James didn't understand. It was Yule—'It's called Christmas, Pads! You sound like a hoity-toity pureblood twat'. It was Yule and Sirius had just purchased a pair of lovely winter robes during their trip to Hogsmeade. They were plush grey demiguise hair (ethically trimmed, of course), with occamy shed-scale detailing, and embroidered with acromantula silk thread to show a nightscape with constellations that changed every night. He hadn't been able to resist them. More than just giving into the temptation of fine goods, this was giving into the temptation of nostalgia. The most dangerous endeavor. His mother had once given him a pair of robes almost exactly like these. But for the slight shade difference-since his mother had hand-mixed the dyes herself-and the more modern cut and design, they could be the very same robes his mother had gifted him for Yule when he was six.
James didn't understand though. At first, he understood the giving into temptation for fine goods, even if he hated wizard robes. But he had wondered at Sirius's solemnity in purchasing them. Why was he so weird about it? Sirius could have lied: a habit of concealing any of his true feelings about those "hoity toity pureblood twat" practices that James derided, a habit of covering up the deeper facets of his feelings towards his family. But Sirius made a mistake in thinking his friend's good mood and attempts at being more thoughtful (thanks to a cutting remark from Lily on the subject) would allow James to look past his violent prejudice against, and outstanding hatred of Sirius's family.
"It's just their brainwashing trying to get you again. You don't really like these stuffy robes. No one except for death eaters and their spawn actually wear them now. You're just confused, but don't worry, Paddy ol' boy, we'll help you learn better!"
But it wasn't brainwashing. Sirius liked wizarding robes, he liked the distinguished look, the mobility, the variety of materials that could be used, all the beautiful little details and charms that could be added. He did not like or understand muggle 'jeans', and he always thought James and Remus's strange, unmoving, muggle band shirts too loud. And he liked these robes. Because his mother, who disliked most kinds of crafts, decided to learn how to make robes from his grandmother Melania, dyed them herself, had her father embroider them with constellations, and had his grandfather Arcturus charm them to always keep him the right temperature and give slight protections against low-level hexes and curses. They had been imbued with family magic, so every time he had put them on, they felt like a thousand warm hugs from his family. He had been gifted them on a quiet evening. His family celebrated Yule by spending time together. It was loud, sometimes, but mostly it was quiet and comfortable. The house was always calm, magic floating warmly around everyone, Kreacher popping in and out with treats and drinks and blankets, his parents peaceful if not cheerful. Usually, his cousins would all join them at the family home. Sometimes his more distant relatives would pop in.
On that evening though, the house was just him, Regulus, Narcissa, Bellatrix, his parents and grandparents. They were the family members with whom he spent the most time. With glittering grey eyes teasing him, his mother finally handed over his present. The beautiful robes were wrapped in silver ribbons and shadowy-black paper. He had refused to take them off for a week, even sleeping in them, until Kreacher finally managed to cajole him into wearing something else.
These purchased robes, though charmed similarly, were cold. They were sterile, almost. Lacking completely in any magical signature until he gave in and imbued them with his own. It just felt like giving himself a hug—still somewhat nice, but a very poor substitute for the real thing. In the old gifted robes, there had been a thousand shadows surrounding him with safety and comfort. It was an old wizarding tradition, to give your loved ones handmade clothing because there was greater protection. Family magic would drench the fabric. There was nothing more precious. These new robes paled in comparison, but they were enough of a bandage for now. Until he figured something else out. He had to have them, and he had needed James to understand the sentimentality with which he regarded them, as well as his melancholy. He had the robes, but all in all the experience, both the purchase and tentative discussion with James, was disappointing.
Sirius knew that James didn't mean to be so hurtful. His dearest friend was full of Potter-bluster, bolstered by being the miracle child—the only child—of an older couple long desirous but long resigned to never having children. He was spoiled. Used to getting his own way at home, and then at school, it was no wonder the James lived in the world expecting that people would either view it the same as him or change their view to match his. His arrogance was innocent, but powerful. Sometimes Sirius felt like it was James who was brainwashed and who needed to 'learn better'. He loved James fiercely, but it was all he could do to not scream at him.
The thing was, the Potters weren't a strictly Light (as in Dumbledore-light) family. They were more Grey than anything, and had even invented several potions that leaned further into Dark. But when James met Lily on the train, he suddenly became obsessed with all things muggle. Now, Sirius had nothing against muggleborns or muggle-raised, but there were certain cultural differences that he could not understand. Like how muggles believed women to be inferior to men? It boggled Sirius' mind the first time he had heard that. Lily had exploded at Frank Longbottom for jumping in to a skirmish between a few of the Gryffindor girls and some upper year slytherins. She had gone on a ten-minute-long tirade about how women were not weaker than men and so they did not need him treating them like damsels in distress. Poor Frank, having been raised by two of the most formidable matriarchs in Wizarding society, was completely baffled and could not get a word in edge-wise. When she finally wound down, it was Amelia Bones, who had been passing by and witnessed the whole thing, who had to explain to Lily that witches, were generally more powerful than wizards because of their closer connection to Mother Magic, and that Frank had intervened out of Gryffindor loyalty—that and House Longbottom was known for their loyal and protective nature.
Before this however, James had thought Lily would also expect to be treated as lesser than men, and had tried to be as gallantly chivalrous as possible to her. He looked like an absolute prat and, Sirius would likely take this to his grave, it was horrifically embarrassing. Walburga Black would have skinned him alive if he acted like James for even a second in that respect. Forget his mother, Sirius saw Narcissa's scathing looks to James and warning glares to himself.
There were other things too, like James' refusal to call October 31st anything but Halloween now, even though Samhain was a sacred holiday to honor the dead. And like now, with James' insistence that Yule was Christmas.
For the entire Hogsmeade trip Sirius had to put up with James prattling on about muggle Christmas traditions, with Remus jumping in to correct him every now and then. Why should Sirius want to celebrate a muggle religious holiday? Especially when that religion dictated that all magicals be killed—usually with fire? Why should he want some strange man coming down his chimney to give him weirdly accurate presents? Why was he monitoring children throughout the year? But James was determined that the Marauders would celebrate Christmas, and so Sirius was celebrating Christmas. He performed his own small Yule traditions in private, and tucked away that part of himself that yearned for his family. Dumbledore hadn't liked it when Sirius presented his doubts about Christmas, and he had encouraged Sirius to stay at Hogwarts over the winter break so he might truly experience the "magic of Christmas". So far, the only magic was actual magic, and did not seem to be related to the actual holiday itself.
Still, Sirius donned his new robes, stood in front of his mirror for nearly an hour trying to mask the sadness in his eyes, and went to join his friends for the Christmas feast. He ignored James' ribbing about his robes, his jabs and teasing tinged with something sharper than usual, he ignored Dumbledore's speculative and disappointed eyes when he took in his robes next to apparent Marauder uniform of jeans and hideous muggle sweaters, he ignored his own frustration and confusion at not seeing any Yule foods on the table. No matter what it was called, it was a holiday dinner and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest with his friends. What did he care that Regulus, his parents, cousins, and all the rest of his family were probably sitting around the largest table in their ancestral home and tucking into Kreacher's once-a-year specialties? He didn't need them anyway, not when James' hazel eyes were sparkling at him, one arm slung over Sirius's shoulders and pulling him in close.
A/N:
Happy Holidays! I've had this written for awhile but could just never figure out how to get it to fit in with the main fic. Interlude-Regulus, and Interlude-Walburga were both peripheral to the story but still able to connect with the main plot.
I also wanted to take a second here to add one thing of note about this story and the language I use (gotta stay on brand, you know?): I use a lot of binary language in this fic (witches/wizards, matriarchal/patriarchal, Mother Magic, etc.) and the world is not a binary world. I envision that the term witch/wizard is a binary term (much like Light, Grey/Neutral, and Dark are binary-trinary? Discrete terms...yet, there is still a spectrum between all three), but that magic itself and gender identity (of course) falls on a scale of "feminine" to "masculine". BUT, these terms do NOT match up to the muggle equivalents, in the wizarding world, feminine simply indicates a closer association with mother magic. So you could be 100% biologically cis-male, but be called a witch because your magic is simply more feminine. Many a muggleborn or muggle-raised student has been very confused when being told they were feminine or masculine out of nowhere.
It's a not perfect system, obviously, but considering our own in real life 'system' sucks ass, I feel like that's okay. And it's why I have not directly addressed it anywhere in text. Please note though, that I am a cis-woman, so I while I think it is incredibly important to note the spectrum of identity in (this and the) world, I also will not impose my own absolute credence on the subject for lack of personal knowledge. This is a sensitive topic and I would never want ANY reader to feel isolated, unheard, or even outright attacked by my writing. I try to keep myself aware and educated on these sensitive topics and so will always welcome constructive criticism or knowledge. With that in mind, let's please keep any comments on this subject respectful-if you have nothing nice to say, just don't say it.
Speaking of comments though, I have received an overwhelming amount of positive and constructive comments/reviews from you lovely readers. I did have two somewhat negative comments: one relatively constructive and amusingly rant-y about my long-ass notes, and the other a recent comment on Ch.2 which just said "fuck you" from a guest user who chose the temporary pen name "lyfeisawesome". I laughed so hard that I literally cried-my mother walked into my room very concerned. I kept asking "who hurt you?" but then I realized it must have been me with my writing somehow😂 So I hope I haven't hurt anyone else, and if I have please tell me in ways other than just a "fuck you" or else I will only laugh.
Again, Happy Holidays! I hope you are all staying healthy and happy with your loved ones. I make no promises as to when the next one-shot will be uploaded, but hope you enjoyed this one for now. Love to you all!