A huge flume of fire burst through the snow-capped forest and startled the white clouds. It was a distant, flaming, stabbing sword. The accompanying roar shook the ground like an earthquake and a wave of heat rippled through the trees. Birds took flight in the knowledge that another, far more powerful, winged-creature was having a temper tantrum nearby.

Under normal circumstances, Pip would've headed promptly in the opposite direction. But now she ducked through the undergrowth towards the ruckus. Nothing I do these days seems to follow basic logic, does it? she mused to herself.

She broke through the tree-line into a clearing blanketed in knee-deep snow. Knee-deep snow that was currently being thrashed about by a snapping Norwegian Ridgeback. Thankfully, a dozen or so dragon trainers stood between Pip and the dragon, who – and she blinked to make sure she wasn't imagining it – had a holly garland criss-crossed around its neck. There was smoke fluming from its slit nostrils, its amber eyes murderous.

Dragon trainers had a funny way of celebrating Christmas.

And Charlie seemed to be in charge of the celebrations. 'Easy there, Norberta,' he scolded the giant reptilian beast.

Pip watched him assist his fellow trainers, who were luring the dragon across the clearing with the bribe of a Hagrid-shaped hunk of meat. The Ridgeback's tail whipped out of sight and Charlie doubled over from fatigue. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, looking up at Pip's whistle.

'Norberta put up a fuss about the new collar,' he chuckled on approach.

Yes, dragon trainers were mad. But so was Pip.

With Norberta's snarls growing fainter, the pair trekked back through the forest towards Charlie's lodgings. It was a little cabin, constructed from the highly questionable material of log timber. The cramped veranda attached outside was packed with all sorts of oddities, from huge claw-clippers to an enormous spade that smelled strongly of dragon dung. The steps leading to it were dusted with snow, and it was on these that Charlie had found Pip waiting two nights ago.

At the time, he was preoccupied with smoothing sticky balm along some fresh burns. But the balm had slipped from his grasp upon looking up. Pip'd smiled. 'I seem to recall you suggesting I come see the dragons.'

But Pip hadn't come to Romania looking for dragons - or Charlie, really, for that matter. She was looking for distractions. Because for the past month, she couldn't keep the memory of that latest ill-planned escapade – the siege of Mary's cafe – at bay. How much energy had she exhausted mentally nitpicking all the ways she and Mary differed? Questioning and re-questioning, what it was, what shortcoming of Pip's and triumph of Mary's, that'd made Sirius choose the latter?

Christmas at Hogwarts hadn't proven an adequate enough distraction. Twelve towering Christmas trees decorated with Flitwick-sized baubles had lined the Great Hall, the shimmering of everlasting icicles had danced along the hallways. The smell of roasted chestnuts had filled the air and the warble of suits of armour singing off-tune, metallic sounding carols had carried inside Pip's classroom during lessons.

She'd busied herself by personally escorting Harry through mistletoe-rigged corridors. She'd shocked herself by blundering upon Ron canoodling with Lavender Brown (of all people) and shocked herself further at the astounding sight of Hermione on the arm of Cormac McLaggen. She'd chaperoned the Slugclub Christmas party, and finished the night in the lavatory holding back the hair of a seventh year girl who'd drunk far too much mead.

But still, throughout it all, Pip's mind had unfailingly wandered back to Sirius. Not the dangers of Harry being dosed with love-potion, nor Ron and Hermione's torrid love affairs, nor teenage alcohol poisoning were enough to restrain Pip's thoughts. Thoughts of Sirius and Mary.

And if she thought – or hoped – that simply obsessing over the two of them were as bad as things would be, she was wrong. Christmas had brought with it a snag. Alone and probably on the naughty list, Pip was planning to spend Christmas in the castle. That was until Molly proffered up the Burrow's annual festivities in a manner that didn't leave much room for refusal.

There was a miniscule chance – a snowball's chance in hell, really – that Sirius wouldn't be there.

Pip knew she couldn't hide anymore. She knew it was time to face the music (or the dramatic, operatic requiem). So at Christmas, she was going to parley with Sirius, calmly and rationally explain she accepted his relationship with Mary and precede to shag three or four random strangers to commence the healing process. It was easier said than done, but Pip was determined to see it through. Clearing the air between them might ease her propensity for risible life choices.

She wasn't the only one readying for a confrontation, though. Tonks was likewise summoned to Christmas lunch, where Remus would undoubtedly be waiting. So during drinks at the Three Broomsticks on the second last day of term, Pip and Tonks had schemed how to survive the perilous event. It started with Pip suggesting a suicide pact ('You push me down a flight of stairs, I curse you on the way down.') and concluded with the highly-strategic solution of 'I'll go, if you go.'

There were no alternatives remaining but to fill the days till Christmas with distractions. Pip figured that coming face to face with a ferocious dragon might do the trick. It almost did. However, after the initial shock of their gnashing fangs and leathery wings had worn off, the Sirius conundrum came looming back with a vengeance.

I must be some sort of masochist, Pip thought grimly.

She was presently perched by a windowsill in Charlie's cabin. Pip's breath ghosted along the frost-glazed window while she drew shapes in the freezing glass. A trickle of condensation slipped down the tail of a shaggy black dog she'd created.

Somewhere nearby, Charlie was wrestling with a pile of badly-wrapped presents he'd requested Pip take to the Burrow while he remained in Romania. Charlie's present-wrapping skills left something to be desired; the pile looked as though it'd suffered an elephant trampling.

'This one's for Ginny,' he pointed to a rectangular parcel. Pip grunted, still staring blindly into the window. 'This one's for Dad.' Pip grunted again. 'This one's for Fred.' Another grunt. 'And this one's for Voldemort should he happen to drop by.'

Pip's responding grunt became a grumble as Charlie lobbed a roll of spell-o-tape at her head. She twisted in place and scowled at him. 'That hurt.'

'Good,' Charlie answered flippantly. 'You haven't heard a word I said, have you? Now I know what Mum feels like...'

Pip erased the window-sketches with a squeaking wipe. 'Sorry Charlie...I'm a little out of it. Preparing...that's all...'

Charlie snorted and tackled another present. 'You're going for Christmas lunch, Pip, not marching into battle.'

Pip personally thought the second description was more accurate, but she chose not to share this with Charlie. Still, she made sure to concentrate on Christmas morning as he wished bon voyage, lest she cop any more spell-o-tape attacks. He walked Pip to the edge of the sanctuary. The two plodded through the snow, paused to watch a Peruvian Vipertooth on its morning walk, and upon reaching a spot where she could safely apparate, Charlie dumped his present pile into Pip's unprepared arms. She wobbled under the weight while he insisted she recite who each gift was destined for.

Once he was appeased, Pip dared question, 'You're coming for New Years, right? Bill's organising a shindig at the Three Broomsticks.'

'I really shouldn't leave Leonard, his scale rot's still healing,' Charlie said, sounding conflicted. Only he would fuss over a vicious ninety ton dragon. Only he and Hagrid. He changed course at Pip's disgruntled expression though (Leonard had mistaken Pip for dinner upon their first meeting) and cleared his throat. 'I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it, Pip.'

Satisfied – and laden down with presents like Santa Clause – Pip folded him into an unbalanced hug. She stepped back, wished him a happy Christmas and apparated. She almost dropped the presents upon snapping back into reality.

The Burrow's teetering structure was sugared with snow and draped in multicoloured lights. It looked rather like a gingerbread house constructed by a three year-old. The garden had disappeared beneath a white, fluffy cloak and only the path stretching between the gate where Pip stood and the chipped front door was visible.

Usually, the sight of the Burrow filled Pip with a sense of safety. It was the closest thing she'd found to a permanent home since Death Eaters had obliterated the Bones house many years ago. Now, the ramshackle building looked like a warzone waiting to happen. Pip sucked in a deep breath of chilled air. She could do this; if only for the sake of sanity.

She lumbered the packages down the path and across the doorstep, where she was immediately met with warmth and noise. Each crevice of the Burrow was decorated with streamers and paper-chains. A fir tree wrapped in tinsel was pushed into a corner of the sitting room, complete with an ugly angel that looked suspiciously like a gnome painted gold. The mouth-watering aroma of Christmas lunch was wafting from the kitchen, along with the clink of knives and forks.

Pip recognised the crooning of Celestina Warbeck playing in the background and the moment she did, Fleur sounded beyond the walls. 'Would somebody pleaze turn zat racket down! My earz...'

Laughing aloud, Pip hauled Charlie's presents towards the merriment. She appeared in the kitchen right as a cracker exploded with the sound of cannonfire, and the scene was obscured by a burst of blue smoke while the others carolled their welcomes.

'I come bearing gifts!' Pip sang. She distributed them through the smoke, leaning right across the table as she struggled to see and remember Charlie's instructions. She accidentally dipped an elbow into a bowl of cranberry sauce, but had little time to worry about this because the smoke cleared and suddenly she was an inch away from Sirius.

His hair was shorter, his stubble growing into a neat beard. The lines either side of his eyes were crinkled and his mouth was playing at a smirk he wouldn't release. 'No present for me?' he teased.

Pip swallowed and tried to remember how to breathe. It was startling, being so close to him after ages apart. She straightened up, knocking askew a tray of mince pies, but still made an attempt at nonchalance. 'I've got a lump of coal for you later.'

Sirius barked out a laugh while Pip untangled herself from lunch. She should've known that the only unoccupied chair would be beside him. Was the universe being cruel or trying to assist in the task at hand? She supposed she didn't really want to have a heart-to-heart leaning across Molly's lap.

With that in mind, Pip slipped into place, promising herself to be on best behaviour. She could only pray that the self-help books collecting dust beneath her bed at Hogwarts - specifically the chapters on conflict resolution - had somehow seeped in via divine osmosis. Merlin knew she hadn't so much as opened them.

Aware that conversation around the table had conspicuously lulled, Pip grabbed a plate and concentrated on piling mashed potato upon it for something to do. The others were only half-pretending not to eavesdrop. Thankfully, Sirius seemed comfortable leaving it up to Pip to open the peace-talks and while she stalled the chatter restarted.

Okay, how does one open this conversation? More importantly, how does one survive this conversation?

Pip had zero experience here. In the past, if relationships had hinted at awkwardness she'd employ a policy of incommunicado. No messy talks, no emotional torment, no romantic martyrdom, no closure. Who wanted closure if you could simply shag someone new? But Pip's bloody brain wouldn't allow that this time. It craved answers and explanations – on both their parts.

Pip was so absorbed with this worrying line of thought (Fuck...I've gone all soft), that she didn't realise she'd accidentally constructed a small mountain of mashed potato until Sirius chuckled.

She looked up and he motioned at the potato-Matterhorn. 'Got enough there, love?'

Pip placed the serving spoon down and sniffed demurely. She refused to blush. 'Don't you know it's rude to comment on a lady's plate?'

'My sincere apologies,' Sirius said, matching Pip's formality. He suddenly leaned in close and she stiffened at his engulfing smell. 'Though, I think I've heard somewhere that it's also rude to shout at someone and afterwards avoid them for a month.' He leaned back and added, 'And that's if you don't count the months ahead of that.'

Sirius: one. Pip: zero. It took a moment to formulate a response. It was slightly easier now that his breath wasn't brushing against Pip's ear. Still, all she could manage to splutter was, 'Do you – count the months ahead of that?'

Sirius picked up a glass of firewhiskey and brought it to his lips. 'I do. I hold you accountable for each second of them.'

Pip was momentarily sidetracked – what she wouldn't give to be that firewhiskey glass...

The bang of another cracker firing down the table shattered the fantasy and she regained composure. She checked around, caught Bill's head whipping the other way a little too quickly and made a mental note to hex him later. Probably wishes he had an extendable-ear on hand, the nosy git…

With half a sigh, Pip turned to Sirius. She'd forgotten how disarming it was to be captured under those silver eyes of his. 'I owe you an explanation,' she said carefully. 'We'll talk later – without an audience.'

Sirius chuckled, gesturing airily at the others with his glass. 'Not a subtle lot.'

'About as subtle as a dragon in heat,' she muttered. A somewhat begrudging smile slipped across Pip's face. There was no point dancing around reality – the whole table knew the two of them were involved. 'Who sold us out? Think Remus let it slip?'

'I don't reckon it was Remus,' Sirius replied with a matching smile. 'I think "two-timing prick" might've put them on the right track.'

Sirius's smile only broadened while Pip cringed in embarrassment. 'Not my finest hour. All part of the forthcoming explanation.'

He laughed. Pip laughed too. Suddenly, it was like the last few months hadn't happened. It was as though the pair were back in Grimmauld Place, stretched out in the upstairs parlour. Talking, laughing, drinking, sometimes dancing. None of the messy stuff seemed to matter. Pip couldn't remember anyone called Mary McDonald. Maybe it was Sirius's smile that made memory a little fuzzy.

The spell was abruptly broken.

'Arthur! Arthur – it's Percy! He's – he's with the Minister!'

Heads swivelled in unison to squint out the latticed kitchen window. Sure enough, as Molly had forewarned, Percy was shuffling through the yard on the wing of Rufus Scrimgeour. Nobody had time to wonder what the fuck was happening; in the blink of an eye both visitors were planted in the kitchen. The tension was palpable. Beside Pip, Sirius had gone rigid. Pip herself couldn't do much more than gawk as the painful exchange unfolded.

Scrimgeour spoke for both himself and Percy and Pip's bullshit alarm screeched while he did. 'You must forgive this intrusion. Percy and I were in the vicinity…working, you know…he couldn't resist dropping in...I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up...No, no I assure you I don't want to intrude any further…If anybody cared to show me your charming garden...ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?'

Pip might've laughed at Scrimgeour's bungling facade of tact under lighter conditions. The man made for a piss-poor politician. He was an auror through and through - blunt, to the point, and mincing his words for diplomatic missions didn't come naturally. Nobody else was naive (or dense) enough to believe that Scrimgeour had coincidentally selected Harry as his tour-guide either. Least of all Sirius.

He half-rose from his chair, hands trembling in fists. 'Can't manage yourself, Minister?' he growled.

For all his faults, Scrimgeour possessed more courage than Pip; in his place she'd have rather met the eye of a basilisk than meet Sirius's, but Scrimgeour did so with a vaguely challenging expression. It was swiftly masked with a pleasant, obliging smile that didn't suit him. 'I wouldn't want to misstep.'

Sirius had a threat halfway from his mouth but Harry was already passing him. He shot his godfather a meaningful look. 'It's fine.' He repeated it again as Sirius – and the rest of the table – unleashed their objections. 'Fine.'

The group watched the door swing shut as Harry and Scrimgeour disappeared. There was a weighty silence. Sirius hadn't moved a muscle. Rage was radiating off him in tangible waves. Pip hadn't seen him so furious in a long time, not since the early months at Grimmauld Place. She reasoned, though, that she hadn't allowed herself to be around him much since, and that's why she'd grown unaccustomed to the intensity of his anger.

'Perhaps we should absent ourselves too,' Remus murmured somewhere nearby.

Pip followed his gaze and was reminded that Percy remained rooted to the spot. Who would've guessed that he'd become the black sheep of the Weasley family – Pip certainly hadn't. He was stoic, staring at a patch of wallpaper like it was all he could see. He doubtless wished it was. With the exception of a softly weeping Molly, the Weasleys were stony-faced and pale beneath their freckles.

Pip heartily concurred with Remus about the absenting option. It was a row waiting to happen. She took two steps and realised that Sirius hadn't moved, hadn't torn his vision from the window where Harry and Scrimgeour were distantly encased.

'Sirius,' Pip urged in a mutter. She was worried he might wrench away from the hand she placed on his shoulder, but she was able to steer him out of the kitchen. Once both were clear (and Pip's hand hadn't burst into flames), he stalked off, probably in search of another window.

Pip's stomach dropped. She seriously doubted she had the capacity for long, emotionally debilitating speeches under the current circumstances – or that Sirius had the willingness to hear them. The talk would have to wait.

Passing by Fleur (who's manicured nails were being examined a tad too stiffly to mask their owner's eavesdropping), Pip slumped into the sitting room. The others were scattered; only Tonks was sitting on the couch, looking thoroughly crestfallen. She was staring into the crackling fire while Celestina Warbeck sang at a lowered volume.

Pip plonked down, and almost as soon as she'd hit the crocheted cushions, Tonks sighed. 'He hates me.'

'He doesn't hate you, Tonks,' Pip said. 'He's...'

What could she say? Remus really had created a considerable distance between himself and Tonks at lunch - an impressive feat considering Molly'd sat them together. The man in question chose that moment to poke his head into the room, saw who awaited him and hurried off into further corners of the Burrow.

Fantastic timing there, Remus…

Tonks's lip trembled, any residual Christmas spirit was crushed by Remus' poignant interruption. Pip took the other witch's hand and squeezed it. 'All in all, not the Christmas we hoped for...'

It was the opening bars of Celestina Warbeck's mopey, lovesick anthem that drew out a single sob from Tonks. She rested a mousy-brown head of hair on Pip's shoulder and the pair sat together, comforted by each other's anguish.

In the stillness, Pip's mind slipped back into a familiar, unwelcome place. Mary. What was she doing right now? Was she supposed to be here? She had a family – a niece, at least – to visit, so maybe she and Sirius would couple up afterwards. Spend the last dying moments of Christmas together...how romantic.

The song shuddered to a finish and Tonks sniffed, straightening up. 'I think I'll go. I'm supposed to visit Mum and Dad, anyway.'

Pip thought Tonks had the right idea. Both gathered their things, Tonks snuck away first. Pip got caught in a goodbye with Fleur (who was still eavesdropping) and walked out into the frost alone. Curious garden gnomes poked their heads from holes as she strode along the lane, saw nothing of particular interest and withdrew.

Pip thought she was in the clear.

'Slipping away again, are you?'

Sirius was leaning against the Burrow wall, a cigarette in hand, donning that trademark Sirius smirk. How was it he looked fitter each time she saw him? Meanwhile she was aging like a crone. It wasn't fair.

'Caught in the act...' Pip responded in time. She kicked at the ground, spotting a trail of pores that'd opened in the snow, punctured by Scrimgeour's walking stick. He and Harry must've made a round; their footsteps were only now melting away. Pip's gaze shifted back towards Sirius – she hoped assault wasn't the cause for his lightened mood. 'Promise me you're not out here to ambush the Minister of Magic.'

'As much as I'd like to knock Scrimgeour's teeth out,' Sirius answered, crushing the cigarette butt with his boot. 'I had to find somewhere to calm down.'

'Doesn't sound like you,' Pip smiled a little crookedly. Sirius and calm weren't two words usually used in succession. He couldn't help but let emotion wash into each fibre of his being, consequences be damned. Pip supposed this was another new element of his personality that'd emerged with freedom, another new side of him she'd have to grow used to.

Or maybe not. She wouldn't have time to grow used to anything if she stuck to script. And it was time for the reading. Sirius seemed to sense so too, because he closed the space between them.

'So...your explanation?' He appeared amused, though Pip could read hesitancy in his features. He took a step closer. 'Or are we onto round two?'

Here it was – the point of no return.

Pip of the Past wouldn't have had the vocabulary to express what she was about to attempt; Pip of the present wasn't much improved. She rocked on the spot, shuffling around words to rationalise the theatrics. It was an impossible task. The truth would have to do.

'I shouldn't have lost my head,' she began. She met his eyes, willing him to understand what she was trying to say. 'I'm sorry, Sirius. For that and for everything else. I suppose I was...well – I mean – ...I was hurt.' There, it was out. She carried on, full-speed-ahead so she couldn't suck the words back up. 'But I want you to know that I've accepted it, I've moved on, and I'm happy for you both.'

Sirius's expression was steady as she spoke. It twitched slightly though with that final flourish. He cocked a brow. 'Who's both of us?'

'You and Mary,' Pip heard herself reply, frowning.

There was silence. Not the silence of a great weight lifted off one's chest, but the silence of...confusion. A few seconds passed...and Sirius burst into laughter.

The air was filled with great, barking howls. He practically folded in on himself, cradling his ribcage as his whole body shook. He managed to look up and doubled back over at Pip's expression.

Pip usually loved the sound of Sirius's laughter – infectious, uninhibited. Presently this was not the case. 'I'm trying to be mature here!' she protested. Sirius continued roaring, so she snatched a fistful of snow, moulded it into a ball and aimed it squarely at his face.

He didn't seem to care about the blow. His flashing teeth were whiter than the snow clinging to his hair and beard. 'So that's why! You think – me and – me and Mary!' he choked out, laughing harder still. It was a wonder he could breathe with how much he was convulsing.

Pip didn't trust herself to speak. What the fuck was going on here? She'd examined the evidence, come to the logical conclusion and here was Sirius in absolute stitches.

Upon finally managing to stifle his laughter, Sirius straightened up, the remnants of it still quirking his mouth. 'There's nothing going on between me and Mary, love,' he said.

Pip's mouth parted. And closed, and parted again. She stared at him, brows knit, while Sirius waited for a response. 'Are you sure?' Pip pressed, thinking she might've misheard.

'Unless you know something I don't, positive.'

There was nothing going on between Sirius and Mary.

'Oh.'

Some great emotion welled in Pip's stomach, like a balloon. Rapturous lightness in the knowledge that she was wrong. That she had put two and two together and come out with six. That she'd exhausted all that time stalking and soul-searching for nothing…

The blush Pip'd spent all day fighting broke free with the power of the sun. She was glowing scarlet. 'In that case, forget I said anything,' she said hastily, already sidling towards the Burrow's gate.

'Hold it,' Sirius commanded. Containing another laugh, he stepped right into Pip's path, blocking the escape route. 'So you moved on, have you?'

Something in Sirius's teasing expression irked Pip.

Was that such a far-fetched idea? Was Pip supposed to be so hung-up on him that she was incapable of exploring other options? Regardless of whether this was true or not (it was) and regardless of whether Sirius had intended it as a slight or not (he hadn't), the notion was insulting.

It threw the last few months into sharp relief – months of dodging Sirius like a frightened child, of ransacking some woman's cafe like a clichéd ex, of screaming heart-break karaoke in the shower until the portraits outside Pip's office begged for silence. How had she fallen so far?

He had done this.

Pip's eyes flashed at Sirius. In years to come, she would regret what she said. But at the time, Pip could think of no greater fulfilment than giving him a taste of his own medicine. She wanted to be laughing while he squirmed. She was possessed by some malignant spirit (perhaps the spirit of a billion women scorned) and answered callously. 'Yes, Sirius, I might have.'

It was downright lie - but any trace of humour instantly vanished from Sirius's features. 'Who?' Pip started back on the path, pushing past him each time he blocked it. Why was his agitation so satisfying? 'Who?' he repeated, more heated this time.

As she stalked along, Pip cast about for some unlucky soul to victimise for the pleasure of Sirius's reaction. What were the options here – Charlie, Madam Rosmerta, Filch? Each name was more outlandish than the last. If she really wanted to watch his world come crashing down, she would've told him she was smitten with Snape. Pip didn't to want to send him into a premature grave though.

She settled on a vow of silence, knowing it'd be equally as successful in infuriating Sirius. It worked.

Upon reaching the outskirts of the Burrow, he folded his arms across his chest. He searched Pip's face and slowly said, 'You're having me on, aren't you? I'd know if you were seeing someone, Pip...wouldn't I?'

Pip's poker-face slipped into a vindictive smile which grew as his expression faltered. She apparated off with one last, 'Happy Christmas, Sirius,' leaving him answerless.

I'm late but happy Christmas and New Year! May 2022 be far less shit than 2021. Was wondering if anyone watched the Harry Potter reunion special and if so what did you think? Robbie Coltrane (our boy, Hagrid) had me bawling.