A Very Potter Christmas

“Shag, bond, avada — a pinecone, a sprig of pine leaves, and a sprig of holly with the berries attached.”

James considered the question with the utmost seriousness as they ambled through the wilderness. It was after breakfast now, and the rituals had begun. First on the list was to gather Yule gifts for The Exchanging.

Years ago, James’s parents had started taking him out to scavenge for gifts on the day of the solstice, in an attempt to tire his hyperactive self out and make him nice and mellow for the rest of the day. The tradition had stuck, and so even years later, when James was far better at calming himself down for social acceptability, they spent an hour hunting for gifts out in the woods near Potter Manor. James actually quite enjoyed it.

He had a basket half-full of prospective Yule gifts by now — the largest pinecones he could find, some plants he’d managed to pick. He already planned to give Regulus his best cutting of sweet-smelling lavender, and Sirius was going to get this cool, knobbled stick. (James knew in his heart that his friend’s Padfoot form would go feral over it.) His Mum would enjoy some fresh herbs for her cooking and his Dad was going to marvel at some of the fascinating stones he’d found. Still, he kept hunting for further gifts — for Marlene, and Peter, and their families, and especially for Remus when he arrived later.

James stepped over a large tree root as they made their way deeper into the forest. “I think I’d shag the pinecone, because that experience would be texturally interesting.”

Sirius nodded along a few feet ahead of him. “Makes sense, makes sense.”

Regulus was somewhere over to the left, their parents about a dozen yards behind them. “That does not make even a little bit of sense,” Regulus drawled, eyeing the pair of them judgmentally.

They both promptly ignored him.

“Then I’d do a marriage bond with the pine sprig,” James decided slowly, “because I feel like marrying an evergreen is a good shout.”

“There’s longevity there.”

“Yeah exactly. Me and the pine tree are in it for the long haul.”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” Regulus cut in incredulously. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Sirius hummed, easily blocking out the disdain from his younger brother. “So, you’d avada the holly?”

“Holly is beautiful, especially with the berries, but the leaves are so fucking spiky I don’t think I could shag it. And I’m pretty sure the berries are poisonous to consume.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

“Yeah, then I can’t marry something poisonous.”

“Interesting,” Sirius pronounced. “I kind of thought that was your type.”

James snorted with laughter. He wasn’t wrong. There was nothing more intoxicating to James than a person who knew how to spit venom. “You got me there.”

“Prongs here likes girls who are mean to him,” Sirius filled his brother in, something strange in his tone that James couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Fascinating,” Regulus bit out sarcastically. He was glaring at Sirius for some reason. “And why would I care?”

“No reason,” he responded airily, stopping to examine a bush with interest. “Prongs, shag, bond, avada — me, Remus, Pete.”

James hummed as he thought. “My first instinct is to shag Moony, because when else would I get the opportunity?”

“Absolutely understandable,” Sirius blushed shyly. “I think I’d like that too.”

Regulus made a vomiting sound in the background.

“I’d probably bond you, because I think we’d have a fun life together,” James continued, wondering if he was becoming immune to the brothers’ bickering. “And unfortunately, in this context, that leaves Pete to avada, but I would never do that. I love him too much; I could never play a part in his death.”

“Merlin, you’re a sop,” Sirius said, but he was grinning fondly. His expression faltered, suddenly bashful again. “Actually, I think I’d marry Moony, because… well, because it would be nice, I think, to marry him.”

James made an appropriately understanding hum. “You’d be good together.”

The tips of Sirius’s ears reddened. He quickly moved on. “I’d shag Pete, and then avada you — because I can’t imagine shagging you in any context ever.”

James laughed. “Fair. I was imagining our hypothetical marriage as an unconsummated one, full of extramarital affairs.”

“How scandalous!” Sirius clutched at his non-existent pearls with a theatrical flourish.

“Ew,” Regulus grimaced. “I actually think I’m going to throw up.”

“Do it in the bushes,” Sirius batted back without missing a beat, seeming entirely unconcerned with his brother’s dramatics. “And I can have hypothetical affairs if I like, you drama queen.”

The side-eye Regulus gave his brother was absolutely lethal. “Firstly, are you genuinely trying to imply that I am the more dramatic one out of the two of us? Because that is so blatantly untrue it is almost diabolical. And secondly, how is it that so many words can come out of your mouth all the time, and yet none of them are ever necessary? It feels like you frequently talk, just to hear the sound of your own voice.”

“Ooooooh! And Regulus goes straight for the throat!” James narrated through chuckles.

In retaliation, Sirius — who seemed very unimpressed with James’s reaction — looked him dead in the eye with evil intent. “Shag, bond, avada. Me, Reggie, Lily.”

James’s laughter turned to choking. “Wha— What?” He managed to get out, but only barely.

Sirius simply raised an eyebrow. “You heard me.”

“I’m done!” Regulus declared, already walking away from them. “I’m losing braincells just being in the vicinity of your joint stupidity.”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear his answer, Reg?”

The boy simply flipped him the bird without turning around.

James, meanwhile, was still choking so hard it was difficult to breathe. “Pad— Wha— fuck—”

His friend thumped him hard on the back. “You having a problem with this question, mate?”

“No!” He frantically gasped for air. “No problem!”

“Something you want to tell me by any chance?”

That James had a crush on his precious baby brother? That James wanted to **** his ***** **** so hard he cried, and **** his **** until he couldn’t even remember his own name?

No. James did not have anything he wanted to share at this moment. He liked being alive, thank you very much.

“Nah!” James tried to play it off, stumbling away from Sirius’s suspiciously hard thumps on the back. “I’m good!”

“You sure?”

“Oh, I’m positive!”

Sirius frowned, seeming to sober up a little. “Look, Prongs. I just wanted to say tha—”

“Sirius, sweetheart, do you mind if I steal James away for a chat?” Dad interrupted loudly as he made his way over. James’s heart rate rocketed impossibly higher. He found himself torn; should he stay in this conversation and inevitably get beaten up by his best friend, or suffer through his Dad’s disappointed speech about the caketastrophic events of last night?

The frown deepened. “Actually, we were just talking about something…”

“Oh, I’m sorry darling,” Dad apologised earnestly. “Can it wait? …Or should I wait?”

Sirius seemed to fight with himself for a moment. Eventually, he sighed. “I suppose it can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. He’s all yours.” He smiled weakly at Dad and began to walk over to his brother again. As he went, he tossed James one last ominously indecipherable look.

“So…” Dad began, and James felt sick to his stomach.

There was probably nothing in the whole world worse than a disappointed Monty and Effie Potter. When they got that tired curl to their shoulders, when the light in their eyes dimmed. James was intimately familiar with the feeling of disappointing his parents, and it never stung any less.

Sometimes, he wished he was a better student — wished he could follow the rules and pay attention in class like everyone else — but James was born just a little bit wrong. He was hyperactive. Forgetful. Fidgety. Ever since his first lesson with his first private tutor (he’d been home-schooled prior to Hogwarts), James got million “Sit straight.”s and “Face front.”s. He was constantly reprimanded to, “Stop that tapping.” “Pay attention.” “Don’t wriggle in your seat.” And at every parental meeting, they’d say things like, “He has so much potential. He just needs to try harder and focus more in class.”

He tried to. Oh, he tried. On the bad days, he felt like he could never do anything right; no matter what his mindset was, he always found a way to get in trouble. By the time his first year at Hogwarts was up, his reputation as a troublemaker was set in stone, so James decided it was less embarrassing getting in trouble on purpose, than by accident.

He began to lean into it.

And the Marauders were born.

From then on, James’s parents became somewhat resigned to his mischief-making ways. His Dad tended to appreciate a good harmless prank, and often went easier on him, but he could tell his antics exasperated his Mum a lot of the time. She’d tried pretty much everything to solve his hyperactivity problem — encouraging him to join the school quidditch team, and the duelling club too, telling him to go on runs when he was bored, pavloving him into doing workouts when he was stressed. She owled the teachers and got him special permission to fidget with his snitch in class, after she learned that fidgeting actually helped him focus, rather than hinder it. She even bought him a muggle planner so he could carry it around and write everything down — in the hopes it would prevent him from forgetting things. (Truthfully, he ended up forgetting his planner a little more often than he’d like to admit.)

He wasn’t sure how much it all helped, but it was good to have strategies in place, he supposed. He wasn’t trying to be a screwup, he simply couldn’t help it, and it was nice to have things that made him feel a little more in control.

Medically speaking, they weren’t sure what exactly was wrong with him — whether it was some condition or a side effect of something. They’d even gone to the Healers about it to no avail. James was honestly just glad his parents believed him. Most teachers didn’t. Most students too.

But James had long-since come to the conclusion that he wasn’t built for school. And he’d long since accepted that he’d be a fuckup in most people’s eyes. Even his parents’ eyes sometimes.

It didn’t make it any easier though — not when staring down the end of the barrel at his father’s inevitable disappointment. And this time, it wasn’t even an academic matter. It wasn’t some test or essay everyone would forget about in years to come. This was James’s debut. A huge coming of age event that was extremely important to the family’s reputation. And James had sent it all crashing down with a forty-pound, elaborately decorated cake.

He’d brought shame on his Dad. On his Mum. On his House and his lineage. On Sirius and Regulus. On all of the family’s allies. In one little trip, James had destroyed hundreds of years’ worth of built-up reputation, had obliterated all his parents’ hard work in bringing their family to the level of status and standing it currently had.

James was a stain on his family line. He’d marred it irrevocably. On the one day he had to have his shit together, he’d cocked it all up. Yet again. And he knew there would be consequences to his actions.

He shifted restlessly on his feet, nudging a twig with the tip of his trainer. He couldn’t bring himself to look up. He couldn’t bear to see his father’s face in this moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

His Dad inhaled deeply, preparing to speak.

James rushed to get in first. “I know my apology isn’t worth much, but it really was an accident. And for what it is worth, I’m so sorry.”

“Jamie.”

The word alone was enough to crumble James to pieces. He was a house of cards, delicately arranged, and one blow was enough to send him crashing down, his pieces skittering away.

“Jamie, please look at me,” Dad requested, and there was something fragile in his tone.

With extreme reluctance, James gradually lifted his gaze, but the sight wasn’t quite what he expected. There was sombreness in his father’s expression, yes, but none of the disappointment he’d been expecting. All he could see was love.

“C’mere,” Dad urged, and James lunged into his arms, practically throwing himself into the embrace.

“‘M sorry, Dad,” he mumbled again into the heavy material of his father’s winter robes. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” The conviction with which the man answered, surprised him. It was almost vicious — spoken with a fierce surety that felt strangely guttural and primal. “I’m proud of you.”

“I fucked up,” James admitted helplessly.

“Accidents happen.”

“I damaged your reputation. The family’s reputation.”

Dad only squeezed him harder. “There will never be a day when I care more about a reputation than my son.”

And that was all James could ever want to hear. Like his strings had been cut, suddenly, and all at once, relief crashed in on James like a tidal wave.

The floodgates swiftly opened, and he began to cry. “Love you,” he managed through his tears.

“I love you more,” Dad replied. He grasped James’s head and laid a kiss in his hair. “You’re my baby boy.”

James could only respond with a muffled sob.

His Dad held him tight like the very act could keep him from unravelling, whilst James tried his best to collect himself. It took him a couple of minutes, but he was soon wiping at his tears, feeling embarrassed once more.

“Sorry,” he apologised for the tears. “I don’t know why I cried.”

The man gave him a lop-sided smile (the very same one James had inherited). “You know, I’m starting to understand your mother’s frustration with me. She’s always telling me off for apologising too much.”

A laugh punched out of him. “Sor— Oh Merlin.”

Dad chuckled too before he sobered up. “I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I’m not even a little bit disappointed. I understand fully that what happened was an accident, and I think you did exceptionally last night. Well, up until the… incident.”

“Sirius keeps calling it the ‘caketastrophe’,” James reported morosely.

“It does have a certain ring to it,” Dad teased. He put a comforting hand on James’s shoulder. “Admittedly, this makes the rest of the season a tad bit more complicated, but I think we can come back from this. One day, it’ll be nothing more than an anecdote we all laugh about.”

James sighed. “I’d like to skip to that part.”

Dad laughed and clapped his shoulder twice. “Ah! But the journey’s the best part, my boy!”

He raised a sceptical brow. “Spoken like a man who’s never been baptised in victoria sponge.”

His Dad positively cackled and threw an arm over his shoulder. “You’ve got me there, Jamie. Your teenage shenanigans are far more interesting than mine ever were.”

James wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

*

After the gift-hunt was complete, they returned home with laden baskets and separated to clean up. James dressed himself in casual clothes but threw a formal robe over top for the rituals. They congregated once more in front of the hearth, and the festivities finally began.

The fireplace was a grand stone feature, the eye-catching centre of the room. It was elaborately carved and decorated with icons of their patron goddess; torches, keys, dogs, the triplicate moon, and many other symbols of her power. Above the firebox stretched a large mantel where offerings already perched — burning incense, perfumes, and oils. The hearth was their altar to Hecate, and now it was time to honour her once more.

Mum knelt at the fireplace and placed the Yule Log inside; she blessed the wood, invoking the gods to keep it burning. In particular, she called upon the Potter’s three most revered goddesses, Hestia, Hera, and Hecate: Home, Family, and Magic. Once the Yule Log was blessed, it was James’s turn to kneel at the hearth. He called on Mother Magic and she answered, flames dancing over his palms without the use of his wand or a spell. He lit the Yule Log on fire and extinguished the flames upon his hands, praying that the hearth would continue to burn during these, the darkest days of the year. Praying that this divine flame would protect them whilst they were vulnerable.

Then, they offered gifts of gratitude to the goddess. In addition to tokens, they had found in the forest, there were poppy seeds and dragon’s blood, keys, lavender, owl feathers, milk and honey and cakes. The flame burned saffron like Hecate’s veil, revealing her presence to them, then the fire turned obsidian as she accepted their gifts, offering in turn her protection in the darkness where she roamed.

A warmth burned in James’s gut like a private little signal from the goddess to him; that she saw him, that she cared for him, that she would protect him so long as he honoured her. James placed another gift at her altar in thanks — a jasmine flower this time, a symbol of divine love. It was supposedly a gift from the gods, and so James gifted her one in return. The warmth in his core spiked.

Dad led the prayers and invocations, James and the others repeating after him, intoning their hymns in unison. James wondered idly what their patron thought of Regulus and Sirius joining in. He wondered if she had gifted them with a similar warmth, knowing what they had gone through before ending up here. He wondered if they would continue down her path or find one of their own.

Soon, they poured libations upon the fire, expensive wines sacrificed in her name. The liquid did not douse the flames, and in fact, they only burned brighter at the offerings. James sipped from the wine after he poured the majority out for Hecate, drinking alongside his patron as they shared in the taste of plenty.

Among other prayers, Dad prayed for James. For the rest of his debut season to go well. That she guide him through this time, and watch over him as he represented her followers and the House of Potter. The flames burned red, entirely red, the colour of blood and torch. It was a fierce sign from Hecate, one of protection and devotion. Relief and gratitude sang through his body, so he offered her another jasmine flower. It was a meagre offering in return for her aid, but James felt no anger from the goddess. The flames stayed pure red for a moment longer before they faded to their usual appearance.

Eventually, their entreaties and prayers came to a close. They gave their final offerings and lifted their heads to rejoice in the celebration that would follow. The hearth-fire flickered a mischievous purple for the briefest of seconds — so quick James almost thought he imagined it. He wondered what that was about, slightly nervous at the omen, but he nevertheless closed out his prayers for now.