Fic: Gingerbread Houses for liseuse

[youcantseeus.livejournal.com]

Title: Gingerbread Houses
Author/Artist: youcantseeus
Recipient: liseuse
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *None *
Word count: 4,800
Summary: Sirius runs away from home and spends Christmas Eve with Remus and his parents. Things get a bit awkward.
Notes: Thanks so much to lhazzie for doing a great beta read for me. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

It’s a rainy morning on the day before Christmas Eve when Sirius shows up on Remus’s doorstep. Remus answers the door, thinking that it’ll be a neighbor bringing over a fruitcake or someone from his mother’s book club dropping off a gift, only to find Sirius standing on his doorstep, dripping wet and shivering. Remus knows right away why he’s come. The only reason for Sirius to be standing on his doorstep is that Sirius has run away from home.

This makes the fourth time that Sirius has run away from home since the summer of their Third Year when he tried it for the first time. On the other occasions he’d always eventually ended up on James’s doorstep. But the Potters are skiing in Switzerland for the holidays which makes Remus the next logical choice.

“Hey,” Remus says.

“Hey.” Water drips from Sirius’s wet curls and falls onto his fine, disheveled robes. His face and lips are flushed pink from the cold. “What are you wearing?”

Remus looks down and remembers that he’d put on Muggle trousers and a jumper that morning. Remus owns a lot of Muggle clothes, but he never wears them at school because – well, because most people don’t dress like that at Hogwarts, not even the Muggleborns. James and Sirius never wear Muggle clothes, not even under their robes.

“Muggle clothes,” Remus says, dumbly.

Sirius looks at him, quirking a half-smile as if unsure whether this is some elaborate prank. “Okay. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Remus stands aside. “Yeah, of course. You ran away?”

Sirius shakes himself off and water goes everywhere, reminding Remus of Sirius’s doggy alter-ego. “I couldn’t stand it for another moment, Moony. It was my second day home and we were at about the fourteenth pompous Christmas party of the season. And – Merlin, I just had to get away from all that.”

“The second day of hols? Sirius, that was three days ago.”

Sirius grins. “I know. I’ve been spending a lot of time as Padfoot, you know – begging treats from passing children, that sort thing. I considered just staying that way until it was time to get back on the train to Hogwarts, but the temperature is supposed to drop tonight and I wasn’t sure I could find somewhere warm to sleep. So … here I am.”

Remus sighs. Sirius is now looking curiously around Remus’s house which makes Remus distinctly uncomfortable. Remus has never been to Sirius’s house, but he knows that Sirius is incredibly rich. They’ve all been to James’s house multiple times and James lives in a huge mansion with twelve bedrooms. Remus’s house, by contrast, is small and aging. Every room is decorated in peeling, floral wallpaper that Remus’s mother keeps swearing that she’ll find the time to replace. Every room has some bit of cracked molding or loose floorboard that Remus’s father says he’ll replace soon. This is the ninth house they’ve lived in since Remus was bitten when he was four years old. As soon as one of the neighbors starts asking uncomfortable questions, they all pack in the middle of the night and move to a new house. His parents are probably tired of doing home repairs only to have to leave. That or they don’t have the money.

“And I suppose you thought it would be a good idea to leave without telling your parents.”

“I was sort of drunk. Merlin, they have the best wine at those parties. It’s the one good thing about them. And I just thought --”

Sirius’s voice trails off as Remus’s mother comes into the room from the kitchen. “Hello,” she says, looking from Remus to Sirius.

“Er, hi,” Sirius says.

Remus rolls his eyes. “Mum, this is my friend Sirius. You know, from school? He – er -- needs a place to stay for a few days.” His eyes silently beg his mother to allow Sirius to stay.

She raises her eyebrows.  “What do his parents say? Surely they want to spend Christmas with their son.” Remus’s own parents have always been absolutely adamant that he spend Christmas at home. He’s visited James and Peter during the summer holidays, but Christmas belongs to family.

Sirius snorts. “You don’t know my parents.”

“I suppose not. But I do know that you’re dripping wet. We’ll have to at least get you changed and warmed up before we send you back home. I’ll hang up your cloak down here and you can change in Remus’s room.”

She reaches for Sirius cloak, but Sirius pulls away quickly. “I can get it.”

Remus frowns. Sirius doesn’t usually mind being touched.

Remus’s mother blinks. “Okay. I’ll go have Lyall do an owl then.”

Remus flushes and looks at Sirius whose mouth quirks into a bemused half-smile. One doesn’t do an owl, one sends an owl.
These types of distinctions are as lost on Remus’s mother as the process of turning on the telly is lost on his father.

As soon as Sirius and Remus are alone in Remus’s room, Sirius dumps the contents of his knapsack onto Remus’s bed. There’s one spare robe, a toothbrush, a Sneakoscope, a pair of red socks, a half-eaten chocolate bar, a bag of dog treats, a mystery novel with a bookmark halfway through it, and Sirius’s Muggle Studies textbook. All in all, Sirius looks about as ready to run away from home as he does to hike Mount Everest. Remus wonders what he’s doing for clean underwear. Probably best not to wonder.

“You can borrow some of my robes if you want,” Remus says. “Are you really planning on staying here?”

“If my parents don’t make me come home when your Dad owls them. They probably will.”

“They never did when you stayed with the Potters, right?”

“Well, no. But the Potters are. You know.”

“Purebloods?”

“Yeah. No offense.”

Remus opens his closet, takes out his least shabby set of robes, and hands them to Sirius. Sirius strips unselfconsciously and
Remus has to turn away in embarrassment. He’s fancied Sirius for the last year, but he certainly doesn’t want Sirius to realize it.

“I might as well tell you right now,” Remus says. “We don’t have a spare bedroom. So you’ll either have to sleep in here with me or on the sofa.” He flushes, remembering how they each got their own room at the Potters’ house.

“You can turn around now,” Sirius says. Remus turns to see Sirius fully dressed in dry robes. “And that’s fine. We share a room at Hogwarts, yeah? And I’m sure that your Dad can transfigure your desk into something bed-like.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.

They spend the next three hours holed up in Remus’s room talking about school and pranks and the likelihood that Remus will be able to sneak Firewhiskey from his parents’ liquor cabinet. Remus avoids the subject of Sirius’s family and his reasons for running away, but he doesn’t believe for a moment that Sirius’s annoyance with his family’s parties is the real reason for him leaving.

Finally, Remus’s father comes in, his mouth drawn into a thin, tight line. He’s wearing his dress robes which is rather odd because he hates wearing dress robes. After the necessary greetings, Remus’s father says: “I’ve sent an owl to your parents and stressed to her the necessity of quick delivery. I also Apparated to their house, but no one answered when I knocked on the door.”

“You know where Sirius lives?” This is the first question that pops into Remus’s mind because it seems so odd. But Sirius doesn’t bat an eyelash. Remus sometimes forgets that his father is from a pureblood family rather like Sirius’s and that those types of people tend to know one another.

“They’re not much on surprise visitors, my parents,” Sirius says in a bored tone of voice. “Once they get your owl, you’ll probably be hearing from them.

Remus’s father looks baffled. “But surely they’re looking for you. Don’t you think they’re worried about you?”

“You don’t know my parents, Mr. Lupin. Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve gone missing. They won’t be worried, trust me.”

Remus’s father sighs, clearly uneasy. Remus realizes that he has to let Sirius stay – that or throw a sixteen-year-old out on the street. “I’ll make you up bed,” he says, finally.

As Remus’s father leaves the room, Sirius looks at Remus and grins. “Looks like I’m staying after all, Moony.” Remus tries to smile back.

*

When they wake up on Christmas Eve morning, there is still no word from Sirius’s parents, but Sirius doesn’t seem concerned. As they go down for breakfast, Sirius is cheerfully talking about sneaking out to see James when he returns to the country on Boxing Day. Sirius stops short, however, when he sees the breakfast that Remus’s mother has put out on the table.  Remus smiles to see that their humble kitchen table is piled high with fat, piping sausages, poached eggs, huge pieces of toast topped with thick slabs of butter, and a selection of jams and marmalades. Remus’s mother isn’t much on cooking, usually, but around Christmastime she always suddenly develops the desire to prepare huge dinners, elaborate cakes, and full breakfasts.

Sirius waggles his eyebrows at Remus before sitting down and loading his plate with sausages.

“Well,” Remus’s mother says. “At least one of you eats like a healthy, growing boy should.”

Remus grabs a piece of toast and stuffs it in his mouth to avoid answering. His mother always claims that he doesn’t eat enough and Remus supposes that it’s true. While he eats normally most of the time, in the week following the full moon, Remus barely feels like eating at all.

Sirius pauses in the middle of eating his sausage, looks at Remus’s mother and swallows. “Uh-huh.”

Remus frowns. Usually Sirius is rather good at charming adults outside his own family, but his behavior towards Remus’s mother thus far has bordered on catatonic. Remus becomes increasingly suspicious when Remus’s father enters the room and Sirius immediately strikes up an in-depth conversation about the new Minister of Magic.

At the first opportunity, Remus pulls Sirius into the sitting room, away from his parents. “Sirius. Do you have some sort of problem with my mother?”

Sirius’s face turns bright red. This shocks Remus – Sirius is almost never embarrassed. “No.”

“No?” Remus asks. “Only. It seems like you do.”

“I don’t. It’s not exactly that I have a problem with her. I’ve just. No offense or anything. I’ve just never talked to one before.”

“Never talked to one?” Remus feels his own face heat up. “Never talked to one what?”

“You know. A Muggle.”

Remus opens his mouth to reply and then closes it again. He so seldom challenges Sirius or James that it’s uncomfortable, but if Sirius is going to say nasty things about his mother, then he has to say something.

But before he can speak, Sirius bumbles on. “I don’t mean anything <i>bad</i> by that. I’m sure your mum’s very nice. She’d have to be way better than my mother. I’ve just. I’ve never actually spoken to a Muggle before and I don’t know what to say.”

Remus tries to see Sirius’s point. Remus is a wizard, but he’s probably spoken to thousands of Muggles in his lifetime. His parents have nearly always lived in Muggle neighborhoods, he’s occasionally visited his mother’s Muggle relatives, and he even went to a Muggle pre-school for a brief time before he was bitten. Muggles are no novelty to him. But to Sirius, they must seem very different.

“But. You take Muggle Studies. You like it.”

Remus strongly suspects that Sirius signed up for Muggle Studies in his Third Year purely as a ploy to anger his mother. Now, however, Muggle Studies is the only subject that Remus has ever seen Sirius actually study for. Remus supposes that this makes sense. Sirius had come to Hogwarts with a spell repertoire that many Fourth Years would envy, having been drilled by expensive private tutors for years before starting school. This means that he doesn’t really need to study most subjects much and is often bored by their classes. But he knows almost nothing about Muggles and so Muggle Studies is a subject that holds a good deal of fascination for him.

Sirius scuffs his shoes against the carpet. “I know.  But they don’t actually teach you how to talk to them in Muggle Studies. I mean, I completely understand that Muggles are just as good as us. I just don’t know what to say. You’re not supposed to talk to Muggles about magic, right? How do I carry on a conversation and not mention magic?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Usually that’s true because of the Statute of Secrecy. But my mum already knows about magic and wizards in case you hadn’t noticed. You can talk to her about magic or school or anything, really.”

“Oh. I thought it might be. You know. Rude to talk about magic in front of her since she can’t do it.”

“Oh. No. She doesn’t mind. She’s just like anyone else, Sirius. You don’t have to talk to her in any special way.”

“Oh.” Sirius shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Very well then. I’ll try to do better then. I’m terribly sorry, Moony.”

“You’re terribly sorry?” Remus asks with a half-smile. He always finds it amusing how posh Sirius starts to sound when he’s placed into awkward situations. “Well, it’s quite alright then.”

*

By noon, Remus’s mother is dragging out the Christmas tree and the ornaments and asking Remus and Sirius to help put up the tree. Remus winces when he sees how bedraggled their fake tree looks, but his parents actually have a decent collection of ornaments including several antique magical ornaments that spin and glow when the lights are dimmed. Remus’s father touches each ornament with his wand to start them spinning and everyone oohs and aahs as they hang each fairy and snowflake into place. Remus holds his breath when his mother brings out the tinsel, which is a Muggle form of decoration and a rather tacky one at that, but Sirius merely displays polite interest.

“Does your family have a fine tree, Sirius?” Remus’s father asks as he taps another ornament with his wand and levitates it toward the tree.

“Very fine,” Sirius says. “But the house-elves always put it up. I’ve never put up a Christmas tree before.”

“Never?” Remus asks. “Not even when you stayed with the Potters for the holidays?”

“No. The Potters always have their tree up before I get there.”

“Well, then this is a new experience for you,” Remus’s mother says.

“Very new, ma’am,” Sirius says. “Er … may I ask what the tree is made of?”

Remus’s mother blinks and then chuckles. “I don’t know. I never really thought of it before. Some sort of plastic, I suppose”

“Ah,” Sirius nods, wisely. “My Muggles Studies book says that the Muggles make a great many things out of plastic.”

“I suppose they do, nowadays,” Remus’s mother says with a wry smile.

Sirius continues hanging ornaments, inspecting each ornament as well as the branches of the tree itself carefully. There are Muggle ornaments as well and though they aren’t quite as elaborate as the magical ornaments, they do shine nicely on the tree. When they are close to finished, Remus’s mother hands Remus some white paper.

“Remus, why don’t you and Sirius go to the kitchen and make me some paper decorations?”

Remus groans. Making paper decorations for his mother has become a bit of a Christmas tradition ever since she showed him how when he was five years old. But nothing screams poverty like homemade Christmas decorations.

“Mum, I don’t think --”

“Just do it for your mother, Remus,” she says. “Please don’t argue.”

“Yeah, Remus, it’ll be fun,” Sirius says, unexpectedly. He takes Remus by the hand and leads him into the kitchen. He squirms around like an eager puppy as Remus shows him how to fold pieces of paper into snowflakes.

“This is brilliant,” he says, unable to contain his glee.

“Er … it is?”

“Yeah. My Muggle Studies book says that Muggles always make their own decorations out of paper and now we’re doing it just like in the book.”

“I don’t think that Muggles always --”

“Can we string popcorn and cranberries later? My book says that Muggles do that as well.”

“Er, well I’ve never actually done that before. I think it may be an American thing? Anyway, I don’t think we have any popcorn or cranberries.”

“Oh,” Sirius deflated slightly. “Well, anyway, your Dad said that we’d light the tree later. By plugging it into the wall. With electricity. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure. About that. When Mum plugs in the tree, you have to make sure your wand is carefully put away otherwise you might set something on fire. It’s difficult enough with all the magical ornaments.”

“Yeah?” Sirius shoots him a mischievous grin. “Has it caught on fire before?”

Sirius leans forward to pick a bit of paper out of Remus’s hair, rendering Remus momentarily speechless. “Er, yes,” he mumbles. “Three times, actually. When I was seven, the whole thing went up in flames. We would have lost most of the ornaments if Dad hadn’t restored them with magic.”

“That sounds wicked.”

“Yeah.” Remus’s face is now very close to Sirius’s and his eyes can’t help but move to Sirius’s lips.

At that moment, Remus’s father clears his throat. Remus looks up to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. “Remus. I’d like a word.”

“Right,” Remus says, blushing.

He stands and follows his father into the hallway. “I thought you’d be interested to know that I stopped by the Blacks’ house this morning and couldn’t get an answer yet again. I’m sure that I saw a curtain move, though.”

“Yeah,” Remus says in a low voice. “They’re not exactly the world’s best parents, Dad.”

“I can see that.” Remus’s father looks at Remus carefully before continuing. “His mother is that dreadful woman who writes all those letters to the Daily Prophet about how Muggles should be made to serve wizards and werewolves should be rounded up and dealt with, isn’t she?”

Remus bites his lip, unable to meet his father’s eye. “That’s her.”

“Do you really think that’s the sort of person you should be hanging around with?”

“Sirius isn’t like that,” Remus objects. “He doesn’t ever agree with his mother.”

“Ah. You like him, don’t you?”

“Of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Heat rises to Remus’s face. He can’t bring himself to answer his father.

“Go easy on your mother when you tell her, won’t you?” Remus’s father says.  “It may be a bit of a shock to her.”

“You mean because his parents are pureblood supremacists?”

“No. I meant because he’s a boy. Muggles don’t do that sort of thing out in the open, you know. Your mother’s had a long time to adjust to magical culture and you know that she’ll always love you, no matter what. Just break it to her easy.”

“Oh. Er. I will. But there’s no reason to discuss it at all. Sirius doesn’t like me in that way.”

Remus’s father smiles at him, sadly. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We’d better go back to the festivities before we’re missed.”

In the kitchen, they find Remus’s mother showing Sirius how to work a blender. Sirius applauds when the thing comes on as if she’s just preformed some sort of parlor trick. Remus can tell from Sirius’s avid expression that it’s going to be a long afternoon.

*

“Moony?”

“Yes, Padfoot?” Remus answers, none too patiently. Over the past hour, Sirius has quizzed Remus relentlessly about Muggle Christmas traditions, Muggle food items, and the inner workings of Muggle household appliances. They are sitting in the kitchen and having tea. Sirius’s Muggle Studies book is spread out on the table in front of him.

“Are you going to hang your stocking by the chimney with care?”

Remus sighs deeply. “No, Padfoot.”

“Only. The book says that Muggles hang their stockings by the chimney with care.”

“I’m not a Muggle. And we don’t have a chimney.” Remus doesn’t tell Sirius that they used to do the stocking thing and that Remus had been as happy as any little Muggle to find his stocking stuffed with treats and gifts.

“What about gingerbread houses? Are we going to make gingerbread houses? The book says that Muggles love gingerbread houses.”

“I’ve never made one.”

“I’d think you’d be more interested in all this,” Sirius says. “I mean, it’s all part of your cultural heritage. You’re the one who is half Muggle.”

Remus slams his teacup down on the table so hard that it nearly breaks. “I am not half Muggle.”

Sirius blinks at him. “I just meant that your mother is a Muggle.”

“No. I’m not half Muggle. That’s how people like your parents talk. I’m a wizard. Not a half-wizard. A wizard.”

Sirius flushes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that you’re a full wizard and everything. I just meant that I would think you’d be interested in all this since your mum is a Muggle and this is all about her culture and everything.”

Remus forces himself to calm down. “Sirius. You do know that Muggle isn’t a culture, don’t you? There are lots of different Muggle cultures – in fact, there are probably more Muggle cultures than magical cultures.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like – for example, my mum’s mother was Jewish and she didn’t celebrate Christmas at all until she married my grandfather. And when my mum was a kid, she went to synagogue and celebrated all the major Jewish holidays as well as Christmas and Easter and the rest.

Sirius scrunches up his brow at this speech. “What’s Jewish?”

Remus sighs, realizing how much of this speech must have gone over Sirius’s head. “It’s a sort of Muggle religion. I don’t understand it terribly well. I only meant that not all Muggles even celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh. But your family does.”

“Well. Yes.”

“What’s synagogue?”

Remus groans. He doesn’t want to get roped into explaining a major world religion to Sirius. “Sirius. Enough.”

Sirius shrugs. “Fine. Hey, Mrs. Lupin,” he says as she comes into the kitchen, “have you ever made a gingerbread house?”

Remus’s mother wrinkles her brow in thought. “Maybe once. When I first met Lyall. He’d never seen one before.”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen one either.”

“You can buy these kits in Diagon Alley now that claim to be genuine Muggle gingerbread house kits,” Remus’s mother says.

Sirius sniffs. “As if you can buy genuine Muggle anything in Diagon Alley.”

“My thoughts exactly. Why don’t you come in the other room and I’ll teach you how to use the vacuum cleaner?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius exclaims. Remus’s mother winks at Remus as she leads Sirius into the other room. After a few minutes, Remus hears the sound of the vacuum cleaner running. Remus’s mother comes back into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of tea.

“Good job in getting Sirius to do housework,” Remus says.

“He’s having fun doing it,” his mother says. She sits down across from Remus. “Your father was just like that when we first met. So curious about “Muggle” things. And so ignorant about them as well.”

Remus raises his eyebrows. “Really? How on earth did you stand him?”

“How do you stand Sirius?”

Remus shrugs.

“You know,” Remus’s mother gives Remus a sly look. “I think I have a bit of gingerbread stored away somewhere. And I’m sure that your father could make a bit of gingerbread into a great deal of gingerbread.”

Remus gives her a sharp look. “You don’t mean --”

“I do.”

*

“Remus, can you pass me the icing, please.”

Remus looks up from his own gingerbread disaster to see Sirius gluing a piece of roof onto one of his towers.

“Get your own icing,” Remus says.

“Don’t pout.”

“You cheated.”

Sirius looks offended. “I did not cheat.”

“You used magic. You’re not supposed to use magic to make a Muggle gingerbread house.”

“How do you know that I used magic?”

Remus glares at him. “Your gingerbread house is a replica of Hogwarts.”

Sirius frowns at his gingerbread house.  It takes up most of the kitchen table and casts a shadow over of Remus’s pathetic little gingerbread hut. “I can’t get the Ravenclaw tower right.”

“If I weren’t holding my gingerbread house together with my hands, then I’d slap you.”

Sirius strolls over to the bowl of icing beside Remus and picks it up. “You know, if you’d just use a little bit of magic, then that thing would stay together, no problem.”

“We’re not supposed to use magic outside of school.”

Sirius licks his finger and brushes it against Remus’s cheek. Remus freezes. “You had icing on your face.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re being so high and mighty about the magic thing. Your Dad used magic on his gingerbread house.”

Remus glances toward the other end of the kitchen where his mother and father are putting the finishing touches on their gingerbread houses. “Not as much as you used magic.”

“Maybe not, but his house has stained glass windows. You don’t think he did those without magic, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

Remus’s mother wanders over to their table. “That’s some gingerbread house, Sirius. Remus, sweetheart, do you want me to help you with that?”

Remus glares at her. “It’s fine.”

“Really? Because I’m sure your father could zap that thing right together with his wand and then you wouldn’t have to hold it like that.”

“He wants to do it the Muggle way, Mrs. Lupin,” Sirius says.

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. Sirius, I hope you’re having a good time.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sirius says.

“But surely, you’re missing your own family traditions.”

Remus expects Sirius to deny it, but he doesn’t. “Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing that I miss.”

“Oh?”

“Wassail,” Sirius says. “You know, the drink. It’s my favorite.”  He winks at Remus.

“I see. And your fondness for this drink wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it has alcohol in it, would it?”

Sirius shrugs and looks away. “I just like it.”

“Oh. Well, there might be something I can do. But tomorrow. Tonight, it’s past time that both of you were in bed.”

Remus takes his hands away from his gingerbread house and miraculously, the thing stays together. Remus sighs in relief.

“We’re going, Mum.”

*

Remus is sitting on his bed in his second-best pair of pajamas, drying his hair with a towel. Sirius comes into the room, dressed in Remus’s best pair of pajamas and humming to himself.

“Your parents are so cool,” he says.

“Ha ha.”

“No, they are.” Sirius sits down beside Remus on his bed. “I’m really glad that I got to run away here this time instead of to the Potters.”

Remus stops drying his hair. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I am though,” Sirius says. “The Potters -- well, they’re more like my parents. I mean, they’re infinitely nicer than my parents, of course, but they spend their Christmases the same way as my parents. Stuffy parties and banquets and Yuletide traditions that are thousands of years old. Your family, though. They’re different. They know how to have a real family Christmas.”

“Sirius.” Remus hesitates briefly before continuing. “Will you tell me why you really ran away?”

Sirius leans against Remus, resting his head on Remus’s shoulder. His mouth is drawn into a thin line. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry. About the way your parents are, I mean.”

“I swear that I’m going to run away for good someday.”

Remus runs his hand through Sirius’s hair. “Mum says that she might have a recipe for wassail tucked away somewhere.”

“I probably won’t be here to drink it. I expect that my father will want to spoil my Christmas by turning up tomorrow and bringing me home.”

“Maybe he won’t,” Remus says.

“Maybe he will. Well, at least I got to make a gingerbread replica of Hogwarts. That’s something I’ll always remember.”

“We should do it again sometime. Even though you cheated.”

Sirius laughs. “We really should.”

He leans forward and kisses Remus on the cheek before crossing the room and getting into his own bed.

“Happy Christmas, Moony,” he says.

Remus rubs his cheek. “Happy Christmas, Padfoot.”