A Quiet Christmas
December 16th, 1971
The journey back to his small home felt endless. As Remus stepped into the house, the familiar scent of lavender and old wood surrounded him. His mother fussed over him immediately, brushing the snow off his cloak and planting a kiss on his cheek, while his father carried his trunk inside.
“It’s so good to have you home,” his mother said with a warm smile, but Remus only managed a small nod. He missed them, of course, but the energy of Hogwarts—the magic, his friends, the constant hum of life—was already tugging at his heart.
December 17th, 1971
The first morning back was painfully quiet. No bustling corridors, no Sirius blasting music or James practicing trick shots with a Quaffle. Just the soft crackle of the fire in the sitting room and his parents chatting softly over tea.
Remus sat by the window with a book in his lap, staring at the snow piling on the windowsill. He hadn’t read a single word.
“Remus, love,” his mother said gently, peeking her head in, “you’ve barely touched your breakfast.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, forcing himself to take a bite of toast.
His parents exchanged a glance. They didn’t ask what was wrong—Remus supposed they already knew.
James’s letter arrived on the third day of break, tied to a handsome barn owl that hooted impatiently at their kitchen window.
Remus,
Why haven’t I heard from you? You’d better not be spending your holiday studying like some kind of Ravenclaw. I’m holding you personally responsible for Sirius not burning down my house. My parents adore him—he’s milking it, of course. The spare bedroom’s still yours if you can convince your parents. Please try.
Merry Christmas, mate,
James.
Remus couldn’t help but smile as he read the letter, imagining Sirius charming James’s mum and probably sneaking biscuits from the kitchen.
But when he mentioned the invitation to his parents, his father’s brow furrowed deeply.
“It’s too dangerous,” he said firmly. “Greyback’s pack isn’t far from there. I won’t risk it.”
“But Dad,” Remus protested, “they’d never—”
“No, Remus.”
His mother tried to soften the blow. “You’ll see them soon, love. Write James back and let him know how much you appreciate it, but we just can’t take that chance.”
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
December 21st, 1971
The days dragged on. His parents were kind and tried their best to make his break enjoyable, but it wasn’t the same. They didn’t understand the world he was a part of now—the world he couldn’t stop longing for.
Remus spent most of his time in his room, alternating between reading his schoolbooks and listening to his records. The worn vinyl of Ziggy Stardust spun on his player one evening, filling the room with Bowie’s voice. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, imagining he was back in the Gryffindor dorms, Sirius grinning as he sang along off-key.
The letters from his friends were the highlight of his days.
Sirius’s letters were short but chaotic:
Rem,
I got a Howler from my mother. Apparently, someone told her I was at the Potters’ and not sulking at Grimmauld Place. James says I should frame it. Also, Jamie fell off his broom today trying to show me some ridiculous Quidditch move. Idiot.
Write back, yeah?
Sirius
Peter’s letters were earnest and full of updates about his family, though they paled in comparison to Sirius’s dramatics.
Remus,
Hope you’re doing okay. It’s so boring here—I miss all of us hanging out. Do you think McGonagall will notice if I “borrow” one of her books next term? Anyway, Happy Christmas!
Pete
December 23rd, 1971
The hardest part of being home was the absence of magic. His wand sat on his desk, untouched, a temptation he couldn’t afford to give in to. His father’s strict rules about avoiding magic were etched into his mind.
“You never know who’s watching,” his father had warned, his tone grave. “Greyback’s people would love to find us.”
Remus understood the reasoning, but it didn’t make the longing any easier. He missed the way spells felt like an extension of himself, the thrill of learning new charms and hexes. The stillness of his home only amplified the ache.
December 25th, 1971
On Christmas morning, his parents went out of their way to make things special. His mother baked a batch of his favorite biscuits, and his father gave him a new set of quills with sleek, silver tips.
“We’re so proud of you, Remus,” his mother said softly as they sat by the fire that evening. “You’ve come so far.”
Remus smiled, but the ache in his chest remained. He wanted to tell them how much he missed Hogwarts, his friends, the sense of belonging he had finally found. Instead, he simply said, “Thanks, Mum. It’s been a good holiday.”
December 28th, 1971
As the break wore on, Remus found himself counting the days until he could return to Hogwarts. The letters from his friends helped, but they weren’t enough to fill the void.
When he closed his eyes at night, he dreamed of Gryffindor Tower, of the warmth of the common room fire, of Sirius’s laughter and James’s relentless energy. He dreamed of a world where he wasn’t constantly hiding a part of himself.