(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
The quiet forests were an escape from the true nature of humanity. If one walked into the large evergreen trees and pine needle floors, they could be taken back in time to where their ancestors knew only this environment, and not the bustling concrete-ridden one that we are now accustomed to. In the forest, everything is endless and never-dying. The birds still live in their nests, the trees are hundreds of years old, and the soil is good and rich with life. Everything is as it should be.
The sun rose on the perfect morning, like the millions of times before. The rays touched the snow-covered ground. There had been a new flurry of white the night before, and it had blanketed the woods in a matter of hours. The crystal surface of the snow gleamed in the dawn's new light, dancing across the banks. The pine trees' branches were caked, and looked ready to break. The small stream in which the deer liked to drink at during the fall had frozen, and the fish underneath were as still as statues. The only thing that brought movement to this scene was the ever- smoking chimney of the nearby cabin. The cloud of gray cicled the rooftop, as if marking the house as something important, and then floated into the air until it became transparent and one with the white clouds above. The windows of the secluded cabin were frosted over, and the wood that would have been used for the fireplace was set into a neat pile. It had never been touched, and now a good two inches of snow had placed itself on top of the pyramid. An axe stood next to the pile, its blade wedged into an old tree stump.
The porch sported a hand made chair. It did not rock, or swing, or even move. It was just a chair, made with the craftsmanship of a failed carpenter. A windchime sang and danced in the forest wind, and an original carved sign was hanging from one bent nail on the entrance door. It read: JE NE MOURRAI PAS.
The resident of this small and humble abode was a man that no one in the town knew with any great pleasure, but those who did know him loved him. He was an outsider from the rest of his community, and seemed to spend much time away from home. Every month, one of his unknown and suspicious looking friends would stop by for a visit, and not leave until the next morning. The night would be filled with a bicker, or an argument of some kind. Bottles of liquor crashing, windows broken, and sometimes enormous howls and yelps that made the neighbors think the dog had been kicked. Usually, these friends were men in their twenties, and they looked haggard and tired when they left. One of them was especially fierce, with his jet black long dangling hair, and his hollowed eyes. The neighbors that watched through their windows suspectingly was afraid of that character more than any of the others. There was a rumour about saying that the visitor was some sort of dark wizard who had associates in the war.
Of course, that was before the man had gotten to know his community with great interest. It seemed as if one day he had returned home, and the dark cloud that circled his cabin disappeared. His closest neighbor, who lived farther into the woods and was the one who usually gossiped about him, was also a wizard that had lost his wife to You-Know-Who a good five years ago. Mr. Grunkins was the old neighbor's name, and he took great pleasure in bringing misery to others. It had been that first day of August that Mr. Grunkins had looked outside his kitchen window, and noticed his neighbor cutting wood. He had started to make the pyramid that now rested with so much snow ontop of it. Grunkins, finding this an amazing feat that the man had come out of his house, decided to continue watching him in fascination.
The man had set the woodpiles on the side of his house, stuck his axe in the dead trunk, and sat on the lone chair on the porch. Then he had looked out to the woods, taken a deep breath of air, and smiled to himself.
The man was pale, sickly looking. And yet, he looked like the happiest being on earth. All of his problems were solved, it seemed, and nothing was left to worry about.
The wood that he had chopped had never been used in the upcoming months, though. No hand had touched the axe again. They lay there, a reminder of the first day of light for their owner.
Today, their owner lay in bed, unable to move. He was cut in many places, and his face was bruised and battered. His feet were torn, and his stomach sported a large gash. His hair was matted with blood, and he weakly moaned as he deliriously slept. He hadn't slept all night.
The hollowed eyed man sat next to his bed, watching over him with the loyalty of a dog. He had been there for a good two hours, waiting for his friend to wake from his deep sleep. The sun was shining through the frosted window above the small mattress, covered in a quilt that they had bought in Diagon Alley. It was now torn to shreds, and the fabric was littered with blood and stains. The man, rolled into a sheet, lay his legs on this quilt as he stirred. A large slash on his calf was seen, the blood tricking down to the bedsheet.
His eyes opened quietly as the dawn sun shone through his window and onto his lids. He painfully blinked, and then looked to his faithful friend, who had his legs sprawled out and his chin resting on his hands. He was just as he had always seen him, or the others, when he awoke from a nightmare. Just like the one he had had.
"Sirius," Remus moaned, and Sirius shook his head.
"You've got time, Moony," he said, and bent over to grab something off of the floor. Bandages. Special ones that the Healers had given him, "Don't worry. We don't need to be at James's until afternoon."
"What time is it?" Remus asked, flinching at the magical wraps that Sirius was applying to his cold skin, "How long have I been out?"
"It's only seven, mate," Sirius said, ripping a bandage off with his teeth, "We've got time."
Remus closed his eyes again, and fell back on his pillow. He was so exhausted. If only he could just go to sleep and never wake up.
But then you'd miss out on Harry's first Christmas, the wolf said, almost mockingly.
"Yeah," Remus said, muttering to himself as Sirius continued to dress him.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he said, and then opened his eyes once again to look his friend in the eyes, "You don't need to do this. I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself . . ."
"No, you're not," Sirius said.
"It's getting better," Remus said, as if trying to somewhat convince himself. He could already hear the wolf laughing, snorting, in the background. Sirius raised a brow, and then sighed.
"You think?" he asked.
Remus shrugged, and then closed his eyes again. It had been bad. He knew it had. Not as bad as it used to be, back at the Headquarters . . . but, it wasn't getting any better. Yet, every time he thought about what he was going to do today, the wolf had been thrown underneath the waters once again, and he had been free.
Harry.
It will be Harry's first Christmas.
We'll all be together.
"Let me start the breakfast," Sirius finally said, setting the bandages back underneath the bed, and standing up. He was wearing his biker boots . . . again. They looked so ridiculous with the rest of his outfit. Remus still hadn't figured out why he had this fascination with anything Muggle and rebellious. But he did.
His motorbike was parked outside, next to the porch, and covered in a new bank of snow. It had snowed last night. He had seen the flakes fall out of the window, as Padfoot had rammed his head into the pane of glass.
The wolf had bitten Padfoot on the neck, trying to kill him, and Padfoot had retaliated. It had been harder than what was necessary. The dog had flung the wolf into the window, causing the glass to break and shatter along the top of Moony's head. Remus shuddered, and realized that his scalp was very sore, and Sirius had wrapped his head in the dressings like some sort of Christmas tree.
"What would you like?" Sirius shouted from the kitchen, "We've got . . . bread, bread, and . . . well, would you look at that? Some more bread."
"It's been a hard month," Remus said, "You know about the job and all . . ."
"They don't pay you enough to be Bowling . . ."
"Bowlering," Remus said, half moaning, half snorting. He rolled over on his mattress, "And it's not a job. It's . . . more of a duty."
"Well, you should be getting money for that," Sirius said, sticking his head in a cupboard. He was not about to believe that Remus had that short of a supply, "Whatever they call it. It's horrible, I think. Tellin' people that their kids are dead. And their husbands . . ."
"I'd rather not talk about it on Christmas, Padfoot," Remus groaned.
"So I guess it'll be bread, then," Sirius said, slamming the cupboard door in surrender, "We have wheat . . . wheat . . . and oh look! There's a white slice at the back of your bread box . . . looks sort of stale, though . . ."
"I'm not hungry, it's fine," Remus said.
"Oh, I'm not worried about you," Sirius huffed, "I'm starving. You're not a very good host, you know . . . having only this to serve your guests."
Remus laughed, and it hurt. He clutched his side. The bandages were stinging, and he couldn't move without pain inflicting his wounds. Scars would begin to show at any moment. And the blood would dry. And he would stand and greet another day. And the memories of broken glass and wolves would die away, until the next full moon. That's how it always was.
And he could now live with that.
It was Harry's first Christmas.
He couldn't miss that for the world.
"So, nice romp around the pantry last night," Sirius said, coming out of the doorway with two slices of wheat bread in hand, "I think you took out two of your shelves. I had to practically bite your ear off to stay away from the fireplace. You really shouldn't leave that thing on on full moon nights, you know. Moony likes the light or something . . ."
"I'll remember that," Remus said, and he took his slice. Sirius's hand extended to hand him the bread, and Remus froze. He grabbed the wrist, and shoved his cloak to his elbow. His eyes grew huge as he stared at a huge gash across the arm.
"My God," he said, his voice shaking, "Did I . . ."
"Don't worry about it," Sirius said, breaking away, "It was an accident. You pushed me into the broken glass before I could clean it up. It doesn't hurt that much."
Remus tore a piece off of his slice, and began to eat it, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Sirius said, "You've given me worse. Hell, we're part of the Order. I'm not worried about a little cut."
"You should use some of my bandages . . ."
"No," Sirius said, massaging his arm, "They sting."
Remus laughed again, and finished his breakfast. He sighed, and laid back in his bed. He closed his eyes once again, and flinched. The wrappings were doing their job, that was for sure. His entire body felt like it was going to burn up in one large bonfire. He clutched the side of his bed, and bit his lip. Sirius saw this, and looked away and out to the window.
"You know," he said, "It snowed last night."
Remus, through a gasp of air, nodded, "I know."
"It was definitely white last night," Sirius said, not looking at his friend, "A big blizzard. Hope the bike will start up. If not, we'll be leaving by Floo Powder. You've got some, right?"
"I keep some . . . over there," Remus said, straining to talk. He hated this part of the monthly ritual. It had been a year ago that the Healers had decided that they could try to treat his wounds by these bandages. He didn't know what else to call them. They came in long white rolls, like Spell-O-Tape, and he had two of them underneath his bed. He used to apply them himself. But now that the guys had started to come again, they had learned how to use them, and they had been a great help.
The wolf knew they were back.
He had sunk into the shadows again, and yet . . . he was still there, right behind him. Always whispering in his ear.
"It draws nearer."
Remus shook his head, and opened his eyes. The burning sensation was leaving him slowly, and now he would be able to remove the wraps and stand up again on his own. Sirius still wasn't looking at him, and had become very interested in a tapestry laying on the ground.
"Does it hurt as bad as it looks?" he asked soberly. Remus sighed, and sat up in his bed.
"Sometimes," he said, "And other times, I can't feel it."
Sirius nodded, and looked to the window again. The bright sun was peaking over the trees once more, and they would have to leave in a few hours.
Good, he thought, I hate this place.
Remus ripped his first bandage off, and threw it on the floor in disgust. If only there was another way. If only there was a way to calm the wolf inside.
He stared at his new scar, running the length of his upper arm. It was still caked with blood, and it had been deep. He raised a shaking hand to feel his cheek, and tear the bandage off of his skin.
"Hey, Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus's eyes slid off of his hands and to the man waiting patiently for him, "Was it always like this?"
Remus smiled, and shook his head, "No, it wasn't. There were about three years there where I woke up, and nothing had happened."
Sirius smiled to himself, and nodded, "Yeah. Sometimes I miss those three years."
"We all do," Remus said, removing his last dressing, "But it's in the past."
"Yeah," Sirius said, and stood up, "Wonder if Harry'll ever go to the Shack."
"Of course he will," he said, throwing the quilt off of him. He took his wand from the nightstand, and pointed it to the bed, "Warashio."
The quilt stitched itself back together, and neatly tucked itself back into place. Everything was just as it had been left the night before.
"He's James's son," Remus said, reaching for a robe on the chair next to his bed, "James will tell him everything."
"Probably already has," Sirius said, and stood, "Well, better get to working, hey? Clean this mess up before leaving."
"Yeah," Remus agreed, and rubbed his eyes, "Let's get going."
It had been packed away for all of these years. Now he gazed upon the perfect silvery cloth that had given him and his friend so many good times when they had been younger. James smiled to himself as he took it from his trunk, and lifted it up to admire.
Harry lay on his bear blanket, next to him, sucking on his toes and gooing in jibberish. He rolled over, and his eyes grew large at the sight of the cloak. James laughed, and smiled at his son.
"You know, Harry," he said, "My father gave this to me when I was a kid. And someday, you'll have it."
Harry cooed, and rolled onto his stomach. He returned the smile, and laughed. James was sitting cross legged on the carpeted floor in the nursery, watching his son while Lily prepared the Christmas dinner. His feet were freezing, since the room was usually colder than the rest of his house, and his toes underneath his bare socks must be turning blue. But Harry wasn't affected. He seemed happy just to have James there with him, talking to him.
And James was happy just to have Harry.
"A lot of stories behind this cloak, kid," James laughed sadly, and folded it neatly, "But that's for another Christmas. You wouldn't understand. Not yet."
It had snowed the night before, when Lily and James had put out the presents for Harry and for each other. James had wrapped Lily's all by himself. It was their second Christmas together, and their first Christmas as a family.
Harry reached for a teething toy that they had bought him at Diagon Alley when they had gone Christmas shopping. It was shaped like a broomstick, and it was supposed to have an ever-lasting taste of sugar and chocolate. James didn't know if this was true or not, because he had never tasted the teething toy himself. And after his son had slobbered all over it for about a month, he didn't feel like trying it now.
"You know," he said, "That's going to spoil you into thinking we'll give you sweets whenever you want them." Harry didn't pay any heed to James's words, and James smiled, "And you'll be right, I guess."
"Hey! James!" a voice called down from the steps on the first floor, "Peter's here!"
"Send him up!" James shouted back through the closed door, "Unless he wants to help you in the kitchen!"
Lily laughed, and muffled voices were heard. Then someone climbing up the stairs, and through the hall.
Soon the door opened, and there stood Peter, looking very pale. Large circles were under his eyes, and he rubbed them as he smiled weakly at James.
"You look great," James said, sarcastically, and Peter gave out a small laugh.
"Work," he said, "Didn't feel too good last night."
Harry cooed, and flexed his hand, smiling. Peter didn't look at the baby, and continued to stand in the doorway, looking at James, "The dementors aren't coming back, they said. Ever since last August . . ."
"It's Christmas, I don't want to hear about it," James cut him off, and took Harry in his arms and set him on his lap. Harry made a laughing noise, and Peter swallowed hard, "You know," James continued, "You need a Christmas, from the way you're acting. Look in the mirror. They must be running you ragged at the Ministry."
Peter looked in the mirror, as he was told. He always did what he was told. He stared at himself for a moment, as if really examining the man in front of him. He balled his hands into fists, and swallowed again. He seemed not to like what he saw.
"Yeah," he said simply, and then sat in the rocking chair of the nursery, "Yeah, they are."
Harry made a sound that resembled a whine, and he extended his hand to Peter. Peter didn't react to the child, and looked to the mirror again. Shaking, he looked away.
"Are you all right, Wormtail?" James asked, and Peter nodded.
"Just haven't been getting much sleep, that's all."
James looked to his son again, and smiled, "Every day I look at him, and every day I can't believe how big he's getting," Peter nodded solemnly.
"Yes," he said, "I know. He's getting . . . to be . . . very big."
"Four months," James said, laughing as Harry grabbed a lock of his father's hair and yanked it, "Four months and he's already as strong as ever. You're going to be a strong boy, aren't you, Harry?"
Harry cooed again, his big green eyes blinking up at his dad's hazel ones.
"He's got Lily's eyes, that's for sure," Peter interjected.
James nodded, "But he looks like his old dad. Don't you think?"
Peter swallowed again, and forced a smile, "A spitting image, really."
Harry smiled contently, and sank into his father's lap. It was warm and comforting there, in his arms and under his vigil. He yawned, and continued to suck on his toy. Peter watched the baby with fascination, as if he were looking upon some greater power that could lash out and smight him at any minute. James realized that Peter had always had this reaction toward his son. Even the day that Harry was born, Peter shrank back in somewhat fear. He knew why. The prophecy.
It had overshadowed everything to do with the child. And yet, Harry was his son, and he loved him unconditionally. Even if their lives had been put in grave danger, and they had been warned by Dumbledore to move and go into hiding, they had not. He still remembered the night that Dumbledore took him aside from an Order meeting, and had spoken to him in private.
"You have shown your loyalty to me, James," he had said, "Now is the time to surrender your heart, and begin to take consolation in your mind. You have a son, James. And that son is what we are giving our lives for."
"I do the same thing," James said, "But not for all of the same reasons as you and the others."
"I understand that," Dumbledore said, his face grey and tired, "But your duty is not to your pride. It is to your son. You must keep him safe."
"My duty is to my son, Dumbledore," James said, trying to stay respectful, "That's why I'm here. So he doesn't have to hide. I won't teach my son to hide."
"Just like your father? He obviously did not teach his son humility, either," the old Headmaster said. James had fallen silent, not wanting to lose his temper again. He had learned from Frank those months ago to keep his mouth quiet. Dumbledore had seen the damage that he had done, though. He saw the impact he had made. He let it burn and writhe inside of James's heart before continuing, "A life without humility is one large deceitful hubris. It has no meaning, and it will never have any kind of conclusion that is worth praising."
"My father died . . ."
"Exactly," Dumbledore interrupted him, "Your father died."
James hadn't said another word. Sirius and Lily had been waiting at the door for him, and he had followed them out into the cold streets of the suburbs.
He could walk away from Dumbledore, but he couldn't walk away from his words.
"Your Father Died."
Dad's dead, he had told himself, I don't have a father. I don't have a mother. Everyone that was close to me is gone.
Did he really want Harry to live through that? Did he want his son to feel that pain of having to see his parents dead, laying on the bed beside each other, never to wake again?
He had been thinking about his dad again. And his mother, more than ever. He had been laying in his bed the other night, and he had caught a whiff of Lily's perfume. It smelled like Mum's scent. That motherly smell that had been all over her clothes, and all over her bed. He remembered her reading to him in their large canopy bed, reciting poems and fairy tales that only a little boy could hold to be true. He had remembered all of this as he drifted off into a dream. He couldn't remember what exactly the dream was about, but when he woke up, he was bawling, and Lily was rocking him in her arms. This just made him cry even more, and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. He didn't want Lily to see him like that.
His mother had been such a wonderful woman, and he had taken her for granted. He had never told her that he loved her. He couldn't remember a single time that he had just kissed her on her cheek, and said, "Thank you, Mum." And now they were gone. Forever.
And his father. His dad had been so proud of his son. He remembered when he first started on the Quidditch team, all Dad could do was write Uncle Charlie and family friends, telling them how wonderful James had been. It hadn't been until those last years that Dad had grown distant . . . they had always been so close . . .
He didn't want Harry to feel this pain. He wanted Harry to have a good life. He wasn't going to split the family. He was going to keep them together and fight. He would never give up. They had stayed firm, and they would continue to. They were a family. Not only Lily, Harry, and him . . . but the boys as well. Remus, Sirius, and Peter were always welcome at their house.
Dementors had fled from Azkaban the night of Harry's birth. Now they lurked in the far corners of alleys, and even the bravest souls wouldn't venture out by themselves. A dark and severe black shadow hung over the streets of England, worse than before. The coldness and foul smell that comes along with dementors could be felt from every front door, and every sidewalk. The world was coming to an end, and there was nothing that the Order could do to end the misery.
Death Eaters were growing in size. The wonderful lives that Dumbledore and his army had tried to save were dying. Everything was broken, in shatters . . .
And yet, James had never been happier in his entire life.
His love for his son blinded him in a way that nothing else could. Harry was the morning, noon, and night. Everything had to do with Harry. Even Sirius had discovered that Harry came up in every conversation that they had now; from the conversations relating to Quidditch ("Harry'll play for Gryffindor, I'm sure"), to the conversations relating to the weather ("Harry caught a cold last night from the winds"). Everything was about Harry. Harry Harry Harry.
But the boys felt this attraction to Harry just as much as his own father did. Lily hardly had any time to hold her baby with four men gallomping around the house, wanting to see him. Well, three, excluding Peter. As James realized now, Peter had never been too fond of holding Harry. He never had fed Harry. He had never wanted to look at Harry. He was scared of the prophecy, they all knew. He was scared of Harry.
And what may happen to him.
Sirius and the little baby had taken a good liking to each other. Sirius would transform into a dog to tease the small child with his long bushy tail, or to drag him into the kitchen. Harry had fallen in love with Padfoot, and he was beginning to recognize the dog more than the man himself (if there were any distinction between their mannerisms).
Remus was wondering how James would bring Harry up in the ways of his kind. James didn't know why there was even a question. He would bring him up the way he thought best: explain his friend's problem to his son in detail, and let Remus speak freely of it while interacting with the boy. That way it wasn't a deep dark secret, and Harry would realize that there was a man inside of the monster that attacked Remus every month.
Even if he himself was having doubts on that fact. He still remembered the low, sullen face of Lupin on the train the day before Harry's birth. There had been no humanity there. There had been no flicker of hope that Remus had always had. Yes, Remus had improved over the past four months, and the color in his cheeks had returned. They were accompanying him again on their monthly obstacle, and right as James stood there in the nursery, he knew that Sirius was helping Remus tend to his injuries.
Lily. Oh, and Lily was a wonderful mother. Of course, she was young, and had much to learn. But Mrs. Evans was more than happy to take the baby for a few hours each week to let her daughter have a rest. She would visit frequently, reminding Lily of all the things she was doing wrong and how to fix them.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Evans had said once, running into the kitchen as Lily started a meal for Harry, "No, no, no, honey-blossom. You don't give babes like that hard food, dear. He's too young. He should still be on the bottle, or something like that."
"It's just applesauce, Mum," Lily had protested.
"No, Lily dear, now really," Mrs. Evans said, "I remember when your father tried to spoon feed you your first solids. Well, you were three months old, not as old as Harry dear, but young all the same. Well, it was a mess. You're doing it all wrong. Don't try to make him grow up too fast, dear. Take it slow. Take your time. Enjoy the roses while they're still buds. If you make them grow, dear, them roses will be rebelling against you, off in their own world and never able to come back, dear. Just remember that. Don't tell him what to do, and for Merlin's sake, Lily honey, if he ever comes home with a piercing, rip it out by the stub. That's what we did with Petunia when she went and got her ears pierced. Do you remember that? In grammar school? Oh, she must have only been eight or nine. Her and a few friends had gone and done it to themselves. She wanted to grow up so fast. And she did. And now look at her! At home, washing the dishes and taking care of that fat lard that sits in his office all day. She just had a child, too, dear. Did you receive the card? No? Well, it was lovely, really. His name is Dudley. A little on the round side. Takes after his father . . ."
Mr. Evans blamed Lily's "misfortune" on James. It didn't matter how much brown nosing and complimenting James did now, Mr. Evans had forever sworn a vendetta against him. But Mrs. Evans was willing to help out whenever she could. She had even spoken of moving in with them (much to James's protests).
They would not be coming over for Christmas dinner, though. Sadly enough, the Dursleys (Petunia's in-laws) and the Evans's were getting together for a big feast at Petunia's new house. Oddly enough, Lily and James had not been invited.
The past four months had been like from a dream. Everything had been perfect, with a few setbacks here and there. Yet, James was happy and content as he sat in the nursery, cradling Harry in his lap and watching Peter fidget with his cloak on the side of the small cradle.
Yes, life had been good to James. No more thoughts of glorious runs on broomsticks filled his mind. No more dreads of countless nights with faceless enemies, all wanting to kill him and his child. He was numb to the world, except for the love that radiated off of his son that now sat in front of him.
He was ignorant of anything that did not include Harry.
"Damn," Sirius said, kicking his bike. A sheet of snow fell to the ground from the handlebars, "Well, don't you just love that. Damn bloody bike won't run."
Remus shut the door behind him, and threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder. His mittens were in place, and his face was already becoming quite pink from the outside. He had never been very compatible with cold weather, Sirius thought. Remus gave a sigh as he saw the snowbound motorbike and his friend kicking it in frustration.
"Well, I guess it's Floo Powder, then," he said, and opened the door again to let them in. Sirius, giving one last long look to his bike, followed his friend into the house and over to the fireplace.
"She'll be all right by tomorrow morning," Remus said, "The snow on her will have thawed overnight, and she'll be ready to go."
"I don't know," Sirius said, glancing out of the window, "One of the animals'll get her or something . . ."
"The animals don't come near the cottage anymore," he interrupted, and grabbed a handfull of powder, "They know better."
Sirius laughed, giving one more look to his bike, stepped into the fireplace where Remus had just disappeared from. He grabbed his own hand of Floo Powder, and followed him.
In and out of tinsel covered hearths, soot rode up in his mouth, and he coughed. The spinning stopped quickly, and he found himself tumbling out of the fireplace and into the Potter's main room. Remus was already tidying himself up, and Lily was walking into the room, apron on and oven mitt on her hand. Sirius laughed, and stood to his feet.
"You are a Muggle born," he chortled, and Lily took no offense. She gave him a sarcastic look, and threw the oven mitt at him.
"Listen, you're early, so I could do with a bit of help," she said, "The goose is almost finished. If you could just . . ."
"Padfoot? Is that you?" James's voice sounded from the top of the stairs.
"Ah, and look, I'm being called for," Sirius said, charging out of the room and up the stairs, "Coming!"
Lily sighed, and turned to Remus, "Well, you'd help, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah," Remus said, following her into the kitchen, "What would you like me to do?"
Lily pointed to the table in the parlor, adjoining with the kitchen, "You can start to set the table. Set it for eight and two babies. The high chair's are in the pantry."
Remus nodded, and went to retrieve the high chairs, "I'm guessing Frank and Alice are coming?"
"Oh, and the Headmaster," Lily added, "Dumbledore said he'd be here around five o' clock. What time is it?"
"Around three," Remus said, "So he's not going to the school feast this year?"
"He seems to think that he should be here for James," Lily said, "Wants to talk to him about something important. Not really sure what, but I told him it wouldn't be the greatest idea to spring something on James tonight. We have an Order meeting soon, and we don't need Christmas to be filled with it."
Remus laughed, and tugged the two high chairs out of the pantry, "I sense some spite in your voice."
"Hmm," Lily said, pursing her lips and stirring something in a large bowl, "The Order can wait for Christmas to be over."
"Why aren't your parents coming tonight?"
"They're over at my sister's."
"Ah," Remus said, nodding, and continued to drag the chairs to the parlor.
"And where are your parents?" Lily said, "You never talk about them anymore. Why aren't you with them?"
"They're off vacationing, enjoying their retirement," Remus said, "I write to them, and they write back. That's enough, believe me."
"You don't get along with them?"
"It's not that," he set the chairs in their places, "It's just that they still think I'm eleven. They just can't understand I'm grown now, and that I don't want their money . . ."
He stopped, and Lily looked at him with that eye. Remus had slipped, and she knew it. He tapered off, and went back to the kitchen for plates. Lily quit stirring, and set her bowl down. She looked at him warily as he crossed out of the kitchen and back to the parlor.
"Remus . . ."
"But I just am glad they aren't here," Remus said, "I'd rather spend it with all of you, and Harry . . ."
"Remus, we always are willing to help you out, if you need help . . . James and I . . ."
Remus stopped setting the table, and his face went blank again. He shook his head, and turned to face Lily, "I'm fine. I'll manage."
"You're our friend, Remus," Lily said, crossing to him, "If you ever needed any sort of help, we'd give it to you."
"I said I'll manage," Remus said quietly, "But thank you, Lily. That's very generous of you."
Lily sadly smiled, and nodded. She patted her good friend on the back, and continued with the preparing of the feast. Remus then proceeded to finish setting the table, and all was back to the way it had been a few minutes ago.
Remus's head was racing. She was willing to give up money to help him. God, how could he had been so stupid as to think they didn't care about him? He smiled to himself as he put the last plate in its spot, and walked back for the silverware.
The night was cold as the group sat down by the Christmas tree, to hand each other their gifts before the four welcomed guests arrived at their house. Lily and James sat on the couch, Harry sitting in his mother's lap, content. Remus had claimed the chair, and Peter had found his way to the piano bench. Sirius was sitting on the floor in front of all of the presents, rubbing his hands together like a little boy.
"Okay, then," he said, grabbing the first gift, "Here we go. This one goes to . . . Remus."
"How come he always gets to play Santa?" Peter asked, with a trace of a whine.
"Because he called it," James said, "Now shut up and pay attention."
Sirius threw the box wrapped in red paper to Remus, and he caught it. It rattled, and he looked to the nametag.
From: James and Lily
To: Moony
He smiled, and tore off the paper to reveal a small black book, with the word "JOURNAL" entitled in gold on the cover. He smiled, and looked to the wedded couple.
"Thank you," he said, and Sirius dug into the next present.
"Ah," he said, revealing a lopsided gift covered with Spell-O-Tape and different sorts of paper, "This one's from me to Harry. Here you go, Harry," he threw it to James, and then leaned back on his palms to admire the delight of a baby, receiving a stuffed toy. The animal was a black puppy dog, and it flopped when the little boy grabbed it in his hands and laughed.
"I think he likes it," Sirius said, beaming, and James nodded, "Just to think of a name for it."
"Well, that's easy . . ." Sirius started, but Peter cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"Well, I had a stuffed pet rabbit once," Peter said, "We called him Snuffles, since me dad got him for me when I had a bad cold . . ."
Sirius just looked at Peter in amazement, mouth hung wide open. How could anyone be that idiotic? But Lily, seeing the look that Sirius was giving him, jumped in before he could say anything.
"I think Snuffles is a wonderful name," she said, and Sirius shot her a hurt look, "Don't you?"
Sirius glared at her, but reluctantly nodded, "Yeah, Snuffles. Great name."
"Give me one, Padfoot!" James said, still laughing about his son's new toy and the name it had been christened with. Sirius sighed, looked back at the pile, and grabbed a package wrapped in brown paper. It was from Remus to James.
"Here you go," Sirius chucked the package at James's head, and he caught it in mid air. His Quidditch skills were still visible under the demeanor of a father. James opened it, and held it up for all to see.
"It's an evil eye," Remus explained, as James inspected it. It was a purple circle, with a large blue eye staring out at the living room, unblinking, "It's supposed to keep evil spirits away. Thought it may be something to hang outside Harry's door."
James's laughing subsided, and his smile faded. There was a quietness that seized them all of a moment. Remus hadn't meant his present to mean anything important. Remus had always been interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts in school, and it had been from a shop in Diagon Alley that they had visited during their trip last weekend. He hadn't mean anything by it.
Peter, in his complete ignorance, threw a pillow at Sirius, "Come on now! On with the gifts!"
James set the evil eye on the coffee table, as if it were some sort of evil creature that would jump up and bite him in the face. There had been many of these quiet moments during Harry's small lifetime. They came, and passed as silently as they were lived out. But it was just a constant reminder that someday Harry would face his fate, like all of them.
Fate.
Fate was such an interesting idea. James had never truly thought of what it meant. Each one of them, in this room, was ascribed to fate. Fate had brought them together, and fate would throw them into their future. Where would they be in ten years? What would they do after the war? How many of them would make it out of the war?
Only fate could tell.
Only fate would be the one to decide if Harry won his battle. Only fate would decide if Remus's wolf would be conquered. Only fate could tell.
"Here's another one," Sirius said, "And it looks like it goes to Harry."
"Why are all of them for Harry?" Peter asked, somewhat whining.
"Father Christmas doesn't like you. Now shut up, Snuffles," Sirius retorted, and threw the large box to James, missing Lily and Harry by inches.
"Watch it, Padfoot!" James said as Lily jumped and shot Sirius a glare. Sirius shrugged, and James unwrapped the gift for his son. He knew perfectly well what it was. Him and the boys had picked it out for the nursery last weekend. Still, Lily was surprised when it was revealed to her for the first time. A small mobile, with owls flying on their strings, revolving around and around on their plastic supporters.
"We found it at a Muggle shop," Remus said, "We thought you may like it."
Lily smiled, and took the mobile to show her son. Harry cooed, and reached for the closest owl with his chubby hands. He grinned, and Lily let him hold his new ornament as she looked to Remus and the others.
"Thank you," she said, and they all nodded.
That's when the door opened, and the screaming of another baby was heard. The flushed faces of Frank and Alice appeared in the front hall, ear muffs and cloaks draped over their snow-ridden hair.
"Happy Christmas!" Alice exclaimed as she revealed her baby boy from underneath her cloak.
"Are you sure you don't need any help, Lily?" Alice asked, shouting over Neville's screaming. Harry sat next to him, blinking, confused. How could anyone act like that? Sirius laughed as he saw the expression on his godson's face, and patted Frank on the back. They were standing at the kitchen entrance as Alice got the babies situated for the feast. Frank was holding a butterbeer in his hand, and Sirius was going on his third bottle.
"Looks like they're getting along fine, hey Longbottom?" he said, rather loudly. Frank smiled wryly, and took a step towards the table.
"Hey, Alice, dear," he said, trying to hear himself over his son's tantrum, "How about you start feeding Neville now? He doesn't have to wait."
"He'll eat when the rest of us eat," Alice argued, sitting down next to the two high chairs, "He has to learn some manners."
"He's hungry, Alice," Frank said, raising his voice as Neville continued screaming, "Just make him stop!"
Remus walked down the stairs, his face wet, and his hands being dried on a cloth. His bangs dripped with water, and Peter, standing in the far corner of the filled dining room, spotted him first.
"You feelin' all right, Moony?" he asked quietly. Remus nodded, and threw the cloth on the counter of the kitchen as he disappeared.
"Haven't been feeling too well lately," his voice came from the kitchen, "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, James! I'm leaving!"
"James!" Lily squealed from the kitchen, and James laughed. His voice wasn't as loud as Sirius's was, but it was getting there sure enough. Remus, his face red and his eyes closed, ran out of the kitchen and took his seat across from Harry. Lily came stumbling out of the kitchen, and gave another laugh as she spotted Frank staring at her from the cabinets. She was holding the deviled eggs and tripe, trying to balance them as James ran after her and out of the kitchen. It was a madhouse, and still not all of the guests had arrived.
"Albus is running late," Frank announced as James brought out the goose and set it in the middle of the table, "He'll be arriving shortly. Don't worry."
"Well, we shouldn't start without him," Alice said.
"He wouldn't want us to wait," Sirius blurted out, flopping down between Remus and James. James took his rightful place at the end of the table, ready to carve the goose. His lady sat across from Sirius and next to him, dutifully taking her spot next to Harry. Neville ceased to scream as he saw the goose, and his greedy hands started to reach for the tempting food in front of him. Alice slapped his wrist, and he drew it back with a small whine. He fell silent as Frank took his spot across from James at the other end of the table.
"Well, are we all set?" he asked, sinking into his chair. Peter scooted between Dumbledore's empty chair and Remus, and blushed as Frank shot him a discerning look.
"Now we are," Sirius said, his voice taking on the same drawling tone as Mundungus.
"Would you like to do the honors, Frank?" James asked, and Frank stood in his proud manner.
"Here's to new life," Frank said, looking at the two new cherubs babbling to each other in their high chairs, "And new beginnings."
"To new beginnings!" the company sounded, and raised their full wine glasses for a toast.
"Well, everyone," James said, holding up his carving knife, "Happy Christmas."
The goose was served, and the scents and smells of the good food filled the room until all of the guests were smothered in the goodness of wine and company. The candles glowed from their places between the mashed potatoes and tripe, and everything was as if it had come from some sort of Christmas card.
Sirius took his wine glass, and filled it with butterbeer. Harry watched his godfather from across the table as he saw Sirius punch James on the shoulder and say something around the lines of, "Remember the time when Avery thought we were in cahoots with Peeves?"
The candle's light flickered in Harry's eyes, and he stared, fascinated with this man before him. Sirius, in mid sentence, saw the little boy gawking at him, and he made a face. Harry's smile grew, and he made a "gaa" sound. Sirius stuck his tongue out, and Harry laughed. He had James's laugh.
"Stop it," Lily said, grinning herself, "You're teaching him bad manners."
"Oy, Lily," Sirius said, raising his glass, "You really need to calm it down. You're . . . you're . . . what's the word I'm looking for, Moony?"
Remus looked up from his goose, and shrugged, "Immaculate?"
"That's it," Sirius said, slapping his leg, "That's the word. You're immaculate, Lily. Completely immaculate."
"So, Remus," Alice said between feeding her son and feeding herself, "What have you been up to these past months?"
"Nothing much," Remus said truthfully, "Tidying up the house, working, the usual."
There was a clatter of a plate, and then a crash. Lily stood up, and looked at her son in annoyance.
"Oh, Harry!" she sighed, tired, and Harry laughed and clapped his little hands together. His glass bowl filled with applesauce was now smashed on the ground, and the shards scattered under the table. Lily, looking older than before, gave a groan, and bent down under the table. She took her wand out, "Repairo."
"You know," Alice said, as Lily returned the repaired glass bowl to the high chair's tray, "You should get some plastic plates for Harry. He may hurt himself. And applesauce isn't the best thing to be giving a tyke his age . . ."
"I can handle it," Lily said, sitting back down in her chair, "But thank you."
Peter looked from Neville, and then back to Harry. Neville was now whining to be let down, and Harry grinned mischeviously as he reached for Neville's bottle. Sirius could swear the boy had the same look of marauding in his face that James had had when he had first met him. It was amazing, the similarities between the father and the son. They almost were identical, except for those green eyes that danced with life. No, those were Lily's eyes. Radiant emerald, shining through the growing locks of black hair. Harry was a beautiful baby, with a very mischevious disposition.
"Harry, no," Lily said, grabbing Neville's bottle from her son and handing it to Alice, "You have your bottle. Here. Take it. You have yours. That's Neville's."
"Keeping your hands full, hey, Lily?" Frank said, starting to lose his soldier-like stance as the night drove on. He was grinning for the first time since he had arrived, "Boys can be a trial, that's for sure."
"We've already had our run-ins with Neville here," Alice said, patting her son's head, "Up in the middle of the night, crying for his daddy."
"More like his mother," Frank huffed, taking a drink of his wine, "And my mother isn't very helpful, let me tell you."
"Now she's a perfectly fine woman, Frank," Alice said, laughing at Frank's sour face.
"You didn't live with her," he muttered between drinks, and then set his glass down on his table, "But, as her son, I shouldn't talk ill of her."
"Oh, I talk ill of my mum ritually," Sirius said, setting his tenth butterbeer on the table with a slam. Remus gave him a curious look, and Sirius wiped his face on his sleeve, "She was a tyrant, she was."
"My mum always was proud of me," Peter said, "Still is."
Everyone looked at Peter, and Peter shrugged, "What?"
"The mother is the hardest job," Alice commented, as Neville whined again, "Surely you would know that, Lily."
"Yes," Lily said, taking James's hand in hers, "It's a trial every day. But worth every minute."
"Father isn't very good, either," Sirius said, slapping James on the back ("oof!"), "James here tells me every day how . . ."
"And I think that that'll be the last bottle for you," Remus said, grabbing the butterbeer out of Sirius's clutches, "Give it up, Sirius."
"And that's Remus for you," Sirius said, jabbing a thumb at his friend, "Always fatherly himself."
Remus stopped, and bit his lip. He took the bottle, and set it on the other side of the plate. James looked to Sirius, and then Remus. He then quietly cleared his throat, and grabbed the carving knife once more.
"Anyone want to go for seconds?"
Frank and Alice left after dinner, and the five remaining guests waved from the Potter's front door. Lily held Harry in her arms, and smiled as they watched the couple with their own child make their way down the snow- covered streets to their transportation.
Dumbledore still hadn't come.
And no one worried.
For it was Christmas. And Christmas always blinds the troubled.
The quiet forests were an escape from the true nature of humanity. If one walked into the large evergreen trees and pine needle floors, they could be taken back in time to where their ancestors knew only this environment, and not the bustling concrete-ridden one that we are now accustomed to. In the forest, everything is endless and never-dying. The birds still live in their nests, the trees are hundreds of years old, and the soil is good and rich with life. Everything is as it should be.
The sun rose on the perfect morning, like the millions of times before. The rays touched the snow-covered ground. There had been a new flurry of white the night before, and it had blanketed the woods in a matter of hours. The crystal surface of the snow gleamed in the dawn's new light, dancing across the banks. The pine trees' branches were caked, and looked ready to break. The small stream in which the deer liked to drink at during the fall had frozen, and the fish underneath were as still as statues. The only thing that brought movement to this scene was the ever- smoking chimney of the nearby cabin. The cloud of gray cicled the rooftop, as if marking the house as something important, and then floated into the air until it became transparent and one with the white clouds above. The windows of the secluded cabin were frosted over, and the wood that would have been used for the fireplace was set into a neat pile. It had never been touched, and now a good two inches of snow had placed itself on top of the pyramid. An axe stood next to the pile, its blade wedged into an old tree stump.
The porch sported a hand made chair. It did not rock, or swing, or even move. It was just a chair, made with the craftsmanship of a failed carpenter. A windchime sang and danced in the forest wind, and an original carved sign was hanging from one bent nail on the entrance door. It read: JE NE MOURRAI PAS.
The resident of this small and humble abode was a man that no one in the town knew with any great pleasure, but those who did know him loved him. He was an outsider from the rest of his community, and seemed to spend much time away from home. Every month, one of his unknown and suspicious looking friends would stop by for a visit, and not leave until the next morning. The night would be filled with a bicker, or an argument of some kind. Bottles of liquor crashing, windows broken, and sometimes enormous howls and yelps that made the neighbors think the dog had been kicked. Usually, these friends were men in their twenties, and they looked haggard and tired when they left. One of them was especially fierce, with his jet black long dangling hair, and his hollowed eyes. The neighbors that watched through their windows suspectingly was afraid of that character more than any of the others. There was a rumour about saying that the visitor was some sort of dark wizard who had associates in the war.
Of course, that was before the man had gotten to know his community with great interest. It seemed as if one day he had returned home, and the dark cloud that circled his cabin disappeared. His closest neighbor, who lived farther into the woods and was the one who usually gossiped about him, was also a wizard that had lost his wife to You-Know-Who a good five years ago. Mr. Grunkins was the old neighbor's name, and he took great pleasure in bringing misery to others. It had been that first day of August that Mr. Grunkins had looked outside his kitchen window, and noticed his neighbor cutting wood. He had started to make the pyramid that now rested with so much snow ontop of it. Grunkins, finding this an amazing feat that the man had come out of his house, decided to continue watching him in fascination.
The man had set the woodpiles on the side of his house, stuck his axe in the dead trunk, and sat on the lone chair on the porch. Then he had looked out to the woods, taken a deep breath of air, and smiled to himself.
The man was pale, sickly looking. And yet, he looked like the happiest being on earth. All of his problems were solved, it seemed, and nothing was left to worry about.
The wood that he had chopped had never been used in the upcoming months, though. No hand had touched the axe again. They lay there, a reminder of the first day of light for their owner.
Today, their owner lay in bed, unable to move. He was cut in many places, and his face was bruised and battered. His feet were torn, and his stomach sported a large gash. His hair was matted with blood, and he weakly moaned as he deliriously slept. He hadn't slept all night.
The hollowed eyed man sat next to his bed, watching over him with the loyalty of a dog. He had been there for a good two hours, waiting for his friend to wake from his deep sleep. The sun was shining through the frosted window above the small mattress, covered in a quilt that they had bought in Diagon Alley. It was now torn to shreds, and the fabric was littered with blood and stains. The man, rolled into a sheet, lay his legs on this quilt as he stirred. A large slash on his calf was seen, the blood tricking down to the bedsheet.
His eyes opened quietly as the dawn sun shone through his window and onto his lids. He painfully blinked, and then looked to his faithful friend, who had his legs sprawled out and his chin resting on his hands. He was just as he had always seen him, or the others, when he awoke from a nightmare. Just like the one he had had.
"Sirius," Remus moaned, and Sirius shook his head.
"You've got time, Moony," he said, and bent over to grab something off of the floor. Bandages. Special ones that the Healers had given him, "Don't worry. We don't need to be at James's until afternoon."
"What time is it?" Remus asked, flinching at the magical wraps that Sirius was applying to his cold skin, "How long have I been out?"
"It's only seven, mate," Sirius said, ripping a bandage off with his teeth, "We've got time."
Remus closed his eyes again, and fell back on his pillow. He was so exhausted. If only he could just go to sleep and never wake up.
But then you'd miss out on Harry's first Christmas, the wolf said, almost mockingly.
"Yeah," Remus said, muttering to himself as Sirius continued to dress him.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he said, and then opened his eyes once again to look his friend in the eyes, "You don't need to do this. I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself . . ."
"No, you're not," Sirius said.
"It's getting better," Remus said, as if trying to somewhat convince himself. He could already hear the wolf laughing, snorting, in the background. Sirius raised a brow, and then sighed.
"You think?" he asked.
Remus shrugged, and then closed his eyes again. It had been bad. He knew it had. Not as bad as it used to be, back at the Headquarters . . . but, it wasn't getting any better. Yet, every time he thought about what he was going to do today, the wolf had been thrown underneath the waters once again, and he had been free.
Harry.
It will be Harry's first Christmas.
We'll all be together.
"Let me start the breakfast," Sirius finally said, setting the bandages back underneath the bed, and standing up. He was wearing his biker boots . . . again. They looked so ridiculous with the rest of his outfit. Remus still hadn't figured out why he had this fascination with anything Muggle and rebellious. But he did.
His motorbike was parked outside, next to the porch, and covered in a new bank of snow. It had snowed last night. He had seen the flakes fall out of the window, as Padfoot had rammed his head into the pane of glass.
The wolf had bitten Padfoot on the neck, trying to kill him, and Padfoot had retaliated. It had been harder than what was necessary. The dog had flung the wolf into the window, causing the glass to break and shatter along the top of Moony's head. Remus shuddered, and realized that his scalp was very sore, and Sirius had wrapped his head in the dressings like some sort of Christmas tree.
"What would you like?" Sirius shouted from the kitchen, "We've got . . . bread, bread, and . . . well, would you look at that? Some more bread."
"It's been a hard month," Remus said, "You know about the job and all . . ."
"They don't pay you enough to be Bowling . . ."
"Bowlering," Remus said, half moaning, half snorting. He rolled over on his mattress, "And it's not a job. It's . . . more of a duty."
"Well, you should be getting money for that," Sirius said, sticking his head in a cupboard. He was not about to believe that Remus had that short of a supply, "Whatever they call it. It's horrible, I think. Tellin' people that their kids are dead. And their husbands . . ."
"I'd rather not talk about it on Christmas, Padfoot," Remus groaned.
"So I guess it'll be bread, then," Sirius said, slamming the cupboard door in surrender, "We have wheat . . . wheat . . . and oh look! There's a white slice at the back of your bread box . . . looks sort of stale, though . . ."
"I'm not hungry, it's fine," Remus said.
"Oh, I'm not worried about you," Sirius huffed, "I'm starving. You're not a very good host, you know . . . having only this to serve your guests."
Remus laughed, and it hurt. He clutched his side. The bandages were stinging, and he couldn't move without pain inflicting his wounds. Scars would begin to show at any moment. And the blood would dry. And he would stand and greet another day. And the memories of broken glass and wolves would die away, until the next full moon. That's how it always was.
And he could now live with that.
It was Harry's first Christmas.
He couldn't miss that for the world.
"So, nice romp around the pantry last night," Sirius said, coming out of the doorway with two slices of wheat bread in hand, "I think you took out two of your shelves. I had to practically bite your ear off to stay away from the fireplace. You really shouldn't leave that thing on on full moon nights, you know. Moony likes the light or something . . ."
"I'll remember that," Remus said, and he took his slice. Sirius's hand extended to hand him the bread, and Remus froze. He grabbed the wrist, and shoved his cloak to his elbow. His eyes grew huge as he stared at a huge gash across the arm.
"My God," he said, his voice shaking, "Did I . . ."
"Don't worry about it," Sirius said, breaking away, "It was an accident. You pushed me into the broken glass before I could clean it up. It doesn't hurt that much."
Remus tore a piece off of his slice, and began to eat it, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Sirius said, "You've given me worse. Hell, we're part of the Order. I'm not worried about a little cut."
"You should use some of my bandages . . ."
"No," Sirius said, massaging his arm, "They sting."
Remus laughed again, and finished his breakfast. He sighed, and laid back in his bed. He closed his eyes once again, and flinched. The wrappings were doing their job, that was for sure. His entire body felt like it was going to burn up in one large bonfire. He clutched the side of his bed, and bit his lip. Sirius saw this, and looked away and out to the window.
"You know," he said, "It snowed last night."
Remus, through a gasp of air, nodded, "I know."
"It was definitely white last night," Sirius said, not looking at his friend, "A big blizzard. Hope the bike will start up. If not, we'll be leaving by Floo Powder. You've got some, right?"
"I keep some . . . over there," Remus said, straining to talk. He hated this part of the monthly ritual. It had been a year ago that the Healers had decided that they could try to treat his wounds by these bandages. He didn't know what else to call them. They came in long white rolls, like Spell-O-Tape, and he had two of them underneath his bed. He used to apply them himself. But now that the guys had started to come again, they had learned how to use them, and they had been a great help.
The wolf knew they were back.
He had sunk into the shadows again, and yet . . . he was still there, right behind him. Always whispering in his ear.
"It draws nearer."
Remus shook his head, and opened his eyes. The burning sensation was leaving him slowly, and now he would be able to remove the wraps and stand up again on his own. Sirius still wasn't looking at him, and had become very interested in a tapestry laying on the ground.
"Does it hurt as bad as it looks?" he asked soberly. Remus sighed, and sat up in his bed.
"Sometimes," he said, "And other times, I can't feel it."
Sirius nodded, and looked to the window again. The bright sun was peaking over the trees once more, and they would have to leave in a few hours.
Good, he thought, I hate this place.
Remus ripped his first bandage off, and threw it on the floor in disgust. If only there was another way. If only there was a way to calm the wolf inside.
He stared at his new scar, running the length of his upper arm. It was still caked with blood, and it had been deep. He raised a shaking hand to feel his cheek, and tear the bandage off of his skin.
"Hey, Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus's eyes slid off of his hands and to the man waiting patiently for him, "Was it always like this?"
Remus smiled, and shook his head, "No, it wasn't. There were about three years there where I woke up, and nothing had happened."
Sirius smiled to himself, and nodded, "Yeah. Sometimes I miss those three years."
"We all do," Remus said, removing his last dressing, "But it's in the past."
"Yeah," Sirius said, and stood up, "Wonder if Harry'll ever go to the Shack."
"Of course he will," he said, throwing the quilt off of him. He took his wand from the nightstand, and pointed it to the bed, "Warashio."
The quilt stitched itself back together, and neatly tucked itself back into place. Everything was just as it had been left the night before.
"He's James's son," Remus said, reaching for a robe on the chair next to his bed, "James will tell him everything."
"Probably already has," Sirius said, and stood, "Well, better get to working, hey? Clean this mess up before leaving."
"Yeah," Remus agreed, and rubbed his eyes, "Let's get going."
It had been packed away for all of these years. Now he gazed upon the perfect silvery cloth that had given him and his friend so many good times when they had been younger. James smiled to himself as he took it from his trunk, and lifted it up to admire.
Harry lay on his bear blanket, next to him, sucking on his toes and gooing in jibberish. He rolled over, and his eyes grew large at the sight of the cloak. James laughed, and smiled at his son.
"You know, Harry," he said, "My father gave this to me when I was a kid. And someday, you'll have it."
Harry cooed, and rolled onto his stomach. He returned the smile, and laughed. James was sitting cross legged on the carpeted floor in the nursery, watching his son while Lily prepared the Christmas dinner. His feet were freezing, since the room was usually colder than the rest of his house, and his toes underneath his bare socks must be turning blue. But Harry wasn't affected. He seemed happy just to have James there with him, talking to him.
And James was happy just to have Harry.
"A lot of stories behind this cloak, kid," James laughed sadly, and folded it neatly, "But that's for another Christmas. You wouldn't understand. Not yet."
It had snowed the night before, when Lily and James had put out the presents for Harry and for each other. James had wrapped Lily's all by himself. It was their second Christmas together, and their first Christmas as a family.
Harry reached for a teething toy that they had bought him at Diagon Alley when they had gone Christmas shopping. It was shaped like a broomstick, and it was supposed to have an ever-lasting taste of sugar and chocolate. James didn't know if this was true or not, because he had never tasted the teething toy himself. And after his son had slobbered all over it for about a month, he didn't feel like trying it now.
"You know," he said, "That's going to spoil you into thinking we'll give you sweets whenever you want them." Harry didn't pay any heed to James's words, and James smiled, "And you'll be right, I guess."
"Hey! James!" a voice called down from the steps on the first floor, "Peter's here!"
"Send him up!" James shouted back through the closed door, "Unless he wants to help you in the kitchen!"
Lily laughed, and muffled voices were heard. Then someone climbing up the stairs, and through the hall.
Soon the door opened, and there stood Peter, looking very pale. Large circles were under his eyes, and he rubbed them as he smiled weakly at James.
"You look great," James said, sarcastically, and Peter gave out a small laugh.
"Work," he said, "Didn't feel too good last night."
Harry cooed, and flexed his hand, smiling. Peter didn't look at the baby, and continued to stand in the doorway, looking at James, "The dementors aren't coming back, they said. Ever since last August . . ."
"It's Christmas, I don't want to hear about it," James cut him off, and took Harry in his arms and set him on his lap. Harry made a laughing noise, and Peter swallowed hard, "You know," James continued, "You need a Christmas, from the way you're acting. Look in the mirror. They must be running you ragged at the Ministry."
Peter looked in the mirror, as he was told. He always did what he was told. He stared at himself for a moment, as if really examining the man in front of him. He balled his hands into fists, and swallowed again. He seemed not to like what he saw.
"Yeah," he said simply, and then sat in the rocking chair of the nursery, "Yeah, they are."
Harry made a sound that resembled a whine, and he extended his hand to Peter. Peter didn't react to the child, and looked to the mirror again. Shaking, he looked away.
"Are you all right, Wormtail?" James asked, and Peter nodded.
"Just haven't been getting much sleep, that's all."
James looked to his son again, and smiled, "Every day I look at him, and every day I can't believe how big he's getting," Peter nodded solemnly.
"Yes," he said, "I know. He's getting . . . to be . . . very big."
"Four months," James said, laughing as Harry grabbed a lock of his father's hair and yanked it, "Four months and he's already as strong as ever. You're going to be a strong boy, aren't you, Harry?"
Harry cooed again, his big green eyes blinking up at his dad's hazel ones.
"He's got Lily's eyes, that's for sure," Peter interjected.
James nodded, "But he looks like his old dad. Don't you think?"
Peter swallowed again, and forced a smile, "A spitting image, really."
Harry smiled contently, and sank into his father's lap. It was warm and comforting there, in his arms and under his vigil. He yawned, and continued to suck on his toy. Peter watched the baby with fascination, as if he were looking upon some greater power that could lash out and smight him at any minute. James realized that Peter had always had this reaction toward his son. Even the day that Harry was born, Peter shrank back in somewhat fear. He knew why. The prophecy.
It had overshadowed everything to do with the child. And yet, Harry was his son, and he loved him unconditionally. Even if their lives had been put in grave danger, and they had been warned by Dumbledore to move and go into hiding, they had not. He still remembered the night that Dumbledore took him aside from an Order meeting, and had spoken to him in private.
"You have shown your loyalty to me, James," he had said, "Now is the time to surrender your heart, and begin to take consolation in your mind. You have a son, James. And that son is what we are giving our lives for."
"I do the same thing," James said, "But not for all of the same reasons as you and the others."
"I understand that," Dumbledore said, his face grey and tired, "But your duty is not to your pride. It is to your son. You must keep him safe."
"My duty is to my son, Dumbledore," James said, trying to stay respectful, "That's why I'm here. So he doesn't have to hide. I won't teach my son to hide."
"Just like your father? He obviously did not teach his son humility, either," the old Headmaster said. James had fallen silent, not wanting to lose his temper again. He had learned from Frank those months ago to keep his mouth quiet. Dumbledore had seen the damage that he had done, though. He saw the impact he had made. He let it burn and writhe inside of James's heart before continuing, "A life without humility is one large deceitful hubris. It has no meaning, and it will never have any kind of conclusion that is worth praising."
"My father died . . ."
"Exactly," Dumbledore interrupted him, "Your father died."
James hadn't said another word. Sirius and Lily had been waiting at the door for him, and he had followed them out into the cold streets of the suburbs.
He could walk away from Dumbledore, but he couldn't walk away from his words.
"Your Father Died."
Dad's dead, he had told himself, I don't have a father. I don't have a mother. Everyone that was close to me is gone.
Did he really want Harry to live through that? Did he want his son to feel that pain of having to see his parents dead, laying on the bed beside each other, never to wake again?
He had been thinking about his dad again. And his mother, more than ever. He had been laying in his bed the other night, and he had caught a whiff of Lily's perfume. It smelled like Mum's scent. That motherly smell that had been all over her clothes, and all over her bed. He remembered her reading to him in their large canopy bed, reciting poems and fairy tales that only a little boy could hold to be true. He had remembered all of this as he drifted off into a dream. He couldn't remember what exactly the dream was about, but when he woke up, he was bawling, and Lily was rocking him in her arms. This just made him cry even more, and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. He didn't want Lily to see him like that.
His mother had been such a wonderful woman, and he had taken her for granted. He had never told her that he loved her. He couldn't remember a single time that he had just kissed her on her cheek, and said, "Thank you, Mum." And now they were gone. Forever.
And his father. His dad had been so proud of his son. He remembered when he first started on the Quidditch team, all Dad could do was write Uncle Charlie and family friends, telling them how wonderful James had been. It hadn't been until those last years that Dad had grown distant . . . they had always been so close . . .
He didn't want Harry to feel this pain. He wanted Harry to have a good life. He wasn't going to split the family. He was going to keep them together and fight. He would never give up. They had stayed firm, and they would continue to. They were a family. Not only Lily, Harry, and him . . . but the boys as well. Remus, Sirius, and Peter were always welcome at their house.
Dementors had fled from Azkaban the night of Harry's birth. Now they lurked in the far corners of alleys, and even the bravest souls wouldn't venture out by themselves. A dark and severe black shadow hung over the streets of England, worse than before. The coldness and foul smell that comes along with dementors could be felt from every front door, and every sidewalk. The world was coming to an end, and there was nothing that the Order could do to end the misery.
Death Eaters were growing in size. The wonderful lives that Dumbledore and his army had tried to save were dying. Everything was broken, in shatters . . .
And yet, James had never been happier in his entire life.
His love for his son blinded him in a way that nothing else could. Harry was the morning, noon, and night. Everything had to do with Harry. Even Sirius had discovered that Harry came up in every conversation that they had now; from the conversations relating to Quidditch ("Harry'll play for Gryffindor, I'm sure"), to the conversations relating to the weather ("Harry caught a cold last night from the winds"). Everything was about Harry. Harry Harry Harry.
But the boys felt this attraction to Harry just as much as his own father did. Lily hardly had any time to hold her baby with four men gallomping around the house, wanting to see him. Well, three, excluding Peter. As James realized now, Peter had never been too fond of holding Harry. He never had fed Harry. He had never wanted to look at Harry. He was scared of the prophecy, they all knew. He was scared of Harry.
And what may happen to him.
Sirius and the little baby had taken a good liking to each other. Sirius would transform into a dog to tease the small child with his long bushy tail, or to drag him into the kitchen. Harry had fallen in love with Padfoot, and he was beginning to recognize the dog more than the man himself (if there were any distinction between their mannerisms).
Remus was wondering how James would bring Harry up in the ways of his kind. James didn't know why there was even a question. He would bring him up the way he thought best: explain his friend's problem to his son in detail, and let Remus speak freely of it while interacting with the boy. That way it wasn't a deep dark secret, and Harry would realize that there was a man inside of the monster that attacked Remus every month.
Even if he himself was having doubts on that fact. He still remembered the low, sullen face of Lupin on the train the day before Harry's birth. There had been no humanity there. There had been no flicker of hope that Remus had always had. Yes, Remus had improved over the past four months, and the color in his cheeks had returned. They were accompanying him again on their monthly obstacle, and right as James stood there in the nursery, he knew that Sirius was helping Remus tend to his injuries.
Lily. Oh, and Lily was a wonderful mother. Of course, she was young, and had much to learn. But Mrs. Evans was more than happy to take the baby for a few hours each week to let her daughter have a rest. She would visit frequently, reminding Lily of all the things she was doing wrong and how to fix them.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Evans had said once, running into the kitchen as Lily started a meal for Harry, "No, no, no, honey-blossom. You don't give babes like that hard food, dear. He's too young. He should still be on the bottle, or something like that."
"It's just applesauce, Mum," Lily had protested.
"No, Lily dear, now really," Mrs. Evans said, "I remember when your father tried to spoon feed you your first solids. Well, you were three months old, not as old as Harry dear, but young all the same. Well, it was a mess. You're doing it all wrong. Don't try to make him grow up too fast, dear. Take it slow. Take your time. Enjoy the roses while they're still buds. If you make them grow, dear, them roses will be rebelling against you, off in their own world and never able to come back, dear. Just remember that. Don't tell him what to do, and for Merlin's sake, Lily honey, if he ever comes home with a piercing, rip it out by the stub. That's what we did with Petunia when she went and got her ears pierced. Do you remember that? In grammar school? Oh, she must have only been eight or nine. Her and a few friends had gone and done it to themselves. She wanted to grow up so fast. And she did. And now look at her! At home, washing the dishes and taking care of that fat lard that sits in his office all day. She just had a child, too, dear. Did you receive the card? No? Well, it was lovely, really. His name is Dudley. A little on the round side. Takes after his father . . ."
Mr. Evans blamed Lily's "misfortune" on James. It didn't matter how much brown nosing and complimenting James did now, Mr. Evans had forever sworn a vendetta against him. But Mrs. Evans was willing to help out whenever she could. She had even spoken of moving in with them (much to James's protests).
They would not be coming over for Christmas dinner, though. Sadly enough, the Dursleys (Petunia's in-laws) and the Evans's were getting together for a big feast at Petunia's new house. Oddly enough, Lily and James had not been invited.
The past four months had been like from a dream. Everything had been perfect, with a few setbacks here and there. Yet, James was happy and content as he sat in the nursery, cradling Harry in his lap and watching Peter fidget with his cloak on the side of the small cradle.
Yes, life had been good to James. No more thoughts of glorious runs on broomsticks filled his mind. No more dreads of countless nights with faceless enemies, all wanting to kill him and his child. He was numb to the world, except for the love that radiated off of his son that now sat in front of him.
He was ignorant of anything that did not include Harry.
"Damn," Sirius said, kicking his bike. A sheet of snow fell to the ground from the handlebars, "Well, don't you just love that. Damn bloody bike won't run."
Remus shut the door behind him, and threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder. His mittens were in place, and his face was already becoming quite pink from the outside. He had never been very compatible with cold weather, Sirius thought. Remus gave a sigh as he saw the snowbound motorbike and his friend kicking it in frustration.
"Well, I guess it's Floo Powder, then," he said, and opened the door again to let them in. Sirius, giving one last long look to his bike, followed his friend into the house and over to the fireplace.
"She'll be all right by tomorrow morning," Remus said, "The snow on her will have thawed overnight, and she'll be ready to go."
"I don't know," Sirius said, glancing out of the window, "One of the animals'll get her or something . . ."
"The animals don't come near the cottage anymore," he interrupted, and grabbed a handfull of powder, "They know better."
Sirius laughed, giving one more look to his bike, stepped into the fireplace where Remus had just disappeared from. He grabbed his own hand of Floo Powder, and followed him.
In and out of tinsel covered hearths, soot rode up in his mouth, and he coughed. The spinning stopped quickly, and he found himself tumbling out of the fireplace and into the Potter's main room. Remus was already tidying himself up, and Lily was walking into the room, apron on and oven mitt on her hand. Sirius laughed, and stood to his feet.
"You are a Muggle born," he chortled, and Lily took no offense. She gave him a sarcastic look, and threw the oven mitt at him.
"Listen, you're early, so I could do with a bit of help," she said, "The goose is almost finished. If you could just . . ."
"Padfoot? Is that you?" James's voice sounded from the top of the stairs.
"Ah, and look, I'm being called for," Sirius said, charging out of the room and up the stairs, "Coming!"
Lily sighed, and turned to Remus, "Well, you'd help, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah," Remus said, following her into the kitchen, "What would you like me to do?"
Lily pointed to the table in the parlor, adjoining with the kitchen, "You can start to set the table. Set it for eight and two babies. The high chair's are in the pantry."
Remus nodded, and went to retrieve the high chairs, "I'm guessing Frank and Alice are coming?"
"Oh, and the Headmaster," Lily added, "Dumbledore said he'd be here around five o' clock. What time is it?"
"Around three," Remus said, "So he's not going to the school feast this year?"
"He seems to think that he should be here for James," Lily said, "Wants to talk to him about something important. Not really sure what, but I told him it wouldn't be the greatest idea to spring something on James tonight. We have an Order meeting soon, and we don't need Christmas to be filled with it."
Remus laughed, and tugged the two high chairs out of the pantry, "I sense some spite in your voice."
"Hmm," Lily said, pursing her lips and stirring something in a large bowl, "The Order can wait for Christmas to be over."
"Why aren't your parents coming tonight?"
"They're over at my sister's."
"Ah," Remus said, nodding, and continued to drag the chairs to the parlor.
"And where are your parents?" Lily said, "You never talk about them anymore. Why aren't you with them?"
"They're off vacationing, enjoying their retirement," Remus said, "I write to them, and they write back. That's enough, believe me."
"You don't get along with them?"
"It's not that," he set the chairs in their places, "It's just that they still think I'm eleven. They just can't understand I'm grown now, and that I don't want their money . . ."
He stopped, and Lily looked at him with that eye. Remus had slipped, and she knew it. He tapered off, and went back to the kitchen for plates. Lily quit stirring, and set her bowl down. She looked at him warily as he crossed out of the kitchen and back to the parlor.
"Remus . . ."
"But I just am glad they aren't here," Remus said, "I'd rather spend it with all of you, and Harry . . ."
"Remus, we always are willing to help you out, if you need help . . . James and I . . ."
Remus stopped setting the table, and his face went blank again. He shook his head, and turned to face Lily, "I'm fine. I'll manage."
"You're our friend, Remus," Lily said, crossing to him, "If you ever needed any sort of help, we'd give it to you."
"I said I'll manage," Remus said quietly, "But thank you, Lily. That's very generous of you."
Lily sadly smiled, and nodded. She patted her good friend on the back, and continued with the preparing of the feast. Remus then proceeded to finish setting the table, and all was back to the way it had been a few minutes ago.
Remus's head was racing. She was willing to give up money to help him. God, how could he had been so stupid as to think they didn't care about him? He smiled to himself as he put the last plate in its spot, and walked back for the silverware.
The night was cold as the group sat down by the Christmas tree, to hand each other their gifts before the four welcomed guests arrived at their house. Lily and James sat on the couch, Harry sitting in his mother's lap, content. Remus had claimed the chair, and Peter had found his way to the piano bench. Sirius was sitting on the floor in front of all of the presents, rubbing his hands together like a little boy.
"Okay, then," he said, grabbing the first gift, "Here we go. This one goes to . . . Remus."
"How come he always gets to play Santa?" Peter asked, with a trace of a whine.
"Because he called it," James said, "Now shut up and pay attention."
Sirius threw the box wrapped in red paper to Remus, and he caught it. It rattled, and he looked to the nametag.
From: James and Lily
To: Moony
He smiled, and tore off the paper to reveal a small black book, with the word "JOURNAL" entitled in gold on the cover. He smiled, and looked to the wedded couple.
"Thank you," he said, and Sirius dug into the next present.
"Ah," he said, revealing a lopsided gift covered with Spell-O-Tape and different sorts of paper, "This one's from me to Harry. Here you go, Harry," he threw it to James, and then leaned back on his palms to admire the delight of a baby, receiving a stuffed toy. The animal was a black puppy dog, and it flopped when the little boy grabbed it in his hands and laughed.
"I think he likes it," Sirius said, beaming, and James nodded, "Just to think of a name for it."
"Well, that's easy . . ." Sirius started, but Peter cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"Well, I had a stuffed pet rabbit once," Peter said, "We called him Snuffles, since me dad got him for me when I had a bad cold . . ."
Sirius just looked at Peter in amazement, mouth hung wide open. How could anyone be that idiotic? But Lily, seeing the look that Sirius was giving him, jumped in before he could say anything.
"I think Snuffles is a wonderful name," she said, and Sirius shot her a hurt look, "Don't you?"
Sirius glared at her, but reluctantly nodded, "Yeah, Snuffles. Great name."
"Give me one, Padfoot!" James said, still laughing about his son's new toy and the name it had been christened with. Sirius sighed, looked back at the pile, and grabbed a package wrapped in brown paper. It was from Remus to James.
"Here you go," Sirius chucked the package at James's head, and he caught it in mid air. His Quidditch skills were still visible under the demeanor of a father. James opened it, and held it up for all to see.
"It's an evil eye," Remus explained, as James inspected it. It was a purple circle, with a large blue eye staring out at the living room, unblinking, "It's supposed to keep evil spirits away. Thought it may be something to hang outside Harry's door."
James's laughing subsided, and his smile faded. There was a quietness that seized them all of a moment. Remus hadn't meant his present to mean anything important. Remus had always been interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts in school, and it had been from a shop in Diagon Alley that they had visited during their trip last weekend. He hadn't mean anything by it.
Peter, in his complete ignorance, threw a pillow at Sirius, "Come on now! On with the gifts!"
James set the evil eye on the coffee table, as if it were some sort of evil creature that would jump up and bite him in the face. There had been many of these quiet moments during Harry's small lifetime. They came, and passed as silently as they were lived out. But it was just a constant reminder that someday Harry would face his fate, like all of them.
Fate.
Fate was such an interesting idea. James had never truly thought of what it meant. Each one of them, in this room, was ascribed to fate. Fate had brought them together, and fate would throw them into their future. Where would they be in ten years? What would they do after the war? How many of them would make it out of the war?
Only fate could tell.
Only fate would be the one to decide if Harry won his battle. Only fate would decide if Remus's wolf would be conquered. Only fate could tell.
"Here's another one," Sirius said, "And it looks like it goes to Harry."
"Why are all of them for Harry?" Peter asked, somewhat whining.
"Father Christmas doesn't like you. Now shut up, Snuffles," Sirius retorted, and threw the large box to James, missing Lily and Harry by inches.
"Watch it, Padfoot!" James said as Lily jumped and shot Sirius a glare. Sirius shrugged, and James unwrapped the gift for his son. He knew perfectly well what it was. Him and the boys had picked it out for the nursery last weekend. Still, Lily was surprised when it was revealed to her for the first time. A small mobile, with owls flying on their strings, revolving around and around on their plastic supporters.
"We found it at a Muggle shop," Remus said, "We thought you may like it."
Lily smiled, and took the mobile to show her son. Harry cooed, and reached for the closest owl with his chubby hands. He grinned, and Lily let him hold his new ornament as she looked to Remus and the others.
"Thank you," she said, and they all nodded.
That's when the door opened, and the screaming of another baby was heard. The flushed faces of Frank and Alice appeared in the front hall, ear muffs and cloaks draped over their snow-ridden hair.
"Happy Christmas!" Alice exclaimed as she revealed her baby boy from underneath her cloak.
"Are you sure you don't need any help, Lily?" Alice asked, shouting over Neville's screaming. Harry sat next to him, blinking, confused. How could anyone act like that? Sirius laughed as he saw the expression on his godson's face, and patted Frank on the back. They were standing at the kitchen entrance as Alice got the babies situated for the feast. Frank was holding a butterbeer in his hand, and Sirius was going on his third bottle.
"Looks like they're getting along fine, hey Longbottom?" he said, rather loudly. Frank smiled wryly, and took a step towards the table.
"Hey, Alice, dear," he said, trying to hear himself over his son's tantrum, "How about you start feeding Neville now? He doesn't have to wait."
"He'll eat when the rest of us eat," Alice argued, sitting down next to the two high chairs, "He has to learn some manners."
"He's hungry, Alice," Frank said, raising his voice as Neville continued screaming, "Just make him stop!"
Remus walked down the stairs, his face wet, and his hands being dried on a cloth. His bangs dripped with water, and Peter, standing in the far corner of the filled dining room, spotted him first.
"You feelin' all right, Moony?" he asked quietly. Remus nodded, and threw the cloth on the counter of the kitchen as he disappeared.
"Haven't been feeling too well lately," his voice came from the kitchen, "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, James! I'm leaving!"
"James!" Lily squealed from the kitchen, and James laughed. His voice wasn't as loud as Sirius's was, but it was getting there sure enough. Remus, his face red and his eyes closed, ran out of the kitchen and took his seat across from Harry. Lily came stumbling out of the kitchen, and gave another laugh as she spotted Frank staring at her from the cabinets. She was holding the deviled eggs and tripe, trying to balance them as James ran after her and out of the kitchen. It was a madhouse, and still not all of the guests had arrived.
"Albus is running late," Frank announced as James brought out the goose and set it in the middle of the table, "He'll be arriving shortly. Don't worry."
"Well, we shouldn't start without him," Alice said.
"He wouldn't want us to wait," Sirius blurted out, flopping down between Remus and James. James took his rightful place at the end of the table, ready to carve the goose. His lady sat across from Sirius and next to him, dutifully taking her spot next to Harry. Neville ceased to scream as he saw the goose, and his greedy hands started to reach for the tempting food in front of him. Alice slapped his wrist, and he drew it back with a small whine. He fell silent as Frank took his spot across from James at the other end of the table.
"Well, are we all set?" he asked, sinking into his chair. Peter scooted between Dumbledore's empty chair and Remus, and blushed as Frank shot him a discerning look.
"Now we are," Sirius said, his voice taking on the same drawling tone as Mundungus.
"Would you like to do the honors, Frank?" James asked, and Frank stood in his proud manner.
"Here's to new life," Frank said, looking at the two new cherubs babbling to each other in their high chairs, "And new beginnings."
"To new beginnings!" the company sounded, and raised their full wine glasses for a toast.
"Well, everyone," James said, holding up his carving knife, "Happy Christmas."
The goose was served, and the scents and smells of the good food filled the room until all of the guests were smothered in the goodness of wine and company. The candles glowed from their places between the mashed potatoes and tripe, and everything was as if it had come from some sort of Christmas card.
Sirius took his wine glass, and filled it with butterbeer. Harry watched his godfather from across the table as he saw Sirius punch James on the shoulder and say something around the lines of, "Remember the time when Avery thought we were in cahoots with Peeves?"
The candle's light flickered in Harry's eyes, and he stared, fascinated with this man before him. Sirius, in mid sentence, saw the little boy gawking at him, and he made a face. Harry's smile grew, and he made a "gaa" sound. Sirius stuck his tongue out, and Harry laughed. He had James's laugh.
"Stop it," Lily said, grinning herself, "You're teaching him bad manners."
"Oy, Lily," Sirius said, raising his glass, "You really need to calm it down. You're . . . you're . . . what's the word I'm looking for, Moony?"
Remus looked up from his goose, and shrugged, "Immaculate?"
"That's it," Sirius said, slapping his leg, "That's the word. You're immaculate, Lily. Completely immaculate."
"So, Remus," Alice said between feeding her son and feeding herself, "What have you been up to these past months?"
"Nothing much," Remus said truthfully, "Tidying up the house, working, the usual."
There was a clatter of a plate, and then a crash. Lily stood up, and looked at her son in annoyance.
"Oh, Harry!" she sighed, tired, and Harry laughed and clapped his little hands together. His glass bowl filled with applesauce was now smashed on the ground, and the shards scattered under the table. Lily, looking older than before, gave a groan, and bent down under the table. She took her wand out, "Repairo."
"You know," Alice said, as Lily returned the repaired glass bowl to the high chair's tray, "You should get some plastic plates for Harry. He may hurt himself. And applesauce isn't the best thing to be giving a tyke his age . . ."
"I can handle it," Lily said, sitting back down in her chair, "But thank you."
Peter looked from Neville, and then back to Harry. Neville was now whining to be let down, and Harry grinned mischeviously as he reached for Neville's bottle. Sirius could swear the boy had the same look of marauding in his face that James had had when he had first met him. It was amazing, the similarities between the father and the son. They almost were identical, except for those green eyes that danced with life. No, those were Lily's eyes. Radiant emerald, shining through the growing locks of black hair. Harry was a beautiful baby, with a very mischevious disposition.
"Harry, no," Lily said, grabbing Neville's bottle from her son and handing it to Alice, "You have your bottle. Here. Take it. You have yours. That's Neville's."
"Keeping your hands full, hey, Lily?" Frank said, starting to lose his soldier-like stance as the night drove on. He was grinning for the first time since he had arrived, "Boys can be a trial, that's for sure."
"We've already had our run-ins with Neville here," Alice said, patting her son's head, "Up in the middle of the night, crying for his daddy."
"More like his mother," Frank huffed, taking a drink of his wine, "And my mother isn't very helpful, let me tell you."
"Now she's a perfectly fine woman, Frank," Alice said, laughing at Frank's sour face.
"You didn't live with her," he muttered between drinks, and then set his glass down on his table, "But, as her son, I shouldn't talk ill of her."
"Oh, I talk ill of my mum ritually," Sirius said, setting his tenth butterbeer on the table with a slam. Remus gave him a curious look, and Sirius wiped his face on his sleeve, "She was a tyrant, she was."
"My mum always was proud of me," Peter said, "Still is."
Everyone looked at Peter, and Peter shrugged, "What?"
"The mother is the hardest job," Alice commented, as Neville whined again, "Surely you would know that, Lily."
"Yes," Lily said, taking James's hand in hers, "It's a trial every day. But worth every minute."
"Father isn't very good, either," Sirius said, slapping James on the back ("oof!"), "James here tells me every day how . . ."
"And I think that that'll be the last bottle for you," Remus said, grabbing the butterbeer out of Sirius's clutches, "Give it up, Sirius."
"And that's Remus for you," Sirius said, jabbing a thumb at his friend, "Always fatherly himself."
Remus stopped, and bit his lip. He took the bottle, and set it on the other side of the plate. James looked to Sirius, and then Remus. He then quietly cleared his throat, and grabbed the carving knife once more.
"Anyone want to go for seconds?"
Frank and Alice left after dinner, and the five remaining guests waved from the Potter's front door. Lily held Harry in her arms, and smiled as they watched the couple with their own child make their way down the snow- covered streets to their transportation.
Dumbledore still hadn't come.
And no one worried.
For it was Christmas. And Christmas always blinds the troubled.