Hey y'all! Remember what I said about this chapter being about Emma & Lily? Disregard that, I changed the plan up a little bit, we're taking a small break from that because I'm writing in the car rn and I don't have my Nightstand-Lingering Notebook of Midnight Chapters and Emergency Ideas (no wonder I'm an insomniac) and I almost have the chapter done (it's pretty short).
I can't really copy the og chapter down and edit (my nighttime writing is incomprehensible by anyone other than yours truly and contains like 27494 grammatical errors) cuz I'm like a gazillion miles from home.
Anyway, coming up next: Winter holidays stuff! I tried to be inclusive cuz not everyone celebrates Christmas, but it is still pretty Christmas-based, unfortunately.
Next chapter: Drunken Christmas kisses ;)
The air was alive with sugar-spun delights as the holidays veered closer. Mingling with it was the thick, viscous warmth that spread from the physically icy tips of your fingers to the very depths of your heart.
There was something about winter that made you want to curl up with a mug of hot cocoa and hug the ones you held dearest to you. In previous years, Brigitte found herself scoffing as her classmates wore their permanent grins, the anticipation for winter holidays reaching its climax by the end of the long day.
Now, she understood its appeal. She wasn't trapped between the swathes of silk and extravagant ball gowns she might've enjoyed under completely different circumstances. Icy glares cold enough to freeze even the softest of hearts, and predatorial lust sticking to the air like an irksome fly throughout her own house.
She felt content to gnaw on frozen holiday cookies James and Sirius concocted with the House Elves, possibly even ignore the impending doom as she bit into an eggshell, and laze around watching Dave (almost every day turned out to be an off day) chase bubbles that sprouted out of Mary's wand.
Despite the violent weather that had taken hold of the castle, Brigitte could safely say she'd never been warmer.
Marlene had managed to convince her that it was not worth doing extra maths to determine precisely how many calories a cookie contained, especially not the undissected mystery monstrosities James and Sirius created for her and the others to judge. Sustenance was sustenance, and whether it came in the form of vegan casseroles or unorthodox and frankly repulsing pastries, it didn't quite matter.
Brigitte determined that this would the only acceptable form of peer pressure she'd allow herself to succumb to, and ate the fucking cookie.
To say that the others were pleased would be an understatement.
Even teachers could be spotted chatting animatedly amongst each other over their warmed shepherd's pie. Professor Slughorn had even taken to donning a festive mistletoe bow tie, which Sirius and Remus snickered at on several accounts, though Remus also happened to be a hopelessly good suck up, leaving their poor professor none the wiser.
Most surprising of all was Minerva McGonagall, who could be spotted humming Christmas carols under her breath. Her stern facade remained set, but her assigned workload had lessened ever so slightly...
Astonishingly enough (though, Brigitte began suspecting this was the exact generosity he would be guilty of), James had given up his Christmas with his parents to stay with the other marauders. Peter had owled his parents separately (they weren't as disappointed as he'd hoped), Remus had tried as gently as possible to let down his mother (his father didn't care much for his return, nor his wellbeing), and Sirius, being Sirius, had pounced on the first opportunity to sign his name on the parchment as soon as it came out.
He'd even managed to accidentally elbow a third-year who happened to be slow on the uptake of escaping his vicinity.
The term had ended, though the stress for upcoming OWLS had ceased to diminish, despite the infectious festive spirits.
Brigitte spent many mornings and afternoons alike poring over books with the tranquil company of Remus and Lily.
They could now be positive their concealment charms were effective, seeing as they'd all taken to sneaking food into the library against Madame Pince's hawklike gaze. Bars of chocolate from Remus's seemingly infinite supply dwindled, but they could usually count on the kitchens to supply emergency chocolate frogs.
At least, until he slipped off with the other three and snuck their way into Hogsmeade (Brigitte and Lily had learned not to question anything, they figured it wasn't worth hearing something unseemly).
Occasionally, Sirius would drop by and hover over Remus's shoulder until he knocked over a stray inkwell. Then he'd take his leave, or participate in a round of Russian Roulette with the universe.
Had he sent himself to his textbook collision doom or was Brigitte in a good mood today?
The other three had made it a collective rule to passively exclude him from their study sessions, seeing as neither Sirius nor Brigitte had the self-control to not take jabs at each other's overinflated egos.
Later into the day, James, Sirius, and Peter would unite with their beloved fourth marauder, quietly discussing new plans of action against the Slytherins and their incredibly bothersome existence.
Sometimes, Brigitte and her roommates-turned-friends-turned-eternal-companions would accompany them through secret snow ambushes, perhaps a game of gobstones by the delightful warmth of the fire. Occasionally, they spectated as the four boys attempt at battling Peter's inevitable skills in Wizard's Chess.
Peter Pettigrew seemed to make up for all his shortcomings with his incredible wit when it came to Wizard's Chess. He'd won Hogwarts Chess Champion for the second year in a row now, and both trophies were proudly displayed in the marauder's dorm. The other boys would often walk in on him polishing his beloved gold-sheened accolades, filled with incredible pride.
Wizard's Chess was the one area of his life that Peter Pettigrew knew he excelled in.
His tact was unmatched in brilliance, deceptively luring his opponent into capturing his queen- the supposed most powerful piece. But Peter Pettigrew understood more than anyone that power did not lie with a certain position.
It lies with your ability to brandish even the smallest and weakest, and transform them into something wonderful. The queen had a deceptively flashy and garish demeanor, for she is one to direct and attack unsuspecting players.
A pawn's ability to slip across the board unnoticed became an enormous asset. It gave him pleasure, seeing him win with nothing but runts of battle. Small soldiers, dispensable in war.
No one knew the ins and outs of chess, nor war, the way Peter Pettigrew did.
James played the pieces the way he saw them. There was nothing wrong with such simplicity, but his naivete almost made Peter want to scoff. He half expected James to one day look up chess tactics in the library, pretend to be clueless about bishops and rooks that lay just beyond the mind's reach, and outsmart him. Merlin knows he could.
But James Potter played what he saw. He took what was offered and smiled every time he lost, patting him on the back, shaking his head with a faint pride. Merlin mate, you're bloody incredible. What was that, seven moves?
Remus's sly attacks were present, but the second he lost more than two pieces at once he'd immediately go back to what he'd known. Self deprecation. Peter was sure where he stood with Remus; He was quiet, like him, and yet besides their first impressions, they were surprisingly different. Remus exuded an odd sort of confidence. Not in himself, but his failures.
Remus Lupin was always confident he'd fail.
Everyone liked his so-called humbleness, his oddities.
It was easy to build up someone who thought so lowly of themself.
Peter also knew that Remus hated to lose.
He'd watched his normal life get torn from him, watched his stable father diminish. He couldn't afford to lose his friends the same way he couldn't afford to lose too many pieces at once.
They were all he had left.
Remus didn't have the same potential that James wasted with ease, but his moves were logical and precise. Peter always felt an odd sort of satisfaction, manipulating the moony everyone liked, wry, seamless moony into the boy that bit his lip and stared at the board, eyebrows creased.
Remus couldn't lose more than he already did. Then he'd truly be left with nothing.
Then finally, there was Sirius. The Black family taught their children many useless quirks. Among those were Latin, calligraphy, and now chess. Sirius knew every technique there was from the books. He could even apply them, and yet he refused.
Every seemingly minuscule task that Sirius Black performed was influenced by his family. He refused to excel at chess even if it came naturally, not if his family wanted that of him. So he haphazardly moved the pieces, watching, bored as Peter won again and again.
Sirius annoyed Peter the most. He'd always tried to goad Sirius into playing with all his might, just to see if he could remain chess champion. He held a rickety title, constantly anticipating to lose, but Sirius always refused. Too righteous to admit he lost to someone like Peter.
Because no matter what, his family would continue to press and pull and stain him, their jarring imprints left on his feeble, scarcely beating heart for all of eternity. Scar tissue will build and protect and encase, but never erase the amount of agony that engulfed him every quiet evening.
Brigitte watched as James was ambushed with a squirt of dark liquid, the ink smudging his lenses greatly as he blinked repeatedly. Upon realizing none of it had contaminated his cornea, he let out a faintly victorious cry. "Ha-ha, Padfoot! I have eye protection! Suck on that!"
Sirius only laughed harder, falling backward with a loud thump. Remus grinned, smacking him with a stray pillow. He always felt a need to interact with Sirius these days. Just a stray touch was enough to set his heart into overdrive.
Brigitte let out a small snort of amusement before handing James a small square of linen. "Handkerchief, Potter?"
"Yeah, okay thanks, Brigitte!"
She leaned back against the couch, scratching Dave behind the years. Lily was already asleep beside her, and almost on instinct, she grabbed a fluffy blanket and draped it over her shoulders.
A movement caught her peripheral vision and she noticed James withdrawing his hand, giving her a bashful smile. It dawned upon her that he'd sought after the blanket for the very same reason.
Upon realizing everyone was watching, he gave her an exaggerated groan, dramatically falling to the ground. "You've stolen my job! Away with you!"
"You'd better get used to it, Potter, this is your doing. All your mothering has rubbed off on me." She let out a small laugh, but her mind had already strayed elsewhere. The Brigitte she knew would've never done something even as simple and mundanely kind as to fetch Lily Evans a blanket.
James Potter had morphed her into someone she didn't despise quite so much.
********
Getting jumped on in the morning had become a regular sensation for Remus, and he woke up to three boys nearly levitating from a massive amount of sugar, eagerly checking under the small tree they set but that had been affectionately dubbed "Bob".
The four of them had stolen Bob from the outskirts of the Dark Forest. Sirius had wanted a grand tree for their room, but James had taken one look at the dying pine bush and made it his mission to convince the other Marauders into letting it become the newest addition to their dorm.
Sirius was eventually swayed into saving its yellowing branches, seeing as his best friend was already trying to lug the thing home, but neither Remus nor Peter were enthusiastic about lugging a dead branch back through the castle.
Eventually, Remus took pity on it, sighing at its sad, wilting demeanor. He supposed that person-wise, he wasn't much different from the old tree. He wasn't flashy or new or even healthy, and yet, he had friends who were willing to accept him.
He ended up bonding emotionally with its lack of foliage. They were cut from the same cloth, Bob and him. Or at least, they were both made up of carbon fiber, and they both relied heavily on a steady flow of oxygen to sustain a state of living (or at least, Bob used to).
By the time the four had smuggled Bob back to their dorm, it had lost all of its yellow needles, which did make it easier to carry, seeing as he didn't have to worry about grabbing a handful of prickly leaves, but it also meant they'd left a Hansel and Gretel esque trail through Hogwarts grounds into the hallways.
Upon their return, James and Peter had begun eagerly wrapping Bob with every shade of tinsel imaginable (even some that appeared to be physically impossible), belting magic-altered Christmas carols, even the occasional Celestina Warbeck album.
Sirius and Remus, however, having done most of the carrying, laid down on James's bed and cradled their mugs of hot cocoa (courtesy of Peter's pit stop to the kitchens) and grinned at each other as Peter snuck up on James, twisting up the lanky twat until he had an uncanny resemblance to the dead conifer.
The boys had since taken to hanging whatever tray material onto the tree via bauble hook, and upon closer inspection, Remus can safely say that Bob the Christmas stump did not even make it to the morning of the eve of its namesake. One day later, Bob is looking as dry and brittle as ever.
It lost any remaining glamour from the forest when Sirius made the executive decision to start hanging his dirty laundry on it. Despite Remus and James's constant nagging that Bob was a once-tree that deserved the highest respect, Sirius had managed to turn it into his dirty underwear rack.
Remus grins as James chucks a poorly wrapped parcel at his face. Sirius snags it out of the air before it collides with his sleep-rumpled face, and he feels at least 2 liters of blood rush up to his cheeks. If he were allowed access to a knife, he'd carve a large chunk of flesh from his face and wait until the blood drains and his heart stops.
It's such a violent and gory thought that Remus almost wonders if it's foreshadowing. Perhaps The Wolf was planning on trying on the next full moon.
Sirius hands him the marcel, and he can only manage a mumble thanks before tearing it open to reveal two pairs of socks in preferred shades of beige (he figures it's for mismatching), three gold plated quills, and a brand new edition of Quidditch for the Ages (Remus knows it's so James can have it once he dies of boredom before page three). "Thanks, mate!"
James chucks him a chocolate frog, and he expertly snatches it up before it hits his headboard and gets forgotten under his bed. It always surprises him how much litter collects underneath their bunks. By the end of the year, he's merely glad his four-poster is still standing on all of its legs.
He shoves the chocolate amphibian into his mouth and ducks just in time to narrowly avoid getting nailed in the face with a large box of fudge.
"Sorry, mate!"
Of course, at that moment in time, Remus hadn't quite determined the contents of the box. It does become apparent when the lid pops off upon connecting with his sheets, and small squares of thick chocolate are dumped out onto his clean blankets.
"James, you wanker! Not everything is chuckable. Now there's cocoa all over my sheets," he snapped, irked. He broke off a piece with his finger and tasted it, before turning to the more pressing matter of getting a chocolate stain off his beige blankets. He settles for brushing off the crumbs, but the warmth of his hand melts them into brown streaks that leave him cursing under his breath. The brief sweetness does calm him down mildly, and with a wave of his wand, his beige sheets are brown no more, and the fudge cubes are flying safely into their respective positions within the box. "Tell your dad I said thanks for the fudge."
"Sorry, oh, and don't worry 'bout it," James replied lazily from his spot under Bob's not-so luscious foliage. Sometime during the morning he and Sirius decided to partake in a contest to see how many items they could hang on Bob's bare branches. For fairness and sanitation reasons, Sirius was forced into begrudgingly removing his dirty underwear.
James had just managed to dangle Remus's pocket-sized edition of The Hobbit, much to Remus's displeasure. "Dad always goes overboard for the holidays. And don't even get me started on Mum and her Christmas cookies. Happy Christmas by the way. And Chanukah, and Kwanzaa, am I forgetting any?"
"Winter Solstice," Sirius calls out, his fingers already smeared with chocolate and lumps of chopped peanuts.
His gift pile is looking significantly smaller than Remus's, and judging by the large blob of brand-new miscellaneous items scattered across his bed, Remus can safely assume he got a head start in his present unwrapping.
"Oh yeah, that too." James is examining a letter that is seemingly sent from his mum, but then he turns around and flings it at Sirius. "It's for you, mate. From my mum, not yours, don't worry. She's probably gonna grill you on all your detentions, but more subtly than she did with me 'cause your parents already suck. But don't worry, she usually writes nice stuff too. I dunno about you, though. I can't think of much good you've done."
"Wanker," Sirius grinned, but his smile falters slightly as he runs his fingers across the neat, round printing on the outside of the envelope.
Sucking in a breath, he unravels the yellowed parchment and nearly drops it in shock. There are two sides, a front and a back, and just by skimming through he can tell that Euphemia Potter did not waste any space trying to boost his already large ego. He clears his throat roughly, wondering if he has enough self control not to cry in the middle of his dorm. The others turn around politely so he can collect himself.
James slings an arm over his shoulder, having joined him next to his present pile, and noogies him so hard he nearly falls over.
James smiles at him, and it's the type of James Potter smiles that you simply must return.
*********
Sirius didn't think he could possibly be happier. The leather jacket- no, the leather jacket he'd dreamed of was sitting in his hands, slightly frayed and patched and just right. Emmy smiles, fingering the small golden charm necklace he'd given her lovingly. "So you like it, then?"
He nods enthusiastically, so fast he fears his head might just pop out of its socket. "Yes, yes, oh my god yes. It- how did- how? How?"
She laughs, pressing a gentle kiss against his neck. "Remus told me he knew how much you wanted it. He showed me to the place and I bought it there. I think I was meant to keep his involvement a secret, but I felt bad. I don't want to take credit for his idea."
Ah.
Of course it was Remus's idea.
His own gift had been a secondhand book, annotated in unique Remus fashion. Some obscure muggle novel talking about the answer to life (which was far as Sirius knew, wasn't 42), and while Sirius usually didn't settle for subtle philosophy printed in book form, he'd found himself using a torn up scrap pieces of loose leaf parchment to bookmark the places where Remus's inked scrawl was particularly abundant.
James's own book was already sitting on his nightstand, unread. It was a battered copy of Moby Dick, but Sirius was 99% sure Remus had only chosen the book for James so they could share a healthy serving of cock jokes. Only childish genital humor could entice James into reading any of the so-called classics.
It seems as though the title had managed to pique his interest, but he'd set down the book after realizing the book was not about an immobile dick, but a whale and a fishing boat caught in unfortunate circumstance.
The jacket was made of soft faux leather, the insides soft with silk that had been carefully stitched by hand. The silk was cool against his bare arms, and he savored the fleeting moment before his body warmed it up. It felt smooth and silky (Sirius found it odd, describing a noun with its verbed rendition) against his skin, and made a silent vow to never take it off. It was just the right amount of worn, enough to tell a story, not enough that he had mere scraps in place of a jacket. It felt like an honor just to wear such a sacred object, feel the small cigarette burn against it's left sleeve.
He briefly wondered if it's past user had been left-handed, or perhaps they'd taught themselves to smoke left-handed, like Remus did. So he could smoke and do classwork, two rather contradictory actions.
Late nights in the common room were one of the best times to see Remus in action. He was surrounded with a smoke halo, casually flipping through pages in his textbook, or scribbling notes into his precious paperbacks, his cigarette dangling loosely between his left hand fingers. Maybe that's what The Past Wearer Of The Jacket did.
Or perhaps, they held their cigarette with their right hand, but happened to drop it on the left cuff.
Remus would've never dropped his cigarette, right or left handed.
Sirius supposed it was rather obvious that only Remus could give such a delicate gift.
Emmy was lovely. Emmy was great, she was beautiful, her lips were soft and tasted of strawberries.
And yet, she wasn't him.
Remus, who'd known he'd been eyeing the jacket like a hawk since they'd passed the muggle retail store. Who let him be all depressing and unshowered and moody but didn't hesitate to pick a fight when everything began to get personal.
Emmeline Vance, with a small nose and doe eyes, was perfect.
And insatiable.
And boring.
And a girl.
Sirius Black, of all people, knew that the perfect could've never satisfied him.
*******
Brigitte's eyes narrowed as James's grinning figure neared her.
"Heya, Brigitte!"
Her lips quirked upwards as she observed his floppy Father Christmas hat. "What a lovely hat."
"I have a feeling you're being sarcastic," he informed her, pressing a carefully wrapped box into her hands. "But that's okay, I'm willing to take that as a compliment. Anyway, happy Christmas, and Kwanzaa, and Chanukah, and Winter Solstice!"
"You have a rather large inventory of holidays," she observed, a smile playing on her lips. She held the present awkwardly, debating whether or not to tell him that she hadn't even thought he'd buy her a gift. Of course, that meant she hadn't reciprocated his gesture of kindness.
She hadn't expected to receive anything, to be honest. It had been a rather large shock of to her when Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Alice presented her with their cat-themed gift wrapped boxes.
Gift-giving was rarely meant out of kindness.
She'd observed her parents, presenting expensive bottles of wine as bribery, plain and simple. Her parents described it as a hassle, god forbid they owe anyone whatsoever. A series of business transactions was more like it.
And yet, nobody had expected anything in return.
"Thanks! I don't think you were being sarcastic that time." He was grinning, and it appeared that he hadn't been expecting a gift, either. That sent an uncomfortable twinge down her back. "Dorcas is Muslim, Marlene and Frank celebrate Chanukah, Remus is atheist, though he doesn't mind a present exchange, which is good for me, 'cause I love giving presents, and Mary celebrates Kwanzaa, so I've learned not to assume. Anyway, enjoy your gift! You want some fudge? My dad went overboard this year."
"No thanks." Brigitte felt a surprising burst of warmth at James's awareness. "I'm not that hungry."
"Please? Just a square. It's good I swear! Please?" James begged obnoxiously, grabbing her hand and dragging her to his dorm.
Brigitte groaned, running alongside him so he didn't pop her arm out of its socket. "Why do you even ask if you don't take no for an answer?"
"I'm giving you a chance to surrender to my irresistible charm." He beckoned her forward eagerly.
"Come on, Lily's already up there with the others! Oh, yeah, wait 'til you see our tree!"
Brigitte took in the discordant dormitory that lay before her. Wrapping paper lay in heaps, along with disfavored gift earnings that had been left behind in haste. The other Marauders plus Lily were enjoying a raucous conversation of unknown origin.
Lily waved at her expectantly, and she returned the action politely before her eyes landed on the ugliest monstrosity she'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. It was some sort of enormous tree, minus the leaves and cheery holiday spirit.
It appeared to be strangled in color-changing tinsel, which had been poorly charmed and flickered through every failed color of the rainbow. It was also decked out with ordinary objects, and Brigitte could see at least two of the inkwells she'd lost over the past few weeks.
"What the hell is that?"
I have deduced that my writing style fluctuates with every new wolfstar fanfiction I obsess over. I will literally hyperfixate on one fix per month, which is also how often I've been updating recently, so go figure.
Sorry for making this chapter like, twice the usual chapter. I love how chaotic the holidays are and I couldn't wait.
Also, I've come to the (not-so) unnerving yet timely realization that I am depressed.
And, to top off another shitty week of merely getting by, I may possibly be moving to the one state I hate the most, and will hate me even more for being Asian and bi and all else that's the matter with me.
I think I'm just gonna exhaust my list of Wolfstar fanfics and rely on them to fill the gaping black hole in my chest where my once-heart lied in it's concave nest of ribs and tendons and shit.
Wow, I sound like Sirius Black.
In all actuality, I am in love with my blonde, Christian, straight as a ruler best friend. As an Asian who appears greenish red under harsh fluorescent lighting, and is also Christian but not that kind of Christian (not that she is), and is straight as a bendy ruler (one of my deer commenters wrote that in one chapter where Remus was griping about being in love with a straight not-so-straight guy and I died of laughter), I do not appreciate this.
My attraction to such an angelic and irresistibly straight girl seems like a hate crime.
On both levels.
In a way, I feel like I'm going through my own little Wolfstar story. I'm the self-destroying bastard older child of an emotionally abusive and conservative family, and she'd the self-hating golden girl who's laugh makes me want. To shrivel up and die because I'm loving someone who will never love me back i n that way.
Speaking of which, I have a theory that Wolfstar is like, the blueprint of all mentally unstable romances with fellow mentally unstable people. If you're a Sirius kinnie, you will almost always fall in love with Remus Lupin-type characters. That's why, as a living, Asian teenage girl reincarnation of Sirius Black, Ian in love with my very own Remus Lupin.
To sum it all up, I'm depressed and going through a totally different kind of midlife crisis. I do not want to run after my husband at the airport terminal and confess my undying love for him, then drop the bomb that I have terminal cancer (hehe, a pun), and even if my love for him doesn't die, I will. Soon.
Why do I continue to amuse myself with such wordplays?
BUT I did start watching friends, and desire that fact that gay Chandler is made into a running joke (because how the hell could a main character actually be a homosexual?), I love that show. I really appreciate that Ross didn't go al out homophobic at Carol. I kinda like the way her, Ben, Ross, and Susan have become their own little family.
I hope I can have that someday after marrying an obligatory straight man (to appease my parents wishes of me being normal), then coming out spontaneously (hopefully under the influence), and running away with my very own cottage core lesbian.
Okay, thanks for listening to my hyper fixation rant. I'm mentally ill.
Goodbye, and may your life not royally suck the way mine does right now, dear reader!
Thanks for sticking around through a merry Marauders Christmas, then my depressing complaints about Life As We Know It.
Stay tuned for next chapter! The Marauders & Co. are gonna crack open a bottle of firewhiskey and play a game of spin the bottle!
Goodbye!!! I love you all!!!!!