Title taken from A Christmas Carol:
"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "Every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"

---

Another Woolfolk Christmas party. 

Primrose was generally amiable for the preparation.  Spending time with her sisters and decorating the tree, then the surrounding rooms… it was tradition!  And there was nothing that Primrose appreciated more than tradition.   The type that weren’t intrusive to her wants and needs, anyway. 

Honestly, she could have gone without the party piece, however.  Marigold had put curlers in the night before!  What was that?  If it had been up to Primrose, she would have just worn something from her work wardrobe, but her mother had insisted on something new and then Hattie had jumped in… and the more sisters that insisted, the harder it was to say no.

So, here she was, standing in the middle of her friends and family in the most ridiculous thing she’d ever put on.  She managed to keep her circle fairly tight, mostly with her father and his friends – they talked horses and racing: it was comfortable conversation. 

Until, of course, it happened.  As it always did: like clockwork at these bloody things. 

Dinner would be over for oh, a half hour or so, guests would be milling, music would be playing  - their mother would flit from place to place, father with a glass in his hand.  Her sisters would be socializing – laughing and stealing sweets, sassing one another… All of the usual things, which would normally account for a good party all around.  But, suddenly, it would all change in one fell swoop. 

She’d be forced to acknowledge Cepheus Gamp. 

So, here she stood in the middle of the most awkward conversation (only made all the more awkward by the fact someone had pointed out that Mr. Gamp was now somewhat in control of things on her floor – which it should be noted absolutely thrilled her).  Just another person in her way: this was the way of her life, wasn’t it? 

Shifting from one foot to the other, Primrose breathed through her nose, trying not to look too perturbed when someone in the group asked if Gamp was enjoying his new post.  Just to rub it in, she imagined.   

Christmas: annual checklist of Christmas cards, gift buying, family folly and social requirements. As ever, an appearance at a circle of Christmas parties.

The Gamps would get invites from a handful or more, depending on who his parents had managed to please that year. As a child, Cepheus just recalled tearing around behind his older brother, Orion, little sister Andromeda clutching his hand until she was old enough to kick shins of the bigger boys. Then it was the circuit of being expected to listen to adults discussing deathly boring things while his father clasped his shoulder.

This year, the invites seemed plentiful, probably owing to Mortimer's promotion to Department Head back in March, and in return for the kind invitations to the obligatory 80th birthday celebrations back in September. It appeared his mother could never turn down an invitation from Calvin and Imogen Woolfolk.

So here he was, hair cut, combed, bow tie adjusted to his mother's strict demand, new formal robes ('you can't possibly wear last year's Cepheus, the Woolfolks remember. Eyes for detail, standards' his mother had chastised while informing him he was expected to attend) feeling like he was meant to be getting married, not just attending a Christmas Eve soiree.

Only, that was sort of the point. This whole charade had been going some years now, prompted by parents who considered their offspring too slow in settling down. It was ridiculous, or so Cepheus had suggested in previous stilted attempts at conversation in years gone by, because witches and wizards had long lifespans. Unfortunately it did not prevent or deter their respective families from shoving them both towards each other on nights like this.

There was nothing exactly wrong with Primrose, Cepheus might reason. She was a pretty young woman, with a fine mind, excellent work ethic. But for Cepheus she was both the wrong gender, and also could wear his ordinarily long patience thin. They had differing opinions - opinions Prim and Mortimer shared and Cepheus rejected. That only added to his father's suggestion that Primrose would make a more than suitable wife.

Tonight, Primrose was wearing a striking, if perhaps a little revealing, red dress. Quietly and periodically throughout the evening, Cepheus quietly hoped to Merlin that she would be swept away by a lovely young man and they might both enjoy the evening without forced interaction. Unfortunately it was not to be, and the gravitation, nudged and led by respective families had brought them into the same conversation group.

"I haven't as yet begun - first day in the office on Monday after new year. Carstairs left me more than enough to chew through in handover though, I only hope I shall be as thorough." Ceph replied as graciously as he could to the query. "Though, must say I'm rather pleased the Division no longer has to handle werewolf support - what with the Trumble disappearance[1]. Does rather weigh on the mind - young man missing at Christmas." He took a careful glance to Prim, hoping that if they must talk of work that they might at least discuss something she could speak on, to feel included. He had manners, after all.

1.	White Christmas

Starting fresh! After the New Year! How idyllic!  She bet he would just love his new office and all that power.  Primrose craved it – she wanted responsibility and the final say.  She was hardly allowed to let anyone else have the final word.  Not even her sisters, except perhaps Mari.  And even then, it was rare.   

So there was little she could do but scoff in her mind.  Her hands, hanging by her side (as the abhorrent habit of crossing her arms had been scolded out of her while growing up), twitched.  Prim flexed her fingers grasping onto the fabric of her dress.  Her sharp, grey eyes turned toward the scruffy Division Head, eyebrows drawn in and full lips pouted as she bit her tongue in her cheek. 

There were so many things she wanted to say.

But the voice of her mother – strict and not without some level of threat in her tone – clearly popped up in her mind:  “There’s a time and place for everything, Primrose: this is not one of them.”  She only half believed that was true, but it must have popped up for some reason and she sighed.  Her immediate reaction to his baiting about the Werewolf Wing was to mention something that was obviously a problem for her department.

Would he truly stoop so low as to mention that at her family’s party?  Of course he would!  "You are to be congratulated on dodging the curse of an unfortunate case, to be certain," she remarked blandly.  “Right now it is in the hands of the WCU and Auror office,” Primrose shrugged lightly, “It will come to us in due course, naturally.”  Whether that was when the young man was found alive or dead would really determine the next course of action.  Primrose knew, regardless, they’d be talking about the regulation and racking of werewolves again.
 
She’d have a platform. 

It was exactly what she needed.  “Perhaps then,” her expression turned cool, “the division could come to its sense and institute some reasonable reforms.”  Politics, while not always a suitable conversation for a party, did not faze Primrose.  Additionally, she couldn’t be faulted:  she didn’t bring it up!  Just a natural progression of conversation, even if some people coughed uncomfortably in their little group. 

“It’s a lack of stringency that makes some of these so much more likely,” she continued, by way of casual explanation – as though the discomfort was from a lack of understanding.  Prim knew it wasn’t, but she would just pretend.  “After all, with more monitoring it’d have been much easier to locate him already.”  Her eyebrows rose in challenge. 

Seldom did anything good come of a conversation like this.   

It was perhaps a bit of a damper to mention a missing child at Christmas, but Cepheus always felt it was at this time those less fortunate really felt loss and deprivation most acutely. It could be quite enlightening to remind the most fortunate of their privilege at these times, but could end a conversation. He didn't go out of his way to do it, preferring to keep on favourable terms with the majority and not ruffle feathers.

However his mission to include Prim in the conversation had worked out, even if he anticipated the conversation would be shark-infested waters… it was an easier ride from family to be seen conversing from a distance, than ignoring each other.

"… It will come to us in due course, naturally." Prim explained to the benefit of the assembled group they were amongst. Cepheus nodded, partly agreement, partly the attempt to keep the conversation pleasant.

"… the Division could come to its senses and institute some reasonable reforms…"
"Mm…" Cepheus interjected, gesturing with his wine glass, as if about to say something along the lines of 'not that simple…' to the group with them.

"… with more monitoring it'd have been much easier to locate him already." Prim raised in challenge. Ceph met her gaze and raised one eyebrow in silent acceptance. Fine, if we're going to do it like this, this year, we shall.

"It sounds as if you propose our cursed colleagues are tagged with the likes of the trace, Miss Woolfolk." Cepheus returned, "Though, for all that has been ascertained for the past year, and the cases brought before the wizengamot, it would be suggested that the monitoring of werewolves is the very thing putting them at risk, to allow the undesirables to find them at their most vulnerable time."

Some amongst them politely excused themselves with immediacy, recognising the warning signs of Primrose Woolfolk's approach at work, and escaping while they had a chance. Cepheus squared his slim shoulders in his ever-so-slightly-too-big dress robes, and raised his chin to regard his colleague and host carefully.

It was everyone’s favorite time: excuse themselves before Primrose became unpleasant.  It was an unsubtle shift from the (sort of) smiling, amiable person who could discuss the winged horse circuit and the prospects for the races in the spring to snipping at everyone and anyone about werewolf rights and policies. 

"It sounds as if you propose our cursed colleagues are tagged with the likes of the trace, Miss Woolfolk." For once – sense! Her shoulders relaxed and Primrose nodded.  As a slowly floating tray of champagne flitted by, Primrose made sure she grabbed one. 

That would make this conversation infinitely easier to deal with.  “At registration, it would be exceptionally easy to implement.” Flippant, as always, but to the point: it would be easy.  It wouldn’t be any different than children at Hogwarts, honestly.

"Though, for all that has been ascertained for the past year, and the cases brought before the wizengamot, it would be suggested that the monitoring of werewolves is the very thing putting them at risk, to allow the undesirables to find them at their most vulnerable time."

But, of course there was the ever so salty commentary to follow up about concerns to their safety! As if others, in much larger numbers, were not endangered by the unaccounted for.  “I’m not saying it is to be made public, by any means,” Primrose rolled her shoulders back, standing a little taller and lifting her glass to gesture toward him, “It would merely be required for checking in at safe locations on the Full Moon and were someone to fail to report, they could easily be found and put in a position of safety: for themselves and the larger population.” 

“And,” she took a sip of her champagne, “I dare say a hulking, practically rabid transformation that doesn’t allow the inflicted to use reason or judgment in exercising exceptional killing power is hardly the most vulnerable.”  She knew it was hard for some the more bleeding heart of the department to recognize that not all werewolves were just soft, misunderstood creatures who desperately wanted to fit in. There were also killers and criminals!  There were those who wanted to do harm and with a way to monitor it could help everyone.

Prim sniffed a little and pursed her lips ,”And with this recent tragedy… an innocent who was snatched?  Really, the ministry could be so much more efficient in responding to any crisis with a measure of that sort in place."  Another dainty sip and the floor was his.

"… not saying it is to be made public…" Prim retorted, and Cepheus nodded,
"No, I would certainly hope not." He echoed, at a polite enough volume not to interrupt. Cepheus blinked gently as Prim continued to answer, maintaining a neutral, but thoughtful expression. When she wasn't trying to belittle anyone, she could be quite interesting discussion.

Her point, a little to Ceph's surprise, was fairly reasonable in why it was proposed. She'd taken the stance of putting the werewolf in a safe place which was a more empathetic view to the afflicted than the Ministry had held before. However, he suspected it was just a tactic

"… hardly the most vulnerable." Ceph made a quiet hmm in response but could see Prim was continuing.

"You are quite right." He replied, and let the corner of his mouth curl at her response, "We should be much more efficient at following up the disappearance of any minor, whether werewolf or not. We can only hope our colleagues in Magical Law Enforcement are successful in tracing Mr Trumble."

He glanced about the faces in the group who nodded in agreement, "and as for vulnerability," he began again, looking to Primrose evenly, "if one is not in control at the time of the full moon, it may be argued one cannot be held responsible for the actions of the wolf. If you were to wake up, in or out of captivity after the curse has transformed you, exhausted you, to find you have harmed, or worse, consumed another, I am sure you would reconsider your concept of vulnerability." He gave her a faint smile and lifted his drink in quiet toast before sipping.

Primrose would never consider herself a monster, though she’d heard the term bandied about a fair amount by some in the Wing who felt she was… a bit old-fashioned. She was just reasonable.  Anyone who believed that there was absolutely no threat had never dealt with a werewolf.  They’d never seen what they they could do. 

It wasn’t a widely publicized event, and Prim didn’t dare speak of it, but even an unturned were could pose a threat!  If they knew where they were, it would be so much easier to apprehend offenders, protect the general public, and ensure infections went down to record low numbers. 

She could just see it! Success with her name written all over it.  The daydream of it was almost enough for her to zone out of the conversation, but at the notion she was right, Prim’s eyes flashed and someone might think she was genuinely happy for a moment! 

There was something so delicious about being deemed correct.  “Hopefully, it won’t even be a question of efficiency in the future,” a beat, “Merlin forbid it were to happen again, of course,” she added hastily.  It wasn’t as though Primrose wished for tragedies to occur but if they just so happened to back up her political points… she couldn’t be too upset by it: especially if it garnered results.

“I’m sure you might consider the person at the other end business end of a werewolf’s muzzle as well,” she matched his flat tone.  She couldn’t imagine the terror one might feel in that circumstance – her experience had even been tame by comparison.  It became so easy to forget that people were also at the other end of an attack.  Bleeding hearts didn’t seem to care for them at all.

They needed people like Primrose to keep everything in check and always bring up the others! “After all, I imagine potentially being consumed is not atop anyone’s list of life experiences to have either. Really does put a damper on the whole living thing.” 

"I do." Cepheus replied more quietly, allowing Primrose to speak, remaining polite.

The older he got the more he could see her side to the conversation, the reasons for it, the foundations of pureblood society that gave a platform for it. Rather than argue with her, cause an uncomfortable situation for all, he would rather turn it into a debate, only other parties seemed to be avoiding involvement, eyeing one and then the other.

"Really does put a damper on the whole living thing." Prim concluded.
"To say the least." Ceph agreed with a curt nod. "Yet another risk we witches and wizards face with some knowledge of the dangers of our world, while Muggles are blissfully unaware. It is fortunate they cannot be turned, otherwise we might have an entirely different issue on our hands." He upturned his palms in reasoning and looked to the others in their group for agreement.

"The whole situation is dire. I would hazard a prediction that it is a tiny majority who embrace their condition as a positive." Gamp gestured as he spoke, trying not to spill his drink. He paused ever so slightly to gauge Prim's expression in response to his prediction. "The condition itself should not make them common criminals. Tracing them is a further stigma to an already marginalised population of our society." He brought his glass back towards him and tilted his head. "Though, I would be very interested indeed to see your proposal debated."

 The game got significantly less fun without any of the bite attached to arguments.  There was just something so satisfying about the way an argument made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and dishevel her otherwise completely composed (albeit ridiculous) look.  Unfortunately, there was no such fire in this discussion.

He was actually agreeing with her!  This was distressing. 

That was not supposed to happen. 

So, she pursed her lips and shifted the weight in her hips, trying to avoid sipping her champagne for fear she was downing it much too quickly.  “Quite right,” she managed to say without sounding disgusted.  It was just the saddest experience: not having a fight at the annual party.  It was abandoning tradition! Though, she supposed, based on what she knew about Cepheus from years of person and professional acquaintance, that shouldn’t have surprised her in the least.  What a disappointment. 

And then it went on with the dire talk (funny: she half wondered if he actually meant to bring in direwolves…), and she sighed.  “Unfortunately, embraced or not doesn’t really matter, does it?” she raised her eyebrows.  When the full moon was about it didn’t matter: they turned regardless of their deepest wants and desires.  Prim couldn’t blame them for that – but she could blame negligence and naivety.   

She had a sneaking suspicion he did not understand that she had no interest in making those that posed no threat criminal.  Primrose had no larger plans beyond protecting the wizarding world from danger.  It wasn’t as though she was Voldemort campaigning for a muggleborn purge!  She wasn’t crazy. 

But, she sniffed, dismissing the point.  Even Prim knew better.  “I’m sure you’ll be hearing plenty about it soon enough,” she added confidently, tilting her chin upward.  “Perhaps you should pop into a session, if you’re so inclined.”   

This was a turn-up for the books, Cepheus thought as he lightly studied Prim's expression. Normally by this point in the conversation someone was suggesting a new topic or they'd been entirely abandoned for their disagreement. They must be getting older - growing up. What a hideous thought. It would get family's hopes up.

"… you should pop into a session, if you're so inclined."

"Maybe I will do just that," he agreed, and lifted his drink to his lips to finish it, "pop in." There was a curl of his lips as his glass was whisked away by an almost unseen hand. Excellent hospitality was to be expected at a Woolfolk occasion.

"But for now," he continued, as polite as he could, making unambiguous eye contact with his colleague and host: "would you care to dance?" Cepheus extended his hand with an easy smile. He wouldn't step on her toes unless she said something to him out of earshot of the others that she'd held back.

"Another year, Primrose. Where is a good wizard to take you for a dance as his proper partner?" Cepheus asked once they were out and away from the others, his hands gentle, but firm enough to lead them, well schooled by his mother. "Tell me you'll have found someone by the time I ruffle feathers and bring my own, mm?"

Champagne gone: what a sadness.  It was plucked from the tips of her fingers and she feared it would make this absolutely unbearable.  She had used it as a way to curb her tongue and now… it was gone.  She could request another, but she knew her father would give her a side glance.

Primrose had never been one for alcohol, not in large quantities, and champagne had a funny habit of sneaking up on a girl. 

She wouldn’t make that mistake.  Not at the family party.  So rather than maintaining awkward conversation after the dip into professionalism, she supposed it was a small blessing that he asked her to dance.  It was harmless, but the glimmer of hope in her father’s eyes was not.  “Certainly,” she said a little more tersely than she intended and took his hand. 

There was no time to wait around for comments and the little group had reformed quite quickly in their absence, Primrose noted as she peered back.  Probably back on about who would win the derby.  Suddenly, that seemed more appealing.  Raising her eyebrows at her dance partner, Primrose fell into posture easily – years of dance instruction had not been lost on her, even if it was never her favorite.  Leave that to the others. 

A delicate snort followed his sentiments, however.   At least until he made a glib remark about his own singular status as well.  “I was worried you were about to start parroting our parents,” she almost actually smiled.  “I’m sure you’ll be scandalizing everyone far sooner than I’m appeasing them.”  She had heard the words abrasive and frigid thrown about when describing her.  Hardly the sort of words one associated with any form of romance. 

Primrose was fine by that, though she had to admit she did worry sometimes… only when her family brought it up, though!  “I would oblige you to please bring your own partner to the next gathering though,” she added with a smirk, “it will make my life infinitely easier.” 

This was a different Christmas gathering. He was genuinely amused at Primrose Woolfolk's responses. He laughed gently, tilting his head back a little as they turned a little.
"Alright then, Prim, challenge duly accepted should I be acquainted with a gentleman next Christmas and still be invited." He gave her a solemn nod, his blue eyes on leaving hers. Another man might have used any excuse to glance downwards to admire the cut of that dress...

"Forgive me for prying, I just - for all our differences of opinion, I do not feel you're unworthy of being happy with another. I also respect your wish to be without." He glanced away a split second to ensure they avoided the prominent and unschooled elbow of another wizard who had drunk too much champagne before dancing and made a momentarily worried expression back at Primrose for the behaviour of someone's extended family.

"Have there been suitors? I mean, surely after all these years your family have suggested more than me. Especially since our courting is working out so merrily." Cepheus asked her genuinely. It was not really in his nature to poke fun at someone's romantic life. If Primrose did find someone then it took pressure off them both to speak. Though he couldn't help but suspect he might miss these annual debates over expensive champagne, instead of just in the office.

 “Despite my repeated insistence contrary, I doubt your invitation will ever get lost with the owl,” she smirked.  It was delivered, honestly, half-heartedly.  As much as Primrose said she didn’t like to argue, she seldom found occasion not to and there were worse sparring partners than Cepheus Gamp.   Perhaps she was becoming soft.

Sentimental.

It was a chilling thought. 

“Besides, I’d look forward to meeting him.  I should like to give him Felix Felicis after deciding on an enduring partnership with you.”  Anyone would presumably need it, were that their choice.  Prim figured he’d end up happily domesticated: most did, at least in their circles (though happy was a well-debated adjective to describe some unions). 

“Don’t look so vexed, Cepheus,” she recovered somewhat gracefully from the drunken stumble of a guest.  Primrose wasn’t sure she recognized him, but then again, all sorts showed up at these things depending on who the family was and wasn’t talking to… probably an extended relation or something of the sort,  “That might be Wizard Right just stumbling into your life.”  She glanced over and summed him up from behind – not terrible by any means,“Or at the very least, your Wizard Right Now.” 

Her eyebrows rose and though Primrose was notoriously prude in her own life, she wasn’t unaware.  Her choices did not mean she thought poorly of those who made different ones.   And she hardly let those thoughts out of her head and into the world.  She hoped Cepheus was properly shocked.  Anyone else would have been. 

But talk turned back to her and Primrose sighed.  “I do believe I have heard the name of every eligible bachelor aged 18 to 97 thrown in my direction for the past year or so.”  The humor in it was tainted by the very real frown on her face.  “I remain unconcerned, however.  I doubt I could find a better suited companion than Valentine,” she referenced her prize Thoroughbred with pride, “at present.” 

“Why?” she inclined her chin a little bit, “Does the key to your domestic happiness rely on my speedy nuptials?”   

Cepheus was amused by Prim's quip about Felix Felicis and any potential suitor for Cepheus. If anything, it would be him needing it to find someone.

It was good to understand she wasn't too shocked by his preferences on romance, though she had known for some time he was sure. Two people shoved together by family could tell if one was entirely preoccupied checking out the same gender through conversation.

'Mr Right' as Primrose suggested definitely wasn't Mr-drunk-with-the-elbows, Cepheus knew for the fact he'd seen him snogging a witch only half an hour before.

"Ninety-seven? That could be to your advantage… nice inheritance?" He teased, though at that moment Primrose was frowning about the fact.
"… I doubt I could find a better suited companion than Valentine at present." Cepheus' gaze fell to middle distance a moment as he recalled who, or rather what Valentine was from previous conversations.

"Does the key to your domestic happiness rely on my speedy nuptials?"
"Thank Merlin it doesn't, no!" Cepheus replied a little too hastily than was perhaps polite. "Perish the thought." He managed a kinder smile. "There's just only so many times one can tell one's parents there is no mutual interest between us before it comes across that I am painting you as a demon…" Cepheus drew breath, "whiiiiich, despite what some might say of you on the floor, you're not quite at the level of, in my humble opinion." Fashion and form of the dance dictated he take the moment in the cadence of the chorus to let Prim extend away from him, so he hurried the last few words as they matched those around them.

"What are the pre-requisites of a suitor for you then, Primrose?" He asked as they came together again, "Capable rider, not more than a decade older, pureblood, educated to NEWTs, earning no less than ten-thousand galleons a year[1]?" He reeled off what he assumed might be minimum criteria for Primrose, "Ability to give you children a deal-breaker, because I've just realised how close I really am to fitting that criteria." He made a face, realising more keenly why they were shoved together.

1.	Based on £4.97 to the galleon, that's around £50k, $75k

 “If I needed an inheritance it might sway me,” she smirked at his comment about the ninety-seven year olds. If anything, Primrose could be considered the target of someone seeking wealth.  She was the oldest daughter and though that meant relatively little to her parents who were very open about their plans to entitle whatever they could amongst their daughters as equally as possible, Primrose was probably going to retain the home and the grounds: she cared about the land more than any of the other sisters and management was easy enough for her.  She already helped. 

So, no money was necessary on her part, blessedly.  It put much less pressure on her, thankfully.  She could focus on what was really important in a partner. 

Granted, Primrose hadn’t exactly thought that out either. 

A little miffed at his speedy response – definitely not along the lines of her joking, Prim’s nose crinkled and she tried to concentrate on what he was saying instead of fixating.  Plus, a slight misstep was enough to jostle her back into reality.

She did not have the grace of her sisters at all times.  Her fingers dug into him just a little tighter for the moment (it didn’t hurt that her nails were freshly filed) and painted – another thanks to her sisters – and snorted.  “Consider spreading about the opinion,” she added as she came back in from the extension, as per the requirements of the dance.  “Though I’m not sure anyone would believe you,” she added with a slight laugh. 

When she denounced the pairing to her parents, they had been mostly willing to listen.  She’d overheard them once or twice suggest that she just needed to come round to things on her own time, or else it would never happen.  She wondered when everyone would realize that Primrose and Cepheus were never meant to be, if not for fundamental differences in certain values, a fundamental agreement on the preferred sex would make it so they were completely incompatible. 

Because, as of the moment, and his description… Prirmose laughed aloud when he noted how close he was to actually fulfilling major requirements.  “I’d say within two decades,” Primrose corrected honestly, age wasn’t a thing to matter too much when it came to these things, as long as both parties were physically fit and not decrepit, “And as noted: my own income makes his entirely irrelevant.” 

“I think it is so entirely unfortunate that I haven’t pinpointed the exact criteria yet,” she mused, “It would make it easier for my mother to seek him out.”  She was a career woman, advanced in her field, but recently retired and only consulting.  The Oblivator needed other challenges and her oldest daughter seemed to be the one of choice. 

At a turn, Primrose made sure her feet moved as quickly as the wheels in her head, “And what about you?” she looked over him, “Though I suppose it would depend on your motives: meet all family expectations in all areas, except one…” she paused, “Or really do away with tradition and find some delightfully outspoken starving liberal artist to do the family in once and for all?”