_{Our thread begins on early afternoon on December 24.  Prim has left work early in order to meet her sisters to decorate for the annual Christmas party.  It is also the day the tree is traditionally decorated.  Family tradition does not die easily in the Woolfolk home.}

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“No!” Mari screeched as Primrose grabbed the golden bauble from the box on the ground.  Raising her eyebrows, Prim slowly turned her head to regard her sister: curlers piled high in her hair and secured with silk.  “That’s mine!” 

Prim briefly glanced toward her youngest sister, trying to make eye contact that could have screamed, ‘do you believe what you are hearing?’  Prim lowered her shoulders and her nostrils flared.  “Are you serious?” 

Mari regarded her with a slack jaw, pure expression of overdramatic horror.  “Of course I’m serious!  I got that in Milan on holiday, don’t you remember?!”  The holiday in question was one she had taken with a friend on her own because she was that grown up and mature, as she had put it.  Prim had no time for that nonsense.  Besides, it was a wonder someone wanted to go on holiday with Marigold.  Let them have her! 

If she said it out loud, she knew Hattie would agree.  They’d always seen eye to eye on most things.  Amaryllis was far too even tempered and Marigold?  Well.  She was her own entity.  It was nice though, to have at least one sister who totally understood her, even if they were over ten years apart. 

“How could we forget?” she sniffed and held it out as if she might let it drop.  If Amaryllis was home from work, she might have stepped in the middle, made herself the voice of reason in the conflict, but alas – she was the only one who could not be spared from her post the day before Christmas.  Prim hardly understood why.  It was hardly the time of year oblivations went up. 

The ornament was snatched from her hand with sniveling and Marigold scurried around to the other side of the tree. 

It was most assuredly an oversized thing, but she supposed anything smaller might look ridiculous in the formal room.  It would be full of music and food later… and people.  Prim could have shuddered.  Social occasions were not her favorite.  She could speak in front of a group, she could operate in a professional sense with many people… but with small talk and laughing and dancing?  She was an unmitigated disaster. 

She turned her eyes back to the inside of the box and rose on her knees to reach in.  “Hattie!” Primrose grinned and removed a box of glittering pink bulbs.  “I found them!” 

Careful hands pulled the box open, looking at the bulbs glistening in their cushioned holder.  The sheen of gold glittered in the light.  They were Prim’s favorites.  “Take two,” she actually grinned and gently levitated one up with a silent wingardium leviosa toward the top of the tree.  They’d neglected the area, and Prim liked to think her favorite things were above everything else. 

Now, at least, she could make it literal. 

Was she serious? Of course she was serious. That was the tragedy of Marigold. No amount of leg could make up for the screeching that came out of that face. A waste of Woolfolk genes and a perfectly good flower name. Instead, Hattie had been plunked with Hyacinth and a bitchy bratty older sister.

The youngest sister let out a sarcastic breath— a snort, for those less subtle. "Think of all the ornaments you'd have by now if you'd stayed.” Her eyes shined in agreement with Primrose a half-eye’s-blink later. And then she scurried in the opposite direction, before Marigold could work it out. Even so, she sang out over her shoulder as she skipped ‘round the tree. “Too bad that would require becoming fluent in another language!”

Some of them had absorbed more from their governesses than others.

No sooner had Hattie landed her attention on a prime bit of pine, when Primrose announced her triumph.

Blonde waves whipped around, testing the ribbon that held a bit of hair— a much more polished version of Marigold’s Halloween coif. (Hattie didn’t care if she was mid-primping, she’d seize any moment.) “Primmy!” She squealed, delightedly, and bounced into action, hands extended as if she were a toddler learning to walk all over again. She teetered over her sister’s shoulder, a seemingly dangerous balance. But Hattie was well practiced in walking thin lines along ponds and fences, coming to abrupt stops to stop Mum and Papa from seeing her at the top of stairs or around corners. And besides, she was far more graceful than Miss Milan.

Crouching down on white lace socks (which might have meant dusty knees if not for the elves and their pre-party scouring), Hattie trailed fingertips above the pink bulbs as if they were diamonds or a particularly interesting Divination project. “This one,” she said, pointing. “And this one.” She plucked them up, one in each hand, like a child who had picked the best strawberries out of the bowl.

Still on her knees, Hattie hung one near the tree’s base, where it would be her own private thing to stare up at when she fell asleep under it later. (Or pretended to, so that Papa had to carry her to stop her from seeing ‘Saint Nicholas.’)

She grinned up at Primrose, and admired the floating bulb as it landed in place. “Perfect,” she complimented, and then climbed to her knees and held her second one close to her chest. “I’ve always liked pink better than gold.”

Amaryllis came out of the fireplace in one big bound. "TA-DAAAA!" She announced, immediately bursting into a fit of giggles.

Her siblings didn't even look that surprised.  Still, she couldn't keep from gloating. "I knew you would be in here!" She crouched slightly awkwardly to clear the lower mantle.  Once clear, she straightened, taking a moment in awe to look up at the great heights of the tree, her face at first delighted, before crumpling in dismay. "You're almost done--shoot! Quick, Mary! The silver ones!" she said, pointing to her younger sister, who stood next to an open box of mercury glass orbs.

Marigold thought a moment before stooping down, throwing one underhandedly at her.  With a startled--but gleeful--cry, Maree's hands flew up to catch it, feet leaving the ground.  She was giggling softly by the time she landed.  "Oh! That could have ended badly!" she gave a playful grimace, looking between her sisters.  Maree know that if anything she said teetered towards criticizing Marigold, it would immediately gain traction with Hattie and Prim both.  She added a quick buffer of words, "Keeping me on my toes. My boss would like that."  She winked at Mary who did really look happier to see her.  "But even he couldn't keep me at work tonight."  And that was true.  Maree had done a not-so-nice thing in order to be here tonight, by reminding her supervisor that she was no longer the newest person on the force, and that as such, she ought to be able to have the holiday off.  Even if it meant that the new hires, interns, and recruits would have to stay behind to mop up what would probably be some wizard's drunken revelry.

Poor Mihai Zamperia.  He'd stayed back, too, and he had a daughter.  She'd make it up to him--or to the daughter--somehow. 

Maree pulled out her wand, casting an easy levitation spell, allowing the mercury glass to at last settle happily underneath her favorite ornament--a beautiful glass robin perched in a nest of holly.  The bough it rested on shifted slightly under the weight of the mercury glass, and the bird gave a soft chirp before preening its feathers and settling itself back down.  There was the soft sound of glass on glass.  Maree smiled broadly.

"Well?" she asked, expectantly of her sisters, arms out, "I need a Christmas hug!"

Prim was actually delighted.  To the point of smiling and laughing. 

It was a rare emotion for her (some probably thought it an impossible feat), particularly because no one listened to her at work, but it was happening.  Prim was having an absolute fantastic time.  That made it especially frustrating. 

But, with the Christmas tree and decorating, she could be in charge (to a degree) and have her sisters sort of at her beck and call.  It was a good way to forget about all the dolts in the office who didn’t find it important to hear her out.  They’d be sorry some day!  Unfortunately, today was not that day.  So, she had something better to do. 

Decorating the Christmas tree and living room for the annual party was more than enough to occupy her.  Prim just liked to be looked at with respect – people should acknowledge how brilliant she was!  She couldn’t understand how they didn’t., really. At least at home, even Marigold seemed to listen to her.  She was annoying when she did, and the huffing and puffing was completely ridiculous.  But, they listened.  And they thought she was important and smart.  Prim thrived on that appreciation and love.  She puffed up as her youngest sister squeaked and approached to grab the ornaments she liked best.  Prim swelled with pride and dropped down from her knees back onto the floor so she could tilt the box and pull something else she liked out.

Primrose didn’t bother with anything that wasn’t perfect. 

“I like gold!” she heard Mari shout from around the tree in response to Hattie’s remark and Prim sighed.  Of course she did. 

“You would,” Prim commented under her breath and carefully lifted some twinkling light garland from the box.  It was a lot, but it would be perfect for the mantle. 

With a sly smirk, she whipped it over her head and then tugged it around, tossing it as though it were made of ostrich feathers.  “What do you think for the party tonight?” she raised her eyebrows and grinned before being interrupted by the melodic (and loud) voice, “Maree!” Prim immediately turned her head – she’d know one of her sister’s entrances from anywhere and jumped up from the ground, still wearing the garland-boa. 

“We’re hardly done,” she informed her, trying to dissuade her from worrying about it.  They had tons to do and still had to get ready for the party.  Prim, unlike Mari and Hattie, hadn’t even started yet.  Mostly because she cared the least, she supposed, about the party at any rate.

She gasped when Marigold tossed the ornament, casting a sneer in her direction.  That could have been terrible!  Even if they could charm it back together, to be so… flippant!  Prim could not understand such frivolity.  Thankfully, at least Marigold’s cheeks looked red.  There was always time for firsts: she knew she did wrong!   

And Maree’s demand… well, Prim extended a hand to help her youngest sister off the floor.  “It’s not Christmas yet,” Prim pointed out, though without any of her usual snark reserved for only one of her sisters, and adjusted her shoulder as the garland was slipping.  “Come on,” she tugged harder until Hattie was up and held onto her hand. 

“Maree demands a hug,” she said in an odd sing-song voice, “we must oblige.” 

A shared eye roll was a most precious gift, and Hattie had had years of mimicking Primrose so that her own was frightfully similar. She supposed they could put up with Marigold’s shenanigans if it meant real, live catch up time and continued traditions. (With ever-evolving bells and whistles.) “I bet she’d love a gold cockroach cluster in her bed tonight,” Hattie murmured, hoping that Primrose would have enough champagne by then to help her. The charms forbidden by youth were easily cast by her brilliant sister, including but not limited to ones that multiplied.

She bore teeth at Prim’s little fashion show. It was a rare sight for the rest of the world, which made Hattie wish she’d had a way to share it. (But she knew Prim would kill her.) Plucking fresh strings of popcorn from a serving tray, she wrapped it around her neck like strings of pearls. “Milan won’t know what hit it.”

And if the Woolfolk house might, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t enjoy it.

However awkward and JUST SLIGHTLY corny Amaryllis’ entrance, Hattie loved her for it. The second sister’s soft sweetness was a creature comfort to the Trace-burdened Woolfolk. It spoke of home, framed photographs, forgiveness, the fly-away blonde bits that always accompanied their group embraces. (Though, Amaryllis hair was fabulous, always.)

Hattie happily obliged the request, as instructed, ignoring Maree’s inclusion of Marigold in the festive games. Amaryllis was the benevolent sister.

After being tugged to her feet, she did a bit of tugging herself, sashaying toward the pile of people and dragging Prim with her. Fingers still tangled, her arms somehow managed to cast their net around a school of sisters. Even those of questionable taste and unsubtle hairstyles. She pulled back, only to lean in quickly again and peck Amaryllis’ cheek. “Did your boss give you that healthy glow?” She asked wickedly. She was a little old for thinking that St. Nicholas might hear her naughty comments and oblige her parents’ warning of coal. “We know he didn’t give Marigold hers.”

Narrowly evading a swat, the youngest Woolfolk pranced toward a pile of cushions that had been robbed from one of their mother’s favorite sofas. Mummy was too distracted to notice Hattie’s fort-building, and surely she would not want her sweetest, most precious, newest daughter to end up with a sore bum or broken ankle before their soiree.

Settling on said bum, which was not sore, but fetching in the skirts she’d already bought herself for Christmas, she said, “You’re just in time for Prim’s fashion show. Do you have your outfit for tonight?”

As her sisters began donning holiday decor on themselves, Amaryllis looked about uncertainly.  She reached for a couple of light, blown mercury glass ornaments and hung them from the earrings already in her ears.  "What do you think?" she asked with an elegant twist of her hands as she posed. 

All interest in fashion was cut off when Hattie did what teen girls do best--flirt with scandal.  "HYacinth!" she yelped, going crimson.  "That's disgusting--you had better not mean Glass."  Edwin Glass could not even give a lumos spell a glow.  He was fine as far as burueacrats went, she supposed but...

She shuddered visibly, the ornaments dangling from her ears hitting her neck.  She shook her head, trying to put it behind her.  Marigold didn't seem to appreciate the joke either, swatting at her sister.  The image came up again, and Maree buried her face in her hands. "Hattie, you may have just ruined my life," she proclaimed dramatically.  Her sisters had a way of rubbing off on her.  "I can't--the thought's there even when I close my eyes!"  She gave an audible groan. 

"Prim--I demand a fashion show; anything to move past... you know."  Amaryllis wasn't sure if Hattie had meant the current garland fashion show, or one in earnest.  Her elder sister always looked polished. It might give her some ideas on what to wear tonight. 

"Trying to decide," Amaryllis said, frowning as she considered Hattie's question. "I think I may just go with the red one from two years back..."  Amaryllis liked to look cute--she'd like to think she cut a decent figure in a formal dress robe or gown, but she was not adverse towards sticking with what was familiar.  Knowing her sisters, they'd bought something new.  Hattie and Marigold might have bought several somethings, as a matter of fact.  "I don't know... Is red too loud? What colors are you wearing? Should I wear blue?" 

“Understated,” Primrose led off with, commenting happily on the earring decorations, “but tasteful.” 

Which was the exact opposite of Hattie’s comment – which was met with the most horrifying thing ever: the screech of Hattie’s real, but rarely used first name.  Not that it wasn’t warranted.  Primrose shuddered at the mental image and looked at Hattie. 

“Uncalled for.” 

It was all that really needed to be said, considering . Glass was… No.  There were so many nos about the whole thing.  Really, she guessed Hattie couldn’t be totally aware of that, but Prim knew, and thus, what little sympathy she had for anything immediately went out to her softest-hearted sister.  Turning her sharp, blue eyes toward Maree, and let her shoulders drop, suggesting some softness was in there somewhere.  “She just doesn’t understand,” she spoke kindly for her youngest sister who had never had the displeasure of running into the people she and Amaryllis worked with.

Really, there were so few she could call to mind that the jab would even be acceptable about.  Actually… pausing to glance upward in thought, it was hard to even come up with a handful of them… The ministry was woefully barren of prospects.  Blinking rapidly, she felt her heart beat a little faster: her brain was starting to sound like Hattie and her mother! 

Though no one could (thankfully) read her mind, Primrose felt her cheeks burn somewhat and cleared her throat, fingers twisting the ends of the green garland she had draped over her shoulders.  Attention was back at her and she sighed, shaking her head.   “Mum bought me a dress,” she explained, “She insisted I wear it.”  Primrose already felt uncomfortable with it.  But, she had no choice.  Whatever mother said went.   

Sitting back on her heels, she looked up at Amaryllis as she asked about her fashion choices.  A much more palatable topic! 

Her eyes lit up as she asked and Prim jumped in immediately, “The red!” she grinned. She remembered the dress well and the prospect of matching with her sister was a good one! She could deflect any (re: no) attention that way so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.  “You can borrow a pair of my shoes, if you want.  I have that gold pair, “she assumed her sister would know the exact ones she was talking about, “that would go fantastically.” 

“Oh! Or Marigold has those silver ones,” she looked over to her sister who, for the first time, opened her mouth to snap but paused upon the realization that Prim said something nice. 

“What I think,” Hattie said, having taken a huge breath as if she were about to plunge under water— the obvious prologue to an epic opinion— “Is that Marigold wishes she could salvage hers into something so chic. All you need is a fur… faux fur,” she corrected herself, for she loved her bunny Odette very much, “And silk knickers and nothing else. Too much would ruin the look.” She nodded knowingly, eyebrows dancing up evilly, bobbing curls anticipating a verbal blow from Primrose. She only spoke the truth, that Maree would look lovely.

But then that name made its appearance, the cursed fourth child name that Mummy and Daddy had given her because all the good flowers were in use. And it was as if Hattie’s hair went flat. Still, she persevered. “Is there anyone else?” She asked innocently, eyes sweeping from Maree to Prim, with the hurt look of a puppy with its ears back. Demure. But ready to lick her paws and forgive, if it meant being loved and coddled.

She did know there were finer and less aged wines at the Ministry, but Hattie often bored of the place when she went on trips with her parents. She was always made to wait in some lumpy chair with an ancient witch click clacking on a typewriter and looking at her over the brim of crocodile glasses. Never allowed to explore, never allowed to traipse into Game and Sports to sample the fitter fare.

“Don’t turn into…” She looked around for the example, found it with her eyes, didn’t bother saying the name again. “I was only… hypothesizing. I’m sure he has other qualities…” Like bags of money, which not a one of them needed. Perhaps he was very, very clever and could take Maree on a tour of the world. Still, she did deserve a saucier youth, and Hattie had more faith that she would find it without her help. Primrose needed all of their efforts.

“That red one is your color,” she agreed, now firmly back to be delighted by her sister. “Go big or go home.” Never mind that this was their home. “It’s Christmas, Maree.” Blue was dashing, but the red was perfect for a holiday gala. “And Prim! It hugs you in all the right places. You have to show what Mum gave us. Obviously she knows that. I’m wearing red, too. We can all match!” She wiggled her fingers at her sisters. Yes, even that one. (Perhaps she’d taken Prim’s lead, with that olive branch of shoe compliments.)

Hattie’s outfit, though, was fit for a young girl, the sort of sweet ballet viewing ensemble that heralded arms full of ribbon-heavy boxes from all of the adults. In truth, despite an eagerness to be adult like, dressing up in girly lace and shiny flats was a Christmas tradition. White stockings were part of the Christmas magic. And Mum would have never let her get away with the gorgeous gown Prim would wear, not in front of so many guests.

“I’ll be back! I’ve your Christmas Eve gifts…” And with an especially dangerous smile, she skipped toward the door.