Christmas was approaching on a snail's pace and Remus was ready to believe that it would never come when they were entering the third week of December without a single snowflake in sight. James and Peter were less attentive than ever in classes and while this did not seem to cause any noticeable problems for the former, little Pettigrew suffered more and more from an obvious overload of work, as he was trying to fit all his extra work in the already crammed lunch break and evening hours. Remus made every effort to be of assistance, but as the days got shorter and windier it became more and more obvious that James would bring this term to a successful end, whereas Peter would not.
On Thursday afternoon, all four Gryffindors were sitting in the Great Hall during homework preparation time, James and Sirius playing with their quills, looking supremely bored, Peter bent over his work, trying to figure out why the heck his boil cure potion was not working as it was supposed to. Remus was chewing his quill, trying to formulate his personal opinion on the goblin rebellion of 1694, but his fellow students were so noisy, due to everyone's excitement about the upcoming holidays that he found it impossible to concentrate even for one minute.
Finally, Professor Sprout, who was supervising Thursday afternoon prep, put down her quill a full fifteen minutes earlier than scheduled and got up, drawing everyone's attention towards herself by clapping her hands for a few times.
'First-years, please listen for a moment,' she called out. 'I would like to put down the names of all those who wish to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays. I will call you in alphabetical order, leaving out those whose parents have requested their returning for Christmas anyway. You will simply reply 'Yes' or 'No' so I can make a little tick on my list. Right then - Julien Avery?'
'No, Miss,' came a voice from the Slytherin table and Professor Sprout made a little note on her parchment.
'Sirius Black?'
'Nope!'
Professor Sprout raised an eyebrow.
'Stop balancing your chair, dear,' she said. 'You are destroying school property.'
'Sorry, Miss.'
Remus grinned and sprayed some ink over his parchment with the tip of his quill. He liked the young Herbology witch. Everyone did, actually. She was the only teacher who would never shout at students, not even during exam times or shortly before the holidays - or when they were repeatedly caught destroying Hogwarts furniture.
'Remus Lupin?'
'Yes, Miss.'
He earned himself an appreciative smile.
'That's nice,' she said cheerfully, continuing to scan her list. Madley, Malfoy, the McKinnon twins, and a few others. Then, after a while, 'James Potter!'
'No, Miss.'
Professor Sprout nodded, raised her eyebrows and made a tick on her list. 'Mr. Black, I believe I told you to stop destroying school property?' she said coolly without looking up. 'That accounts for the table as well!'
'Sorry, Miss.'
There was a clicking sound and some laughter. Remus's gaze fell on Severus Snape, who was sitting very tensely in his chair, wearing what looked like a highly worried expression on his face. He was the only Slytherin who was not busy writing or pinning notes at his neighbour's back. He was just sitting there, very still, waiting. Remus realized that the pale, black-haired Slytherin had turned exactly that during the past few months. Very still, very quiet. He was still turning up at the most unusual places when you least expected it, mind you, but that seemed to be a trait of character with him. Bad habit, rather than ill will. Remus sighed and looked away again. What good did it do to ponder over Slytherins? Everyone knew they were all just the same.
It turned out that almost everyone would be going home for Christmas and, all of a sudden, Remus felt that same emptiness rise inside him which he thought he had left behind a few months ago when he had been sorted into Gryffindor and had made friends with James and Peter so quickly. He would spend his holidays alone in Hogwarts. No one else's parents had a problem with Christmas Eve falling on a full moon. No one else needed a Shrieking Shack around them...
'Pettigrew, Peter?'
'Yes, Miss,' said the small mousy-haired boy and Remus woke from his daydreaming, raising his head in surprise.
'You're staying?' he whispered.
Peter grinned. 'Can't leave you here all by yourself, can I?'
'You're staying - because of me?'
Peter shrugged. 'Yeah - well, partly. I wasn't going to, to be honest, but Professor McGonagall told me I'd have to join a study group if I did not want to risk having to repeat the year.' He shrugged, looking as if he thought he should feel pity for himself. Remus felt he would have liked to embrace the smaller Gryffindor, but, of course, that was out of question. Instead, he resolved to produce a warm smile and felt thoroughly grateful knowing that he would not have to sit around all by himself for a full fourteen days, but have someone to talk to and to laugh with during the last two weeks of the year.
Meanwhile, Professor Sprout had finished her list and was going through the lines of students to check who would be organizing the study groups and how.
Later that evening, Remus entered the Gryffindor common room, which was deserted for a change, due to the sixth and seventh years' study trips and a 'sudden' epidemic circulation of the flu among the fifth years, who were, in fact, trying to avoid having to form and organize OWL preparation groups over the holidays - a tactic thoroughly practised and found to be quite useless by several years before them, of course.
The only person sitting in a corner on the floor, near the fireplace, was Sirius Black, deeply absorbed in one of the library books, not looking up even when Remus entered, hesitated for a while and then approached him.
'What... uhm... what're you reading?'
The taller boy raised his head in what seemed slow motion. A contemptuous sneer appearing at his face as if this was instinct with him. 'Can't you read?'
'Not when you're putting your hand on the cover,' said Remus calmly. Sirius flushed. He moved his hand aside and held up the front side of his book.
'Werwolfe,' it read, 'und wie man sie effektiv schlachtet.'
Remus frowned. 'Where did you get that from? It's not English.'
'It's German,' grinned Sirius. But it's got an English part at the backside.'
Remus nodded. Slowly, careful not to appear too interested in the subject. 'And... and what does it say?'
Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'They have invented machines over there - on the continent, I mean - to automate the process of ridding the land of dangerous beasts such as werewolves, Manticores, and so forth...' He gave Remus a strange look containing what could have been a mixture of mere contempt and interest. 'Highly effective methods, if you ask me. They have excellent sorcerers over there. And sufficient financial support from the government - according to this.' He nodded at the book. Remus tried to produce a smile.
'In-interesting. So you... like the German language?'
'I told you I am only reading the English part,' said Sirius impatiently, though surprisingly friendly. 'But... yeah. I suppose I like it.'
'Are you going to study it in our third year?' inquired Remus, determined to lead the conversation away from werewolves.
Sirius nodded.
'And why?'
'Because it's ugly,' said Sirius simply. 'It sounds really savage. You ever heard any German?'
Remus shook his head.
'It sounds a bit like troll,' Sirius informed him. 'But you wouldn't've heard that either, would you?'
'I'm not a total fool, you know,' said Remus angrily. 'Of course I have heard troll before. Mother has been working with them at the Irish South coast. I am half, not Mud, you know.'
Of course he was being cynical. Remus had only recently learned the word Mudblood and it's explosive effect when applied to certain members of the wizarding world. Although 'Half-breed' was still a common playground slur, ignored by most parents in all parts of the country, it was quite a different matter with insults that were aiming at the purity of blood. There were many discussions these days, on whether it was a shame, or even an offence, if a witch or wizard married anyone who was not deriving from one of the ancient bloodlines. The Blacks, preferably, or, in the North, the McGonagalls.
Remus had not expected Sirius to react in any way to his cynicism, but to his great surprise, the taller boy shut his book with a snap, got up, and gave him a highly derisive scowl before heading for the portrait hole of the common room.
'Mudblood,' he spat. 'What kind of ridiculous term is that, Remus? No one of importance uses it these days.' And he stalked away.
Remus stared after him for an extraordinarily long time. Now, this was interesting. What a surprising attitude for someone who had been raised in a family as old and distinguished as the Blacks? Was Sirius Black not what he had always appeared to him, James and Peter after all? More than just a spoilt brat who had accidentally been placed in a house where he did not belong? Remus suddenly realized that this was what they - what everyone had thought. And that everyone might, just perhaps, have been wrong.