Hogwarts

Decorating the Christmas Tree: compassion

Jingle Bells: "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" by U2: loneliness

Word Count: 1268

Sirius hates Christmas. Even before he had been thrown out on the streets, the holiday had seemed so useless. It always looks so happy and warm on television, but his family has always been cold and miserable.

Being homeless only makes it worse. He sits in in the grimy alley, shivering against the chilling wind as happy couples and families walk by. Their cheeks are rosy as they laugh and chat merrily. Even the crowded streets don't seem to bother them.

Sirius hates it. It makes it easier for him to justify picking their pockets. If they're really so jolly and in the holiday spirit, they shouldn't mind giving to the less fortunate.

His eyes wander through the street before finally resting on a lone figure. The young man looks to be about eighteen— around Sirius' age. Though he looks rough and ragged with his scarred face, he is still dressed nicely in his thick jumper, dark cardigan, and scarf. The fact that he's alone makes it even easier.

Sirius' eyes rest upon the bags in the man's hand, and he licks his lips. He's nicked enough money to find a cheap room for the night, but he won't have enough for food. The stranger looks healthy enough, and Sirius doubts he's ever missed a meal.

It wouldn't hurt to take a chance…

Sirius dusts the snow from his hair and moves quickly. By now, he's gotten this down to an art. He is a fierce hunter in this urban jungle, and all these poor saps are his prey.

The stranger is closer now. Sirius grins, quickening his pace. With one fluid movement, he reaches out, snatching the bag away and sprinting. The pavement is slick from snow, but Sirius has learned how to maintain his grace. He may slide wildly, but he never falls.

"Oi!" the young man calls, and Sirius hears his heavy footfalls as the man gives chase.

Sirius swears softly under his breath. Normally, people are too stunned to realize someone has boldly robbed them. This man, however, seems to be quick on his feet, and Sirius barely has a head start.

He relies on his intimate knowledge of the city. Most people don't know all the twists and turns, but the homeless do. It's what keeps them alive and out of prison some days.

The footfalls continue. Sirius scowls. Why can't the man just give up and go about his day? It's the holidays, for crying out loud! Shouldn't he have some important office party to go to or some stupid family to spend time with?

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the patch of ice until it's too late. He doesn't have a chance to catch himself, and he skids, landing unceremoniously on his bottom. The bag flies from his grasp, and canned goods scrape against the ground.

"Got you!"

Sirius feels a flicker of panic. He's never been caught before. Now, he's screwed, and the bloke will probably call the cops. He tries to pick himself up, but the ground is slick, and he ends up seated again.

"I'm sorry," Sirius says. "I just… I haven't eaten in three days. I'm about to resort to eating rats."

The other man's expression softens. He offers Sirius a hand. "Come on. You don't have to steal. Let me help you."

Sirius stares at the hand in confusion. He almost expects the man to strike him. Hesitantly, he accepts it and allows himself to be guided to his feet.

Compassion is so rare these days. Most people look at him with disgust. No one bothers to learn his name or the fact that he isn't homeless by choice. It isn't his fault his parents caught him kissing another boy two years ago and threw him out on the streets without even a shred of pity.

"I'm Remus," he tells Sirius before collecting his spilled groceries.

"Sirius."

"Let's get some food in you."

…

As Remus cooks, Sirius takes a shower. It's been so long since he's felt hot water, and he can't help the satisfied moan that escapes his lips as the water cascades down his body.

He misses this. There had been a time when he'd take long showers just to escape his constantly screaming mother. It's always been his favorite way to hide away.

Once he's done, he pulls on the clothes Remus has left him. The other man is taller, so clothes aren't a perfect fit, but they're warm, and that's all that matters.

As he steps out of the bathroom, he's greeted by the sweet smell of cooking food. His stomach growls, and his mouth waters.

"Smells good," he calls, entering the kitchen.

Remus looks up from the stove, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you."

Sirius watches him, fascinated. He's never learned to cook. His family has always had servants for that, and his mother would forbid him from getting too close to the help. After all, he's a Black; Blacks don't have to lift a finger when they live a life of luxury.

Remus begins preparing the plates. Chicken, potatoes and gravy, rolls, corn. Sirius can't remember that last time he's had so much food at his disposal.

…

When dinner is done, Sirius helps with the dishes. It's the least he can do to say thank you for the kindness.

"Will you go to a shelter?" Remus asks.

Sirius shakes his head. "Got kicked out. Some bloke tried to steal my shoes, and I broke his nose," he answers.

Remus is silent for a moment. His lips purse as he hands Sirius a wet plate to dry. "You could stay here," he offers. "If you want. Just until you get back on your feet."

"Why would you help me?" Sirius asks. "You don't even know me. I could be a serial killer!"

"Are you?"

"No."

Remus shrugs before scrubbing the inside of a cup. "My dad told me the best way to live life is by giving," he explains. "That's become my philosophy. Give and help because you never know when you'll have to rely on the compassion and kindness of others."

Sirius sets the plate aside and watches Remus curiously. "Thank you."

…

"Merry Christmas!"

Sirius wakes up with a groan. He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock on his bedside table. Eight in the morning. Far too early. Though Remus has gotten him into the habit of rising early over the past week, this is ridiculous. Sirius wants to curl up again and fall back asleep.

"I don't do Christmas."

"Is it a religious thing?"

Sirius hesitates. How can explain that the holiday makes him feel so damn lonely? It's a holiday for happy families, not broken ones like his own.

"Don't worry about it. Sorry I couldn't get you anything," Sirius sighs. "I could always offer you a kiss. People tell me that's quite a treat."

It's just a joke, but Remus' eyes light up. A dusty pink creeps into his cheeks. "I… You don't…"

Sirius leans in. This is ridiculous and probably a bad idea, but he doesn't stop himself. His lips find Remus', and the other man doesn't pull away. Sirius deepens the kiss, a small moan escaping his lips.

"That was… Wow," Remus says when they finally pull apart.

Sirius grins. "This could become our new Christmas tradition," he chuckles.

"And every day after that."

Sirius feels a flutter in his chest. He pulls Remus close, and, as their lips meet again, he finds himself thinking that maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.