Snow began to fall on the Saturday before Christmas. Sirius watched through chinks in the boarded-up windows of the Shrieking Shack as the light, soft flakes covered the village of Hogsmeade, making it look like a Christmas card. He was desperately jealous of the students, as he watched them make their way down from the school into town.
He had not realised how much he had missed snow until he saw it. As a boy, he had awoken each winter morning, and eagerly looked to see if the ground had turned white in the night. But the snowfall he remembered best was Padfoot's first, during the winter of their fifth year at Hogwarts.
As a black blur, he had raced across the moon-bathed grounds grounds of Hogwarts toward the short, plump, blond boy and the skinny boy with dark, unmanageable hair and glasses, who were helping a third boy down the castle steps. It was the night after the full moon, and Remus would have been more than happy to be sound asleep in his bed, despite the insistence of his friends. That is, until he had seen the dog.
Snowflakes had caught in his thick, dark fur, and he had slithered on the ice beneath his huge paws as he skidded and tumbled about with all the grace of an overexcited puppy. He had tried to pick up a mouthful of snow, without success, then rushed back to the tall, pale boy leaning heavily against his friends. He had planted his front paws square on the boy's chest, and stuck his ice-cold nose unapologetically against his neck, startling a laugh from him.
"Padfoot, it's only snow," Remus had chided affectionately, wrapping his arms around the dog's furry neck.
But it was not only snow. It was winter and Christmas and cold and excitement and singing and biscuits and togetherness and presents and cozy fires and mulled mead.
Oh, what I wouldn't give to be down at the Three Broomsticks right now. Madam Rosmerta's mead had always been the best.
It was cold in the Shrieking Shack, and his fingers ached with it. They were cramped from working on Remus's present, but it was almost done. He gazed proudly at the tiny wooden dog. He had carved it using a knife borrowed from Hagrid's hut. Only one final touch remained.
He had thought long and hard about it, and he knew it was a risky thing to do, but he had made up his mind. Carefully, he raised the knife and cut a lock from the long tangle of his hair, then he threaded it between the carving's wooden jaws. Perfect.
He thought he might go back to Hagrid's this evening to return the knife, and see about maybe getting a warm meal. He was also expecting the delivery of Harry's Christmas present any day now, and he should go and check the spot in the forest which he had specified in the note that Crookshanks had delivered to the owl office for him.
He supposed he could have had the broom delivered directly to Harry's room, but it was often hard finding an owl to make a delivery on Christmas morning. Sirius also wanted to have a look at the broomstick. He had once made beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but his frequent detention-related absences from practice had cost him his place. Of course, James had missed almost as many practices, but he had had the natural talent to balance it out, and had always been careful never to get into too much trouble right before a match. Still, Sirius could appreciate a finely-crafted broomstick.
He had just exited the Whomping Willow, and was heading for Hagrid's hut, when he noticed the figure waded through the snow. Remus. Fortunately, he was facing the other way, or he would have seen the dog already. His thick, black fur offered no camouflage against the white of the snow. Quickly, he dove into the shadow of the trees.
From his hiding place, he watched as Remus made his way down to Hagrid's hut, the collar of his threadbare cloak turned up against the icy wind. Remus knocked at the door of the hut, and Sirius was close enough to hear Fang's booming barks, but the door did not open. Hagrid was either up at the castle, or in Hogsmeade, enjoying a tankard of Madam Rosmerta's finest.
Sirius sighed. No hot dinner for him. He watched longingly as Remus trudged back up to the castle, wondering what it would cost him to run after the man. Too much, he knew. Remus already knew he was nearby, and knew his disguise as well, but he was unlikely to just stand there and do nothing if Sirius put in an appearance. He watched Remus's thin shoulders, hunched against the cold, until he disappeared back through the doors of the castle.
To cheer himself up, and to take his mind off his growling stomach, he sought out the place where Harry's present was to be delivered. It had arrived. Excitedly, Sirius slipped forms, checking quickly to make sure there were no witnesses. He carefully untied the string and unwrapped the paper that protected the Firebolt.
It was quite possibly the most magnificent thing Sirius had ever seen. He ran his hands over the sleek handle, and wondered if he dared take it for a spin. Probably not, he decided regretfully. After all, it had been many years since he had ridden a broomstick, and he was not sure he would be able to remember how to control it. He could not afford any accidents. With a sigh, he tied it back into its paper, then carried it to the Whomping Willow to hide it in the secret passage beneath the tree.
In the winter in Scotland, night falls early, but with snow on the ground and a nearly-full moon in the sky, it seemed almost as bright as day. Sirius knew it was a risk to enter the castle again, but he felt in his heart of hearts that Christmas presents really ought to be delivered in person. He only hoped that his sentimentality would not get him killed.
At least most of the students had gone home for the holidays; all but a few windows of the castle were dark. He crept silently across the grounds, keeping to the shadows wherever he could, and reached the castle doors fairly certain that he had not been spotted.
The broomstick was too large to become a part of him for the purposes of transformation, so he had to half-carry, half-drag it in his jaws. He hoped he was not leaving tooth marks on the magnificent handle. The corridors of the castle were dark and silent, and to his ears, the dragging broom made a tremendous racket as its paper wrapping scuffed along the floor, but no one came to investigate.
It seemed to take forever to get the thing up to Gryffindor tower, but he arrived there at last without incident. The Fat Lady's portrait had been replaced with that of a knight, who rested with his head against his sleeping pony's side, snoring so loudly that he drowned out the rustling of paper as Sirius approached.
Quietly, Sirius placed the broom in front of the entryway, then became human just long enough to remove the note he had written from his pocket. Please deliver to Harry Potter, it said. He knew that the house-elves would be here in a few hours' time to sweep the corridors and stoke the fire in the common room. They would see that the package made it to Harry.
His paws made no noise on the castle's floors. He made his swift and silent way through the darkness, treading the same path he had followed on Halloween. His heart quickened with the knowledge that Remus was close by.
But when he turned the corner in the last corridor, the scent crashed over him like a wave. Not Remus, though his scent was there as well. Alcohol. Lots of it. The sharp scent stung his sensitive nose, and he sneezed. Someone nearby was in the process of getting very, very drunk, and he did not need three guesses to figure out who it was that felt he needed that much to get him through Christmas alone.
He paused outside the door. A narrow band of light showed under it. Remus was awake and drinking. That changed things. He had thought to leave the tiny carving on the nightstand and go, capturing only the briefest glimpse of his sleeping love. He wondered exactly how drunk Remus was. If he were a only little drunk, his reactions would be slowed, and even if he sought to raise the alarm, Sirius might still have time to escape. If he were more than a little drunk - perhaps now would be a good time to explain things.
Sirius shrugged mentally and slipped into his human skin. He closed his eyes in prayer, commending his soul to whatever benevolent deity might be watching over him, and pushed the door open.
Remus stood with his back to the door, swaying as he fumbled with the gramophone.
Yeah I loved you all my life
And that's how I want to end it
The summer's almost gone
The winter's tuning up
Yeah, the summer's gone
But a lot goes on forever
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember what
The music was unfamiliar to Sirius, but he recognised Remus's taste. If that was what Remus was in the mood for right now, then he must be feeling sentimental. All to the good.
"Been enjoying yourself?" he asked softly.
Remus turned around so fast that he lost his balance. The sight of Remus blinking stupidly up at him from the floor was almost enough to make Sirius laugh. Instead, he stepped warily across the room toward the drunken man.
"Mumble mumble dreams, Sirius," Remus slurred. "Mumble mumble tonight mumble Erised mumble mumble. Mumble mumble girl mumble Lollia. I'd've called 'er Lollia. Or mebbe Erised. Mumble mumble mumble mumble -"
At this, Sirius did laugh. He reached down and helped Remus to his unsteady feet.
"Christ, you're drunk! What on earth are you rambling about? Erised? Girls?" He grasped Remus by the shoulders to steady him. Now was the moment, if Remus was not too drunk to take it all in. "Moony, I came to explain, if you'll let me. I need your help -"
Remus continued to mumble unintelligibly about dreams and batted at Sirius's hands on his shoulders.
"Poor Moony," he said ruefully. "What's become of you with no one to look after you?"
He helped Remus over to the bed, and knelt down in front of him, looking for some sign of awareness in his eyes. Finding none, he sighed.
"I can see that you're in no state to hear me out tonight."
Instead, he began to help him off with his shoes.
"Stoppit!" said Remus, pulling away. "Just bugger off, Sirius!"
Sirius had to grab him again before he fell over. He sat back on his heels and put his hands up
"All right, Moony. I'm sorry. It just looked like you could use a hand."
"Sorry? You're sorry?!" Clearly some of his coherence was returning. "You killed them, Sirius - killed me too - Mumble mumble mumble mumble Voldemort? Just get the fuck 'way from me! Mumble mumble mumble."
Sirius could have wept. He had known, of course, that Remus would see things this way, but hearing it from Remus himself was more painful than he had expected. Then Remus's eyes seemed to focus at last, and the expression in them softened.
"M'sorry, Padfoot. Mumble mumble." There were tears in his eyes. "It's just been so mumble mumble mumble. Do'mind s'much."
Sirius reached up and took Remus's hands in his. A tiny fountain of joy welled up inside him at the sensation of being able to touch those hands again, and not have them pulled away.
"I wasn't going to come down here tonight," he said at last. "I knew it would be too risky with the full moon not for a couple of night yet. But I had to come, on the off-chance that you might listen to what I have to say."
But he could see that Remus was quickly losing his ability to focus at all. Nothing would be resolved between them tonight.
"I could smell the firewhiskey all the way down the corridor," he continued doggedly, "and, well, I knew there wasn't much chance of you turning me in if you were already that drunk. But I guess there wasn't much chance you'd understand either." He squeezed the rough, calloused fingers in his own and added softly, "How could I not come see you, Moony? It's Christmas."
For a moment, it seemed as though Remus might say something. He opened his mouth, then changed his mind and closed it again, lying back on the bed.
Sirius sighed. "Poor Moony. I can see you're in no state for company."
He bent his head and removed the other man's shoes and socks, then helped him fully onto the bed, lifting his head to place a pillow under it. He could already hear Remus's breathing beginning to relax into the rhythm of sleep when he leaned down and planted a brief kiss on his forehead, tucking the blankets up under his chin.
"Good night, Moony," he whispered. "Happy Christmas"
Well, my friends are gone and my hair is gray.
I ache in the places where I used to play,
And I'm crazy for love, but I'm not coming on ...
The record finished up, and Sirius quietly went over to stop the gramophone. He turned then, and with a sigh, surveyed a the wreckage of a room that had clearly seen a long night of nostalgia and heavy drinking. He corked the remainder of the firewhiskey, and put it away on a shelf, rather wishing that he could have a drink, but knowing that as long as he was inside the castle, he must keep his wits sharp. Bending down, he picked up the leather-bound book that had been lying on the room's only chair.
It was a photo album. Lovingly nestled between its pages were images he remembered well. James, Lily, a small Harry, Remus, Peter of course, and himself. It gave him a bit of a jolt to see himself in those pictures. He went over to the mirror that hung on the wardrobe door, and held up a photograph of himself next to his face.
Not so pretty anymore, he thought ruefully.
There were dark circles under his eyes, lines of hardship framing his mouth, and his hair was a long, unwashed tangle. He wondered fleetingly if those things would matter to Remus, but then roughly reminded himself that, compared with betraying his friends and getting them all killed, having messy hair was not likely to make much of a difference.
He sighed and put the photo album away. What use was there in dwelling on the past? It was the future that mattered. Tomorrow and the day after and next week and next year -
He looked down at the man on the bed, a smile of tenderness lighting his face. Tomorrow, Remus would wake with a dreadful hangover and some very confusing memories.
"That's no way to keep Christmas, Moony," he said softly.
Well, there was something he could do about that, in any case, if only Remus stocked the right ingredients.
He opened a cupboard that smelled of green herbs, and began sorting through the contents, trying to remember the recipe. Fortunately, everything he needed was there, including the powdered dragonbone and all-important chocolate.
The rich, spicy scent of the brewing potion soon overwhelmed the alcoholic fumes in the room, and Sirius triumphantly placed the steaming goblet on the nightstand where Remus would be sure to see it, first thing tomorrow. Next to it, he placed the small wooden box which contained the carved dog and its precious lock of hair.
He hoped Remus would understand. With a lock of hair, one could perform a number of spells. Entrusting such an item to another person, especially in the current circumstances, was an enormous risk, but Sirius took it willingly. A number of those spells might be able to prove his innocence, if only Remus knew to ask the right questions.
He knew he should go. Though it was winter, and dawn was still a long way off, the house-elves would be coming soon to light the fires. But Sirius could not bring himself to leave just yet. Instead, he lay down on the bed next to the unconscious Remus, and put an arm around him. He buried his face in Remus's neck, and breathed his scent, sweeter than chocolate, more intoxicating than firewhiskey.
It took Sirius a moment to realise that he was weeping, so unused was he to the experience. Tears poured down his cheeks and he was trembling and kissing the pale, lined face of the sleeping man beside him, and murmuring, "Oh, Moony, Moony, Moony -"
Fortunately, Remus was sleeping very deeply, and did not even stir. But if Sirius remained any longer, he might risk disturbing that peaceful slumber. Filled with regret, he rose from the bed, and closed the door softly behind him.