Christmas of the Azkaban years

It was dark. It was cold. As the dementors swept around once more, Sirius turned away from the bars of his cell and let a teardrop escape. He knew it was Christmas. The few human cell guards there were always made a habit of coming round on Christmas Eve and telling the prisoners the date. They would then loudly discuss their plans with each other, how they would return home and eat good food, turkey, duck, mince pies. How they would go for a walk under the night sky.

Sirius remembered last Christmas. He no longer had the locket. Or any of his photos. He remembered the stocking, and Lyra's little red dress. He remembered the Christmas before, where he had found out about the baby, weeks before Remus and the rat, and all their other friends had. He remembered the day that Prongs and Petal had gone into hiding.

He remembered the day that James and Lily had died. How he had gone to their house and stepped over their bodies. How he had found Lyra and just curled around her, sobbing into her hair.

Every memory he ever had of James, Lily, and Remus, was remembered. All now painful. He hated the dementors for using those memories. He detested them for exploiting his little girl.

Oh Lyra.

Another tear escaped.

Lyra.

And another.

His sweet little elf.

'I am innocent' ran through his mind. 'I must survive' 'I must save her'

Lyra.

Lyra.

Lyra.

As the years went by Lyra occupied his mind. He was slowly losing his companions, both cells adjoining his were now empty, their occupants driven mad by the dementors, and dying in prison.

Lyra. She would be older now. A little toddler. Walking. Three years old. Four. Five. Six.

Lyra.

The pain consumed him, and he sacrificed himself to the dog. Here, he would have less human emotions. Oh, a double edged sword. He needed to remain sane for Lyra. He needed to. But he hated the memories seeming further away. He knew that once he turned back, they would be ever present once more.

But Merlin. They seemed as if they would be lost forever each time he changed. And the thought of that broke his heart.

He looked out at the sky. Where would Lyra be now? Where was Remus?

It was Christmas. The years went by rapidly, in depression and pain.

Lyra.

Prongs.

Petal.

Remus.

Lyra.

Lyra.

Lyra.

I'm coming for you Lyra. I promise. You will be safe. He was running around the Forbidden Forest, the thought of his darling girl unwrapping his Firebolt. He changed back, and sat, huddled up to remain warm in the Scottish winter. "I love you Lyra"

The word 'love' seemed strange on his lips, he hadn't felt that emotion in so long. His memories of Lyra washed over him without the pain he used to feel. James, Lily, Remus, and Lyra. His family.

Love.


Christmas of the Cupboard years

It was dark. It was cold. Lyra could hear laughing, but from her cupboard she couldn't do anything but cuddle up with her blanket with the spiders for company. Her sad emerald eyes peeked out from under curly eyelashes, her babbles quiet, restrained, and unheard.

She could faintly remember a kind, merry woman with red hair and green eyes and soft cuddles. A laughing man with black hair and glasses and hazel eyes that looked at her with love. A man with black hair who rarely put her down, who would talk to her as if she was the most important person in the universe. A man with light brown hair, a kind smile, and a quick kiss. A small plump man whose scuttling around in the shadows reminded her of the spiders with which she shared her space.

But each day in the cupboard scratched away at her memories of those early days, and by the next Christmas her mother and father, her godfather and uncle, they had all vanished.

Her third Christmas in Privet drive was different. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had gone to stay with Uncle Vernon's sister Marge. Lyra was sent over to Mrs Figg's house, where the many cats and the Christmas tree with a present under it for Lyra made it a better Christmas than the two she had had previously. They were joined briefly, by a young man named Remus, who wished them both a merry Christmas and whenever Lyra's back was turned, stared after her with longing in his eyes.

But Uncle Vernon discovered the soft toy Mrs Figg had given Lyra, and furious, he gave it to Dudley and kept her in the cupboard the next Christmas once more.

Four. Five. Six. The years passed by, and as she grew older she was allowed out on Christmas Day only to help Aunt Petunia with the food. As she grew better at cooking throughout the rest of the year, she took on more responsibility for the Christmas food, preparing it perfectly, before being forced back into her cupboard with a couple of slices of slightly dry toast and a shred of turkey.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

And then eleven. Her first Christmas at Hogwarts. She received a jumper from her best friends mother, a cloak belonging to her father. For the first time in many years she felt as if she had a family. But even so, it felt as if something were missing. She wouldn't find out what for another two years.