The Season To Be Jolly

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter world or its characters. J. K. Rowling does.

Summary: A sad story for Christmas. Remus Lupin remembers happier Christmases past.

December 1978: "You want WHAT?" Sirius exclaimed incredulously, nearly falling off the ladder on which he stood attaching rainbow-coloured paper chains to the ceiling.

"You heard me," said Remus. "I want an artificial Christmas tree. You can buy them in Muggle shops. They make them from wire and – er - plastic, I think. They can be re-used year after year, very economical."

"I don't care how bloody economical they are," Sirius said. "I'm not having any plastic Muggle nonsense here. We're going to have a real tree."

Remus said quietly "It's just that – after Christmas they get thrown out on the rubbish – I don't want to have to do that, I don't want to see it."

"You are such a softy," Sirius said scornfully. "Most trees aren't conscious, you know, they don't have feelings."

"I never said they did," said Remus. "Only it's a waste of a beautiful living thing."

"You just get on with addressing the Christmas cards, and let me worry about the tree," said Sirius.

Remus was silent. It was only a tree, after all, not worth having an argument about. Not when Sirius was looking so adorable clambering about putting up the decorations, and singing Remus's favourite carols in his pleasant tenor voice.

All the same, Remus did feel a small pang of disappointment, quickly covered up by a big welcoming smile, when Sirius came home the next day looking very pleased with himself and carrying an obviously real tree.

"Just wait till you see what I've got," said Sirius.

"I know what you've got," said Remus.

"Besides that. It's a tree – with – ROOTS!" Sirius said, removing the sackcloth from around it. "We keep it in a pot of earth over Christmas, and plant it outside afterwards. Now, am I clever or what?"

Remus's smile broadened. "Thank you for caring," he said.

"It's you I care about, Moony."

"I know."

Sirius, fixing the gold star to the top of the tree while Remus wove tinsel around the branches, suddenly said "You really love Christmas, don't you, Moony?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"No. Some people hate it."

"But how can anyone not love it? The colour, and light, and music – how can they not?"

"Perhaps people who don't have much money. Or who haven't got anyone to share it with."

"I haven't got any money."

"But you've got me."

January 1979: Remus stamped the earth, firming it around the roots of the newly-planted tree. "It's looking okay," he said. "It should grow into a good big tree now, as it was meant to."

"We'll get another next year," said Sirius, "and every year after that."

"And when we're very old we'll live here surrounded by a plantation of conifers," said Remus.

December 1996: "May I ask why I have been chosen for this assignment?" said Remus.

"Certainly," Dumbledore answered. "To start with, you speak fluent Gobbledegook ……"

"As do others," Remus interrupted. "Severus, for one."

"In fact it was Severus who recommended you. He reminded me you have some local knowledge of the area."

"I see." Remus did see. He saw Snape's smirk, and knew just what he was up to. He wants to see me suffer, Remus thought; he's hoping I'll beg to be excused this task. Well, he won't have that satisfaction.

Dumbledore was still speaking. "And you are obviously the best person for the job. That which makes wizards distrust you is precisely what will make you acceptable to the goblins. Now, have you memorised the address?"

"Yes." Remus did not add that he had no need to memorise it; it was written on his heart.
When Dumbledore had disapparated, Snape sidled up to Remus, still smirking. "You accept the assignment, then?"

"Of course," said Remus coolly. "A good soldier goes where he's sent, right?"

"And you won't be separated from your new friends for very long," Snape added.

Remus ignored the reference to his work with the werewolves.

The door closed behind Remus as he left the house which had once belonged to Sirius Black and was now inhabited by goblins. The negotiations had gone as well as could be hoped for; he had withstood the scrutiny and gained the trust of the goblin elders, something Snape, for all his occlumency, could never have done. The Inverness goblins had undertaken not to pledge allegiance to Voldemort, and to use their influence to persuade other goblin communities to do likewise. Now it was up to Dumbledore to screw what concessions he could from the Ministry in an effort to get the goblins to commit to active support.

Remus had resolved to leave the area at once, and not torment himself by looking behind the house. But he found himself irresistibly drawn to the back garden. They had all survived: three fine tall fir trees. As Remus looked at them, his vision seemed to shift; they grew smaller, and covered themselves with tinsel, baubles and sparkly fairy lights (Sirius had wanted real candles, of course, and Remus had had to be very firm about that). From somewhere above and behind him, a light tenor voice was singing:

"Shepherds and lasses come leaping and dancing,
Leaping and dancing, the eve of Noel."

Remus turned towards the sound, but there was nothing to see but snow, big soggy flakes that became melty slush as soon as they hit the ground. The voice that would never again be heard on earth ceased. Remus turned back to the trees. The magic had gone, and they were just trees, tall and stark against the bleak sky.

He walked away, upright and defiant as the trees.

"I hate Christmas," he thought.

Note: Organised flame campaigns welcome. I can do with a good laugh.