title: Christmas Eve at 12 Grimmauld
rating: PG
pairing: Remus Lupin/Ginny Weasley
other characters: mention of the other Weasleys
prompt: for the 7spells livejournal community, "ribbon"
summary: In the wee hours on the night before Christmas, Ginny and Remus both find they can't sleep.
word count: 1200
setting: Christmastime during the trio's fifth year at Sirius' house. Ginny is fourteen.
warnings: None, really. It's all very mild.

"Can't you sleep, Professor?" came the sound of her voice, bell bright, stealing me from my private, black thoughts. Worrisome visions of Arthur Weasley's broken, bleeding body evaporated as his sole daughter cautiously approached. "It's nearly midnight!"

Lifting my head wearily, I blinked at her in surprise. She was pressed against the wall, peering over the corner nervously, as though apprehensive I might bite. Red hair poured, a cascade of curls down her back, held away from her face by a lone white ribbon. She had apparently not even bothered preparing for bed, because instead of the white nightgown she sometimes wore, the one with the fanciful ruffle at the hem, she was still dressed in Muggle day attire: a pair of blue-jeans and black and white jumper. Her white socks had little bows on them; undoubtedly, that was Molly's doing.

She saved me the gruelling ordeal of attempting an explanation by stepping cautiously into the forlorn front room. It was completely empty, save for the furniture, which hunkered maliciously in cobwebbed corners, laden with heavy layers of pale grey dust. With a shy, hopeful smile, she held up one of the much-abused tin teapots from the kitchen. Steam poured opaque from the spout, only to disappear in the chill air. It was cold, despite the remnants of a blazing fire still sputtering defiantly in the grate.

"Thought you might use some tea," she offered, conjuring a cup from mid-air and pouring in an ample stream of amber liquid. Passing it over to me, she repeated the procedure for herself, then sent the teapot levitating overhead. It floated near the ceiling, ignored. I had often seen Ginny perform magic in that way, instinctually. More than once during the summer, an exchange between herself and her mother had echoed through 12 Grimmauld whenever Molly had encountered her performing under-aged magic. Despite the reprimands, she continued. Her usage of the skill was utterly unconscious; most of the time, her fingers barely touched her wand, and on a few occasions I had seen her perform her magic without a wand, forgetting to bother with the tool altogether.

Taking in a burning sip, I nodded, grateful. "Earl Grey, my favourite. Thank you very much, Ginevra."

Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. "Ginny, please. Only Mum ever calls me Ginevra." With a sigh, she dropped into the seat opposite. "I can't sleep either. It's too quiet here, or, rather, loud in all the wrong ways. No ghouls to speak of, but that horrid Kreacher marching up and down the stairs at all hours of the night, muttering to himself." She shuddered. "The beds feel all wrong. The blankets are so dusty, no matter how many time Mum puts cleaning charms on them. At night, I hear the walls creak...." She trailed off, biting her bottom lip delicately. "I'm sorry. I should be grateful. Dad's safe, everyone's together, well, mostly," she amended, thinking, no doubt, of Percy. "I shouldn't complain, it's just --"

" -- this house," I answered for her, nodding. As I spoke, I could feel it watching me, full of old magic and malcontent. Sirius often complained that the walls seemed to close in around him, and sometimes, when I was on my own in one of the spacious, empty rooms, I could feel the press of the house constricting, suffocating me with stale, malevolent air. "I understand. But please, call me Remus. Professor sounds far too formal, and it's been two years since I was employed at Hogwarts."

She glanced away, looking toward one of the soot-stained windows. Moonlight streamed in, but the full moon was still several weeks away. "It doesn't feel like almost Christmas."

"There's snow on the ground, outside," I reminded her. "Icicles hanging from the roof shingles, and it's so cold outside that sometimes even the fog feels frozen."

"That's winter, Professor," she retorted, shaking her head at me woefully, as though I had disappointed her. For some reason, her expression stung. "Not Christmas. Christmas should be happier, a time filled with joy and music. That's not possible in this house. Every gleeful sound is muted, every frightening groan from old floors magnified, and always that house elf."

Shivering, she sat up, wrapping her hands around her teacup for the warmth. "Back at the Burrow, we would decorate every year. Sometimes, I didn't understand the reason for it, especially when Mum was shouting for the twins to carry down the heavy boxes and Ron would get sulky and feel left out, plus Bill and Charlie always found some reason to duel and ended up breaking things..." She laughed, her gaze fixed upon a scene far away and lost to time. "Our house would smell like wassail and pine, Dad would stoke the fires high, Mum would bake so many puddings everyone got sick of them before they were gone. We had a proper tree always, and holly, mistletoe, garden gnomes and pixies." Shaking herself, Ginny looked up. "I suppose you think I'm foolish."

"No, I --"

"-- acting like a child, whining about things that hardly matter. At least Dad is here, alive and safe and on the mend. He could have died from that bite, all the poison put in him by Nagini. I understand that. And Harry's safe and well, away from the castle. He gets to see Sirius, and it gives him back some happiness." She nodded, confirming it to herself. "I bet it makes Sirius happy too. Sometimes, he seems like a ghost, even when we're all here. He's around, but not around. Does that make sense?"

My breathing was constricted, but I nodded in affirmation. More true that you know, I thought sorrowfully, thinking of Sirius' once-handsome, ruined face. Harry was the only person who seemed to rouse any sort of life within him at all. "Yes, yes it does make sense, Ginevra. Ginny!" I corrected rapidly as she eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm glad you understand, anyway," she told me, and then she rose, tipping back her head and swallowing the last of her tea. "I'm sorry if I bothered you. Sometimes I like to be alone too, Professor -- I mean --- Remus."

"Ginny, you didn't bother me. Not at all, honestly."

Shyly, she smiled. "I think I can sleep now. Don't stay up too late by yourself, will you, Remus?" The name sounded like a charm when spoken by her lips. "We're all opening presents first thing in the morning!"

For a long moment, she simply hovered there, but then she crossed the room and took hold of my hand. As I stood up, curious, she raised up on tiptoe, one hand on my shoulder for support. Bending my head down, she kissed my forehead, for just the briefest moment, and then she stood back and released me, her cheeks aflame and that smile turned tremulous. The whirling constellation of teapot and teacup followed her out the door as she vanished into the hallway and up the stairs to bed. I could hear the rasp of her stocking feet against the polished floorboards for a minute, and then the clock across the room struck the hour, proclaiming midnight, Christmas morning.