Christmas at the Potters
Christmas was a very serious affair at the Potter's. Charlus put a charm on the ceiling of the living room to make it extendable and they dragged in the biggest tree that Sirius had ever seen. The decorating of the Christmas tree was a full family event, complete with Celestina Warbucks playing over the radio at top volume and mugs full of steaming hot cider that Mrs. Potter had kept bubbling on the stove all day, filling the little house with the smell of cinnamon and cardamon. Sirius was dazzled by the star shaped lights that Charlus guided onto the branches of the tree with his wand - long strands of twinkle lights that flickered just like real stars.
They ate caramel covered popcorn and peppermint lollies and fresh orange slices. "Those came all the way from the cousins in Costa Rica," said Charlus, grinning as he spun his wand around one of the largest oranges that Sirius had ever seen.
"Costa Rica, wow," murmured Sirius, running his fingers over the dimpled skin of his orange and relishing the way it smelled when his fingernails scraped the very edge of it. He pressed his nose against it. The only thing more spectacular was the way the juice tasted as he bit into the pulpy flesh of the orange. "I would like to go to Costa Rica one day," he said wistfully.
"It's lovely," Charlus replied, "Very warm."
That night, James and Sirius sat up in James's bedroom on the bed, facing one another, sharing a chocolate bar that James had hidden in his desk drawer. He ripped the wrapper open and split the bar in half, giving one to Sirius. They made plans for exploring the other passages on the list they'd found in the Trophy Room passage and chatted about Remus and the scars that were still pink across Sirius's forearm.
"What do we do if Peter decides to tell after all?" James asked as he chewed the last of his chocolate.
Sirius sighed, "Dunno... I wouldn't really kill him. I don't think. I dunno."
James shook his head, sweeping a bit of fallen truffle cream from his chin. "Nawh, you wouldn't. You're too good."
"Depends what he'd done, I s'pose," Sirius said with a shrug. "Sometimes the good have to do bad things to be good, don't they?"
"Dunno," James replied, "Is it ever good to kill?"
"What about Voldemort?" Sirius asked, "Wouldn't killing him be good?"
James shrugged. "Dunno. It's hard to say. Part of me says it would be. But another part says killin' is killin' the same whoever it is that's done the killin' and who's been killed. Isn't it? A life still ends."
"But if it's a bad life endin'..."
"Who's the one who can judge good and bad?" James asked.
Sirius considered, "Morals. Laws."
James shrugged, "They're made by feeble wizards the same as you and me, aren't they? Sometimes the law is wrong. Sometimes things that are illegal are morally right."
Sirius took a deep breath and folded the wrapper about the rest of his chocolate, too full to finish it. "What a conversation for Christmas eve!" he exclaimed.
James laughed, "Yeah. I s'pose we ought to be talking about something more cheerful."
"I reckon so," Sirius agreed with a chuckle.
James leaned back so he was against the headboard of the bed, his feet crossed at the ankle. His too-short pyjamas were covered with snitches, his socks mismated, one covered with owls, the other stripes of gold and red. He folded his arms up behind his head and said, 'Ah, Sirius, you're going to love it - tomorrow, I mean. Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. Mum makes the most wonderful feasts. And there's always loads of presents."
Sirius smiled, thinking of Christmases long past when he'd looked forward to presents the way James was now. Walburga and Orion had once loved him the way James's parents loved James, hadn't they? Sirius could scarcely remember those days, they seemed so distant a memory.
"Speaking of presents," James suddenly flipped over onto his stomach on the mattress so that he hung over the side doubled over, and reached under the bed. He came back up a moment later, his hair a wild tangle, and righted his glasses with a shove of his index finger. "I didn't get a chance to wrap it, but I reckon you'll - er - dig it," James said, handing Sirius a record.
The Beatles.
"That muggle, John Lennon, the one who sings that song you like - the one about peace and the world and all that - this is his band," James explained, pointing to the picture of him on the sleeve.
Sirius grinned as he flipped the record over and looked down the list of songs - all songs he'd never heard before. He hugged the record to his chest, "Thank you James," he said, his heart nearly busting, he was so thankful. Then a terrible thought occurred to him, "I haven't got anything to give you," he said.
"It's alright, mate," James said, "I'm just glad you're here. That's gift enough for me. I've been hoping you'd come sometime, ever since I sent you that ticket last holiday! And you sounded miserable in your owls," he added.
"I was."
"Well you not being miserable is enough for me," James said, smiling. He returned to his relaxed position, sprawled across the bed once more.
Sirius grabbed the pillow he'd been using and leaned against the foot end of the bed, his feet up by James's elbow, the record laying across his chest. "I like it here, James."
"Good, then stay." James replied. He took a deep breath and snuggled lower down so that he was on his back. Silhouettes of the trees outside of James's bedroom window streaked the ceiling. Bubo was sitting in the branches and his form was there on the ceiling, too, as he fluttered his feathers, guarding the window. James closed his eyes.
"James?" Sirius asked.
"Hmm?"
"You reckon bad wizards were good once?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" James questioned, not opening his eyes.
Sirius shrugged, Well, I mean... Voldemort, he was a kid once, right? He probably went to Hogwarts once. Probably had good mates, probably got bored in History of Magic, same as us... Do you reckon he was ever good? Do you reckon that bad wizards start out good and... you know... get lost some place along the way?"
James said, "I doubt Voldemort was ever good."
"But some wizards were probably good once, yeah?"
James opened one eye.
"Like my Mother and Father," Sirius said. "I didn't think they were bad wizards when I was little. Do you reckon they were good then and... and something changed?"
"Perhaps it's you that's changed," James said.
Sirius nodded. "Perhaps." He looked sad at the thought.
James nudged his shoulder with his stocking foot. "You alright?"
"It's hard," Sirius said, "Not having a family."
"I'm your family," James said firmly.
"Yeah, but... blood family."
"Blood? You're worried about blood?"
Sirius shrugged, "Just... there's some mighty powerful magic in being blood related, isn't there?"
James sat up. "Then let's fix it now." He got up and went over to the desk, digging about in the drawer he'd gotten the chocolate from.
"What're you doing?" Sirius asked, turning so that he was kneeling on the bed, "What do you mean fix it? How do you reckon to fix it?"
James came back, holding a little pocket knife. "Hold out your hand," he said. Sirius did. James pulled open the knife and he brought the blade down across the tip of Sirius's index finger, dragging a little line, drawing blood - vibrant red against Sirius's skin.
"Ow," Sirius complained.
James turned the blade on his own thumb, drawing the blade through his skin. Blood bubbled out of his thumb, and he folded the knife closed. "Press them together," he said. Sirius brought his finger down to James's thumb and they wriggled the digits against one another, smearing each other's blood against the other's cut, the bits of skin edging the skin catching on one another with a stomach-churning sensation. After a few moments, James looked up at Sirius. "There we are, mate," he said, "We're blood related now."
The next morning it was Christmas and the sunlight came in through James's window blindingly bright, the rays of it falling across Sirius's face as he woke. The Beatles were staring up at him from the cover of the record James had given him the night before and his finger had a scab where James's little knife had pierced his skin. James's owl-and-stripe-covered toes were there, too, and Sirius smiled, remembering their talk.
"Happy Christmas," James mumbled from his pillow.
"Happy Christmas, James," Sirius replied.
James stretched, his long legs extending so that his feet went right over the edge. "Blimey," he said, "We've had a bit of a lie-in, haven't we?" James looked over at the clock on his night stand as he pulled on his glasses. "I never lay in on Christmas!"
"We were up half the night talking," Sirius said.
James rolled out of bed and opened the window. Bubo came soaring in and settled on his perch happily. "Happy Christmas, Bubo," James said, closing the window back up. He picked up a little sack of owl treats from his bureau and spilled some onto his palm for Bubo to snatch up. "Let's go downstairs - presents," he reminded Sirius and he waved for his friend to follow him.
Sirius leaned the record against his pillow carefully, and followed James down the steps of the Potter house, back to that magically decorated living room. There were loads of presents beneath the tree. Charlus and Dora were sitting together on the couch - Charlus holding a fancy new telescope and Dora a pretty new witch's hat in a lovely shade that would match her eyes. "Well there they are," Charlus said, smiling, "It's about time!"
James grinned, diving for the presents beneath the Christmas tree as Sirius hung back, watching James grabbed hold of a package. He looked about, trying to decide where to sit down.
"Get on in there, Sirius," Charlus said happily, waving, "I think that one there by the fireplace is yours."
"Mine?" Sirius said, surprised. "There's - there's one for me, too?"
"There's a couple there," Dora said.
"What'd you think, you'd have no presents?" James asked, looking up at Sirius incredulously. "Of course there's presents for you!" He was holding a brand new Quidditch set in a lovely mahogany case. "Look at this!"
Sirius stumbled toward the place Charlus had indicated that there were presents for him and, sure enough, there were a couple there with his name scrawled upon them. He knelt down, unbelieving, and reached for the paper, tearing it away. The first one he opened was a case, too, square in shape with a little tab that twisted to open. He turned it and the case sprung open. Inside were even more records. His eyes widened at all the records, all shiny and new. His hands trembled as he shifted through them. The Beach Boys, T-Rex, Elvis Presley, Rod Stewart, Elton John, The Who... "Wow," he whispered.
"James mentioned you enjoy music," Charlus said.
"I love it," Sirius replied, looking up. "Wow."
"I took out the best one before they wrapped it," James said, grinning, "I wanted to give that one to you myself, since I know how much you like that Lennon bloke."
The next one he opened was a new pair of socks with the Gryffindor house crest sewn into the tops. A box of parchment and a new quill and a little bottle of invisible ink, which would only reveal itself to the intended reader. And then - the surprise of all surprises - Sirius pulled the paper away from a broom.
His eyes widened when he realized what it was and he turned to Charlus and Dora, his jaw dropped.
"James mentioned you didn't have one," Charlus said, excited for Sirius.
"Hey! Great!" James shouted, seeing the broom. He was holding a brand new set of robes and Gryffindor tie and a lovely new leather book bag that had been charmed to stay light as a feather no matter how many texts it carried in it's extended depths. "Now we can play Quidditch with my new set!" He grinned, "Maybe you'll get on the team next term!"
Sirius stammered, so speechless that words would literally not form.
"It's not the fastest there is, but you should be able to keep up with James, give him a run for his money, at least," Charlus said, grinning, "There's a care kit under there, too," he added, eyes twinkling with excitement, pointing to the back of the tree. "We hid that one so you wouldn't open it first by accident."
"Thank you!" Sirius said, his voice trembling with honest astonishment.
Charlus looked quite pleased as he leaned back in his chair, watching as James leaned over to read the model number of the broom on the handle and the pair of them started chatting excitedly about the broom's specs. Dora leaned over and gently kissed the top of her husband's head. "You're a good wizard, Mr. Potter," she whispered. He had been the one who had championed to get the broomstick for Sirius, persisting that every young boy needs a broomstick and what the ruddy hell are we going to do with all the galleons the Sleekeazy's making us anyway if not spend it on frivolous things? Charlus smiled and wrapped his arm 'round her waist.
Sirius had never had such a wonderful Christmas. He really, truly felt as though he were with family. Even before Walburga and Orion had basically disowned him, they had never had a Christmas quite as happy and warm as this one at the Potters' had been. James had been right about the feast - about everything, really. Sirius went to bed that night, contented for the first time in a long time.