The Great Hogwarts Christmas Gift Exchange Debacle of 1996

~The Great Hogwarts Christmas Gift Exchange Debacle of 1996~

Part 1 of 5: December 22

"Professor Lupin?"

The knock on the door turned into a face, as a bushy-haired sixteen-year-old girl peered into the study.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," Lupin answered. "Come in, come in." He glanced up and gestured over to an empty armchair across from his own, where he had been engrossed in a Muggle biography of a nineteenth-century English playwright. A pair of black-framed reading glasses sat uncomfortably on his nose, and his hair was slightly tousled from absently tugging at locks of it as he read. It was a subconscious habit he had.

Hermione entered cautiously, a worn book under her arm, and took a seat. "Professor, I - "

"Hermione!" Lupin cut her off with a chuckle. "How many times have I told you, please, call me Remus." He removed his glasses and smiled kindly at her. "I haven't been your professor - or anyone's, mind - for some years now. And you're sixteen now, aren't you?"

She nodded, her breath catching. What did that have to do with anything?

"Then you're more than old enough to call your elders by their first names. We elders like to instill a bit of fear and respect in the younger set by making them use stuffy titles, but I'm sure that's unnecessary for you." He leaned back in the cosy armchair and crossed his legs, still smiling at her and appraising her with a keen amusement in his eyes.

Oh, Hermione thought with vague disappointment. Was that all he meant. She glanced at the book he'd been reading and briefly tried to place the playwright's name. He'd been imprisoned for some sort of scandal, she recalled, but she couldn't remember what it had been about. Some sort of indecent act, maybe? She wrinkled her nose and wondered for a moment what interest Lupin could possibly have in such a biography, but as she eyed her former professor across the room, nearly all conscious thought failed her.

Hermione tried not to stare, but found she simply couldn't help it. As it was the weekend, and he was alone in Grimmauld Place, Lupin was not wearing the usual Wizard robes. He looked as though he had quite settled in to an afternoon of quiet reading, an escape from the blustery snow outside. His faded jeans had a frayed hem and patchy seams, and his threadbare jumper - the deep grey wool unravelling at places near the cuffs - had definitely seen better days.

Yet Hermione couldn't help but let her eyes drift to the teasing glimpse of his chest that the shallow V-neck offered... to his throat, with its lingering stubble trailing down from his jaw; his neck and shoulders, so firm and utterly lickable; and that tantalising whisper of soft hair, honey-coloured with the occasional grey, peeking at her from under the jumper.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily, steadying herself.

"Hermione?" Lupin leaned forward. "Are you all right? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." His eyes softened as he regarded her with concern. "If you'd really rather keep calling me 'Professor,' I suppose you can, I just - "

"Oh no." Hermione suddenly found her voice again. "I'm fine, just, er- a lot on my mind. Remus." She smiled shyly at him.

He sat back again. "All right, then! Now, what brings you by - a book, I daresay?" He gestured towards the tome in her hand.

"Yes, I just wanted to return this one, and to thank you for lending it to me of course - "

Lupin waved his hand. "Not at all, Hermione. You've seen the library in this place - I'd be doing a disservice to scholarship if I didn't allow interested parties access to it."

"Yes, it really is wonderful," agreed Hermione, a dreamy look spreading over her face at the memory of the wide variety of books she had borrowed from the Black family collection over the past few months. Some of them had been what might be called Dark books, or banned studies of the Dark Arts and histories of Dark magic, but Lupin had never restricted her access to them. It seemed to her that he was the only person she knew who understood books the way she did - who found them just as fascinating and alluring, and who considered the thought of banning any of them, of placing restrictions on knowledge, utterly ridiculous.

"I wondered if I might take a few more, for the holidays?" she continued, biting her bottom lip timidly. She didn't expect him to refuse, of course, but somehow asking always made her slightly nervous - for a brief second, there was the possibility that this time he would refuse, that this time he would send her away, that this time he would tell her that he didn't want her coming around anymore.

She gulped at the thought. She didn't know what she would do if that happened. She cherished her weekend visits to the Grimmauld Place library more than she could possibly say... her weekend visits to him... to Remus... She took a deep breath and turned her head away, feigning great interest in a nearby lampshade.

"Of course, Hermione," Lupin was saying, "but it is the holidays, remember." He smiled teasingly at her. "You know that I understand the bookworm impulse just as much as anyone, but you have to give yourself some time off occasionally, as well. You work very hard during the school term; it doesn't hurt to take a break from books over Christmas, you know."

Hermione's heart collapsed to the floor. He was sending her away! Cheeks flushed, she rose quickly from her chair and placed the borrowed book on the table between them. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I won't bother you anymore." She rushed towards the door.

"Hermione!" Lupin called, chuckling. "Get back here - what on earth are you on about? I didn't say you weren't allowed to take a book, as many as you like, in fact. I was just suggesting a holiday break. There should be a fair bit going on around here this week, after all. Albus usually organises some sort of 'entertainment' for the holiday season, as you know, and since we have so many people coming and going from this house all the time these days, anyone staying here should be quite busy enough."

She stopped with her hand on the door. Was he asking her...?

"Yes, in case Harry hasn't already done it, I'm inviting you to spend Christmas here with us. Harry and Ron will be here, and probably Ginny. Most of the rest of the Order has some other matters to attend to, but Professor Snape will likely be by for a few days as well. Not exactly your usual happy family scenario, I'm sure, but you're welcome to join us - if your parents don't mind, of course. I'd be happy to speak to them, if they needed proof you'd be in good hands." He let that comment sit for a moment, then laughed at himself. "Or, perhaps Albus could speak to them; I might not make the best impression."

She raised her eyebrows in concern. "What do you mean? They wouldn't have to know about..."

Lupin raised his own eyebrows in response. "Hermione. It's not the werewolf issue I was talking about. Now think this one through: perhaps your parents wouldn't be thrilled to have a somewhat grizzled, definitely unmarried, thirty-something man show up on their doorstep, claiming to be some vague former 'professor' of yours, and asking them to let you stay at his house for Christmas?"

She forced a laugh despite the blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh, well. They wouldn't... um... that is, they wouldn't think anything of it." Unless, she thought, an attack of butterflies convulsing in her stomach, there was something of it... to think?

She quickly clamped down on that thought. No no no. He was not flirting with her. He was not interested in her. He was twice her age. He was... Her eyes roved over his collarbone again. He was impossibly delicious and neither her parents nor a pack of wild reindeer was going to keep her away from this house over the holidays.

"Well," Lupin was saying, "at any rate, we'd love to have you here, if you want to come. I could set up a cot for you in the library." His mouth twisted into a wry smile as he settled back into his chair.

Hermione lifted her chin. "Thank you, Professor," she teased. "That would be lovely. You can leave my meals outside the library door - I'll retrieve them between chapters."

He chuckled and turned back to his own book. "Then it's a plan. You can talk to Harry and Ron about arrivals, but I think they were planning to come sometime in the next few days."

"OK," she agreed. "I'll just wait and pick a new book then." She flashed a wide smile at him, then turned and left the room, her face flushed with all the excitement of a sixteen-year-old girl's first crush.

*********************************************

"This one's nice."

"Blue makes my hips look fat."

"Hips only look the way one wishes for them to look. It's a scientific fact."

"Oh, is that so."

"Yes. My father says that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which means that if you want to be beheld with narrow hips, Ginny, you will be."

"Um, I don't think that's exactly what it means..."

"Well, anyway. I think the blue looks brilliant on you. I'm sure Harry won't be able to take his eyes off you."

Ginny smiled to herself as she twirled in front of the mirror, the shimmering ocean blue of the robes illuminating her long auburn hair. Maybe Luna was right - maybe this really was the best colour for her.

They had been shopping for Ginny's Christmas robes all afternoon, Mrs. Weasley having only grudgingly allowed the two girls to travel alone to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions - after placing a discreet firecall of warning to the proprietor herself. See that they leave with something suitable for Christmas Day, would you, dear? This is Ginny's Christmas present - I can't have her coming back with a gold-lamé mini-robe or some such horror.

Madam Malkin had assured Mrs. Weasley that Ginny and Luna would be in good hands, but in fact the alert had been unnecessary - Ginny seemed determined to find herself a new set of classic dress robes... hoping to impress a certain older boy with her beauty and maturity, by the sounds of the two girls' conversation.

"I don't know, Luna," Ginny replied, her eyes still glued to her reflection in the full-length mirror at the back of the shop.

"Your hips, your business," said Luna sadly, eyeing the outfit with appreciation.

"Not the robes!" Ginny turned to face her friend. "I mean, I don't know about Harry... Do you really think he fancies me?"

"No," she sighed. "He fancies Hermione. I told you that ages ago."

Ginny frowned. "Then why did you just say he would like these robes?!" she cried in exasperation.

Luna shrugged, and Ginny noticed that her face had assumed that dream-like blankness that it did whenever she was tired of discussing something. She reached out to finger the fine amber silk of a nearby garment. "Because that's what you wanted me to say."

Ginny stared at her.

"It doesn't matter to you if you like the robes, or if I like the robes, or if your mother likes the robes," Luna continued in a pleasant but matter-of-fact voice. "It only matters to you if Harry likes them, or if Harry thinks your hips are fat." She shook her head ruefully. "It's so sad."

"Oh, as if you've never dressed to impress a boy!" retorted Ginny hotly, choosing to ignore the nagging voice in the back of her head that reminded her that she was talking to a girl who had a habit of wearing butterbeer cork necklaces.

Luna shrugged again, watching Ginny's rising anger with a look of detached interest on her face. "I haven't," she said.

"Oh, please!" Ginny tried again. "What about my brother? You were practically tripping over yourself trying to get his attention last year!"

Luna smiled, sliding into a chair beside the mirror, that faraway look on her face again. "Yes," she sighed. "I rather like Ronald. He makes me laugh." She paused and looked pointedly at Ginny. "But I would never change the way I am or what colour robes I like just to please him."

"Neither would I," Ginny insisted.

"Yes, you would - for Harry you would," said Luna simply. "You just did. I know you like the blue. It looks beautiful on you." She paused to let her eyes fall over Ginny's form in front of her. "It doesn't matter what Harry thinks, or any boy for that matter. Boys are too concerned with themselves, anyway." She gave a light laugh and reached absently for the silk robe beside her again. "It's not like they ever change themselves for us," she pointed out bemusedly. "They really don't do anything for us at all, do they? Yet we fall all over ourselves trying to impress them."

Ginny snorted, turning back to the mirror. "How positively feminist of you," she said with a grin.

But Luna ignored the sarcasm and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose so," she replied, her wide eyes on Ginny. "You know, one day you'll find out there's a fascinating world out there that has nothing to do with boys and their penises."

She caught her friend's eye and they exchanged a long, expectant look. But after a moment, Ginny broke off their gaze and began to laugh. "I can't believe you just said the word penis in the middle of Madam Malkin's," she said, giggling.

Luna smiled. "It's just a word," she pointed out. "My father says that - "

"No, no, no!" Ginny was laughing outright now. "I cannot listen to what your father has to say about penises! That's disgusting!" Her eyes darted across the shop to Madam Malkin, who thankfully was busy with another customer and didn't appear to be listening to the girls' conversation. "And anyway," Ginny continued, a smile still dancing at her lips. "You're starting to sound like Malfoy, always talking about your father."

Luna looked unimpressed. "Hardly," she replied blandly. "I don't think Mr. Malfoy has ever said the word penis in his life."

Ginny was off in gales of laughter at that, finally earning them a glare of consternation from the robe mistress. That girl was truly one of a kind, Ginny thought fondly as she wiped her eyes, noting that Luna was gazing at her with her usual dreamy smile on her face. She said the most outrageous things, but seemed completely oblivious to just how outrageous they actually were. Ginny loved that about her.

"Look," she said after composing herself, Luna having watched her laughter with mild interest. "What are you and your dad doing for Christmas? Ron and I are going to - " She was suddenly unsure of what to call the Order's secret headquarters - "um, Harry's godfather's old place. Professor Lupin lives there now, you remember him?"

"Oh yes," replied Luna, her face brightening. "Very nice man. You should get along famously with him, Ginny - he's another one who spends too much time worrying about what people think of him."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she continued, "Harry and Hermione will be there, and mum's letting Ron and me go for a few days - it'll be fun! You should come. I'll ask Professor Lupin, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Sure," Luna replied, standing and straightening her own worn navy blue robes. "My dad will probably be at work - they publish a special Christmas Day edition of The Quibbler, you know - many strange things are sighted over the holidays - "

Yeah, when people get too far into the egg nog, Ginny thought and stifled a grin.

" - but I'd be happy to come."

Ginny smiled and clapped her hands together. "Good! Now, let's get out of here and grab a sundae at Florean's before we head back."

"You're going with the blue ones, then?" Luna asked, pulling her long blonde hair over one shoulder and starting to braid it.

"I am," announced Ginny, taking one more twirl in front of the mirror. "Because I like them," she insisted playfully. "Not because you like them or my mother will like them or a stupid boy might like them!" She giggled as she headed back into the changing room.

Outside the door, unbeknownst to Ginny, Luna Lovegood smiled to herself and began making mental preparations for what looked to be a very promising Christmas indeed.

*********************************************

"So, how did it go?" Harry looked up from the small bag he was packing to take to Grimmauld Place the next day as Ron entered the dormitory and flopped himself down on his bed. Seamus, Dean, and Neville had already gone home for the holidays, so he and Ron had had the place to themselves for the past few days.

Ron rolled over onto his back and flung a hand over his forehead. "Do you remember in our fourth year, when I went insane and asked Fleur to the Yule Ball?"

"Uh, yeah..." Harry answered uncertainly.

"This was worse."

"Ugh. Sorry, mate. But... are you sure that's possible?"

Ron lifted his hand long enough to shoot Harry a deadly glare, then resumed his pose.

"All right, all right. What did she say?"

"She's a lunatic, Harry! Lunatic Loony Lovegood," Ron moaned. "She was all into me last year, right? Everyone said so. And she's not bad, you know, kind of cute and all, so I didn't think it would be a problem."

"I know, I know, it was a sure thing! We had a great plan," Harry enthused. "So what went wrong?"

"I swear, getting that girl to answer a straight question is like... like getting Snape to dress up as Santa Claus."

Harry snorted, then paled. "Agh - you don't think Dumbledore has anything like that up his sleeve this year, do you?"

"Gods, no. Can you see it? Snape wouldn't spare a thought for AK-ing the most powerful wizard in the world, if that happened." Ron shook his head. "No, I mean, I asked her plain and simple. I said, 'Luna, I know you like me, so why don't we go out sometime? Maybe next Hogsmeade weekend?' "

Harry nodded. "That sounds pretty straightforward."

"Right! It was in the hole!"

"But...?"

"But... she says, 'My father told me the other day that the Horny-Breasted Snorkfuckle can see out the back of its head. We're going to France to observe them for a week after New Year's.' "

"The- the Horny what?" Harry sputtered, doubling over in laughter.

"Yeah, don't ask. She's totally - " Ron pointed his index finger at his head and made a spiralling motion, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Cuckoo."

"So she didn't even answer your question?" exclaimed Harry, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Well, she sort of did, but she still wouldn't be serious. After that fabulous segueway, she says, 'And anyway, Ronald, last year was ages ago. I'm not interested in you anymore - I'd much rather date your sister.' "

"Oh, ouch! She should have just said you have as good a chance with her as you do with a Veela mascot."

"Exactly." Ron shook his head sadly. "Talk about making it loud and clear to a bloke that you're not interested. And even worse - Ginny says she invited Luna to come to Grimmauld Place with us for Christmas! Her dad's got to work or something, so she's got nothing better to do." He stared at his bedspread despondently. "Honestly. Whatever happened to Weasley family solidarity, mate?"

Right on cue, Ginny poked her head around the door. "Come on, guys, you've got to see the Great Hall! Professor McGonagall let us help decorate this year - it's brilliant! I really hope Professor Lupin hasn't done all the decorating yet, it's so fun - I want to do some more when we get there, and - "

"Ginny!" Ron cried. "We're trying to have a private conversation here!"

She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she drawled sarcastically. "Then come down when you're done with your man talk." She disappeared again, giggling.

Harry gave a resigned shrug and hopped off his bed. "Come on, get packed. Then we can go downstairs and see what sort of festive cheer those girls have conjured up."

"Festive cheer," muttered Ron darkly. "Sounds like a bad cocktail. And I don't want to see any of those stupid girls, anyway! You just want to go talk to Hermione."

Harry blushed. "No, I don't! I talk to her all the time."

"Yeah, right. Not the way you'd like to. Why don't you just tell her, Harry? She's going to figure it out soon enough anyway, what with you turning into a Horny-Breasted Snorkfuckle every time you see her lately."

The two boys gaped at each other for a second, then both burst into laughter. They rolled around on their beds clutching their sides and howling with mirth until their faces hurt.

"OK," Ron began between residual giggles. "No more talk of Hermione or Luna, yeah?" He dabbed at his eyes. "It's Christmas! We don't need girls, anyway."

"Right." Harry nodded with determination. "Come on, let's go see these decorations."

*********************************************

"There's something I want to talk to you about. Why don't we have tea, say, at three p.m.?" No, gods, that's awful.

"An issue has arisen which I wish to discuss with you." Agh, no, too formal.

"Well, as long as we're naked, I'd like to ask you a question."

Snape stared at his reflection in the mirror for a silent few seconds before burying his face in his hands and shaking his head in sorrow. This would never work, he concluded; he didn't know what the hell he'd been thinking, that he could ever do this. He took a deep breath and smoothed his dark hair out of his face, turning to the mirror once again.

"Remus. You know I'm very fond of you." Oh holy Merlin, that sounded like a break-up line.

"Lupin, it turns out that I don't despise you nearly as much as I once did." No.

"Look, Remus, we've been shagging incessantly for over a year now, and I thought it might be time to make things a bit more... official." Gods, what sort of blood ritual did that imply?

He slunk over to an armchair in the sitting room adjacent to his private chambers in the Hogwarts dungeons, collapsing in resignation, as the air leaked from the cushion in a steady hiss. He had exactly twelve hours before he was expected at Grimmauld Place - having promised Dumbledore he'd help look after the Boy Wonder over the holidays, and having promised Remus he'd spend Christmas with him this year - and here he was, rehearsing lines in front of a mirror like a bloody schoolboy with a crush. This was absolute madness; where on earth had he gotten it in his head that this was a good idea?

But he knew the answer to that question, easily. It was two weeks ago, lying tangled with Remus in the dungeons, the low torchlight illuminating only their shadows against the slippery black sheets, their bodies coursing with blood and sweat and tears and the very definition of ecstasy - something that Snape never would have thought it possible to achieve. Remus gave him release, he'd realised that night - not just physically but emotionally. He'd made the decision right then: he had to have Remus forever.

It wasn't something he would have previously thought he'd been missing, going through the motions of his days: frightening potions students, glowering at colleagues, occasionally venturing out to meet up with... old friends to gather information for the Order. It had been rote, uninteresting, stifling. He took great risks with his life, and that was certain - but even that had long since lost its thrill for him. It was a job, like any other; whether or not he came back after one meeting or another hadn't really concerned him for some time.

Until the night Remus had been sent with him, to help him with a contact that had been... rather less than cooperative - someone Dumbledore had ventured would respond better to Remus's natural amiability than to Snape's direct intimidation. Something had changed between them that night; maybe it was the shared danger of the situation, but some understanding, some healing for all the wrongs of the past, some sort of redemption had instantly been offered.

The plan had almost gone terribly wrong; they had almost not made it out. But they did, and that night changed everything between them - a fire ignited that could not, would never, be extinguished. When they'd stumbled back to the dungeons together at dawn, clawing at each other with all the passion of two damned souls spending their last night on earth before beginning their sentence in purgatory, Snape had thought he would drown in the eddy of sensation and pleasure that Remus evoked.

But what had begun as a torrid affair of secret lust, hidden trysts, stolen passion - a purely physical outpouring of previously repressed sexual desires, in which they barely spoke to each other outside the bedroom - had since evolved into a... Snape nearly choked as he thought it... a relationship. He had realised that the first time Remus had been sent out alone to gather information from his contacts among the unregistered werewolf sects - notoriously dangerous gangs that kill outsiders on sight and ask questions later.

It was only after Remus had returned two days later, having had little luck with his negotiations but otherwise unharmed, that Snape realised he had been sitting in his study with a book unopened on his lap the entire time, staring at the wall and muttering silent prayers to any Muggle or Wizard gods who might choose to hear him.

Remus must have felt it, too, Snape had concluded, because after that they had slipped seamlessly into a relationship of such ease and comfort that it hadn't even felt like a 'relationship' at all - not the way those utter wastes of time and emotion are supposed to feel, as far as Snape was concerned. No, being with Remus had just been like... coming home after a long and taxing journey.

They began to talk, as they lay in a pile of intertwined limbs after devouring each other's bodies. About nothing, anything, everything. War, politics, philosophy, science, likes, dislikes, hobbies, food, childhood, fear. Snape couldn't even remember, anymore, all the things they'd talked about; the topics had simply accumulated, night after night, until now, when he looked at the full picture he had of Remus, it was so rich and colourful and detailed that he could no longer fathom a life that Remus was not in.

Their one major obstacle had been Black, of course. Not that he had ever known about Snape and Remus - gods, no! Things would have ended up much differently - disastrously - for all of them, Snape was certain, had Black ever discovered that his best friend was shagging his worst enemy. But he still caused problems, as only Black could.

Having Remus in his house after all the years away had led Black to believe he could restrict Remus's freedom of movement - who he saw and when, how often, and under what circumstances. Not to mention that by playing the 'I've been in Azkaban for twelve years' pity card every fucking day, he could guilt Remus into spending ridiculous amounts of time with him.

Yes, Snape had been jealous. Yes, there had been fights. Yes, Remus had called him about a million accurate, though still scathing, names for trying to make him choose between his secret lover and his emotionally unbalanced friend. Yes, he had caused Remus a great deal of stress by continually insulting Black and belittling the time the two of them spent together at Grimmauld Place, leafing through old photo albums from their time at Hogwarts, or - Snape imagined - droning on about how much Harry looked uncannily like his prat of a father.

But those fights had dissolved instantly in the acid of the veil.

After that, Snape didn't have the heart to pick fights with Remus. He'd let him mourn the stupid git. He'd backed off and let Remus shut himself up with the bloody hippogriff and the photo albums, and Snape would stand outside the door and listen to the sobbing, but he would never go in, he would never offer comfort.

It was two months later before Snape realised that the cold, dead burn in the pit of his stomach was Remus's absence.

Picking up the pieces had been slow, difficult, and painful. It had been like starting over again, but by this time, they knew each other too well to fall back into their old routines of blind passion. There were feelings now, real feelings. There was hurt, that Snape had left him to mourn alone. There was bitterness, that Remus had mourned at all.

But that gulf between them had closed quickly enough after they had accidentally fallen back into each other's arms one night in late August, alone at Grimmauld Place, lingering together as the rest of the Order left the latest meeting.

"I need you," Remus had whispered to him before crushing his body against Snape's, and Snape could only respond with actions, not words. "I need this," Remus had breathed afterwards, his chest beating hard against Snape's, and Snape could only nod and reach for him again, his throat too tight to speak.

And now, this Christmas, it just seemed like the right time. Call it the festive spirit, but everything he hadn't said for so long, everything he'd been afraid to show - it was all spread out before him in crystal clarity. There were no excuses anymore. Black was gone; he could never get in their way again. There was nobody left to oppose them. They had each other, and as loathe as Snape was to admit it, the thought of ever not having Remus in his life made him physically nauseous.

He rose and headed back to the mirror, his resolve fortified. Now, the only question left to answer was how, exactly, he should do it? There were complications, of course, what with both of them being men - it wasn't the sort of thing for which one could simply go to the Ministry and procure a license. In fact, that wasn't even something to joke about - if Remus agreed to this, they would have to be damned sure the Ministry didn't find out about it. But it was the commitment behind it that Snape sought to capture in going through with this, not any legal act alone (or illegal act, as luck would have it). The Ministry, quite frankly, could go fuck itself.

He faced his reflection and took a deep breath. "Remus," he said solemnly. "Will you marry me?"

*********************************************

Grimmauld Place had never looked nor felt so festive, in all its many years of grudgingly celebrating the holiday season during the Black family's tenure there. Despite its continued service as a top-secret resistance headquarters, its occupants had spared no effort this year in ensuring that - on the inside, at least - it looked every bit the proper yuletide abode. Once the children arrived the next day and helped set up the final decorations in the main parlour, Lupin mused, this old manor would finally shed its former Dark identity.

Even the year before, Lupin recalled wistfully as he reclined with a cup of tea in his favourite armchair in the study, even when Sirius was still alive - running around the place like an overexcited bloody elf - Grimmauld Place had remained under shadow. Arthur in the hospital, Harry having terrifying visions thanks to Voldemort... But this year, this year was truly festive, Lupin concluded.

If he did say so himself, of course. Sirius had been a gracious and selfless host, to be sure, but since taking over ownership of the house, Lupin had spent every second he could spare ensuring that the place felt comfortable and welcoming, not just for the holiday season, but every day - for the Order, for Snape even, but most importantly, for Harry.

Harry.

Lupin's heart tightened briefly as he thought of the boy, having endured so much at such a young age. James and Lily would be so proud of him - of the way he'd held up under all this pressure, for so many years in a row. So would Sirius.

And Lupin... well, yes, naturally, Lupin was proud, too. But his relationship with the boy had changed drastically since Sirius's death - even before that, really. Gone was that ease and familiarity with each other they had developed during Harry's third year at Hogwarts. Gone, too, were any surrogate parenting impulses Lupin might have harboured for the boy that year.

It had just been so hard, so painful - learning the truth about Peter, about Sirius... having the Marauders' Map shoved back in his face like that, to remind him of what things used to be like, of what James used to be like. He had spent the better part of twelve years learning to forget all of that, building a new life for himself, with new memories... only to land back at Hogwarts and have it all punch him in the gut.

Seeing Harry at thirteen - and that Patronus! Lupin stifled a half-sobbing laugh. It had been like James, and Prongs, had been given back to him for one more year. But Harry wasn't James, Lupin quickly learned. He didn't act like James, he didn't even ask about James, didn't seem to know anything at all about James, nor care to know.

No, that wasn't entirely true. But when it came time for him to ask someone, when he finally decided he did, in fact, have questions about his parents, did he go to the childhood friend of his father's who had single-handedly trained him to fight the Dementors, who had poured his heart and soul into helping the boy?

No. He had turned to an ex-convict he barely knew, just because the title godfather carried so much weight.

Lupin rose from his chair and walked slowly over to the window, watching the icicles freeze outside the glass.

That damned kid had entirely cast him aside, Lupin thought with more than a trace of bitterness, though he knew in his heart that it had been mutual. He had stepped back, allowed Sirius to play godfather, even spent hours filling his old friend in on all he'd learned about Harry during that year at Hogwarts - his friends, his favourite Quidditch teams, his most frequent Zonko's purchases.

No, he'd discovered, quite to his own surprise in the past year, that he rather didn't want to play father, or godfather, to the boy. It was too painful. And besides, Harry certainly had enough people looking out for him; he didn't need one more.

He didn't need Lupin at all.

Lupin sighed and raised an index finger to the glass, tracing a wavering line through the condensation gathered there.

All right, maybe it wasn't exactly his choice, whether or not he got to play parent with Harry. It was the kid's choice, and he had made it - loud and clear - in the weeks following Sirius's death. Quit trying to bond with me, Remus, all right? he'd finally hollered one day, after Lupin had asked him over to tea yet again. I don't want to talk about him, and I don't need any pity from you. You're not my father, and you're not my godfather, so just leave me the hell alone!

Lupin winced. The kid had a point, of course - what right did Lupin have to step forward and try to be his best adult friend just because the others were dead? The boy had every right to tell him to go fuck himself, which, though not in so many words, he had.

If only it didn't make Lupin's heart ache so goddamned much to hear it.

He brushed aside a lonely strand of tinsel hanging from the curtains and made his way over to his desk. He searched his pockets for a moment, then eventually produced a tiny key, smiling to himself. The benefit of living among wizards was that it generally didn't occur to them to use Muggle methods for some tasks - even Alohomora wouldn't have opened that drawer, without that tiny key.

He fit it in the lock and pulled the drawer open, then carefully lifted out its contents and placed the thick package on the desk. He slumped back against the bookcase and just stared at it for awhile.

It had been no easy thing to procure, and the expense had been almost more than he could manage, even with Sirius's inheritance. He was still not entirely certain why he'd even bothered. But try as he might to assure himself that he didn't care about the kid, he knew that was a lie. He was more devoted to Harry than he could possibly say - and not only because he felt he owed it to both James and Sirius to look after the boy.

But Harry had made it clear that he didn't want Lupin in his life, and here Lupin was with a bloody Christmas present for the kid that he'd probably throw out the window if he knew who it was from.

No, it didn't matter who it was from. The point was that the kid was going to love it, and that Lupin wanted him to have it. If he had to fudge a few facts in order to get that stubborn boy to accept a gift, well, then, he would do it. He'd just say it was purchased a long time ago, early in the year - that it had been planned for months. Harry would believe it, because Harry would want to believe it.

With resignation, and a pang of sadness, he opened the card he'd bought with the gift and wrote in a carefully practiced script -

Happy Christmas, Harry!

Love,
Sirius

To be continued...