A Moment to Treasure

By Ohnann (ohnannyahoo.co.uk)

Harry could not remember the last time he'd felt, even remotely, so at one with the world. He sat at the big table in Sirius's dining room, surrounded by people he cared about; people who cared about him. To his left, Remus Lupin flipped through the calendar for the impending year, marking all of his critical periods with lustrous red ink. To his right, Ginny Weasley carried on a low-key conversation with her allotted gingerbread man.

For once, Mrs Black had kept her mouth shut, and her portrait behind cover, for several hours; Kreacher was nowhere to be found (not that anyone was looking for him); even Mundungus had yet to, as he'd vowed Mrs Weasley, burst in and interrupt the little group's Christmas cheer.

His rook was knocked out cold by one of Ron's black knights, but not even the awareness of an imminent defeat could form a cloud on Harry's horizon. Ron was seated on the other side of the table, and was inching Sirius's old chessboard closer to him for each move; he was so eager to corner Harry's king.

Harry prompted a pawn to move forward, pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, and glanced at his godfather, who slouched in a chair at the far short end of the table. He fiddled with something quite big, which rested in his lap. The bony fingers had finally attained an almost flawless stability again, Harry noticed with satisfaction. Sirius would be all right; it was mind-boggling to see the imprints from Azkaban fade and slowly allow the old Sirius to peek out.

Ron cheered softly to himself, engulfed by the game, while Harry felt the same about Sirius's undertaking. Sirius had, with some effort, placed the thing he'd held in his lap on the tabletop. Apparently, he tried to wrap it for Christmas the Muggle way, using a piece of red paper and some string. The paper had a few large stains on it, and they were obviously not there for decoration. Harry noticed that the tabletop beneath the paper looked suspiciously bloody, which made him suspect that Buckbeak was the one who would find the lumpy present in his stocking the next morning.

Absent-minded, and slightly nauseous, Harry urged another pawn forward, bringing a ravenous smile to Ron's lips.

At his end of the table, Sirius finally gave up on the string, which somehow seemed to elude his fumbling fingers like water, snatched Remus's wand from his side, and cleaned Buckbeak's present up with one swift move. He eyed the result, picking up on a tune as he returned Remus's wand. Harry did not recognize the tune, though it was quite pleasant; easy on the ears. The ease regarding magic appealed Harry immensely; he wondered whether he ever would be able to act as natural around screaming portraits and rampant boggarts as Sirius and the Weasleys did.

A minute or two later, Harry found his white combatants utterly oppressed. Mrs Weasley spared Harry a little embarrassment, and a lot of Ron's triumphing, when she placed a mug of hot cocoa in front of each person seated at the table. She joined Sirius in his humming, singing softly as she walked around with her tray.

Neither Sirius, who was sitting down again, nor Remus, looked up from what they were doing when Molly passed them. The tip of Remus's nose touched the parchment in front of him on the table; he was charting the upcoming year, in every detail. Harry felt sorry for him, though he knew that his former DADA teacher practically could lead a normal life for an entire year, once he was done.

Sirius had somehow managed to place both feet on the chair he sat on, resembling an overgrown adolescent with his long hair, tattered clothes and long limbs. He read an article in the Daily Prophet, laughed to himself and twined a lock of hair between two fingers. Harry smiled to himself. The old Sirius Black really fought to break out.

Ginny sacrificed the complaining gingerbread man to her cocoa, and Ron restored the cheering (or in Harry's case sulking) chessmen to their usual places. Just another normal evening in the world of wizards and witches.

When Harry finally turned to his chilling cocoa again, he couldn't tell whether Mrs Weasley had served cocoa with marshmallows, or marshmallow with cocoa. He nibbled at the marshmallow tinged with brown, which filled his mug.

This was probably the best Christmas Eve Harry ever had experienced. No hysteria, no interrupting carollers, just peace and quiet. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd be doing for Christmas the next year; if he would have a chance to celebrate together with the same people again, if they all would be there, if he would be there.

He thought about it for a while, then met Ron's hopeful glance over the table. Immediately, Harry agreed on a re-match. He realized that it was best to leave the future alone until it came; and it would come soon enough.

With Sirius and Mrs Weasley's unnamed carol ringing in his ears, he decided that he would treasure that moment - the entire evening – for as long as he lived. It could come in handy, too, if he would be forced to face a Dementor again.

Mrs Weasley joined them at the table, together with Fred and George, a few minutes later. She was still humming. Soon, she'd dragged her sons with her, and before Harry knew it, they were all bawling the unknown tune at the top of their voices.

Fin