Festival of Lights

Perhaps some neighbor down the street will see and pity him,
He'll surely find some folk who'll take him in.

A man in a trenchcoat trudged down the finely manicured streets, feeling more and more out of place every second. >>left, left, left right left,<< he thought to himself, rolling his eyes and pulling his muffler a little tighter.

There was no place for an out-of-work werewolf to go - not here, anyway. He was bedding down at one of the homeless shelters, and he could've been there among the tramps and bums for Christmas - but he didn't want to; it was much nicer to walk in the snow, and he didn't want to be a burden on anyone. >>I could surely go to Dumbledore,<< muttered the man, but it was only a fleeting dream. >>No, Hogwarts can't afford charity, and if they can I wouldn't take it.<<

Bright lights were strung up on each of the happy, prosperous houses: some tacky, some pretty, some simple, some ornate. A few had no lights at all, but this seemed to be a Christian neighborhood - at least, most of the people were into the spirit.

Frozen, he forced himself onwards. >>There's only a little while more before you get to the bus station, and you've got enough money to ride back to the shelter.<< But he didn't want to go there. He knew where he wanted to be - but he could only be there in his dreams, his imagination.

James and Lily, standing in the firelight with Harry between them. Sirius, finally settled down with a family, and him, too - still a bachelor, maybe, but a happy one. Once Peter would have been there, too, but no longer. Just the four and Harry, a family during the holidays.

Yet he was all alone on Christmas eve, and part of him wanted to cry.

I know he doesn't live around this part of town
His overcoat is torn and rather soiled.
He looks as though he's weary as he shuffles idly on,
We do not care to know the likes of him.

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