As the British would say: about bloody time! Yes, I know, this is unforgivably late. It makes it even weirder that this is the Christmas chapter when Easter was only two days away...
It couldn't be helped, sorry. So put those eggs away, put on a cd with Christmas carols and pretend it's snowing outside. A belated happy Christmas to you all!
Christmas 1995.
"His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing 'God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs' at the top of his voice."
Christmas in London gives one mixed feelings. On the one hand, there's the tourist-version: Dickens, Father Christmas instead of the American Santa Claus, Christmas crackers, real English fuzziness in front of a roaring fire. People singing Christmas carols, the three ghosts paying Scrooge a visit, Professor Tolkien faithfully writing his children letters in name of Father Christmas. On the other hand, there was the version that just wanted to make as much money as possible, even if it meant stores fit to burst with all kinds of sugar-coated Christmas decorations that made you nauseous by just looking at it. Not that the tourists saw any difference – or many of the 'native' English people, for that matter.
It was the same in Diagon Alley, except that the Christmas decorations were wilder. Where a normal store would have only a Christmas tree in the window and Christmas lights through the store, a magical store would only be satisfied with Christmas trees in every corner, annoyingly blocking the way (one resourceful shopkeeper had hung his Christmas trees from the ceiling to prevent this), fairies for Christmas lights, strings of holly that always threatened to come crashing down on you, and enchanted Christmas baubles that blared carols at you.
And still people came in masses to Diagon Alley for their shopping. It was a miracle.
It was also a miracle, Remus thought, that so far nobody had been crushed to death in one of the shops. He sometimes feared it would happen, especially when one of the shopkeepers apparently suddenly went mad and put a 'sales!'-notice up. All the shoppers somehow knew this within five minutes and swarmed towards it like… well, like a throng of shoppers towards a shop with a 'sales'-notice. It was vital to everybody not wanting anything to do with this sale, or simply for anybody fearing for their lives, to get away as fast as possible or to just hide in a corner until the worst was over.
Christmas was the feast of peace, the days before that were those of the war of the stores.
It was no surprise that Remus always took great care to avoid the masses. Fortunately for him, he had never liked giving traditional Christmas gifts like clothes or edible things, but usually went for the utterly boring books instead. Since that was apparently unusual, he was spared the effort of wriggling through a large group of people. Most of the time anyway.
Not this year, though. This year, he wasn't just shopping for himself, but for Sirius as well. His friend had given him quite an extensive list with very clear instructions on what everybody was supposed to get. All Remus had to do was actually buy the gifts.
It is strange, though, he thought, as he ticked off the Weasleys, my name isn't anywhere on the list. That either means that Sirius has forgotten me, is still cross with me – or wants to surprise me. He hoped the latter.
He pocketed the list again and walked on, shivering in the cold. The sun was already setting, even though it was barely past four. Most of the shopkeepers had put up their lights already, bathing Diagon Alley in a soft, yellow light. Every window was a little tableau showcasing the shop's products in a Christmas theme. Remus stopped in front of one of them to look at the toy train puffing its way around a Christmas tree and a little toy village. There was real smoke coming from the train's funnel, and little toy people were skating on the little frozen pond. They were charmed so that they came alive and behaved like real people, and Remus laughed when one of them fell down, skidded several inches over the ice and knocked two others over as well.
"I didn't know you liked toy trains," an amused voice said.
"About as much as the average person does," he replied with a smile. "A mild interest, probably left over from the fascination for everything that moves on its own that is so typical for every child." He turned to his right and smiled at the woman next to him.
"Spoken like a true Remus," Tonks said, grinning. "Wotcher?"
"Still alive. You?"
"Barely. I was painfully remembered why I don't like shopping when I was standing in a queue to get my presents wrapped, and there was this woman in front of me who must've had about a gazillion presents, and she all wanted them wrapped separately and with different colours paper and different ribbons and different cards and it was just horrible. I barely survived."
"Yes, you do look rather tortured," he commented cruelly. "Especially the hair."
Tonks tugged her ruby-red hair. "Well, yeah, I wanted to get into the Christmas spirit, so I turned my hair red and my eyes green. I did think about doing it the other way around, but I decided that red eyes made me either look extremely evil or hung-over."
"Which was not the look you were going for?" he joked.
"Well, of course a lot of people are hung-over after Christmas, or feeling extremely murderous towards relatives after having spend two days with said people, but it isn't really the spirit of Christmas, is it? I mean, most Christmas stories are about happy families and little children learning the meaning of Christmas, and not about people spending boxing day next to the toilet, desperately clutching a bottle of aspirin, or people deciding that the big steak knife can also be used to finally shut granny up about getting a decent boyfriend – "
"Am I sensing some frustration here?" Remus said mock-innocently.
"Not at all, not at all," she said in the same tone. "It's a pity, though," she went on, a sort of excited, Sirius-like glimmer in her eyes, "those stories would've been much closer to real life. And much more fun to read too."
"The Christmas Massacre," Remus said. "You really are related to Sirius, aren't you?"
"Does it show?" Tonks said, stretching out her arms, striking a pose.
"I'm very sorry to say that, yes, it does."
"I'm beyond recovery. Poor me." She put up a shocked face for a moment or so, then laughed again. "I don't think I'm very sorry myself, actually."
"Like any parent or owner of a hotel would say: as long as you're happy, I'm happy."
"Parents are hotel-owners?"
"Absolutely. I'll tell you all about it some day, after I've got rid of these bags." Remus finally decided that the two bags with presents he was holding were too heavy to hold any longer, so he put them down on the cobbled street.
"You do have a load of presents," Tonks commented. "Why so many?"
"Sirius ordered to buy the presents he wants to give as well," he explained.
"Oh, so mine are in there as well?" she said excitedly. "Can I see?"
"Of course not, don't be silly." Her presents were in there, fortunately somewhere at the bottom. "And these are not all the presents, either – I still got to buy something for Sirius, and Harry, and my parents, and very maybe, if I can find something, a present for Dumbledore."
"What're you going to give Sirius?" Tonks asked curiously.
"I have absolutely no idea."
"Come, I'll come with you," she said. She picked up one of his bags. "I'm sick and tired of shopping for myself anyway." She suddenly struck an adventurous pose and said dramatically: "come, Remus! Together, we shall brave the terror that is Diagon Alley around Christmas time! It will be hard, but we will persevere, and we will be admired everywhere for our bravery and our brilliant presents."
"And thought completely insane, too," he added.
"It's a burden we must carry dutifully," she said solemnly, "so that future generations will remember us for it. Remus and Tonks the Insane but Brilliant Christmas Shoppers."
"Let us face the nightmare then," he said in the same tone. He picked up his other bag and hooked his arm through hers. "For posterity."
"For our friends."
"And family."
"For Christmas." The sigh which accompanied this was so dramatic that Remus burst into laughing.
"For bringing joy and happiness to everyone we know?" he suggested.
"I like that much better. Can I make it 'for joy and happiness, especially for ourselves'?"
"I'm not sure Father Christmas would approve of such a selfish motto. Perhaps if you made it more general?"
"For joy and happiness for all the world!" she cried out.
"And God bless us everyone!" added Remus in a sudden burst of Tiny Tim. They gravely nodded to one another and marched off in pursuit of Christmas presents, happily ignoring the smiling and shaking of the head of the people around them.
After all, it was Christmas.
After buying the Christmas presents came labelling the presents in great secrecy with everybody sneaking around trying to find out what others had bought for them, planning the Christmas dinner, decorating the house and trying to get Sirius into at least some semblance of Christmas spirit.
It was hard: Sirius flatly refused to cheer up; he spend his days sulking around instead. The cause of his bad mood was rather obvious: Harry. Molly had suggested – rather kindly, actually – that Harry spend Christmas at the Burrow, and not at Grimmauld Place. Even Sirius saw that Harry might prefer the Weasley's house over the gloomy Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but this realisation only depressed him more. It had been weeks since he'd seen his Godson, and although he didn't pay much attention to holidays after not having celebrated them for twelve years – after such a long time of not even noticing them, they kind of lost their meaning – it was… special. Christmas with James' son sounded right. Christmas with James' son at someone else's house didn't.
Without even discussing it, Remus and Tonks both decided to stay at Grimmauld Place on Christmas day, no matter what happened. Their quest for Christmas presents had made them get closer, and they were both aware that Sirius needed taking care of, even if he didn't want to admit it. They would have a proper, fun and festive Christmas. With or without Harry.
The house was silent. As usual. The single candle on the table and the fire in the hearth flickered, making it seem even darker than it already was. But Sirius felt too moody to light more candles – what was the use anyway? Only he and Kreacher were home.
He reached for the bottle of Firewhiskey, poured himself another drink and drained it in one gulp. The strong liquor made him gasp, and he blinked like mad to get the tears away. The Firewhiskey seemed to burn itself to his stomach, but the pain felt good, odd as that sounded. It was a pain he could cope with.
The clock struck one. It was past midnight, but Sirius didn't feel like going to bed already. He knew that Remus wanted him to structure his life; go to bed at a normal time, get up at a decent time, eat three good meals a day, shave regularly. And Sirius actually agreed with him – when Remus was around, that is. But he found it almost ridiculously easy to ignore his friend's advice when he was all by himself. Rules were easier to ignore when Remus wasn't there to keep him to them.
"Bloody bastard, trying to mother me," Sirius muttered rebelliously. It is for your own good, said the Remus inside his head. But right now, Sirius couldn't care less about his own good. He took the bottle again, ready for another drink.
"Ah, here you are," a voice cut through the silence. Sirius froze in mid-reach. For one horrifying moment, the cool, disdainful, sarcastic voice had seemed Snape's. Two seconds later, he realised – almost with a feeling of relief – that it was in fact Phineas Nigellus. Joy.
"What do you want?" he asked, not in the most friendly way.
"Message from Dumbledore," Phineas said shortly. He wasn't in the most comfortable position; his portrait had kind of been hung away in a corner, making the angle he was looking from rather awkward. If he was leaning to the left side of his frame, he could just see his great-great-grandson. It didn't help much, of course, that Sirius wasn't making any effort to make a conversation easier.
"What?"
"He wanted me to tell you," Phineas said in a bored tone, "that Arthur Weasley has been injured rather badly and that his wife and children and Harry Potter will be coming to stay – soon."
"What?" Sirius leapt to his feet.
"Are you hard of hearing?" Phineas inquired. "I said, Arthur Weasley – "
"I heard what you said," Sirius snapped. "Get back to Dumbledore, tell him I'm all ready to welcome them."
"Children nowadays," Phineas sighed, but vanished.
Sirius paced a few rounds around the kitchen, unable to contain his excitement. Harry! his brain sang. Had somebody prepared a surprise, it would not have been better. Of course, he was sorry about Arthur and hoped that everything was alright, but – Harry!
The kitchen-door opened, and he looked up eagerly, half expecting Harry to actually walk in. He scowled when he saw who it was. Kreacher.
"What are you doing here?" he snarled. The house-elf eyed him disdainfully.
"Kreacher is cleaning up," he said with his croaky voice. "Kreacher is happy to serve."
"No he's not," Sirius said, and he wanted to slap himself when he noticed he'd adopted the elf's speech-pattern. "We'll be receiving guests soon, so you'd better behave."
"Guests?" Kreacher sounded revolted, as if this whole idea of 'guests' was something disgusting. "Who will be visiting us, Kreacher wonders." He added in an undertone: "who would want to visit us, a once noble house, now a house of filth, what would the Mistress say…"
"The Weasleys and Harry are coming," Sirius said shortly. "Arthur's been badly wounded. And I won't have any of that muttering and insulting, understood? They are our guests and will be treated as such!"
Kreacher muttered something inaudible, but didn't seem to make any further objections. It was just as well, because almost seconds later, a large group of people appeared right in the kitchen. The children.
For a moment, Sirius felt as if nailed to the ground. An insane feeling of happiness fluttered through him when he saw the all too familiar black dishevelled hair amidst the redheads. Kreacher, however, skilfully managed to turn his happiness into annoyance.
"Back again, the blood-traitor brats," the house-elf said with barely concealed glee. "Is it true their father's dying?"
Sirius stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. He felt ready to kick Kreacher. "OUT!" he roared, pointing towards the door. Kreacher looked up at him, smiling as though he had just succeeded at something. Succeeded at insulting the Weasleys once again, no doubt, Sirius thought with disgust. He jabbed his finger at the door again, and Kreacher left, still smirking. Right before he closed the door behind him, he shot Sirius a particularly nasty glare, but the man didn't notice that anymore.
"What's going on?" he said. He reached out to help Ginny to her feet. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured – "
"Ask Harry," said Fred, scrambling to his feet himself.
"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said George. He, his twin and Ginny gave Harry an almost accusing look. Sirius looked at his Godson, interested too but slightly reluctant to push the boy into telling anything.
"It was –" Harry began a bit uncertainly. "I had a – a kind of – vision." He told, in very broad strokes, how he had seen how a snake had attacked Arthur Weasley, who had been sitting on the floor wrapped in an Invisibility Cloak, how Arthur had began to bleed, that he had woken up, and how he'd warned McGonagall and Dumbledore. A tense silence followed his words. Ron was pale, the twins and Ginny were giving Harry apprehensive looks, but none of them objected or accused the boy of anything.
Fred turned to Sirius. "Is Mum here?" he asked.
"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," said Sirius. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."
"We've got to go to St Mungo's," interrupted Ginny, sounding urgently. She had her hands in the pockets of her dressing gown, and she wore a determined expression on her face. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"
"Hang on," Sirius said. "You can't go tearing off to St Mungo's!"
"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want,' Fred objected. "He's our dad!"
"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?" Sirius demanded.
"What does that matter?" George replied.
"It matters," Sirius pointed out rather sharply, "because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away! Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"
The twins shot him two identical angry glares.
"Somebody else could have told us…" Ginny tried. "We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry."
"Like who?" said Sirius sceptically. "Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's –"
"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred.
"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George added.
"Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Sirius, equally angry. He didn't seem to be able to make the children understand. He wanted to shake them to make them see sense. "This is how it is – this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!'
"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" roared Fred. "I don't see you risking your neck!"
For a moment, Sirius got so angry he was afraid he was going to faint. It was as if Snape was speaking through these two mouths. With an almost inhuman effort, he restrained himself, and said, through gritted teeth: "I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?" The last two words came out sharper than were probably necessary.
The twins still looked ready to take Floo powder and rush to St Mungo's. Ginny, however, gave a resigned, small sigh and dispiritedly sat herself down on a chair. Ron and Harry followed her example, and, after a few moments, the twins did so too.
"That's right," said Sirius hopefully, "come on, let's all – " he looked around for something to do, and his eyes fell on the bottle of Firewhiskey, "– let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!" The door to the pantry opened and six bottles of Butterbeer came zooming out of it. They crashed rather inelegantly down on the table, scattered the remains of Sirius' dinner, and stopped right in front of the children.
They drank in silence; only the ticking of the clock could be heard. The twins were still glaring at everything in the room. Ron seemed in shock, Ginny looked as pale as her brother, Harry carefully avoided everybody's eyes. They could do nothing but wait.
They all jumped when a burst of fire suddenly appeared in mid-air. A scroll of parchment fell from it, together with a golden feather. A phoenix feather.
"Fawkes!" Sirius immediately reached the right conclusion. He snatched up the parchment and looked at the address. The writing, however, was not the neat handwriting he'd expected. "That's not Dumbledore's writing," he said. He looked up at George. "It must be a message from your mother – here –"
He handed the letter to the boy, who opened it and began reading aloud: "Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum." He looked up, looking worried. "'Still alive…" he said slowly. "But that makes it sound…"
As if he was almost dead, Sirius thought. He wasn't the only one thinking it – Fred took the letter from his brother and scanned it as though he hoped it actually said something else. Ron was staring at the letter intently, seeming to will it to change the message.
They sat down again, restlessly. Time seemed to go even slower now than it had done before. Although Sirius half-heartedly suggested they go to bed and get some sleep, none of the children felt anything for that suggestion. They were too worried.
Sirius glanced at his Godson ever so often, unsure what to do. He had never known exactly how to deal with grief or sorrow – he usually expressed his sympathy, tried a small joke and then ran. But running wasn't an option now; he was supposed to take care of these kids. If only he knew how...
It was a relief in more ways than one when, seemingly after a century of waiting, Molly Weasley finally entered the kitchen. She looked very tired and worried, but she smiled when she saw them all looking at her, Fred, Ron and Harry even half risen from their chairs.
"He's going to be all right," she said, causing a sigh of relief from everybody. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work."
Happiness all around. George and Ginny got up and hugged their mother. Ron laughed and finally drained his bottle of Butterbeer. Sirius felt so relieved that Arthur was going to be alright and he didn't appear to have screwed up in managing the children, that he jumped to his feet and announced that this called for breakfast. "Where's that accursed house-elf?" he said. "Kreacher! KREACHER!" After allowing the elf ten seconds to appear, he shrugged it off – he didn't really need Kreacher anyway. "Oh, forget it, then," he muttered, and quickly counted the people in front of him. "So, it's breakfast for – let's see – seven… bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast –'
He busied himself with breakfast, together with Harry. In mere minutes, tea, toast, bacon, scrambled eggs and a large steaming pot of coffee appeared on the table. Sirius' excited mood was dimmed for a moment when he saw that Molly suddenly hugged Harry.
"I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry," she said softly, so that the rest of the children wouldn't hear. "They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis…"
Harry looked utterly embarrassed and uncomfortable. After she'd released him, Molly turned to Sirius, and with a look of sincerity on her face, said: "thank you for looking after the children, Sirius. It was one worry less that I knew they were safe."
Now it was time for Sirius to feel uncomfortable. "Don't mention it," he said quickly. "I'm just glad I could help. They weren't any trouble, really. You can stay longer, if you need to – take until Arthur gets out of St Mungo's again, the house is big enough to fit you all." Not to mention that it would mean no lonely Christmas for him.
"Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful," Molly said, beaming. "They think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer… of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas."
"The more the merrier!" said Sirius. As though he would mind having Harry over. Molly smiled, put on an apron and took over making breakfast.
Harry moved over to Sirius and pulled his sleeve. "Sirius," he said quietly, giving the others slightly apprehensive glances. "Can I have a quick word? Er – now?"
Sirius nodded wordlessly and followed his Godson into the dark pantry. Without wasting a moment's time, Harry began talking – telling a whole different tale than he had done before. This was the truth, Sirius realised. Harry hadn't just witnessed the snake attacking Arthur – he had been the snake. Somehow, he had possessed the animal, or even just shared it's brain. Either which way, it didn't sound good.
When Harry stopped his ramble to take a deep breath, Sirius interrupted and said: "Did you tell Dumbledore this?"
"Yes," said Harry, sounding slightly annoyed, "but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything any more."
"I'm sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about," Sirius said reassuringly.
"But that's not all," Harry continued urgently, almost breathing the words. "Sirius, I… I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey… for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one – my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore – Sirius, I wanted to attack him!" The small strip of light that fell into the pantry flashed on Harry's glasses as he moved his head. It was all Sirius could see of his Godson.
"It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all," said Sirius, trying to comfort the boy as much as himself. "You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and –"
"It wasn't that," interrupted Harry. He shook his head, again making his glasses shine. "It was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me."
It was lucky it was dark, so Harry couldn't see that Sirius was looking worriedly at him. When he spoke, however, his voice was firm and clear. "You need to sleep," he said. "You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Arthur with the others. You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying." Again, he was just as much talking to himself as to his Godson. He couldn't deal with this, not so sudden.
Instead, he stayed true to himself. He clapped Harry on the shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way and left the pantry. He resolved to ask Dumbledore or anyone else from the Order what to do about this as soon as possible.
Because if Harry went mad, he wouldn't know what to do.
Sometimes, Remus felt like screwing his head off and selling it to the highest bidder. Those days were usually preceded by either a full moon or an extremely busy day for the Order. He had spend most of his day worrying about Arthur and trying to figure out exactly what had happened, and it wasn't exactly as if he had had much sleep the night before either.
It took him a few moments to realise that he was tapping the door-post instead of the door itself. He groaned, rubbed his face and opened the door.
He stepped into the dark hall, and was about to walk upstairs when he heard footsteps. Ginny Weasley walked down the stairs, smiled, said "hi, professor," and disappeared into the kitchen.
He was suddenly wide awake. He had been so enormously sleepy, he'd just imagined Ginny Weasley – who should be at Hogwarts right now – walking past. Or she'd died and had taken to haunting Grimmauld Place. Or she'd got kicked out of school – which would mean she'd died too, since Molly would have strangled her. For a moment, he thought about following her to the kitchen, but decided he'd sort it out later. Whatever it was, it could wait. He needed sleep. Badly. He couldn't think straight anymore.
He stomped up the stairs (quietly, so Mrs Black wouldn't wake up) to the first landing, where he met Tonks. She was just coming from upstairs.
"Did you hear?" she asked.
"Hear what?" he said. "I didn't hear anything, just that Arthur Weasley was attacked. How is he? What is Ginny doing downstairs?" For some reasons, the questions seemed equally as important.
"Arthur's fine," she said. "We visited him this afternoon. He was rather badly hurt, but he'll live through it – and with some interesting scars too. And it's not just Ginny who's staying here. All the Weasleys are, and Harry too."
It took Remus only a little effort to imagine how happy Sirius felt about that. "Was that your idea?" he asked. "As a Christmas gift?"
"Absolutely not. Wish I'd thought of it, though. No, if anybody's, it was Sirius' idea – "
She was cut off by the apparent owner of the idea coming down the stairs. "Remus, finally!" was the first thing he said. Remus noticed his friend was smiling almost a little too broadly. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Did you hear?"
"Everybody's assuming I've heard everything," Remus complained, "but I haven't. I don't know anything. What's exactly happened to Arthur? Where is he hurt? How badly? When? And why are the Weasleys and Harry here instead of at Hogwarts or the Burrow? Whose idea was that?"
"Voldemort's," Sirius said cheerfully. He ignored Tonks' flinch.
Remus blinked, then rubbed his face again. Must be falling asleep again. "Okay," he said. "Tell me. Slowly. And use small words please. Because I'm having the feeling this is just getting weirder and weirder."
"What would happen," Tonks asked loudly, "if I took this nice biscuit shaped like a beautiful Christmas tree –" she held up the biscuit to emphasise her words, "- and crumbled it in Sirius' neck, spilling crumbs all through his shirt?" They were currently in the drawing room, putting the last hand to the Christmas tree. Molly had put a large plate with biscuits on the table, which Sirius and Tonks had been raiding for the last half-hour or so.
"I don't advice it," Remus said, "He'd retaliate, and it would leave a terrible mess."
"Shame 'bout the biscuit too," Sirius said, taking a few minutes rest from what seemed like a non-stop rendition of every Christmas carol in existence – and a few made up on the spot. It was the reason why Tonks was now plotting food-vengeance.
"It would be worth it," Tonks said viciously. "Because I think my brain is melting."
"Is it going to leave your head through your nose like some interesting kind of – " Sirius began a question.
"My braincells are dying too," Remus interrupted, "and no, my brain is not going to drip out of my nose like jelly. Stop it, Padfoot."
"Now, Moony, think of the Christmas spirit," Sirius reprimanded. "Besides, since when do you two take sides against me? Or…" he suddenly winked, "is there something you want to tell me? Hm?"
"Okay, that's it." Remus threw down the tinsel he had been holding. "Tonks, get that biscuit, I'll hold his neck still."
This year, the spirit of Christmas involved a lot of crumbs on the floor, Molly fussing about having to clean it all again, and Sirius trying to hide the fact that he spend the rest of the evening scratching his neck because the crumbs itched. It was the best Christmas Remus had had in years.
Having an entire king-size bed to yourself can be very useful. It's not just that you can lie spread-eagle or diagonally on it, or use the other half to store books, or even eat toast or biscuits on one half and sleep on the non-crumbly half. Remus found out another use on Christmas-morning, when he opened his eyes and saw the dozen-or-so presents piled up next to him.
His eyes widened with glee, and he abruptly sat upright. Joy over Christmas presents is something one hardly ever grows out of, so he wasted no time and took the first present, a squarish one wrapped in blue paper, from Romulus. It was a book of course. Surprisingly enough, though, he was the only one who had gone for the predictable. The others had either gone for practical things (both his parents and the Weasleys had given him clothes) or impractical but nice presents, like a wooden elephant, courtesy of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Remus wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with a five inches-high wooden elephant that smelled like exotic herbs, but he liked it. He put it on his bedside table for the time being.
He was about to unwrap Tonks' present when the door peeped open and Sirius stuck his head around it.
"Ah, you're awake?" he asked for the obvious.
"No, sleepwalking," Remus said. His friend grinned. He walked towards the bed and plopped down on it, making both Remus and the heap of presents bounce.
"What did Molly give you?" he wanted to know, surveying the unwrapped gifts.
"She knitted me a jumper," Remus said, half-sighing. He unearthed the moss-green piece of clothing. It was rather lumpy, made of wool, and although Remus appreciated a warm jumper, he probably wouldn't have chosen this particular colour or model. Still, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth; he would wear it all the same.
"You got a green one!" Sirius said. "It's not fair, she made me a dark purple one. Want to trade?"
"Of course not," Remus answered. "That would be rude."
"I suppose so," Sirius sighed. "Anyway. How did you like my gift?"
"Haven't unwrapped it yet. I was about to do Tonks' present." He put his words into action and tore the paper off. Out fell a dark-blue T-shirt with four wild-haired people on it. There was a list of song-titles on the back, written in silver letters.
It was a vintage band-shirt of Incantation, Remus' favourite band.
A few weeks ago, Tonks had been wearing a Weird Sister-shirt, which had caused Sirius and Remus to lecture her about good music. She had looked at them with the usual look that made both of them suddenly feel very old and out of touch with modern times, but nevertheless, she'd remembered the discussion and been so thoughtful to buy something she knew Remus would like. And not just Remus, for that matter.
"Where did she get that?" Sirius gasped. "I want one too!"
"Indeed, where did she get it?" Remus said. "If I knew you could still get those, I'd have bought them myself."
"It's not fair, she got me a plush dog. A black dog."
"Padfoot, if you wanted fair presents, you should have given us all a list."
"So I wouldn't get a book with – what was it again? – 'Seventy-five popular Christmas carols', you mean?"
"That was not so much a present for you as it was for us all," Remus smiled. "Hopefully, you'll now finally get the lyrics right. Besides, I'd promised you last year I'd get it for you." He had only remembered it last minute, when Tonks and he passed a bookstore on their way to the Leaky Cauldron, but Sirius didn't need to know that.
"Damn your memory." Sirius stuck out his tongue. "Shall we go downstairs and have breakfast?"
"Yes, after I unwrapped your present." Sirius' present didn't look like much. In fact, it was just an envelope. "Please tell me it's not money again," Remus said.
"It's not money again," Sirius assured him. "Trust me."
Remus gave his friend a look that told him 'it'd better not be', opened the envelope and took out a single piece of parchment. His eyes widened. "'Life-long permission to use the Black family library at number 12, Grimmauld Place'?" he read incredulously.
"It's not money," Sirius repeated, grinning.
"Yes, but… life-long permission."
"It means that you're still allowed to use it when you're old and grey. Greyer than now anyway."
"I know that." Remus shot Sirius an annoyed glare. "But… life-long permission."
"I would have given it to you, of course," Sirius said, stretching out on the bed lazily, "but I think the books are better off where they are now, and besides, one doesn't lightly give away one of the finest collections of books in Great Britain, does one?"
"So one gives life-long permission."
"Moony, stop sounding like a broken record."
Remus stopped sounding like a broken record. They both got dressed, then went downstairs for a Christmas breakfast. The house had never seemed so cheerful and filled with people, everybody wishing one another a merry Christmas. Everywhere you looked it glittered, either with tinsel or magical snow. The shrunken heads of former house-elves had Father Christmas-hats on them, and somebody had even pinned the curtains in front of Mrs Black's portrait shut with a safety pin and a piece of holly.
"Wish we'd thought of that before," Sirius whispered.
Molly was already downstairs, in the kitchen, whipping up a lavish breakfast. Fred and George were there too, trying to eat everything their mother put on the table. Fortunately for the others, their mother could cook faster than they could eat. Remus and Sirius helped themselves to breakfast, Remus making sure that Sirius filled his plate well and would eat enough.
"So," Sirius said after a while, between scrambled eggs and sausages, "you're going to St Mungo's this afternoon?"
"Yes, we can hardly leave Arthur alone on Christmas day, can we?" Molly put another plate of bacon on the table, which the twins immediately raided.
"You're going too?" Sirius asked Remus.
Remus swallowed his mouthful of toast. "Yep, together with Moody. Harry's coming too, and he needs protection."
"Those fans," Fred sighed dramatically, "can't leave Harry alone, can they?"
George grinned, Remus, Sirius and Molly stared. Remus was sure that he saw the corners of Sirius' mouth twitch, however.
The door to the hall opened and Moody came stomping down the stairs, wrapped in a warm travelling cloak and carrying a package.
"Happy Christmas," he said gruffly. "I got a package for you, it came through the mail." He handed it to Molly, then sat down, eyed the food on the table suspiciously and took out his own flask.
"You sure it's nothing dangerous, Mad-Eye?" Sirius asked, smiling.
"I triple-checked it," the former Auror said. "Pretty sure."
Molly had turned the square, flat package over. "It's from Percy," she said. An odd quiver in her voice made Remus look up in alarm. It didn't sound good.
"Percy send a Christmas gift?" George said.
"Well, that's a first," Fred added.
"No," Molly said difficulty, "he send it back." She showed them Percy's address, written in her own handwriting.
"Oh…" said George, voicing what the rest was thinking. "Well… um."
His mother opened the package. She took out a hand-knitted jumper, untouched. There was no note with it, nothing. Percy had send it back without even looking at it.
Molly clutched the jumper desperately. Her lower lip trembled, she had tears in her eyes. The mere sight of this made the five men panic.
"Aw, mum, please don't cry," Fred pleaded.
"It's only Percy," George tried. "Don't worry about that – "
"Humungous pile of rat droppings," Fred finished.
It didn't have the desired effect. Tears now rolled down Molly's cheeks. George made a sort of desperate gesture towards Remus; for some reason, he seemed the most likely person to go to in this kind of situations.
"Boys, why don't you go upstairs and check if the others are awake yet?" he suggested. The twins took this reason to leave with both hands and immediately Disapparated, leaving Remus to deal with there mother.
Remus walked towards Molly and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. "There, now, please don't cry," he said. "It's going to be alright, honestly."
It wasn't, not for him at least. She flung her arms around him and cried desperately into his shoulder, making him feel even more uncomfortable. Apparently him trying to comfort her after she'd tried to get rid of the Boggart, months ago, had convinced her that he was easy to cry on.
Sirius tried his best to be nice too. He wasn't one for comforting, but he tried, he really did. He poured a cup of tea, added lots of sugar and handed it to her with a slightly sheepish expression on his face.
"Remus is right," he said, "Percy will come round, honestly. Just wait, next Christmas you'll be able to give your presents in person."
She smiled weakly at him. "T-thanks," she said. She took the cup of tea he offered her and took a small gulp, flinching at the amount of sugar. She sniffed pathetically.
Remus patted her on the back, and they kept saying uplifting things until they were fairly sure the worst was over.
"Now," she said, mopping her eyes with a handkerchief. "I – I really must get on, there's a large turkey to prepare for lunch…"
"I'll help," Sirius offered immediately, despite not having any idea how to cook; he was just happy that the crying was over. Remus and Moody left the two to the turkey and went upstairs to discuss the planned visit to St Mungo's – Moody insisted on going over it once more.
The Christmas lunch was uneventful. Mundungus, who was to take them to St Mungo's, showed perfect timing with arriving just in time for the pudding. After the lunch, they put on their coats, promised Sirius that yes, they'd all come back for Christmas dinner, then crammed themselves into Mundungus' car and drove off to the magical hospital.
As expected, St Mungo's was about as festively decorated as Grimmauld Place. The orbs that normally illuminated the rooms and hallways had now been coloured red and gold to resemble large Christmas baubles, there were Christmas trees covered with magical snow and icicles in every corner, and every member of the staff wore a twig of holly on their robes.
There weren't that many people around this time, but those they did see were quite a sight. The Christmas tension of being forced to spend time with relatives had already taken a toll on some witches and wizards. As the Weasleys, Hermione, Remus and Moody crossed the reception area, a witch with a satsuma jammed up her nose passed them, looking still angry with whoever did this to her. Remus remembered with a smile how Tonks had sighed at the prospect of spending the day with her family, and he sincerely hoped Grandma wasn't sitting too close to the steak knife. She had been planning to stay at Grimmauld Place today, but her mother had overruled her ("she must've used the Imperio curse somehow, I'm sure," Tonks claimed). But she would, she had sworn, come over tonight, even if she had to fight ten mothers for it.
They left the satsuma-ed witch to the welcome-witch behind the desk and went upstairs, to the first floor, where Arthur was staying. Bill opened the door to the 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn ward and let them all in, except for Moody, who stated that he was going to sit in the corridor, guarding the door.
Remus felt a strange sensation when he walked in. He was pretty sure he had never been here before in his life, and yet there was a surge of familiarity when he entered. It wasn't exactly a familiar smell, or sight… It puzzled him, until he looked around and saw the man in the bed opposite Arthur's look at him, giving him a strange, frowning look.
Of course. Werewolf. He gave the man a bracing smile, then joined the others at Arthur's bed, all the while still aware of the man's eyes on his back.
Arthur was sitting propped up in his bed, a tray with the remnants of a turkey dinner on his lap. He was looking at them all with a strange expression on his face. He looked almost frightened when he looked at Molly, but his wife didn't seem to notice.
"Everything all right, Arthur?" she asked, after the usual greetings and handing-over of presents.
"Fine, fine," Arthur said, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"
"No," said Molly, frowning suspiciously, "why?"
"Nothing, nothing," said Mr Weasley quickly. He took the first present and began to unwrap it, trying to avoid a reprimand from his wife. "Well, everyone had a good day?" he said cheerfully, steering the focus away from himself. "What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry – this is absolutely wonderful!" Harry had given him a set of screwdrivers and fuse-wire, and it absolutely delighted Arthur.
His trick of getting Molly off his back didn't work; she could be very stubborn if she suspected somebody of doing something wrong. When Arthur leaned forward to shake Harry's hand in gratitude, she took the opportunity to peer at her husband's bandaging.
"Arthur," she said sharply, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."
Arthur looked like a deer caught in headlights. "What?" he said, in one last, feeble effort to pacify Molly. He pulled the bed covers higher up as if he was trying to protect himself. "No, no – it's nothing - it's – l – " Molly shot him an piercing look, and Arthur's courage failed him. He went for the defensive tactic. "Well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea… he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in… um… complementary medicine… I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies… well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds –"
If he had hoped Molly would be happy with this, he was now proven wrong. She let out a foreboding sound, a sort of cross between a snort and a gasp. She didn't notice that her children were giving her apprehensive looks (save for the twins, who looked positively amused) or that Hermione, having the feeling that stitches wasn't something Mrs Weasley would approve of, was slowly getting to her feet, ready to run
Remus found himself slowly walking backwards, not wanting to get involved in a marital argument. Especially not when one of the people arguing was Molly Weasley. He crossed the ward, headed straight for the bed opposite Arthur's and sat himself down, surprising himself somewhat with his action.
"Good afternoon," he said to the man in the bed, who looked back, astounded. He opened his mouth to say something, but his attention was suddenly drawn by a burst from the other side of the ward. Molly had been working herself up more and more. The twins and Bill had already ran for cover (or a cup of tea, as they claimed); Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were looking as though they were beginning to think this an excellent idea.
"Do you mean to tell me," Molly snarled to her husband, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"
"Not messing about, Molly, dear," Arthur tried to save the situation, "it was just – just something Pye and I thought we'd try – only, most unfortunately – well, with these particular kinds of wounds – it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped –"
"Meaning?"
"Well…" stuttered Arthur, "well, I don't know whether you know what – what stitches are?"
"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," Molly said, snorting, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid –"
The bomb was about to go off. The four remaining children were well aware of it and jumped to their feet and ran, claiming that they too wanted a cup of tea. It was just in time, too.
"Well," mumbled Arthur, "that's – that's the general idea actually…"
Molly seemed to choke on her own anger. Remus was now wishing that he too had gone for a cup of tea as he saw her face get red. She seemed to blow herself up like a bullfrog, and he hastily turned to his fellow werewolf in the bed.
"I think you'd better cover your ears – " he said. Too late. Molly exploded.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?" she bellowed, making the three others in the room flinch.
"I – uh," Arthur stuttered. He really shouldn't have; protesting only angered Molly more.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE THE NERVE OF YOU," she shouted, "MUGGLE REMEDIES, OF ALL THINGS!"
Both Remus and the man on the bed were by now covering their ears with their hands – to them, it seemed as though Molly was standing right next to them and screaming directly in their ears. Sadly, it didn't help much, and Remus was therefore utterly relieved to see a Healer run into the ward, looking around to find out what caused all the commotion.
"What is going on here?" he asked, unwisely drawing Molly's attention to himself.
"Healer Smethwyck!" Molly snapped. "Thank Merlin. Do you know what my husband has done to himself?"
"Yes, of course I do," Smethwyck said innocently. "Why? Has anything gone wrong?" He moved to look at Arthur's bandages.
"Not yet it hasn't!" Molly snarled. "And why hasn't anyone told me about this?"
"We haven't had the opportunity yet," said Smethwyck, very reasonably in Remus' opinion. Not so in Molly's, though – she was looking daggers at the poor Healer.
"Well, I know now," she said, "and I want you to take them out. Muggle remedies, I ask you." She turned to Arthur, who flinched already. "Honestly, this is taking your Muggle-love a step to far, Arthur!"
"Yes dear," he mumbled.
"But," Smethwyck protested, "the stitches don't do any harm. Yes, it's a bit of an… unconventional remedy, but so far it's done no – "
Molly glared.
"But if you insist…" he trailed off, intimidated.
"I do insist." Molly looked positively murderous, so the Healer sighed and began drawing the curtains around Arthur's bed shut. As he did so, he caught sight of Remus sitting next to the other werewolf's bed.
"Everything alri-" he began, but stopped abruptly when Remus turned to look at him. He gave them a curt nod and what almost seemed like half a smile, then he jerked the last curtain shut.
Remus turned around again and smiled at the man on the bed, who stared back.
"What was that all about?" he asked.
"Very long story," Remus said. "Let's just say that he is fonder of Muggles than she is." He stretched out his hand. "I'm Remus Lupin."
The man did not return the greeting. Instead, he eyed Remus a bit suspiciously. "Do I know you..?" he wondered aloud.
Remus allowed himself a small grin. "No, but I'm not surprised you're thinking that. Perhaps, if you take a good look, you'll see."
The man on the bed frowned and studied Remus' face carefully. Remus knew he had realised when he saw the other man's eyes – darker yellow than his own, but distinctly yellow all the same – widen. "My God," he whispered, instinctively jerking back from Remus. "You're one of them."
"As are you, if I may point it out," said Remus calmly. He didn't know why he was feeling so calm; for all he knew, he would get the same reaction Mrs Wilson gave him a few weeks ago.
The calm statement seemed to have calmed the man down a bit, and he eased back into his pillows. "What are you doing here?" he said, sounding slightly accusatory.
"I was paying a visit to a friend of mine," Remus answered, nodding towards the still closed curtains. "But he seemed to be… occupied with something else."
"So you're the one he was talking about," the man stated.
"He told me about you?" Remus asked, surprised.
"Yeah. He tried to cheer me up I suppose; kept going on about how you didn't think it that bad to be… what you are."
"A werewolf, you mean," Remus said the word the other couldn't. "And he was right. Others seem to make a bigger fuss about it than I do."
The man snorted. "All the same, I bet people aren't exactly happy to have you around, do they? Apart from that guy overthere –" he nodded to where Arthur was still hidden behind the curtains, "– and he doesn't exactly seem to be normal either."
"He's just a bit… eccentric," Remus defended Arthur. "And either way, I have plenty of friends who are completely normal." Like the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Sirius Black, Harry Potter, an Auror who can change her appearance at will and another one who's supposed to be looking for Sirius…
The other still looked sceptical. "And they know what you are?" he asked.
"Yes, of course."
"You didn't tell them straight away, did you?"
Touché. Remus fell silent for a moment. The only one who'd known about him being a werewolf from even since before they'd met, was Dumbledore. Everybody else had always known him for weeks – it had even taken Kingsley some time before he found out that Remus was registered at the Werewolf Registry.
"No," he said eventually. "I didn't."
The man smiled wryly. "Not such a perfect life after all, isn't it?"
"I never said it was perfect," Remus said irritably. "Nobody ever did. Yes, it's lousy, in many respects. There're things you can't do, the Change is literally a pain and people hate you for what's actually no reason at all. But there's still a lot you can do, and we're only in wolf-form for once a month anyway. It's not as if I'm walking around with paws half the time, nor am I looking at little children and picking out the fattest, tastiest one. Like I said, other people make more of a fuss about it than it actually is."
Silence. Remus was suddenly uncomfortably aware that even the people behind the curtain appeared to have fallen silent. That'll teach me for pouring my heart out with other people around… he thought.
"Uh… understood?" he asked sheepishly.
Thankfully, the other man smiled. "Yes, understood."
The curtains around Arthur's bed swung open, revealing Arthur, Molly and Healer Smethwyck. Remus studied their faces, trying to see any sign that they had overheard him, but either they hadn't or they had very good pokerfaces.
"Well," said Molly briskly, "I think it's time we leave." She gave her husband a sharp look. "Let's stick to magical medicines from now on, right, Arthur?"
"Yes," said Arthur obediently. Remus noticed that Smethwyck was carrying a small bowl; he suspected it contained the stitches the Healer had just taken out.
"Good." Molly straightened her back and shifted her attention to Remus. "Do you know where the children are?"
"They went to get tea," he said. "At least, that's what they said."
"Let's go and pick them up then," she said, putting on her cloak and walking towards the door. As she passed the werewolf opposite her husband, there was a short awkward moment – she hesitated for a second before she smiled and nodded at him.
Remus looked at the man in the bed, rolled his eyes and gave a bracing smile. "Other people…" he mouthed, getting to his feet.
The sad expression on the man's face disappeared and he gave a genuine smile. Remus stretched out his hand, and this time, he did take and shook it.
"Until next time," Remus said.
"I'm Edward, by the way," the man made up for his hostile behaviour earlier.
"Merry Christmas then, Edward."
As he walked out of the ward, he could feel Edward's eyes on him. But this time it wasn't a suspicious or angry kind of look – it was an appreciative one. Perhaps werewolves weren't so bad after all. And as Remus closed the door behind him, he had to smile when he thought: it's like Tonks said: for joy and happiness for all the world. And God bless us everyone.
Author's Note
EDWARD? I hear you cry. Yes, Edward. Why Edward? I was going to name him Edmund (if I recall correctly, St Edmund was a saint who tamed a wolf or something like that) but it made me think of Rowan Atkinson as Edmund Blackadder, which made me giggle uncontrollably, and it didn't help with writing. So I changed it into Edward instead.
The problem with taking five weeks to write a single chapter is that when you reach the end, you've forgotten things you wrote in the beginning, like Remus having no idea what to buy Sirius but suddenly remembering he knew all along, or Tonks swearing she'd be at Grimmauld Place and then not showing up after all. With some twisting and pulling explainations from my sleeve, I managed to make it all make sense. While I was doing that, I also made sense of a mistake Jo Rowling made: the Mysterious Disappearance of Mad-Eye Moody. She announces happily that Remus and Moody are going to take the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione to St Mungo's- but Moody never shows up. Mundungus does, yes, but Moody doesn't. He's not counted with the people cramming themselves into Dung's car and he (consequently) doesn't show up in St Mungo's either. It's a bit puzzling, really - it's certainly not in his character not to come. So I had him sit in the corridor instead... Stupid Jo, making poor little fanfictionauthor's care for mistakes she made... ;-)