Lessons Learned
My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
(Extremely Loud And Incerdibly Near - Jonathan Safran Foer)
The first gift Sirius can remember is, naturally, something he should be proud of.
The ring weighs heavy on his finger – and heavier still on his soul. He is five years old and he doesn't understand all the worlds his mother is saying, pride and unworthy and superior.
What he knows is the ice in her eyes and the steel in her voice, because it is the same she used when she told him that he couldn't play with the neighbours' children (filthy scum). And he knows what not to do this time (one side of his face still hurts), so he nods and smiles and says: "Of course, mother. I will." And, most important: "I'm a Black."
That makes her smile almost warmly.
The day after Christmas his lessons begin and he learns that the ring marks him as the heir to his Noble and Most Ancient House. There are a thousand rules to follow, a thousand things to do.
He learns how to hold himself, how to deal with those higher than him and to ignore inferior beings, how to defend his family's honour, how to fight, how to follow his blood.
He learns that disobedience is followed by pain – and that he doesn't mind as much as he should, because he loves testing his boundaries and he only ever thinks of the fun he can have, not the consequences that might follow.
He still sneaks out to meet with the neighbours, finding nothing wrong with their blood, for when they play and fall, it flows just as red as his. Being caught teaches him to avoid his mother's blind fury and fear his father's silent disappointment, and he knows when to hide his feelings and when to keep his mouth shut. Some part of him never stops listening to them, trying to find a way to get their approval, walking a fine line between following their way and his. It never stops him from getting into more trouble though.
Later he learns not to give a damn, and when he finally leaves, he doesn't take the ring, feeling it sullies him as much, as he does his name.
The year before he goes to Hogwarts, James finally gets the gift he had waited all his life for.
It was tradition, his father had said, for the cloak to be a parting gift. James had always thought that to be particularly unfair. How much fun could he have had growing up with that wondrous piece of cloth to make him invisible? How much mischief could he have done at the countless boring family meetings? How much trouble could he have gotten in and – more importantly – out of?
But now it would finally be his.
Not even waiting for the clock to strike six, he abandons his bed after what seems like an eternity of thrashing around sleeplessly.
"Mum, Dad," he cries at the top of his lungs, barging into his parents' bedroom. "It's Christmas."
His mother glares at him, eyes still half-closed, nowhere near ready to get up. But his father merely grins, remembering full well how excited he had been, back when it was his turn.
"Ah, my joints feel a bit stiff," he yawns. "Maybe I should take a long hot shower –"
"No," James interrupts, voice indignant. "Presents. Now." And he is off again, running down the stairs, only stopping when he is in front of their giant Christmas tree, a huge red and gold and green monster, towering over a small mountain of wrapped packages.
It seems like another eternity passes by until his parents sit next to him and he is finally allowed to go through his gifts. They are all great, like every year – a broom, new robes for school, that hand-carved chess set he had wanted, loads of sweets – and then there is nothing left, no small package, no family heirloom, no cloak.
"Dad?" James asks, thrumming with nerves, annoyed and maybe just a tiny bit afraid that his parents changed their mind.
Charlus looks at him innocently and wait just long enough to see his son squirm. He can't even get the last package all the way from behind his back before James snatches it away, squealing in delight.
Dorea swears she doesn't see him at all for the rest of the holidays.
Later he learns that even an invisibility cloak cannot keep you hidden away forever, and when Death finds him, James doesn't greet him as an old friend – he fights him every step of the way.
The best gift Remus ever receives is, without doubt, a cream-coloured envelope with his name right on top of it.
He doesn't know if it is luck or fate or the sheer goodness of Albus Dumbledore, but his whole life was made possible by that one letter. Everything that comes after, three boys who become friends first, then brothers, seven years of pure childhood and learning and living, a chance to do something worthwhile, all that is a product of that first act of kindness.
During those first moments of holding the heavy parchment in his hands, he thinks it is only a cruel joke, a jape to make the Dark Creature suffer, and he resents the Headmaster (Dippet, not Dumbledore, never him) for shattering his dreams.
It takes a long while with the new Head of Hogwarts and the sight of his father's big, honest smile to make him realize that this is real. He, Remus John Lupin, Werewolf, would go to Hogwarts, like every other – normal – child.
He even imagines that his next transformation, one day after Christmas, is a bit less painful, that the beast rages a bit less, that some small part of him remains conscious. And he thinks that, maybe, life can be good, that he can beat the monster within.
Later he learns that the monsters within aren't the worst things in their world and that, sometimes, those thought golden and invincible have to go first while some things just cannot be beaten.
The last gift Lily ever gets is one that makes her more happy than she could ever have imagined.
It's Christmas 1980 and she does not know that she has less than a year to live, but she has what she had ever dreamed of: a family.
Their friends had been over earlier, and they had been whole for a few precious hours, untouched by war and doubts and death. But now, there is only them, James and Harry and Lily.
They sit in the living room, bathed in the warm light of the dying fire. Her head rests on James' chest with Harry lying between them.
The second heartbeat thrums in her ear and she feels safe, for once not worrying about Voldemort and that prophecy.
"I wish dawn would never come," she whispers.
"Oi, but there will be presents," James protests, grinning, but she knows he feels the same. "We could skive off the Order meeting," he then adds, though come tomorrow they won't question whether or not to go.
"I wish we could skive off the whole bloody war."
James chuckles and the trembling of his chest wakes Harry. His eyes find hers and when he smiles, she fears her heart will burst with love.
Later she learns that even love cannot save them all. She still steps in front of her son, interjecting the blow meant for him, because she just won't stop trying.
The worst gift Peter ever receives is from himself, cruel and agonizing and eternal. Some might call it freedom, but it really is everything but.
He doesn't have a tree or a Christmas dinner, he doesn't have his mother's smile or a pile of presents from his friends.
He is alone and he is miserable and the canals of London are the least festive place he has ever seen.
It has been almost two months now, since he betrayed his side and family and friends. How very fitting his animagus form is; a rat, no conscience, no regrets.
But he has regrets. He regrets that he has fallen so far, that he has not been courageous enough, that he is not able to do the right thing.
There is a little glee, too. Because he, the least of the Marauders, remains where the others are broken. James is dead, Sirius imprisoned for life. And Remus is nothing without them.
All of them have lost, while he is victorious. Only he isn't really. He is dead to the world, a prisoner in the body of an animal, and all alone, nothing and no one.
He is but a rat, living in damp, smelling canals, eating half-rotten trash, being chased away by other, bigger like it has always been.
Most of the time it is dark around him, so it is easy to close his eyes and remember better times, when they had been nothing but boys, carefree and young and safe. There are other memories, too, of threats and red eyes and endless pain.
Those wipe all regrets away. He made the right decision, he was too young to die and they could have never kept him safe.
Now it is far too late to change anything, anyway.
Later he learns that it is never too late to turn back and do what is right. When he does, though, it means his end, but he doesn't mind that much anymore, because he is tired of being afraid.
And he hasn't been alive for far too long.
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And a merry Christmas to you all!