The Curse of Charon

Chapter Seven

Harry was looking forward to the winter holidays; not only because it would mean a break from the schoolwork that the sixth-years had been flooded with but also because hopefully he would receive fewer anonymous letters. All of them were the same; words clipped from newspapers and magazines, all spelt badly and smudged, on plain parchment in old battered envelopes. All made references to his private life, and none of them worried him very much. They were simply irritating.

Hopefully the perpetrator of the pointless notes would be going home for the holidays, and leave Harry some peace.

In Harry's mind, the only thing that marred the prospect of two weeks' holiday was the fact that Draco would not be there.

*

Draco had received an owl from his father that very morning, instructing him to be on the Hogwarts' Express at the end of term unless he wanted a kick up the arse. In fewer words.

Draco,

I will expect to meet you at King's Cross Station on the 17^th December. Bring the Magnanimatis Adnecto, if you know what's good for you.

Mr L. M. Malfoy.

He sighed. That was his father all over. Not even so much as a 'Hello son, how are you?' Simple instructions. Draco knew that if letters could talk this one would have barked at him.

Normally he didn't mind going home for the holidays. He got to see his mother, and his dog, and he got to stay up to dinner with father and wear dress robes most of the time. In fact, holidays were often one of the better parts of the school year. Not this year, though. He would be leaving the thing most dear to him back at the castle over Christmas. No Harry for over two weeks. And at Christmas too!

*

Severus was alone again, for yet another Christmas. He was used to it by now, being alone. He had, after all, shunned human contact for many years. And yet he found himself craving it now. It all made very little sense to him.

He thought of his half-brother, nine years younger than he, and the product of a happy marriage. Alonso had been popular at school, had gotten a good job working for Gringotts, and had settled down with Helena Prewett, the younger sister of Fabian and Gideon. Good wizarding stock, his stepfather had said. Severus didn't mind his stepfather; the man was occasionally insensitive but usually meant well. And he made Severus' mother happy, which was the most important.

His son had grown into a well thought of, kind and honourable man, whilst Severus had shrunk into himself. Alonso had sided with the Order at the first sign of any troubles with Voldemort; Severus had sought the Dark Lord.

He realised it didn't take a genius to work out which was the 'better' brother.

Suddenly he wished that he had a nice home, a pretty and intelligent witch to welcome him back to it in the evenings, a few small children running about the place, clinging to his robes and asking to be cuddled.

Where had he gone so wrong? How had his brother gone so right?

*

Why can't I get my act together? Send mum an owl telling her whether I'm staying in school or going home. I told myself I was over him. I told myself I hated his guts. I told myself I would never think about him again. Why does it even matter to me whether or not he's staying? I am pathetic. No other way to say it. Just pathetic.

Ginny stopped writing when the portrait hole opened and Ron, Hermione and Harry clambered through into the common room. They chose the armchairs closest to hers as looked as though they were anticipating a conversation. Realising that any attempt to continues her diary would prove fruitless, she tucked it into her bag with a sigh. Anyway, it was a private diary.

"So Gin," Ron began, when he saw she had put away her book and quill. "Have you decided if you're staying or going yet?"

"No, not yet," she replied. "It really depends what other people are doing."

"You'd better hurry up and tell Mum. She'll need to know whether to prepare one turkey or two!" Ginny laughed. That was exactly how their mother was. Always anxious that there might not be enough food.

"Are you three staying?" Hermione nodded.

"Ron and I decided to keep Harry company," she said, smiling at Ron. Ginny knew that this was Ron and Hermione speak for 'At least one of our dormitories will be empty at some point during the holiday.'

Honestly, she thought. Anyone would think that they were the only people ever to have sex.

"I'm definitely staying," said Harry. "Not like I've got much of a home to go to, is it?"

"Mum invited you, like she always does," said Ron, the warmth of the common room slowly causing his face to flush.

"I know, and it's really kind of her, as always, but I feel bad about staying with you to often. I always end up staying for a few weeks in the summer, I wouldn't want to be any trouble."

"Harry, you know Mum sees you as a sort of seventh son," Ginny said with a giggle.

"Yeah," Ron continued. "You'd be helping her out. That way she could make two turkeys without feeling guilty about leftovers!" They all laughed at this.

"Do you know who else is staying?" Ginny asked after the laughter had subdued. "What about from the other houses?"

"Malfoy has to go home," Hermione said absent-mindedly. "His father wants him to." Ron looked at her with a strange mixture of surprise and disgust.

"How do you know what Malfoy's up to?" he asked.

"We met in the library, had a chat. He's really not that bad when you talk to him for a while."

"Are we talking about the same Malfoy here?" Ron asked indignantly. "The one that calls you a mudblood every other day?" Harry stayed silent, in case he gave anything away to Ron. Hermione had told him earlier that she knew about his and Draco's relationship, although she hadn't told him exactly what Draco had said. Harry knew he would have to tell Ron at some point, but now was too soon. He needed to do it when he had everything prepared.

Ginny had pricked her ears up at the mention of Draco's name, and then mentally hit her head against the arm of the chair.

'Stop...thinking...about...HIM!' she told herself.

"Even though you three are staying, I think 'll go home," she said, surprising everyone with the decisiveness in her voice. "It might be nice to see Bill, and his new girlfriend."

*

Dear Sirius,

I'm sorry if this letter sounds bad. You know I was always awful at writing proper letters; I only stuck to the facts that were necessary. I was never any good at fancy language or imagery. That was where you came in. Do you remember how we always dreamt of writing a book together? A historical novel, where I would provide the facts and you would provide the beautiful flowery passages and poems. Like the ones you used to write me back when we were merely dreamers. When we were twenty-one, and ruled the world.

I wish I could say I'm writing this letter because I need the practise. I wish I could tell you that were true. But I can't. You'd laugh to see me now, Sirius. I'm writing a letter because I have things I need to tell you, things I have to say, and there is no other way to do that. I'm sure you can read this. I'm sure you're watching me right now, chuckling like old times.

I want to tell you how sorry I am, firstly for not believing you were innocent sooner. I should have known you couldn't do anything like that. I should have known it was Pettigrew, that little rat. Literally. Then again, I doubt that anyone would have suspected Peter. Such a good little boy at school, but such a follower. A worshipper. I've often wondered what would have happened if you had actually met the Dark Lord. You certainly wouldn't have served him. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had ended up serving you. You could have had so much more than you did, Siri. You could have had so much more than me.

But I digress. There are still more things to be said. I'm also sorry about any time we fought, and I didn't go after you. I'm sorry for any time we wasted. God knows I wouldn't have wasted any if I'd known it wasn't going to last forever. If I'd known that death would indeed be the thing that parted us. I would have clung onto every moment in case it was the last we shared. The last in which our breath mingled freely. The last time I ever got to hold you in my arms. I swear that if I had known I would have clung onto you forever. I would never ever have let you go.

I don't want this to be the end of us, Sirius. I want us to go on forever. I want to keep loving all of you for the rest of my life, and, God help me, I will. Even if I can never look at your sweet face again, even if I never again hear my name on your lips, or watch as you do sweet, silly little things that only I could like. Or tell strange jokes about books that only we've read, about things that only we understand.

We'll never go out to dinner again, never again share a bottle of wine and a long kiss, to the disgust of the other patrons. Never again will we be thrown out of an establishment for having a quickie in the washroom. Never again will we exchange flowers on special days, or celebrate our anniversary, or even sit down to watch a muggle film on the old television that I got just outside of Diagon Alley. The one where the colour went all funny unless you hit it just right. I haven't watched it since you left me, only you could smack it at exactly the right angle.

It sounds stupid, but I'm crying my eyes out now. The page is all splashed with tear marks, and my handkerchief is sodden. Remember how you always used to laugh at my hankie? I do. I remember.

It was bad enough when Lily and Prongs died, but I remember even know thinking how lucky I was to have you to lean on and your shoulder to cry into. Now I have no one. It's not fair.

Then you were sent to Azkaban. Those were dark days, Siri. I hardly knew where to turn. I drifted for thirteen years, until that night we met in the shack. The night I got fired. We laughed afterwards. I was happy. I didn't need the job. I only took it to stop myself dwelling on you. That's why I took it again this year. I jumped at the chance, when Dumbledore offered it to me. I think I scared the poor man.

Oh Sirius, I'm alone. I'm so alone. I've never been so alone before. The closest thing I have to a companion is Harry, and he's a student. That doesn't really matter actually, but he looks so much like James and Lily. That does matter.

Anyway, I can't spend the rest of my life with my closest friends being students. I had close friends before. The best friends a person could have. Look where friendship got me. I'm alone. I'm middle-aged and alone. No wonder I'm writing letters to a dead man.

I love you so much, Sirius. More than I can ever tell you. More than you ever knew.

Remus.

He folded the letter into thirds and placed in an unmarked envelope, identical to all the others he had in a small stack in he desk drawer. He placed the latest one with them and locked the desk with a flick of his wand. Then he left the room.

*

Don't think of yourself,

As loving the shadow of what I left behind.

Love me how you used to love me,

But let not my spirit inhabit your mind.

*

Blaise had decided to go home for the holidays. Her parents were muggles, and had very little idea of the wizarding world. She would not have to talk about anything, or explain anything, or discussing anything that she didn't want to. She could just relax, have a break, be herself again for a while. She could sleep in her own room, talk to her old friends, watch some muggle television. Maybe read a book or two. Maybe listen to some old CDs. Maybe not. She could do whatever she wanted to.

There was no Draco at home, no over-attentive Professor Lupin, no Madam Pomfrey making her take foul-tasting potions. Just her Mum, and her Dad, and her cat Fluffy.

*

"What are we going to do over the Christmas holidays?" Dean asked Seamus one evening, when the warmth of the fire burning in the Room of Requirement almost surpassed the fires in their hearts. Almost. Seamus sighed.

"I don't know. My mam wouldn't be too happy if I brought a boy home for the holidays. How about your family?"

"My parents aren't particularly open-minded."

"I think there's only one thing to be done, then," Seamus said, smiling as he climbed up Dean's body, his soft voice lilting alluringly.

"What's that?" Dean asked, as Seamus gently tongued his earlobe.

"We'll have to stay in school." A warm, familiar feeling flooded his body as Seamus' able tongue moved down his body.

"Lovely," he said, eyes half shut. "It's a pity, though, that we can't share this with our families." Seamus looked up from kissing Dean's hips and groin, leaving soft, floating, butterfly kisses.

"I don't think I want to share you with anyone," he said, with a beautiful, melodic laugh. Dean thought about this for a moment.

"Me neither," he agreed finally. "Me neither."

If this was any indication of the future, this would be a memorable holiday!

*

Outside of the cold castle walls another couple stood, watching each other tenderly in the moonlight. Ron buried his nose in his girlfriend's hair, whilst Hermione looked up to the sky above.

"Nous sommes sous les memes etoiles," she whispered softly. Ron pulled his face from her tresses and looked at the stars.

"You sound so pretty when you speak French," he said, and took a step away from her, and into the path of a moonbeam.

"Thou hast punctured my heart, fair Hermione!" he said, and mimed dying from an arrow wound. Hermione laughed. This was Ron all over. Trying to win the fair lady's hand through buffoonery and jokes. It worked, though. She had to say it worked.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying at the castle over Christmas?" she asked.

"Not at all," he replied, and kissed her on the nose. "It's probably the only way we can get any privacy."

"I suppose we couldn't share a room at your house."

"No way!" he laughed. "My mother spent so long trying to get me to go out with you, now that I do she won't believe it. Strange woman."

"She's lovely, though."

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "I wouldn't want another mother. Or another girlfriend..."

*

"I love you, do you know that?" the dark-haired man asked with a small smile on his face. The woman he was with looked at him with deep green eyes.

"Of course I know it. I love you too."

"Then marry me, Lily!" Lily sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry him, in fact it was what she wanted most in the world. Things were just so complicated. His family were purebloods, hers were muggles. That was the first problem. How on earth would she explain a wizarding wedding to her muggle parents? How would his family react to having to share the happiest day of their son's life with a bunch of her muggle friends and relatives? What would Petunia say?

"It's something I really want to do, James, but I'll have to think about it a lot first. There are so many things that could go wrong." She looked at him earnestly, but he just laughed.

"Why do you care what goes wrong when all that matters is what goes right? All that matters is that I love you, that you love me and that we commit to each other for eternity!" Lily thought about this for a moment.

"I suppose you're right." James smiled, almost triumphantly.

"I know I'm right. In that case," he said, getting down on one knee. "Lily Evans, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"I will," she said firmly. "I will." And as if by magic, everything seemed to slot right into place. A large assembly of wizards, witches and muggles seemed like the most natural thing in the world. It would be a bugger to organise, though.

*

Neville,

Will you come home for the holidays, dear? I really think you should. That way we can visit your parents like we do every Christmas, and you and me can play card games in the evenings like we used to. And maybe, just maybe, since you're sixteen now, I might let you have a glass of wine with Christmas lunch. Just the one, though. We don't want a repeat of what your grandfather did at your parents' wedding, do we?

All my love,

Granny.

*

Granny,

Of course I'll be coming home this Christmas. Wouldn't miss it for the world. A glass of wine would be nice, don't worry, I have no intention whatsoever of getting pissed and telling dirty jokes to the congregation of a fairly large church like Grandad did. Honestly, Granny, couldn't you have kept him sober at least until the reception?

See you in a few days,

Your loving grandson,

Neville.