The Spirit of Christmas

The Spirit of Christmas

It wasn't difficult for Remus to identify the furry mass that had

just launched itself onto his stomach, and the slobbery pink tongue

mauling his face was entirely familiar. Remus disentangled his hands

from the duvet. "Down, Padfoot," he said, shoving the dog out of his

face.

The dog changed back into Sirius. "Do you know what day it is? Do you? Do you? Do you?"

"Let me guess," Remus said, taking stock of the piles of presents at the foot of each bed, "St. Patrick's Day?"

"It's Christmas!" Sirius shouted, changing back into a dog. He

turned around and barked, thumping Remus in the face with his tail.

Hopefully Sirius wouldn't accidentally wet the bed in his excitement.

Remus tilted his head out of reach of the dog's tail, took a deep

breath, and swung his legs out from under the duvet. "Godric's balls,

it's freezing in here," he said. Not that it wasn't always chilly in

the castle, but in the winter he could almost feel the chill in his

bones. "I'm turning into an old man," he thought aloud, horrified.

"Too late, Moony, you already are." Sirius cackled. He'd gone human

again without Remus noticing. "So what do you say we wake up these kids

and get opening our presents. Huh, Moony? Do you want to?"

When he got excited, Sirius the human acted exactly like Sirius the dog.

"What time is it exactly?" Remus said, glancing at the window. It was still pitch black outside.

"Christmas time!" Sirius yelled. Remus didn't know how James and

Peter could sleep through this. He didn't know how the entire castle

could sleep through it.

"Sirius," he said slowly, "it's still very, very dark out."

"It's the middle of the winter, dawn's not till seven-thirty at least," Sirius said. "C'mon, let's wake them up!"

"Seven-thirty would be a brilliant time to open presents. We could

even round up to eight. Not--what time is it now?" Remus looked at the

window again and hazarded a guess. "Four-thirty?"

"Four, actually," Sirius said, not the least bit apologetic.

"Four," Remus repeated. "Just kill me now."

"You sound like my uncle Alfred. You'll be complaining of arthritis next."

"My old bones," Remus wailed. He wondered how many seconds of peace

Sirius would give him if he were to lie back down and try to go to

sleep. Less than three, most likely, but still worth a try. He leaned

back and buried his head in his pillow.

"Don't bother, Moony, I know you're awake. Don't you want to open

your presents? You know you do. I got you a really good present this

year, you'll like it, I know you will."

"It's a book," Remus said through his pillow.

He could hear Sirius's face fall. "How'd you know?"

"Sirius, you always buy me books. You pick out really thick ones

with words like 'bifurcation' in the title and then ask me to explain

what the title means after I open it."

"But you love those books!" Sirius said, pained. "You always pretend

you don't like your books, but then I'll catch you reading them in the

bathroom for three hours when you think no one'll miss you, like you

did last Christmas."

Remus couldn't very well deny it. He poked half his face out from

under the pillow and said, "Are you sure we can't wait till six at

least?"

Sirius sensed victory and gleefully snatched the pillow away. Remus

groaned. "I knew you'd come around, Moony. Let's wake up Peter and

James!"

Sirius was a dog again. He repeated the canine cannonball he'd done

on Remus, but James merely rolled over and grunted, and Peter even

proved immune to tickling. Remus didn't know how it was possible not to

be ticklish.

"How can they still be asleep?" Sirius said, looking pained.

"You've failed," Remus agreed.

"We'll just have to open presents without them, then," Sirius said.

"When they wake up at ten and we've already opened their packages and

eaten all their candy, they'll be sorry."

"I'm not going to get any more sleep, am I?" Remus said, on the off chance that he was wrong.

Sirius blinked at him.

"Right, then, might as well open the presents," Remus said.

"Good man, Moony." Sirius fell to his pile of presents, which was,

as always, overstocked with gifts from girls. His fan club, James

called them, and their gifts ran the gamut from the useless--a

hand-knitted tea cosy--to the ridiculous--Mister Markham's Multiuse Condoms: Change Flavor and Color with Each Use!

He had presents from Peter and James, which he didn't open, because

James would kill him if he did, although he did open the package from

James's mum: the yearly box of fudge and treacle tart. Mrs. Potter was

inexplicably convinced that Hogwarts didn't feed them enough, despite

the fact that Sirius ate so much food that he should really be as wide

as he was tall. Sirius also left alone a foreboding black box,

presumably from his family. Considering that he hadn't spoken to them

since the end of the summer, he was probably wise to be wary of its

contents. Even before his family had disowned him, they'd been known

for sending gifts that didn't exactly fit with the warm, happy,

non-poisonous spirit of Christmas. Remus wouldn't be surprised if

Sirius gave the box a few days before opening it so that anything alive

inside might die off.

Remus set aside his own presents from James and Peter and opened

Mrs. Potter's package of fudge and treacle and the package from his

parents. His mother had sent him another pair of gloves, despite the

fact that the ones she'd knitted him last year and the year before

still fit. She'd also sent some money, a box of chocolate biscuits, and

the Duke Ellington record he'd asked for. Never mind that no one at

school had a record player and his was at home; just thinking about

getting to listen to it in June was enough.

"Moony, did you open my present yet? Did you?" Sirius was suddenly in his face, his whole body wagging.

"Not yet." Maybe Sirius would give him a few more seconds to enjoy the thought of jazz in June.

"Moooony," Sirius whined, "come on, open my present! It's right here and I wrapped it all by myself and come on!"

Remus gave up and ripped the paper apart. Inside, sure enough, was a book. "The Epidermis of Analytical Renumeration," Remus read aloud.

"Do you like it? Do you?" Sirius changed back into a dog without waiting for an answer and licked Remus all over the face.

"Guh, geroff," Remus said. "Of course I like it."

"I knew you'd like it," Sirius said triumphantly. "I knew you

would!" He was a dog again, and slobbering all over Remus's face, then

he was Sirius again. "You always say you don't like my presents but

really you do!" The dog was trying to drown him in saliva.

Remus closed his eyes to protect them from the drool. The darned dog

was licking him all over the nose and even trying to force his tongue

down Remus's throat--

Except the tongue was entirely too small to belong to Padfoot. Remus

cracked his left eye open, and realized two things simultaneously: the

tongue definitely did not belong to Padfoot, and James and Peter were

very much awake.

Peter was making like a fish, eyes and mouth wide.

James was smirking. "Merry Christmas, kids."

Sirius froze.

Forget the spirit of Christmas. Remus was going to kill him.