Dumbledore announced in the second week of December that there would be a special Hogsmeade trip the Saturday before Christmas, as there was to be a holiday festival in the village. This, he reasoned, meant that the Yule Ball should be held earlier than expected, the following Saturday, 17 December.  

The result was a jostling hustle-bustle all about the castle as preparations were made. Flitwick could be seen charming baubles and evergreens all over the banisters and Hagrid dragged a gigantic tree through the Entrance Hall on Wednesday, which was erected in the front of the Great Hall and decorated with faerie lights and twinkling silver and gold ornaments that reflected the flickering of the floating candles that filled the curve of the enchanted ceiling.

There was a general jostling of students in all the corridors and in the Great Hall over the next week as they tried at pairing off for the ball. Regulus Black had been very thankful to simply ask Maryrose because it allowed him to avoid the kerfluffle of nervous boys and clusters of giggling, anxious girls that hung around all about the castle, waiting to be asked but never leaving their packs long enough to be asked.

On Friday evening, during dinner, the students were dusted with a lightly falling snow that wasn't cold, and melted on contact, magical and beautiful, though several students (like Severus Snape) seemed quite annoyed by the effect.

"Probably doesn't know what to do, poor chap," Sirius commented, watching Severus Snape brush the snow from his hair, "His hair's never been wetted before."

Peter laughed, "Good one, Padfoot."

The night of the Yule Ball came and Regulus Black was standing in the corridor outside of Hufflepuff common room, leaning against the wall and waiting for Maryrose to come out. He nodded to the other Hufflepuffs that passed by, headed to the Ball or else into the Common Room to get ready. He nodded in greeting when Wendy come out of the Common Room on the arm of one of the Hufflepuff Quiddich players. 

Honestly, Regulus couldn't blame her for having broken up with Peter, according to Maryrose, Peter was always making up excuses why he couldn't spend time with Wendy, or else just not showing up when they'd made plans. And besides that, Desmond Misces was a sight better of a catch than Peter Pettigrew. A prefect and a chaser on the team, Desmond was a good guy, and Regulus thought he looked much more the part for Wendy than Peter did, especially since Peter was nearly three inches shorter than Wendy and nearly three times as wide. Maryrose had told him that it seemed that everyone knew about the break up except for Peter and the other Marauders. "I don't think Peter's told them," Maryrose had said, "I don't know what he does when they think he's with Wendy, but they've been broken up since the start of October."

"Curious," Regulus had said.

Now, the door opened and Maryrose came out into the hall and any thoughts that had previously entertained Regulus's mind were washed off with a second as his breath caught in his throat and his mouth wen quite dry.

Maryrose Jenkins was positively gorgeous.

She'd turned her hair pearly-white and her eyes the darkest evergreen. She wore a green velvet dress that came to her thighs and white lacy tights that showed a bit of her skin beneath a lovely snowflake pattern. She wore a red sash about her waist, and a poinsettia in her hair. Even dressed in his nicest dress robes, new ones that his Mother had just sent him, Regulus still felt under dressed and hardly good enough for someone as perfectly beautiful as Maryrose looked.

"Wow, you look like a present!" he exclaimed, breathless.

Maryrose laughed and took his hands in her own, pulling him into her and giving him a kiss on his nose. "You don't look half bad yourself, Mr. Black."

"What? This tattered old thing?" he joked, smiling at her, "Blimey, I look like rubbish next to you."

Maryrose blushed, the pink of her cheeks only adding to her Christmas look.

They went down to the Great Hall together, holding hands, and talking. Maryrose had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas since her mum and dad had gone to visit her sister, Pandora, and her husband Xenophilius Lovegood, who were currently in Australia, hunting for something called a crumple-horned snorkack. "What the bleeding hell is a snorkack?" Regulus asked.

"I haven't any idea," Maryrose said. "Xenophilius is quite eccentric, dunno if you remember him."

"Not really," Regulus replied.

"Well, he's a nutter, and Pandora's just excited because the Australian wizards are sort of known for their experimental magic and that's the sort of thing she's into - she works in the Spells Development Department, you know, at the Ministry."

"That must be cool."

"It must."

"I never really thought about there being somebody that works at developing spells, but I suppose they come from somewhere."

"Exactly," Maryrose replied.

They'd reached the Great Hall by then and Regulus took her hand and showed her in. The Great Hall was decorated the most beautifully of all of the castle, with the giant tree and the floating candles, as well as the snow that had so irritated the majority of them the day before, and in the front of the room, were the staff usually sat, Flitwick was proudly conducting the Frog Choir through a book of Christmas music. House elves scurried about, trays of bite-sized snacks and flutes of butterbeer were being carried about, as well as tiny little red cakes, trussed up with velvety frosting that made them look like tiny packages.

"Blimey, Dumbledore really outdid it this year, 'ey?" Regulus asked, looking about in awe.

"It's lovely," Maryrose agreed, nodding, smiling as she looked about. She took two glasses of butterbeer from the tray of a passing elf, handing one to Regulus and sipping one herself. "I'm a bit confused by Flitwick's choice of using the Frog Choir over one of the others in town, though. I  would have thought the holiday might've called for something a little less.... froggy."

"I suppose he just wanted the music to be ribbiting," Regulus said, smirking. "Get it? Like riveting but with ribbit?"

"I get it," Maryrose laughed. "You're so lame."

Regulus grinned, rather proud of himself.

Suddenly, there was a great commotion in the Entrance Hall and Regulus and Maryrose turned about to see what all the fuss was over... Maryrose literally spit a mouthful of butterbeer into the glass she held out of shock and laughter, and Regulus didn't know if he ought to laugh or cry or some deranged mixture of the two...

Down the grand staircase had come Sirius Black, dressed very nicely in a pair of slacks and his fitted maroon vest and white shirt from the school uniform - his long black hair slicked against his head into a nice, low-riding ponytail. Floating at his side was his date - Peeves the Poltergeist - making loud raspberries with each step Sirius took, clutching Sirius's arm. Peeves was dressed in the most hideous orange frock that anyone could ever have imagined.

"Oh. My. Gods." Regulus gasped.

Maryrose was in tears of mirth as Peeves and Sirius reached the bottom of the stairwell and Peeves spun about for all of the watching, staring students, as though he were showing off the gown.

"Peevesy's finally gotten to go to the ball," sang the poltergeist. "And with Sneaky Snoopy Sirius, me afterlife is made compleeeeeeeeeeeeeeete!" He spun upside down, the dress turning over his head to reveal his kicking legs and the whole of the moon until he spun about again, turning right side up, cackling at the younger students who had shouted and covered their eyes.

Sirius grinned up at Peeves as he spun, "Oi, if I was going to go to the ball with a moony, I would've made it my own, not yours."

Peeves cackled all the harder, clapping his hands, "You owe me a daaaaaance!" he sing-songed as he flew into the Great Hall, excited as could be. A moment after he'd gone in ,there came a great deal of shouting as red baubles were being thrown about the Hall.

"Who invited the bleedin' poltergeist, I'll have their head..." cried Filch, running past with a mop in his hand.

Sirius snickered, turning to Remus and Peter, who had come down the stairs behind him and Peeves, "Oops?"

The night of the Yule Ball, Ned Veigler was in the library at Fallengunder, pouring over a stack of books. There came a knock at the door and, wand aloft and alight with he alohamora, he went down to check on it.

Elva was on the stairs of the castle.

"Elva?" he asked in surprise at seeing her.

She stared up a him, her startling blue eyes and wild white hair so reminiscent of the fox that she became. "I know it wasn't you... the wolf pack that attacked our village two months ago."

He stared back at her.

"I'm so sorry, for how I treated you at the pub," Elva gasped. "I never meant to hurt you. I was hurt, too, and afraid - for everyone that I love - but I believe you. And I'm sorry that it took me his long to believe you. I'm sorry that it took me seeing it to believe it. I swear to you, Ned Veigler, if you'll have me back in your life and your world, that I'll trust you ever more..."

There was a long pause...

And then Ned Veigler pulled Elva Greenwood into him, and gave her a deep kiss.

Walburga Black was siting in her study, fanning herself, and staring out the window a the stars and rocking in her chair. There came a banging - frantic on the door below - and she listened as Kreatcure opened the door and a momen later began squeaking in protest as heavy-footed steps came storming up the stairwell to her little library."

Suddenly the door banged opened and in the frame of it stood  the bulking form of Fenrir Greyback. He was huge, and breathing hard, favoring one leg over the other, his face deeply cut and healing, a silver-and-red scar like a parenthesis on one side of his face. He hunkered into the room, sidling through the narrow doorway.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"Manners!" Walburga snapped, "When you enter the presence of another person - especially a lady - you are expected to announce yourself, clearly, and boldly. You're expected to greet them." She glowered at Fenrir.

He glowered right back. "I asked you a question. Where is it?"

"I haven't gotten it yet," Walburga responded.

Fenrir laughed. "Is it the Dark Lord here that you're wanting here inquiring about it?" Greyback asked.

Walburga remained cool. "Tell him to come, then. I haven't got the locket yet. Despite my efforts, searching high and low on the search for it, I haven't found it yet."

"It is impossibly imperative that you find it. And soon. The Dark Lord grows impatient."

Walburga nodded.

"Next time, he comes inquiring after it himself," Fenrir warned, "And I'll be mighty hungry when he does..." And he grinned, his wolfish grin sending chills up her spine.