Lupin's Christmas Carol

Shamelessly ripped off from Dickens' fine work, with the help of characters from Joanne Rowling's equally admirable writings.

This story takes place on the Christmas Eve during the Deathly Hallows book (1997) and endeavours to be canon-compliant. The idea for this story has been sitting in my back pocket for a few years now, and I'm finally in a mood to get it written. I'm aiming (but not promising) to have it done before Christmas Day. Please send all your encouraging and motivating messages in the comments or by PMing me. Comments and follows are life.


DUMBLEDORE'S GHOST

If only Dumbledore weren't dead, Remus thought.

But Dumbledore was dead, there was no doubt whatever about that. He had been to the funeral and had seen his body for himself. He and hundreds of other mourners, for Dumbledore had been revered the world over.

Remus Lupin had never quite got over the death of his mentor and role model, Albus Dumbledore. While many after Dumbledore's death had judged him for being manipulating, closed and ruthless, Remus had known the same criticisms were aspects that he admired most: understanding the wants and drives of other wizards, keeping his own affairs discreet, and having the courage and the will to do the right thing - no matter the cost. But in his passing, the former Hogwarts headmaster had left unknown work undone. Remus was particularly concerned with the work he had relegated to Harry Potter, a boy who he thought of as almost a nephew of sorts.

He supposed that that was how he'd ended up in this situation.


Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—Lupin sat alone in front of a small fire in Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had made himself scarce, which was just fine with the moody, heartbroken wizard. He'd sought out this refuge after another fight with his new wife, Nymphadora Tonks. They were not six months married, and had been fighting nearly that whole time. This time about the current wizarding war, and his absolute refusal to allow her to get involved in it.

"Your father is on the run, the ministry has suspended you because of it, and you are five months pregnant, Nymphadora," he pleaded, trying to keep his voice measured and calm. But Tonks certainly wasn't watching her tone.

"Don't you Nymphadora me! And he's my DAD, Remus. I'm supposed to just sit back and HOPE he doesn't get caught?"

"That's exactly what you need to do. Unless you are actively trying to put our child in mortal danger."

"Bugger that. Bugger that TO HELL, Remus. You do NOT get to call me a bad mother. Not when your reaction to becoming a father is to up and leave." Her words sliced at his core like an icy blade.

"We agreed to put that behind us, Nympha-"

"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA! And don't touch me," she jerked away from Remus, who'd reached out to hold her hand.

Her recoiling from his touch hurt him far more deeply than any of the words she'd flung at him.

"I want you OUT." She spat furiously.

Remus couldn't believe his ears. "You don't mean that."

"I DO!" she exploded. "I am so bloody SICK of seeing the guilt on your face any time I mention our child. It's on your face right now. Even after you came back… well, I don't know what made you come back the first time, but you clearly have more shit you need to figure out. And you can't do it here. With me. So please leave." She was no longer shouting, and her quieter, measured words were how Remus knew that she was serious.

He had no words left to defend himself with, so he picked up his wand and his coat, and he left.

Remus had never told Nymphadora about what Harry had said to him, that fall evening. He hadn't even told her that he'd come to Grimmauld Place; that, in response to the news of becoming a father, he had sought out the only role he'd ever felt competent to embody - teacher and mentor. But Harry hadn't just turned Remus away, he'd stood against his former professor as an equal and called him a coward and a bad father.

"I'd never have believed this. . . . The man who taught me to fight dementors—a coward."

Months later, and those words still echoed over and over in Remus's head. And so once again, overwhelmed with misery and despair, he had escaped to this lonely home on a night where the rest of the wizarding (and likely muggle) world were with family and loved ones.


He had no idea just how long he'd been staring at the fire when he heard the front entrance defenses go off.

"Happy Christmas!" cried a duet of cheerful voices through the din. The voices were unmistakably Fred and George Weasley, whose ginger hair and violently orange jumpers blazed with firelight as they entered the sitting room. Behind them came Bill, their older brother. Lupin sat up slightly, but didn't get up.

"Hello Fred and George. Bill," he nodded to the young man whose scars always reminded him of his own wolfish curse.

"Happy Christmas, Remus!"

"We suspected you might be hiding out in this ghastly, empty tomb of a place," said Fred cheerily.

"Yeah, it's downright eerie in here." He and Fred exchanged an ear-pun high-five.

"Wouldn't you rather be somewhere with better food and better company tonight?" Bill asked more gently.

"I don't think I would, Bill, sorry," Remus replied.

"But it's Christmas Eve!" cried George, as though he couldn't believe anyone would ever want to be on their own on such a night.

"A time of merriment! And pudding! And bespoke woolen Weasley jumpers! I hear mum's really outdone herself this year," Fred followed with. Remus's face tightened in a grimace.

"Do you idiots mind giving me a minute with Lupin?" Bill gave his brothers a look, and gestured that they scarper.

"Right, well, you know where to find our patented Weasley-brand festivities!" "And an excessive amount of Celestina Warbeck!" They left, lightly bantering between themselves, their spirits undampened by Remus's sullen mood.

Bill waited until they'd at least got to the entrance, then sat himself down in an armchair.

"Remus, I heard what happened with Tonks."

At this, he looked up.

"Fleur?"

"She and Tonks are practically joined at the hip now. Who'd've seen that coming? I can't imagine two different girls. But they tell each other everything, heaven help us." He smiled wryly.

Remus couldn't bring himself to smile back. "Good. I'm glad she has someone to talk with."

"You know, I can almost guarantee you that she'd rather that person be you."

He sighed. "That may be true, Bill, but that doesn't mean it's the best thing for either of us right now. Nymphadora can't bear to look at me until I 'get my shit together'. Her words, not mine."

Bill studied the man carefully. At first glance, it looked like Remus Lupin was a man of many years. His hair was streaked with grey, not really in a distinguished way, and his face looked as worn and gaunt as an old man's. But he'd done the math, and he knew that Lupin wasn't yet forty. He couldn't begin to imagine what Lupin had been through.

"I'm learning a little bit about seeing myself reflected in others' eyes. They don't even have to say anything - you can see the pity for the scars and the marks in the way their eyebrows crease and their lips pull. I avoided Mum for months after the fight." He harrumphed. "What am I saying, I still sort of avoid her. She's getting better, but I still see it in her. Those pitiful looks, the guilt."

"Godric, not you too." Remus could hear Tonks words again, crystal clear. "I am so bloody SICK of seeing the guilt on your face any time I mention our child."

"Dammit, Remus, I'm trying to say that I know what it's like to try and avoid those situations. Listen, Fleur and I are doing Christmas on our own this year. Tonks told Fleur that she'll be with her mom. I think Tonks would want you to be with them, but if that isn't going to happen, I wish you would join us. It'll be quiet and there won't be anyone to ask questions, feel pity, or give advice. I give you my word."

Remus found that even this gentle, welcoming invitation hurt. Of course he wanted to be with Tonks, but he just… couldn't.

"I appreciate the offer Bill, but I'm fine on my own."

Bill nodded sadly. "If you change your mind, you know your way to Shell Cottage." He got up from the chair and reached out to clasp Lupin's shoulder, but hesitated and grasped the back of the sofa instead.

"Happy Christmas, Remus."

He couldn't respond with the same, so Lupin politely offered "Good evening, Bill."

He heard the door close with a soft bang and felt the familiar weight of solitude smother him again.


Kreacher had left a meat pie in the deep freeze, which Lupin managed to heat up tolerably. He ate it standing in the kitchen, washed it down with a glass of water, then took himself upstairs to find a room to spend the night in. They were gloomy spaces, the bedrooms at Grimmauld Place, full of old textiles and grumpy portraits. After the Order of the Phoenix's occupation of the house, Molly Weasley had led a thorough clean-up campaign. But while the heavy drapes were rid of Doxies and the gnawed couches no longer home to mice and other vermin, the snake-headed doorknobs and macabre tapestries still gave it an air of unfriendliness. He continued to climb up through the dark corridors to the topmost landing.

Remus thought he'd sleep in Sirius's old room tonight, perhaps hoping that the boyhood nostalgia posted on the walls would help his mind escape to an earlier time. Gryffindor reds and golds were interspersed between odd static muggle pictures of scantily-clad women and motorbikes. It was such a strange mix of vaguely familiar things that he felt oddly comforted by it.

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in.

He set a fire in the hearth, just a small one. Not quite ready to chase sleep, he sat in front of the flames and watched them dance.

It was in this momentary stupor that he heard a strange noise. It sounded like singing, beautiful but heartbreakingly sad. And then realization hit him.

It was phoenix song.

Frisson tickled the back of his neck. He catapulted himself to his feet, swinging himself around to see where it was coming from. It sounded like it was in the room with him, as impossible as it seemed. Seeing nothing, he reached for the door to check the hall. But the knob wouldn't turn in his hand.

"Alohomora!" he uttered, frustratedly pointing his wand at it. Still, it didn't budge.

"I'm afraid that's my fault, Remus."

He froze in place, his wand suspended in front of him. With an excruciating slowness, he turned around to face something that couldn't possibly be there.

It was Albus Dumbledore. The same face: the very same. A luxuriously long beard, usual ornate robes, with embroidery and trim shimmering. But he was as transparent as a ghost.

Remus was incredulous, and fought against his senses. He couldn't accept what he was looking at.

"Dumbledore!" he managed to croak out.

"Not looking quite my best, am I?" The spirit's eyes twinkled in a familiar way. "I'm afraid I didn't have much of a say in my wardrobe. Still, not my worst outfit choice."

Remus could barely form words. "But… how? You're dead."

Dumbledore's ghost nodded. "Yes, I am that. But perhaps what you are truly asking is why I am, at the risk of being blunt, haunting you?"

"You are a ghost then?" The only living man in the room was suddenly sad. All he really knew of ghosts was that their existence was a sort of unending state of limbo and regret. He couldn't fathom the idea that his mentor and role model would ever have not accepted his own death.

"Can you—can you sit down?" asked Lupin, looking doubtfully at him.

"I can."

Lupin gestured at the chair beside the one he had risen from, and the ghost of Dumbledore sort of hovered into it. He lowered himself back into its twin.

"You are disappointed," observed the Ghost.

"No, that's not it," Remus denied.

"It's just… why, Dumbledore? Why are you still here?"

"I can only speculate on that. It is my understanding that all spirits that choose not to… "go on", shall we say… that they are bound to something unfinished in the world of the living."

"And you have unfinished work?"

"In a sense. I believe you're aware that I've left tasks to be finished by others in this world."

Remus nodded. "I'm aware." As he thought of Harry, a deep anger began to rise in him. "I know you asked Harry to carry out some impossible task… one that should never have been asked of a child."

"Harry is now seventeen, Lupin. He is as much a full grown wizard as you, albeit a young one. But yes, Harry is one of those that I have entrusted with a mission."

The anger had begun to grow. "How could you burden him with such a thing?" His voice was low and dangerous with a fury he didn't realize he had buried.

The Ghost frowned with an expression of guilt that Remus couldn't remember ever seeing on his face before. "It is a fair question, but I am afraid I cannot answer you. I am bound to this form and its limitations until all comes to pass. And it SHALL come to pass, Remus. Neither one of us may prevent that."

Remus shook his head disbelievingly. "I believed in you, Dumbledore! I believed that you had some great strategy to end this war, to put You-Know-Who in his place… and to protect the innocent from more harm."

The look of remorse deepened. "The innocent are always affected by wars, Remus."

"YOU LEFT US!" He rose up in anger. "You left the Order, you left Harry… you let Severus, for reasons I cannot BEGIN to reason, end your life on that tower..."

"I am sorry that I left." Dumbledore examined his former student, trembling with rage. "More sorry than you can imagine. But I am not the only one who has left in the middle of a fight, am I?"

The words pierced through the armour of Remus's rage. "Dumbledore, please don't…"

"Why did you leave, Remus?" The spirit spoke calmly, as if he were still a professor and expected a correct answer from his pupil.

"I don't know. I don't know. I just… I couldn't stay." He crumpled into the chair, and buried his face in his hands. Silence slowly filled the room.

"You asked me why I am here, Remus. Why this wandering spirit has chosen to visit you, in this house that is not a home, on this lonely evening that is usually filled with light and love. It is because I wish to do something more than simply wait for an end to come. I want you to be able to do what I cannot - choose to go back."

Remus lifted his head and stared.

"But to do that, you must understand why you first chose to leave. I've asked for the help of other spirits in this task. Those you will recognize."

The words the spirit uttered still did not make sense to Remus. "I—I think I'd rather not," he said.

"Without their visits," said Dumbledore, "I fear that you will continue to live in remorse and guilt. That is my burden, but it should not be yours. I wish, beyond all things in this moment, that you will allow me to do this last thing for you." He smiled sadly at Remus, who nodded after a moment.

"What should I expect?"

"The first will arrive shortly, I imagine. I can't quite tell you when. Ghosts have a very different understanding of time, you understand. I speak from personal experience." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled once again, a bittersweet reminder of how much Remus had missed seeing it.

"The first will be followed by two more, again, at their own leisure."

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Remus?"

"You are sorely missed." Remus found his throat swelling with emotion.

"If I were still living, I'm sure I would be blushing to hear that. Now before I go, I have one small personal request."

Remus exhaled. "Anything."

"Have a lemon sherbet for me, won't you? I do miss sweets quite fiercely."

Remus found himself looking down to hide a smile. When he'd composed himself and looked back, Dumbledore was gone.