December 21st, 2008
6:00pm
Bombay Family Cottage
Horsham, West Sussex

Exterior
Entry/living room
Dining Room


"GRAHAM! FOR THE THOUSANDTH TIME WOULD YOU TAKE THE POTATOES OFF THE STOVE!"

Graham froze, finger hovering just above the frosted flowers on the white marzipan cake.  He turned, temptation shoved aside to placate his mother.  She was frightening all the time, but absolutely terrifying in the kitchen.  His mother had learned to cook as part of her, 'I'm a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a man in my life' program.  Thank Rowena he lived at Hogwarts for most of the year.  He hadn't been home a week and was already tired of her life mantra. 

He removed the pot of mashed potatoes from the stove top, dumping them into the ceramic rooster bowl, effectively hiding the array of fowls.  "Done," he answered her with a resigned sigh.  He placed the bowl along with several others on a heated countertop.  From the moment his mother had conceived the idea of a Christmas dinner, he had been dreading this moment; particularly once she said the words family and friends.  It was part of her empowerment movement, to have a wider social circle.  Unfortunately he hadn't a clue who she meant by that.  "Influential people," was all she would say before she gave him an utterly creepy wink.

"Now shoo," she hissed, waving him away, "Guests should be arriving and someone needs to greet them.  And I swear to Merlin if you don't be nice I'm going to burn your orchard to the ground and spit on the ashes."  Graham scowled and hurriedly left the kitchen.  What he hated most was that his mother had done it and would do it again.  It had taken him ten years to get the orchard back up to snuff. 

Finally free of his indentured servitude in the kitchen, Graham immediately exited the room and fled towards the couch.  In a show of secret rebellion he kicked his mother's bag of knitting, knocking a ball of alpaca across the room.  He grumbled once more, retrieving the ball and placing it back within, only to notice a familiar leather journal.  Graham gasped aloud, snatching it out only to realize that yes, it was his private journal that he had kept up with since his Hogwarts days.  And someone had put post-it notes inside.  He flipped through them, noticing markers at names that disturbed him more than he cared to admit.  Suddenly, it dawned on him.  Friends.  Friends.  His mother was exploiting him for her own social circle.  The bitch!

He turned, angry and snarling, about to march into the kitchen to confront her when there was a knock on the door.  A knock.  A knock that potentially marked the arrival of one of his enemies.  This day could not end soon enough.  The knock came again, accompanied by his mother's voice.  "GRAHAM ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR!"

His legs carried him to the door, and as Graham touched the door knob his hand was visibly shaking.  He swallowed hard and opened it. Please be family, please be family, please be family.

(Outfits)


Abby had never seen Aileen so angry.

Aileen had given her the silent treatment for days, ignoring her presence in the house with a stony disregard that had, surprisingly, stung. With it being so close to the holidays, and so close to their trip to Cairo, Abigail hadn't known what to do to make it up to her. She'd bought her a Christmas present. She'd tried being extra nice. She'd even cleaned up after Roxy the crup without complaining!

But Aileen had yelled, actually yelled at her when Abby announced she'd already RSVP-ed to the Bombay Dinner party. She'd screeched something along the lines of 'Don't touch my mail, don't read my mail, and most definitely do not reply to my mail ever again!' Abigail had been stunned. How was she supposed to know Aileen's mild dislike of Graham Bombay was more like a burning hatred? She just wanted to go to a party! And it had said bring your loved ones! But despite Aileen's overreaction to Abby's helpfulness, there was no backing down now, not after an RSVP.

Abigail and Aileen stood together on Bombay's front porch, with about a foot of distance between the two sisters. Aileen studied the exterior of the home as if it were a woman in frumpy clothes, and Abby stifled a snicker.

Abby was the one who knocked. After a loud shout from inside - was that a damn she heard? - the door swung open.

"Hello!" Abby greeted the man cheerfully, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Aileen's sister, Abby. You must be Professor Bombay. I've heard all about you." She threw a look back at her sister and stepped into the house without a second thought.

She could feel the daggers boring into her back, and shivered despite the warmth of the foyer.

Aileen reluctantly stepped in behind her, giving Bombay her coldest look. "This is her fault," she hissed at him, glancing pointedly at Abby. Abby widened her eyes, surprised by her older sister's rudeness. Merlin! Not even a proper greeting!

Would Rowena strike him down from the clouds herself.  Graham could not believe his eyes, nor did he want to.  Ever.  Aileen Reid and some, her sister, were standing on his door.  His lips automatically curled into a salacious sneer.  She had heard all about him? She, this perky, wired little thing, knew about him? Hardly.  The thought that he had to welcome Aileen Reid into his home was on level with being tortured by salamanders. 

And she hissed at him! Hissed as if she were a co-conspirator, a compatriot in the horror about to commence in Mum's Christmas dinner.  Speak of the devil. 

"WHY HELLOOOO!" Amelia Astoria cooed, coming out of the kitchen with a sheet of warm cookies.  She set the tray down on the coffee table, then turned to greet the two women with the most ingenuine smile Graham had ever seen.  How on earth would she ever relax her face after that?  "How good of you to come.  You must be Aileen Reid.  You're far more beautiful than Graham described you.  And this must be your sister?" She continued, as Graham stood blank-faced with shock.  Beautiful? As if Graham would ever describe her as such.  He was burning his diary the second this was over.  Aware of its vulnerability out in the open, Graham tossed it back in the knitting bag, shoving the bag half under the sofa. 

"Graham," she called, "Please make our guests comfortable while I check on the lamb.  Drinks anyone?"

He grumbled, looking expectantly at the two blondes who had dared to intrude his house.  And now he'd be forced to serve them like a dog.  This was undoubtedly the most horrific evening of his life.  Could it get any worse?

wearing

---

So… this was the big night. She felt rather strange as she and Dracon headed up the drive arm in arm. She didn’t tend to think of Drake as being really related to any part of the Bombay family - though she knew he was. He and The Professor were very…different. While the re-meeting with her parents had gone off rather painlessly she knew it was because, in large part, she had not allowed the conversation to last long. Drake came to pick her up, she was all but ready to go and a few polite pleasantries later she was tugging him toward the door under the guise of not wanting to be late. She did not give Beatrix time to ask any questions that might be too personal, or, alternately, whip out the naked baby pictures.

Clearing her throat she looked up at the dimming evening sky and steeled her nerves against the idea of meeting Dracon’s family. She kept reminding herself that Dazmond would be there eventually and if all else failed…she would make Drake pretend to be sick. She had no real idea why she was dreading this so fully - but there was sort of a sixth sense she had, the way her stomach knotted up. He’d given her a half hearted warning about his Aunt Amelia. The important thing, she knew from experience, was not to show fear. Cool calm and collected, she could do that. She did it every other day of her life - just because she was meeting her not-quite-boyfriend-because-he-didn’t-have-a-title’s extended family was no reason to dissolve into a panic attack.

She’d made bloody cookies, and put them in a pretty tin. Anyone who had any manners at all knew you didn’t show up to a party empty handed - at least not if your mother had drilled into your head proper etiquette was of the utmost importance, above breathing actually. Maybe that would buy her points with Professor Bombay - if not his mother. She gave Drake a small smile as he placed his hand on her lower back. Knocking on the door she fluffed her hair a little - and then had to force herself not to jump back when the door jerked open and The Professor’s dour face greeted them. So her gut wasn’t wrong - it was going to be one of those nights. Extending the tin to the grumpy looking man her smile never faltered, voice calm and smooth, “Happy Christmas Professor, it’s so lovely to see you”.

A knock.  Thank Merlin, although it easily had the potential to send him spiraling even further into a dark, unassailable depression.  He practically ran from the room to answer the door.  Anything to keep him from Aileen.  He opened it cautiously, frowning to see Dracon and date...Liviana? outside the door.  Oh yes, he was dating the Weidman girl.  Ignoring her perky greeting, Graham nodded towards the other guests.  "Come on in," he sighed.

Amelia immediately peeped her head out, and smiled even wider at Dracon.  "Happy Christmas, Dracon! Oh, and to your lovely friend, too.  Is your mother coming? Shame she couldn't make it.  Oh and you brought cookies!" she continued, sweeping into the room to take the tin from the girl, "Oh you shouldn't have."  She placed them beside the sheet of her own treats and vanished back into the kitchen. 

Sighing, Graham sat on the lone chair and reached for one of the cookies.  At least there was food.  He looked up to see Aileen.  "Just shut it," he spoke coldly, determined to ignore her as best he could.

The doorbell rang again.
 
Outside the door, Landis waited. He was dressed as impeccably as usual, in robes rather than a suit, but he was willing to let the Bombeys think he'd dressed for the occasion. His hair was long and loose, shining against the dark green of his robes; there was nothing in his hands. Landis found the merry little courtesy of bringing a small gift for the dinner host far too domestic, far too twee. It was the sort of thing middle-aged matrons did, not young men, unless they were attempting to suck up in a spectacular way.
 
Landis was just attempting to suck up in an ordinary way. He wouldn't have come if he hadn't seen something to benefit himself - in this case, an association with another pureblood family. His careful nature wouldn't let him ignore the opportunity.
 
Funny, though. Graham Bombay was one of his coworkers, and a very sullen fellow - Landis hadn't pegged him as the type to hold a dinner party. And this cheery little cottage, too, was nothing like he'd expect of the Herbologist. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to take him seriously after this. Perhaps the inside wasn't so sickeningly cute.

So, the energetic, pleasant woman in front of her had somehow managed to produce... Graham. As the mother greeted and fussed over the two sisters, Aileen reminded herself that it wasn't Amelia's fault Graham was so horrible. Or perhaps it was. She'd raised him! However, the whole reason Aileen had decided to go through with this party was to avoid looking impolite, so at the very least she'd play nice with the hostess.

Abby clapped her hand over her mouth and started giggling when Amelia remarked on Aileen's beauty. Her eyes danced between Bombay and Aileen as if she had suddenly figured something out. Aileen would have loved to dispel her of whatever notions had popped into her head, but instead, she only gave her a sharp warning look.

Alright, so she wouldn't argue with the compliment. But in her opinion, Bombay had no right to even be thinking about her, let alone making comments about her, however complimentary they were. And to his mother! For Merlin's sake. If she didn't hate him so much, she'd pity him.

"Pleased to meet you," she greeted Amelia, and Abby echoed her.

They were offered drinks, and Aileen shook her head. "I'm quite alright, thank you." She got the impression that Amelia was busy enough in the kitchen doing the work herself, and didn't want to add to that.

"Hmmmm. I'll see what you have," Abby cheerfully followed Amelia, and Aileen could hear her offering to help a second later. Aileen repressed a wince. Abby's idea of helping often involved chattering the food to death.

Aileen shrugged off her coat and handed it to Graham with an imperious air. She even smirked at him a little. She'd get her jabs in somehow.

The knock on the door had her looking up, hopeful yet wary. Students! That was a surprise.

Aileen recognized the two newcomers as Seventh Year Slytherins, but since neither of them were in Runes, she knew little else about them. She introduced herself to them, just in case they didn't recognize her, and asked how their winter break had been going so far. Aileen was just thinking that she should have brought something like the tin of cookies, when Bombay piped up and told her to shut it. Charming.

Her eyes narrowed. "If you haven't noticed, I'm trying my best to ignore you so we can make it through the evening," she replied icily. Her response probably made the students uncomfortable, but she had no better way to deal with him save 'shutting it'.

Abby had returned to the foyer with a cocktail in hand that Aileen hoped was nonalcoholic. The girl was still sixteen, and she didn't want her chattering without a filter. Not that she had much of one in the first place.

Only Abby wasn't the one to be worried about, apparently. Her younger sister stared at her as if she'd grown four heads, and then looked at the seventh-years apologetically.

To say that Graham Bombay and Dracon weren’t very close was an understatement. Dracon could count the times they held a conversation on one hand, if three of his fingers were blown off from wand backfire. When Dracon had told Liviana about the invitation and he had asked her to go as his date, she had been a little surprised to know they were related at all. It was true that they had as little of a relationship as two relatives can possibly have, but they were cousins regardless of the strength of their blood. When the invitation came to his flat last week, his parents had almost thrown it in trash before Dracon had the opportunity to read it. It was an invitation for the three of them, signed by his Aunt Amelia, for a holiday dinner. His aunt and mother had never really been on good terms. When the invitation came, it seemed obvious to them there was only one place to put it. They had no interest rubbing elbows with Amelia’s friends, or more importantly, Amelia. When Dracon said he planned to attend, his mother’s face had dropped. They tried to convince him to avoid the dinner for a good ten minutes, reminding him that Amelia would notice him there, and that meant she would be drawn to him like a dragon to meat. But, he felt it was the proper pureblood thing to do, even if Aunt Amelia was a little overbearing.

Dracon put on his outfit, and headed straight for England. Meeting Liviana’s family had been surprisingly pleasant. He had anticipated being on guard against numerous questions, dirty looks, and uncomfortable silences. Liviana always talked about how much she loved her family, but it was part of Dracon’s personality to be defensive about meeting a new pureblood family. Too many times in his past, wealthy and old purebloods had entered his life to only cause pain and discomfort, and to remind him that his self-worth was only a few decimals above dirt. The Wiedmans had been very accommodating, even friendly. As Liviana finished upstairs, her aunt asked him all sorts of polite questions about school and quidditch, and made mention of hearing about his leadership in dueling club which he had smiled about. What he liked the most was that she actually seemed interested in his answers. Liviana’s aunt wasn’t just trying to fill awkward silence with proper pureblood conversation, but seemed to be very interested and happy for his accomplishments. Aliec, Liviana’s uncle, was more reserved but equally polite. They shared a few words about Hogwarts before Livana had come downstairs, and she did look very lovely. The Wiedmans had attempted to hold their attentions a brief few more moments before Liviana made their quick escape and they headed off to West Sussex.

Dracon had been to Aunt Amelia’s only once before, and was certain he wouldn’t be able to recognize it in the fading light. He had been wrong – it was hard to not notice the three tall chimneys that peaked through the patchwork roof or the large garden (as far a city boy was concerned) stretched over land before smacking into a black iron fence. He always remembered the three chimneys because as a boy, that had been the first thing he had seen when coming over the hill towards the cottage. Dracon had given Liviana a brief and vague warning about what they were about to enter as she rang the doorbell. She held out her tin box of freshly baked cookies (which made Dracon smile) when Graham opened the door. He looked even more grim than he usually did, which Dracon thought was impossible.

Graham ushered them inside with as little enthusiasm possible. “Hello, Graham,” Dracon said, an obviously forced smile on his face that appeared more awkward than caused by dislike. He didn’t mind Graham, but he didn’t really know him either. Besides, Herbology wasn’t really his favorite subject. Then Aunt Amelia made her appearance and Dracon found himself holding his breath when her eyes fell on him. "Happy Christmas, Dracon! Oh, and to your lovely friend, too.  Is your mother coming? Shame she couldn't make it.  Oh and you brought cookies!", piped his aunt. Dracon smiled again and nodded, Liviana’s arm still on his own. “Merry Christmas, Aunt Amelia. My mother sends her regrets. This is Liviana Wiedman,” Dracon gestured to the girl standing next to him. He made up the part about his mother, but that seemed necessary.

A woman he recognized appeared next to them and introduced herself. Dracon nodded, she was the Ancient Runes professor. It was a class he had wanted to take but found his scheduled overcrowded. He had been disappointed when he hadn’t had the chance to take it before the end of his school career, but Arthimancy had provided a good challenge and it filled some of that void. “Hello Professor Reid,” Dracon said, “Dracon Towler, Ah’m Graham’s cousin.” It was then that the professor snapped a comment back to Graham and Dracon looked at Liviana. He had given her fair warning, and just wait until Aunt Amelia was done in the kitchen. A young girl came from the foyer with a drink in her hand. He didn’t recognize her at all, which he thought was strange since she was around his age. Dracon wondered privately why he had never seen her before, but when she looked at him, he gave a small smile. Dracon walked with Liviana towards the foyer, out of the line of fire between Graham and the Ancient Runes professor. If wands were pulled, he at least wanted to keep her out of firing range.

The doorbell rang again and Dracon looked to the door to meet eyes with his Head of House.

Tonight would certainly be interesting.

"If you want to make it," he sneered, "I suggest you keep your trap closed or leave."  And there was another knock.  At the point, why didn't his mother just have the feast at Hogwarts, it seemed as if she had already invited the entire castle.  Disenchanted with the entire procedure, Graham threw open the door, letting it hit firmly against the coat hanger behind it.  Ooops, was Aileen's probably way too expensive coat there? He forgot.

"Landis," Graham stated, more surprised the Head of House would actually attend than that he was also invited.  His next words rang truer than he would have preferred.  "Good to see you.  Join the circus."  Graham peeped outside the door behind the man, half-afraid to see the entire first year class barreling down the hillside.  He closed it with a sigh, dreading the company in the living room.  He counted mentally, one...two

"Hello dear," and there appeared his mother.  She popped out once more, her brow a touch sweatier than before.  She rushed up to the tall, dark gentleman and introduced herself.  "Amelia Astoria-Bombay, so good of you to attend our little dinner, Landis."  Graham suspected she had spent the previous evening collecting and memorizing pictures of the legions she had invited.  "Please, have a seat.  Can I get you anything? Dinner should be out shortly.  Graham, would you fetch a glass for your colleague?"  She winked at the giggling Reid before shooting Graham a glare. 

He humbly followed behind his mother, and the moment the door shut behind them--"Graham, wipe that scowl off your face.  This is my only chance, don't you want your mother to be happy?" She grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet and filled it.  "Now go.  For once would you TRY and be of use to your mother?" Amelia pushed her s on back out into the main room, and Graham quickly gave the glass away, scowling the entire time.

There were certain tendencies about himself that Isaac Fraiser could live without, like his inability to say no to an invitation on a night when he had nothing planned.  Even if it meant venturing into the home of one Graham Bombay.  He wasn’t quite sure why it was he had even gotten an invitation to begin with, and some sort of sick curiosity had made it impossible to refuse to go.

So, bottle of wine in hand he made his way down the walk way that led to the front door of the address on the invitation.  It was fairly common knowledge that he and Bombay did not get along.  Most of the time they barely managed to tolerate the other’s existence and it usually ended badly, for Isaac.  This would likely be another example of how when faced with the usual onslaught of insults he’d be left stuttering and feeling completely foolish.

He tried being positive.  There had to be some reason for the invitation.  Perhaps this was the turning over of a new leaf, although it was not likely.  He wasn’t even entirely sure how Bombay had managed to get the address for his cottage outside of Largs…to his knowledge it wasn’t even listed in any sort of public director, magical or muggle.

Reaching the door he raised his freehand and knocked, rubbing a hand over his face and waiting for the inevitable.

Apparently Hannah Bombay possessed a heart. As surprising as it was, she happened to care about certain people. Her half brother was one of these people, no matter how difficult he happened to be. How...strange. How...different. Hannah was also different, as socially inept as Graham Bombay and therefore the two happened to get along well. They didn’t see each other often, neither occupation allowed for it. Besides, letters were sent regularly to keep in contact. It was hardly as if Graham and Hannah had grown up arm in arm. They hadn’t even known the other existed for years!

But now Dr. Bombay was walking up the path to her brother’s house, actually happening to feel quite nervous. The ME never usually had such a strange feeling. She was always calm, sure of herself and if ever in doubt, rarely showed it. But Graham’s mother, Amelia had never told her son about Hannah. There was obviously a lot of hatred there. Yet she’d been invited to this dinner the old woman was hosting. By Graham, but surely the woman was aware that her ex-husband’s daughter would be there. Hopefully...

Hannah clutched the bottle of wine in her gloved hand as she made her way up the cobbled path to the cute little cottage. Had she really got the right place? It seemed a bit...cutesy. More friendly looking than what Hannah had expected from what she’d been told about his mother by Graham. Maybe the old hag wasn’t really planning on eating each of the Doctor’s limbs one by one. Maybe she was in fact very friendly and Graham simply had an overactive imagination.

All these worries were shoved aside as Dr. Bombay reached the front door to stand next to a much taller man. Even in these heels the witch barely reached 5”5. She offered a small smile to the older male and smoothed down the black coat. She was here, she should just get on with it and be perfectly pleasant. She was doing it for Graham. Even if there were going to be a lot of people there. How many was a lot. She didn’t like people...

“Evening.” She offered the man and held out her spare hand to shake his. “I’m Hannah.” Light brown eyes scanned down to the bottle of wine in her other hand and she frowned. “Wine’s a customary thing to bring to a meal like this isn’t it?”

Hildegarde hated Christmas. The winter cheer, the gaudy decorations, the fake satisfaction people made when receiving vile presents. In the season of Yuletide, Hildegarde usually shut herself up in her office, reading ancient tomes and books. Bernard was more the festive type, and he often mocked Hildegarde's disdain for the celebration, but with no children of her own (heaven forbid) and very few close members of family, she usually spent Christmas alone. Archer often came during the morning, and good friends popped in throughout the day, but every Christmas evening she found herself sat in an armchair by the fireplace, sipping on a generous glass of red wine and falling asleep by eleven. Although she was far too proud to admit it, Hildegarde never felt lonelier during this time of year.

Graham Bombay, a colleague at Hogwarts, had provided an invitation to disrupt her normal Christmas habits. Archer and Gabrielle often tried to get her out of the cottage, but she was too stubborn to accept an invite. This, however, was different - she felt like actually making an effort with her new work colleagues. Hildegarde was infamous for her cold, icy, cut-throat nature, and pupils had literally froze with fear everytime she walked into a classroom. The best source of respect was fear, and although Hildegarde wasn't unnecessarily masochistic, she ruled those beneath her with an iron fist.

Dressed in a navy pencil skirt and matching blazer with a black shirt and sensible black court shoes, Hildegarde's small stature was mostly hidden beneath an ankle-length black cloak, the neck high in order to protect her aged face from the bitter cold. The only thing with a hint of colour was her magenta patent leather handbag - a flamboyant purse being a signature of Austerlitz's style. Striding up to the rather quaint looking Tudor cottage, her beady eyes narrowed in approval, and she already saw two figures waiting at the door. It seems like this wasn't the average quiet meal - just what she bloody needed at this awful time of year.

Taking a few bold steps forward through the front garden, she nodded towards her fellow guests in welcome, yet nothing about her cold face was welcoming. Not feeling the need to knock since she figured either of the two would've done so already, Hildegarde was tiny behind them, but was everything but frail. Small, but ultimately menacing. "Good evening."

He'd resigned himself to the fact that this, probably, was a mistake - sneaking out for the second night in a row.  Maybe Snark was right - maybe he was turning into some rebellious hellion.  Or, like Jacoba had reminded him in her sixth text message encouraging him to go, he knew he'd regret it if he did just slink off to Germany without saying any goodbyes.  What's the worst that could happen? she'd asked.  Any answer he came up with had already happened in the last week.  In the end, whether it was rebellious or not, he knew he had to go. 

Surprisingly enough, Anna had caught him on his way out and had agreed to help cover for him.  He had no clue why but had accepted the offer for what it was: an opportunity.  After shutting himself in his room to study, he'd snuck out just in time to catch the bus.  Conveniently enough (no - it was fate, Jacoba had insisted), Horsham was only about twenty miles down Guildford Road from his parent's home in Guildford. 

A muggle suit had been the best he could do as attire went.  All his wizard robes were still back in his trunk in Ravenclaw tower - what would happen to them, he didn't have a clue.  Or his broom.  And textbooks.  Not something to worry about right then ... or ever. Hopefully, it would suffice. 

He paused at the foot of the walkway and quickly ran his fingers through his hair.  After taking a deep breath, he started up the walk to the front door.  He didn't recognize either the younger or the older woman; Professor Austerlitz had started at Hogwarts after his suspension.  He did, however (and with a bit of relief), recognize Professor Frasier.  The muggle studies professor hadn't been there when Sasha had been found with Kronos Malvivicus at the Winterfest but he'd heard, through Jacoba, that he'd been central to that whole affair.   He'd also heard that his arrival with Kronos had been featured in the Daily Prophet, as well. 

Perhaps, this wasn't a good idea.  Color flooded the young man's face as he came to stand just behind the older woman.  He nodded his head to both of them before doing the same to Professor Frasier.  "Evening, sir."  He wanted to say something more - a thank you or apology or something of the nature but neither seemed appropriate doorstep conversation material.  So, instead, he waited, fidgeting with the cufflinks on his coat. 

The sound of heels clicking down the walk caused Isaac to turn slightly as he waited for the door to open.  The woman who approached was petite even with the incredibly high heels she wore and he offered her a small smile and shook her extended hand.  She gave a first name only and he followed suit saying, “I’m Isaac, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He heard more footsteps behind them as she motioned towards the wine.  A smirk formed on his lips as he motioned towards the bottle in his own hand.  Showing up here was awkward enough, the thought of showing up empty handed and possibly giving Bombay extra ammunition to use against him was worse.  At least he didn’t appear to be the only feeling a bit ill at ease about attending as he noted Hannah’s frown.

“I’ve found I’ve never gone wrong with it,” he offered with a small shrug, “a token to show a little appreciation to the host.”

He turned his attention to the other guests giving a nod in greeting to Professor Austerlitz before his eyes fell up another familiar face.  He attempted to no appear completely awkward or think too much about the fact that the evening before he had been in Berlin with Sasha’s sister.  He had been relieved when the teen had shown up at the winter festival although obviously concerned about some of what he had heard.  The doorstep in front of virtual strangers wasn’t really the place to get into any of that.

“Evening,” he said in return, offering a half smile.  He was at a complete loss as far as what he should say in this situation as he hoped Bombay would open the door soon so they might be able to stop lurking on the doorstep.

Another knock at the door.  Of course.  Because the crowd currently in his living room wasn't enough at all.  He answered it dutifully, only to find a small mob on his doorstep.  Fraiser instantly caught his eye.  For Merlin's sake, he knew his mother was doing it on purpose.  "Happy bloody Christmas," he sighed, opening the door wide.  He nodded at Fraiser, smiled half-heartedly at Hannah--his saving grace, and nodded again at Hildegarde.  But what was Sasha Schlagenweit doing at his home? Particularly after such a controversial absence?  He stared at the boy thoughtfully for a moment, then realized what had happened. 

The shock hit, partly mixed with betrayal of his privacy, then came the realization.  His mother had invited every bloody name she could scour from his diary.  That meant...oh that meant other people could be coming that he couldn't dare face, not again. 

"Why Hello, professors!" Amelia chimed in, peeking out once more from the kitchen.  "It's so nice to finally meet the colleagues Graham so highly esteems."  She narrowed her eyes at the young woman, the one who Graham was pleased to see was not on her list of names to know.  "And you, miss? I don't seem to recall--" 

"Hannah, mum. You know, my step-sister."  Graham glared back at her, proud to see her cheeks pale and her lips press tightly.  That's right, Graham could fight back, too.

Amelia gathered herself, not wanting to take Graham's bait into making a scene.  "Dinner will be out shortly."  She bobbed back into the kitchen, followed by the clattering of pans a bit louder than before. 

Graham leaned against one of the wall-papered walls.  "So..." he started, "Hannah."  His eyes settled onto his half-sister as the one life preserver in the raging waters of socialization.  "How have you been keeping?  Anything exciting on the slab, lately?'