DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the content referenced/quoted. Warning for swearing.
...
The Present
Christmas comes on a colder breeze that year. Snow falls on Emilia's village, blanketing empty roads. Cars lay abandoned in driveways, but the occasional gritter rumbles along followed by the old farmer's tractor. Dark clouds loom, casting long shadows only broken by the cheery bright spots of Christmas lights and the odd singing snowman. A stillness falls over everything as if everyone is holding their breath in anticipation.
Emilia watches the flakes drift lazily from the sky, face pressed against cold glass. It is almost Christmas Day. Cass is snoring loudly in her bedroom; her mum is still awake, the hum of the telly is just audible in the other room. Beyond the window, everything is quiet and still. Emila could almost believe the entire world was at peace. But she knows that's not the case.
Cass had become increasingly strict about trying to keep her out of her wizarding business. But everyone knows that in a small house shared by three people, even the walls have ears. She'd heard Cass explaining to their mum about the increasing number of attacks against muggle-borns and muggles, about the man they were calling 'You-Know-Who'. About old prejudices and wars and blood feuds. Her sister had subscribed them to a number of wizarding newspapers, just enough for her mum to keep herself informed while she was away at Hogwarts, but as long as they kept their heads down and kept to themselves everything would be ok.
Her mum cried.
Emilia left them alone then.
Cass tried to imbue some extra festive cheer in the run-up to Christmas after that. It was a distraction, and a poor one at that. Emilia almost wrote to Remus about it, but she had a feeling he would be dealing with his own problems this holiday.
She turns to look at the calendar on her wall, the big red circles around nights of the full moon.
A tapping at the window. Emilia turns to see two bright eyes peering at her, golden feathers reflecting the moonlight. Remus' owl.
She scrambles forward to pull open her window, the chill in the wind nips at her face as the owl hops inside. He lands with a stumble onto her bed and hoots at her. The window slams shut. Emilia reaches out to pet his head, and he nuzzles her warm hand. She giggles.
The owl waves an impatient leg at her, where a parcel is tied in sparkly ribbon. She unties it quickly and the owl hops away as soon as it is freed, landing on her bookshelf. He settles in amongst her plush toys, and Emilia knows he'll be sleeping here tonight.
She turns her attention back to the package, turns it over in her hands. Scratchers, awoken by the sound of the window, jumps up onto her bed and sniffs the parcel. He looks up at her with bright eyes. Emilia slips a finger under the wrapper, coaxes it open. As she does, a shower of sparks erupt from the paper, lighting her room up in a dazzling array of colours. She watches in awe until they fade out into tiny embers then disappear completely.
She opens the rest of the parcel until a note falls out and onto her lap.
'Merry Christmas, Em. Yours, Remus.'
Emilia pulls back the rest of the paper to find 'Emma'. The cover, cloth bound in scarlet red and embossed in a beautiful gold, looks new - but the pages, they are yellow, stiff and dogeared. It's only as she flips further into the book that she realises it is her book, the one she gifted Remus on the platform so long ago, with a fresh book jacket and a number of scrawled notes hidden in every margin. She drinks in the sharp, spikey scrawl that betrays Remus' thoughts before hugging the book to her chest.
She runs a hand along the soft cover, her eyes watering at the beauty of the gift. He was such a silly boy.
She pulls open the drawer in her bedside table, withdraws her present for him. Wrapped in shiny gold paper, a couple of refillable biros and some polaroids she took when the Marauders visited during the summer. Her favourite sat on the top of the pile; a picture Sirius had snapped of her and Remus debating over the merits of strawberry flavourings. Her face is cross, cheeks full of half-chewed berries, but Remus' expression is soft, his posture relaxed, a half-smile curving across his face.
She places it carefully on her bedside table, so she won't forget to send it back first thing in the morning. Emilia tucks herself back under her duvet, in front of her window, and opens 'Emma'. The moon shines high in the night sky, like a thick toenail, watching and waiting.