcus allowed them to flatter him a bit more before he heading towards his grandmother.

"Evening, grandmother," Marcus said softly, sitting beside her.

His grandmother looked him over first, watchful for any possible imperfections. After a few seconds, she smiled. "Hello, Marcus. Back from school, I see."

"How are you?" Marcus asked.

"Quite well, dear." His grandmother was a petite woman, yet she managed to make everyone feel as small as insects. "Have you brushed up on your Elfish?"

"I haven't had time," Marcus said, carefully. "I'm trying to keep at the top of my class."

"Ah, a remarkable goal. May I remind you, though, that Elfish is in your blood, and it would be criminal if you did not indulge in it. You are a Flint, after all."

*

Christmas Eve

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me," sang Pablo, Penelope's uncle, in a rather drunken sort of voice.

Penelope and Helen stifled their giggles, and helped serve some more food.

"A partridge in a pear tree," joined Penelope's parents.

"Good heavens," Helen cried, trying to dash out of their way. "They've gone mad."

"It's Christmas, Hells," Penelope said. "They've always been, ah, festive this time of year."

"Two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree."

"You think they'd take singing practice at least," Helen said, pouring some more orange juice. "Especially dad."

"It could be worse," assured Penelope. "They could be singing Fred, our Hero Elf."

"Now that would be plain hideous," Helen admitted. "Don't go giving them any ideas."

"Do you think it'll snow?" Penelope asked, looking out the window for a brief minute. She had sent Percy, Marcus, and Oliver's Christmas gifts not long ago, and she was worried her owl wouldn't make it.

"Three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree."

"The telly said the weather would be bad, but he didn't say anything about snow," Penelope's mother, Clara, said, entering the kitchen. She opened the small oven, and looked in. "The turkey should be done soon."

"Marvellous!" Helen and Penelope exclaimed.

"Shall I make a salad?" Helen offered.

"Will we exchange gifts before dinner?" Penelope asked.

"Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree."

"Penny," her mother said, "presents are for after dinner. You must be patient, dear."

"Oh, but it's only afternoon..." Penelope looked at the clock. "It'll take ages for dinner."

"So, why don't you go do something productive?" Mrs. Clearwater said. "If it'll snow, it'd be best to bring in the chairs. They're in the garden, and they'll be ruined if they get wet."

"You can take Patrick and Victoria to the park," added Helen, referring to their five-year-old cousins. "They've been dying to go out all day. Aunt Mary could use a rest."

"All right, I'll take them to the swings or something," Penelope said grouchily. She grabbed a handful of chocolate chips and marched out the kitchen.

"Five golden rings! Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree."

"Do make sure they wear their cardigans and coats!" yelled Mrs. Clearwater after her.

"You know how Penny gets, mum," Helen said, searching the fridge for mayonnaise. "She loves Christmas, and she gets all bothered up waiting."

"It'll be the death of her," her mother agreed. "Now, why don't you tell me about your boyfriend? He's a wizard, I presume?"

*

"Penny, I want to go on the slide!" Patrick yelled, letting go of his cousin's hand.

"No, I want to go on the swings!" argued Victoria.

"Oi, no arguing," Penelope said, running after the two children. "Come back, you two!"

Finally catching up with both of them (Victoria had stopped to sneeze, and Patrick refused to go on without her), Penelope tried to catch her breath. "I'm never having children," she declared.

"I want to go on the swings," wailed Victoria, while Patrick became interested in a small ladybug.

"Right, we'll go on the swings first, then we'll play on the slide," Penelope said. "Deal?"

"Deal!" the two children echoed, marching behind her.

After much pushing on Penelope's part, it was Victoria that noticed something strange floating in the sky. "Look, Penny," she urged, as Patrick took a turn on the sings. "It's a bird!"

Penelope followed Victoria's line of vision. Swooping towards her was a small white owl. A small chain hanging around its neck with the words Property of Hogsmeade's Post Office, and a small parcel was all it carried. The owl hooted, and nipped Penelope's feet.

"Is it yours?" Patrick asked, trying to pet the owl.

"No," Penelope said, untying the parcel. She wasn't quite sure if her young cousins knew that she was a witch. For all she knew, they could be magical themselves.

"Are we going to keep it?" Victoria asked, amazed at the bird's feathers. "It's pretty."

"No, sweetie, this bird belongs to someone already." Penelope wasn't sure whether or note to open the parcel. There was no note, so she couldn't be sure if the parcel needed to be attended to immediately. "Why don't we go home?" she asked them.

*

Julius Flikus, known to more as Julius Flint, gazed at his great-grandson. "Sut naa lle?" he asked, speaking in his native language, Elfish. How are you?

Marcus cleared his throat uncomfortably. Any knowledge of Elfish he had was long gone from his mind.

"Uma lle quena i'lambe tel' eldalie?" Julius asked, not looking pleased.

Did he speak Elfish any more? No, not really.

Marcus shook his head.

"Quite disappointing," Julius said, in perfect English.

Marcus bowed his head in shame. "Sorry, Great-Grandfather. School hasn't permitted me to indulge in my studies, though I can still understand you."

Julius shook his head. "School! I told your grandmother sending future lines of Flints to be taught was just a waste of time. I never went to school; I learned from my mentors." He paused and looked at Marcus with regret. "My father taught me how to strike an arrow between the eyes of an animal and how to climb trees quicker than lightning hits the ground. Do you, boy, even know how to row a boat?"

Marcus shook his head, wishing that someone would pull him away from his great-grandfather.

"You learned all that, the art of the Elfish, by the time you were of age. You'd get yourself a decent vessë, then." Julius paused, and shook his head at the prospect of Marcus not taking a wife. "If you don't pick the perfect indis - bride - you will regret it. For an Elfish vessë is eternal, just like we are immortal." Julius, who might have been well into his thousand years, looked no older than perhaps forty, if you squinted, fifty. "You," Julius said to Marcus, "are quarter of Elfish. You will live longer than the average wizard."

"Marcus!" Lauren called. "Marcus, leave Julius alone and come entertain your cousins."

"Go, boy," Julius said, looking at something beyond Marcus, "but remember what I said about your heritage."

*

Oliver had never been a fan of Christmas. He loved the smell of pine trees and fresh piles of snow to jump in, but never the holiday itself. It always seemed to lack something, something that was always imprinted in Christmas cards that gave a glow to the holiday. Oliver simply called this 'thing' his father.

But it would be different this time, he reminded himself. His father told him they were spending Christmas together. They'd probably do all kinds of bonding.

At least, that was what he thought before he entered his home. That was what he thought before he saw a girl and a boy in his living room. A girl and a boy he didn't know.

"Who are you?" Oliver asked cautiously.

"I'm Ashley, and this is Michael," the girl, perhaps around 15-years-old, said in a strong American accent.

"Ah, of course, Ashley and Michael. How could I forget?" Oliver said, getting a bit hysterical.

"Oliver?" A man entered the room, followed by a brunette whom Oliver had never seen. "Oliver! You're back! Look how you've grown."

"Hullo, Dad," greeted Oliver, looking suspiciously at the three strange people in the room. "Who are they?"

"Oh," Oliver's father said nervously. "Oliver, this is Rachel, and her children, Ashley and Michael. Rachel works with me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Oliver," Rachel said, also in an American accent. "Your father talks non-stop about you."

"Why are they here?" Oliver asked, not caring whether he was polite or not.

"Rachel has just divorced her husband, Oliver," his father said, in an angry tone. "Rachel has never been to England, so I invited her and her children to spend Christmas with us."

"Ah," Oliver barely said. "I think I'll go upstairs and have a nap or something."

"I thought you could take Ashley and Michael to the lake," Oliver's father said. "Michael is the captain of his swimming team in California." He turned to Michael and added, "The lake might be frozen, though. You could try to use skating spells."

"Brillo," Oliver mumbled, climbing the stairs, ignoring his aunt.

"Let him go, Robert," his aunt warned his father.

*

Oliver bounced the Quaffle against the wall, over and over again. In half an hour the Christmas feast would start, and he would have to share it with three American strangers.

Ruined, of course. His holidays were completely ruined. He'd be expected to chatter with Ash-whatshername and Mic-soddinggit the entire night. And God only knew what kind of relationship was developing between his father and Rachel.

Well, that was settled. Oliver would have to go over to the Weasleys. Moving over to the fireplace in his room, he searched the orange vase for any trace of Floo powder.

"Don't panic, don't panic," he told himself, as he found there wasn't the slightest pinch of powder. "Dad might have some in the study."

"Oliver!" his aunt called, knocking on his door. "Oliver!"

Oliver opened the door. "Yes, Auntie?" he asked solemnly.

"Dear boy, what's the matter with you?" she asked. "You came into this house and marched into your room without saying hello. You looked as if Hogwarts had just decided they were going to teach Muggles!"

"I'm sorry," Oliver said. "It's just that dad could have warned me we were having guests."

"Aye, child, I know," his aunt said. "Look, why don't you get dressed, then come down for the feast. I've made all your favourites."

"All right," Oliver agreed, and watched as his aunt left the room.

*

Penelope was used to a lot of odd things. She was accustomed to ghosts, curses, flobberworms, and sweets that made your tongue burn. She had never, though, been as surprised as now, when she entered her room and heard Helen repeating phrases in Elfish.

"I need to learn it for a History of Magic class," Helen explained. "It's just some basic words and sentences, Penny. Don't know why you're all flushed."

"B - but how did you learn it?" Penelope demanded, settling her parcel aside.

"Oh, this book in the library," said Helen. "Pity I had to give it back so soon; someone else needed it."

Penelope was not pleased. "Don't you have another book with you?" she asked.

"No, why?" Helen's tone was suspicious.

"Because I've always wanted to learn Elfish!" Penelope exclaimed, hoping Helen would buy her bookworm act.

"I'm sorry, Penny. Why don't you check out the book when you get back to Hogwarts?"

Penelope pouted and sat on her own bed. Her own sister had had the book in her possession, and she hadn't even known!

"What did you get?" Helen asked after a while, indicating the unopened parcel.

"Oh!" Penelope quickly tore the brown wrapping apart. Both she and Helen gasped when a locket fell into her lap, followed by a note. The transparent, star-shaped locket was on a golden chain. Inside it, a sort of silvery liquid flowed. It was quite beautiful.

"What does the note say?" Helen urged, getting up to sit next to her sister.

Penelope opened the note, and read aloud:

Dear Penny,

Merry Christmas! I hope this owl sends your present all right, the post man said the owl was a bit fresh to its flying.

Enclosed with this note is a locket called Amor Traidora. It's a Spanish trinket my brother Bill brought back from Egypt. Supposedly it indicates (by the silver liquid turning red) when someone near you is unfaithful, but Charlie reckons it's just a decoration for lovers (which you and I are not).

It's also meant to bring good luck, which we'll need if we're ever going to find anything about that Elfish chamber.

Yours truly,

Percy W.

Helen giggled. "Well that's romantic."

Penelope slipped the chain around her neck. "Do I look nice?" she asked.

Helen nodded. "Penny, what's this Elfish chamber Percy was talking about?"

"What? Oh. Er, it's a project we have to do for History," Penelope murmured, picking up the brown wrapping.