The snow fluttered down, it’s soft whiteness caressing the ground before mingling with the wet, muddy streets of London. All around, was the sound of silence, the cold wind whistling through the narrow streets. One snowflake in particular was blown onwards until the rare sound of laughter could be heard. In the Cold War that had fallen over Britain, this was strange. Many children and teenagers feared for their futures, their very lives. Who would dare to laugh at this time?

“Bella! Bella, I want it! It’s mine!” The little voice demanded, the foot belonging to the same owner as the voice stamping on the snowflake as it settled on the pure, white ground. Oh, it was still London. But a different London; a place where the Cold War didn’t matter. A large house, but invisible to many eyes, unaffected by the bomb craters and general murkiness of the small alleyways. Here, behind the high fence, the snow was almost untouched, two small sets of footprints marking the snow, but not discolouring it. The high laughter came again.

“Come on, Andy, you’re not that small.”

Shining black hair rippled with the wind, and the taller girl it belonged to narrowed dark eyes at her younger sister. With another laugh, she began to run down the small garden, weaving through the dark trees when she reached them. Andromeda’s cry echoed up to the house, as she clamoured after her sister.

Sad grey eyes watched them through the thick glass, the lashes spiky with a recent wetting. In this case, it was tears, her own tears that had poured from Irma’s eyes a few moments ago. She had just had yet another argument with Pollux. Now he was downstairs in one of the sitting rooms, having gathered together her sons and son-in-law. Alphard, Cygnus, Orion. The names were pounding in her head, a result of too much wine.

The girls in the garden continued to run around, the recent snowfall making their enjoyment all the more clear. Their paternal grandmother continued to gaze at them, high up in the attic of the house. Even here, the wealth of their family showed. Double glazing in the attic was something not many enjoyed. As she watched, Bellatrix finally yielded the favourite toy, and peace and harmony were restored to the garden.

Another yell attracted Irma’s attention. This one came from underneath her, the ground floor.

“Come back, you stupid House Elf! Make sure you do it properly!” It was Walburga, her daughter. Only daughter, as it turned out. The shout was an echo of one that was repeated many times, throughout the generations, in this cold, dark house. Even when decorated for Christmas, as it was now, the family tradition of being cold and courteous went on.

Irma’s eyes were drawn to the Christmas bow on the high gates. Worn from years of use, signalling the day of the Black’s annual Christmas Party, the ribbon was now a dull green, the silver holly leaf in the middle barely shining. But in Irma’s memory, the green was bright and cheery, welcoming her and her family. The silver twinkled cheekily, and her fresh, twelve year old eyes lit up with excitement.

Once they had been swept inside, led by a couple of House Elves, Irma gasped at the wonderful decorations. The elaborate bow on the gate had just been the start. A tall, healthy green Christmas tree reached for the roof in each corner of the large dining room. Shining, silver baubles hung from most of the branches, adding to the fantastical aspect of the room.

With her eyes as wide as possible, Irma gazed around in wonder. Real silver rings joined together, in an ornate display of the Black’s wealth. Beside the two full colour portraits of Cygnus and Violetta, the current heads of the Black family, were large wreaths, with real fairies dancing in between the curls of greenery.

The entire Crabbe family were on show. As well as Irma, there was her older sister, Ida, now in her fourth year at Hogwarts, and her older brother, Edward, who was in his sixth year at Hogwarts. All three of them were proud Slytherins, and Irma was pleased to see that only green and silver had entered the hall, despite red and gold being a huge part of traditional Christmas colours.

Edward immediately left the family group to talk to Elizabeth Rosier, his betrothed. She, too, was a Slytherin, and being in Ida’s year, was one of the family friends. Irma liked her. Mother and Father left to talk to one of Father’s business associates, leaving Ida and Irma to amuse themselves. Since the party had barely started, there were only around thirty people milling around, but Irma couldn’t see any of her schoolmates. She glanced around nervously, staying close to Ida. This was the first Christmas Party she’d been allowed to come too - apart from the Black family, no one under eleven was permitted.

Ida and Irma sidled over to the buffet, deeming it safest to stay within sight of their parents.

“Aren’t the decorations amazing?” whispered Irma, clutching the side of her new lavender-blue dress robes. Ida nodded distractedly, eyes sweeping the crowd.

“Who are you looking for?” asked Irma. When her sister still didn’t look at her, and idea occurred. “It’s not that Charlus Potter you like, is it?” Immediately Ida whipped round, her face red, emphasising the golden sheen in her hair.

“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“He has arrived, if you want to go and talk to him,” announced a strange girl from behind Ida. Irma jumped and took an involuntary step backwards. The girl was simply black - black dress robes, black hair, even - Irma gulped - black eyes. Before either of the sisters could reply, their father called them over to the middle of the room, where he was standing with the life size objects of the portraits sternly watching the hall. Cygnus and Violetta Black.

“Ida! Irma! Come and meet our hosts, girls!”

Thankful for an excuse to leave, Id and Irma obeyed their father’s summons. Somehow, Edward had popped up in the right place at the right time, as he was wont to doing, as he was already bowing to the tall, dark couple in front of him.

“My son, Edward.”

Ida curtsied prettily, her pale blue dress robes setting off the Crabbe’s famous blonde hair.

“My eldest daughter, Ida,” Father announced, then everyone looked at Irma. She continued to gaze at the floor for a moment, then realised what she was supposed to do. Colour flooding her face, she too curtsied, and hoped she hadn’t messed up the meeting. First impressions, after all, are the most lasting.

“And my youngest daughter, Irma.”

“Very pretty she is too,” a cheeky voice proclaimed. It came from a grey-eyed man, an easy grin settled on his face. Already extremely embarrassed, this did nothing to detract from the scarlet colour of Irma’s face.

Cygnus raised an eyebrow at the comment, then relaxed when he saw the man.

“This is my eldest son, Pollux.” The note of pride in his voice, cold as it was, was unmistakeable. “In fact, since young Irma has never met them all formally, and your wife could not attend last year -” Cygnus inclined his head gracefully towards Irma’s mother. “Why not introduce my family too?”

“Violetta and Pollux,” he waved a hand to his wife and the son already introduced. “My daughter, Cassiopeia,” The strange girl who had spooked them before glided smoothly towards them, the unblinking eyes fixed on her father. “And the twins, Marius and Dorea.” Two small, grinning ten year olds ran over, pushing through the crowd that by now had swelled to at least a hundred people. “Neither of them go to Hogwarts yet,” Cygnus added when Ida’s brow furrowed. All this Irma noticed out of the corner of her eyes, so strongly was she staring at Pollux. Everything about him was enchanting. Short black hair, cloudy grey eyes, toned body. He hadn’t been at Hogwarts - she would have remembered him. Obviously he’d already finished his education. At twelve, this prospect seemed as far away to Irma as the moon.

A creak from the stairs jerked Irma out of her reverie, drawing her from the past and straight into 1958. Irma sat up straight, preparing herself for the onslaught of complaining that would come from the person sent to fetch her. It would either be Walburga - her own flesh and blood! Or Druella, her son’s wife. Whichever one, they would still see her as a burden. Just someone who had outlived her use of childbearing and rearing, who ought to die off as quickly as possible. In the old days, such as the day she had just been reminded of, the idea would have made her angry, but now she simply did not care.

Irma stared at a crack in the wall, hoping that she still had a few minutes of peace. The crack was new; it certainly hadn’t been here last time she came up here. But that had been long ago. Around thirty four years, in fact. At another party of the Black’s. But not the annual Christmas one, though it had been around that time. It had been a private party.

Irma jumped up and down, clapping her hands in excitement. The sisters now had the attic to themselves. Since her mother couldn’t be here, Ida had taken on the role of the bride-to-be’s mother, helping her dress and do her hair.

“It’s perfect,” Irma breathed, staring in the mirror. Her hair, normally wavy and tangled, had been brushed through, and straightened, then fanned out into a kind of cloak, it was so long. Ida smiled and agreed, giving it one last comb through. Both sisters were wearing the same colour, pale silver dress robes, only Irma’s was lined with white. Ida’s were lined with a matching pale green, and both had one half of their mother’s locket.

Both of them were aware of the empty space beside Irma, that should have been filled by their mother, or even Violetta, Irma’s soon to be mother in law. But Violetta was busy instructing the house-elves on the feast, or so she had said. And their mother was gone from that world. Dead. The word resounded around the room, taking some of the joy with each bounce.

Tears filled Irma’s eyes. She turned to Ida and buried her head in her sisters arms.

“I wish she was here,” Irma whispered. Ida nodded sadly, and made soothing sounds.

“She’ll be watching you. I know she will. Today is such a special day. You have to enjoy it. You’re sixteen, Irma. You have your whole live ahead of you - I know Mother would want you to look forward, not back. And today is an amazing day. The day you get betrothed to Pollux Black! You know how much Mother wanted this to happen.”

Irma sniffed back her tears, and turned back to the mirror. Ida smoothed her hair back again, then carefully placed the white crown on her head.

“Come on. It’s time to go down.”

Together, they went. Down the stairs, into the dining room. A few days ago it had been full of people for the Christmas party. Today only her family and Pollux’s family were here.

Her father, her brother, her sister. Father was carefully holding little Mary. She was only two, so she didn’t really understand the occasion. But she was excited. Then there was Edward, smiling happily with Elizabeth. Their wedding was only in a few months. An early Spring wedding. And, of course, Ida, with her fiancé, Mark Goyle. All were matches made by her father, but Edward and Ida had both found happiness. Irma had nothing to do with Pollux, except at formal gatherings. He didn’t seem interested in the girl he was to marry. But today his eyes were only for her.

The betrothal ceremony took place outside, in the garden. Live fairies, left over from the Christmas celebrations, still fluttered around, and their were sprinklings of frost beginning to set in. But Irma didn’t care about the cold. Today was going to be perfect, just as she’d said earlier.

Pollux took her hand, leading her to the small steps. Before the ceremony could begin, he lent forward to whisper in her ear.

“You look beautiful.”

Irma blushed, and all of her fears melted away. Ida had always been the pretty one, with her slim build and bright, cornflower blue eyes. Despite their shared blonde hair, they didn’t look much the same. Irma was more thickset, and had darker eyes. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

They gave their promises in the streaming light of the sunset.

“Grandmother?” A small voice came from the doorway. Irma gathered herself together, and glanced towards the sound. It was little Narcissa, almost four. Her small, pale face was wet with tears, the blue eyes lined with red.

“I want to go in the garden,” she sniffed. “But Mother won’t let me. Bella and Andy are allowed!” The indignation in the small voice was very clear.

Irma picked her up and set her on her knee, very relieved it was one of her granddaughters.

“Don’t worry, sweeting. Soon you’ll be able to go out into the garden without any grown ups. Your mother just wants you to be safe. Your sisters had to wait until they were five, too.” Privately, Irma thought that Druella should solve the problem by going outside to watch all three of them, but it had never been in her daughter-in-law’s nature to think of anyone but herself.

Narcissa frowned, and hit her own knee with a curled up fist. “But I want to go out now!”

Irma sighed. Druella had certainly given some of her less desirable traits to her third daughter. But at least her own blonde hair had survived. After three children, and two grandchildren, who the hair had passed by, Irma had been overjoyed to finally physical proof of the fact that she had joined this family, given her pure blood to it. Walburga, Alphard and Cygnus all got their father’s dark hair and grey eyes. Orion also had these, descended from Phineas as he was. Even Druella had dark eyes, with mousy hair. No, Narcissa’s eyes and hair obviously came from Irma’s family line.

In the hope of distracting the child from her sadness, Irma explained this little fact.

“Once, you know, I cut my hair really short,” She added, hoping to make it interesting.

Narcissa grew wide-eyed at this revelation, shocked at the notion.

“Did it - did it hurt?” Having never cut her hair, Narcissa had no idea what would happen if you did. Irma gave a short laugh.

“No, my dear. It didn’t hurt. I was eighteen at the time.”

Recognising the signs of a story beginning, Narcissa settled into her grandmother’s lap and put her thumb in her mouth. But Irma didn’t tell the story. She was concentrating on reliving it. This time, the setting was not the Black house, where she had resided for the last thirty something years. It was her own childhood home.

The clock was ticking, every second that passed sounded out to Irma with a loud ‘dong’. But she ignored it.

“This time I have to brush my own hair,” Irma informed the empty room, hoping that somehow, the people that she had lost could hear her. She knew it was silly, that the dead never came back, but it was comforting to think that they could hear her.

“You know, Father can’t take care of Mary on his own. I wonder what he’ll do with her. I can’t take her to the Black house, can I?”

She often talked to them like this, ever since last year. But the façade only lasted for a little while. Irma sighed and set down the hairbrush. The images in her mind, of her mother, of Ida, of her grandparents, vanished.

“I should stop pretending. They’re never coming back!” For a long while she stared into the mirror she had once shared with Ida, then burst into tears. When they subsided, and the wave of emotion with them, Irma felt calmer, as if she’d finally found something she had control over.

“My appearance,” she whispered, fingering her hair. Did she really dare…

Yes. She did. She had to. To show that she wasn’t Ida. She was herself, and should stop trying to be with her sister. Taking her wand from the cluttered cabinet top, she transfigured some tweezers into a large pair of scissors.

“First the braid.” This she hacked off, as quickly as possible. It fell to the floor, the sound reverberating around the plain room. It looked empty, and one sided. There was only one single bed, when there was room enough for two. Only two cupboards, when there should have been four.

There were still long tendrils left, framing her pale face, but she couldn’t bring herself to chop those too. Instead she began to sob, putting her hands to her face.

If only she could hide so easily from the world. There was a tentative knock at the door. She didn’t say enter, but the person did anyway. It was Pollux. She could tell, because of the smell of outside he always brought with him. There was a horrified gasp. But she didn’t turn round, instead meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“What have you done?” It was one of the few times he actually spoke to her with real emotion, not just formal mouthing.

She shrugged, no longer watching him, but staring in the mirror once again. Perhaps if she looked hard enough, then everything the mirror had seen, everything since her sixteenth birthday, would be rewound, and she would have a family again. A proper family, not a broken shell of a father, a solemn four year old sister, a distanced brother, and a cold fiancé. She wanted the people who really loved her back.

Still gazing at her in horror, Pollux cleared his throat awkwardly.

“My parents and yours - I mean your father - they’ve set a date.” When this was met with absolutely no reaction at all, he carried on. “For our wedding. It’s - it’s at Easter.”

Irma heard the words, and realised that no one would wait for her. It didn’t matter that she felt as if she was drowning, that she hated the world. They were rushing on, with their stupid power games and small annoyances, and were impatient for her to come out of her shell. She swallowed, then dived beneath the cover of ice. Perhaps if she froze up, she wouldn’t hurt so much. And they would get their stupid pure blood, their heirs. Yes. They would be happy. And she might not hurt so badly. Decided, she raised her head, looking directly at him.

“Very well. I shall come down presently. Please tell my father.” Without another word, still gawping at her new haircut, he left.

More tears were streaming down Irma’s face. Narcissa, who had been content to watch her sisters in the garden for a few moments enviously, stared up at her grandmother in amazement. Despite having cried a moment ago herself, none of the adults she knew ever cried. Even Bella never cried. Sometimes Andy did, and that new baby boy, Siri - something. But not adults.

Curious, she reached out and touched one of the tears, shocking Irma into the present for the third time that day.

“Why are you crying, grandmother?”

The small formal voice so reminded Irma of Pollux that she choked out a small laugh.

“My sister is dead, little one.” Irma’s voice was flat, and she didn’t try and cushion it. Narcissa turned her head to the side.

“But it’s Christmas. You can’t be sad on Christmas.”

Again, Irma almost choked on a little, ironic laugh.

“Oh, my dear, I wish I couldn’t. I wish I didn’t feel like this, but I do.” There was silence for a moment as Narcissa considered this. Then she laid a small hand on her grandmother’s larger one, and held it.

“Your sister wouldn’t want you to be sad on Christmas. She would want you to be happy.” Narcissa sat up, blue eyes sparkling with a new idea. “Maybe she’s a Christmas angel, like the one we saw in Diagon Alley.” It was a simple sentence, nothing more, but it cracked all the layers of ice Irma had carefully cultivated and kept over herself for so many years, leaving her free to take her first real breath of air. It hurt, yes, facing up to all that grief, but at the same time she felt free.

Holding the little girl on her hip, Irma stood.

“Perhaps you’re right. I’ve spent far too many Christmases looking back, instead of forward, to the future.”

“I’m always right,” Narcissa replied confidently. Irma laughed, this time in real pleasure, and swept down to the gardens, ignoring Druella and Walburga’s confused stares. After all, you only got to live once. One day, she would rejoin her mother and sister, but for now, she had to be content here. With her three adorable granddaughters, one especially, who would pass on her legacy.

The rest of the afternoon they spent in the garden, even eating out there. All of the adults were nonplussed by this change of behaviour, but didn’t dream of saying so. And, under the pitter patter of feet, both small and large, the snow gradually changed from pure white to trampled and a vague yellow colour. The wind blew a small chunk over the fence, surprising a Muggle family. The youngest boy, Teddy, stared at the snow in surprise, and could have sworn he heard girlish laughter coming from his left. But he was only six, and who was going to believe him? He shook his head, and ran to catch up.