God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs
The agent had referred to the flat in the listing as “tiny.” Sirius preferred to think of it as “cosy,” though such a dwelling wasn’t something with which he had much experience. The Chinatown flat was a far cry from the spacious, drafty halls of Hogwarts, the sprawling grounds of the Potters’ manor, or the isolated house of horrors where he’d been a child.
He could still envision the expanse of the townhome of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Grimmauld Place was shrouded in shadow, as quiet as if the whole of it were encased in a bubble. Sirius had hated the way his footfalls echoed down the hardwood hallways, the whisper of cloaks dragging across the marble floors. Everything was cold, cold, so cold.
Even at Christmas, Walburga Black sucked the joy out of the season like marrow from a bone. She detested the idea of childish happiness, it seemed, ensuring that Sirius and Regulus behaved with proper composure at all times. Sirius had longed to tear into the shiny silver wrappings to see what waited underneath, but each gift—usually some heirloom from one dead relative or another—was opened with a careful elegance so as not to incur the wrath of Walburga.
Christmas at the Potters’ had been an entirely different experience. The house was warm and filled with fairy lights and the scent of pine and freshly baked mince pies (of which Sirius could not resist sampling several). James’s parents had doted on Sirius, providing him with a safe space and gifts and comfort. Christmas morning was a riot of color: wrapping paper and ribbon and baubles. The evening brought guests and music and a feast.
It was that feeling that Sirius was aiming to recreate for his first Christmas living with Remus. He wanted to form new traditions for the two of them, for their family, and he had been looking forward to this ever since he paid outright for the tiny—cosy—flat and began furnishing it. Ever since he and Moony had moved in with their somewhat meager belongings, determined to create a home together.
Sirius had been putting up various little tchotchkes he’d picked up at Muggle secondhand shops—a delight to experience. He loved the insight into the minds of the Muggles as he perused antiques and exclaimed slightly too loudly about various objects, much to Remus’s chagrin. Remus would flush, pinching his nose, and tug Sirius away. So far, he’d found a darling music box: a ceramic Father Christmas that tinkered with toys and spun about whilst playing a jingling little carol, and a set of brass candlesticks that he set upon the mantle alongside an old nutcracker. It brought a bit of merriment and warmth to the flat, but it was missing the piece de resistance.
*****
This is how Sirius found himself tugging Moony through the streets of London to a Christmas tree lot. The scent of fresh balsam greeted them from the rain-covered sidewalk, beckoning them closer to the array of firs lined up patiently like toy soldiers.
“Come on, Moony, all the good ones will have gone!” Sirius exclaimed, pulling Remus along by his mitten-clad hand.
“Sirius…” Remus sighed, but he did so in the slightly indulgent way he had that let Sirius know it wasn’t quite bothersome after all.
There were, in fact, plenty of Christmas trees waiting to be claimed and brought home to be bedecked with assorted bobs and bits. Sirius, however, was determined to find the perfect one.
“You do know that no tree is actually going to be perfect, right Padfoot?” Remus asked, his breath a visible puff in the brisk night air.
“Of course, love, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to find one,” Sirius winked.
He perused each tree, tilting his head this way and that so that his long black hair fell over his shoulders, sweeping over the collar of his pea coat. Up and down each row, inspecting the softness of the lush green needles, the pliability of the branches, the top of the trunk where the star would rest. Sirius hadn’t inherited much from his mother (and thank Merlin for that), but the woman did have an eye for detail, and so did her eldest son.
“Hmm… what about this one?” Sirius asked.
Remus pulled the tree from the row where it was leaning, holding it up for Sirius’s inspection. Sirius looked at the tree, spinning his index finger in a circular motion to indicate that Remus should rotate it. He knew without looking that Remus would understood, and couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed across his cheeks as the tree danced in a little circle. But was that a bare spot?
“No,” Sirius shook his head.
Remus dropped the tree back against the others, shoving his hands into the pockets of his corduroy and shearling coat.
And so it went.
Sirius would find a contender. Remus would hold it up and spin it. Sirius would find some minor—or major—flaw, and they would continue.
At last, at last, they reached the farthest corner of the lot and Sirius clambered over some trees that were leaning in a pile against a poorly erected barrier. There, behind the others, was The Tree. It wasn’t much taller than Sirius, honestly, but it was full and lush, an emerald green with a scent that enveloped Sirius as he spun the tree, cocking a brow and leaning his head to one side.
“Is this the one?” Remus asked patiently. He bobbed a bit on his toes, hopeful.
“I think it might be,” Sirius said, unable to help the grin spreading across his face.
Remus reached out a mittened hand, and Sirius relinquished The Tree so that Remus could give it a good spin while Sirius stood at a slight distance, taking in the image and picturing the evergreen in their flat.
“I can tell by your face that this is it,” Remus said, peering out from behind the branches.
Merlin, but he was lovely—his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink from the cold, the fairy lights overhead glinting off of the sandy-and-honey tones of his curls, and he was smirking at Sirius in that way that made Sirius’s heart skip a beat.
They paid for the tree (Godric, trees were expensive) and hurried excitedly home.
*****
Back at the flat, they were faced with the peculiar task of putting the tree in the stand. It was a horrible contraption, red metal with lag eye screws along each of the four green metal legs that attached to the center.
Sirius had thought lugging the tree back to the flat and up the stairs was a task, but it seemed that this was a bit more than he had anticipated.
“Is it even close?” Remus asked. He was holding the tree up above the stand while Sirius knelt down below, attempting to guide the trunk into the base of it.
“Just a bit more to the right, love,” he said, sweeping his hair from his face.
“Now?” Remus growled, somewhat impatiently.
Sirius struggled to bite back a laugh.
“Sirius, I swear—”
“Yes, yes, it’s there,” Sirius laughed. “You think you’d be a bit better at this, you know.”
Remus dropped the tree into the base with ease. Sirius sensed his gaze and looked up to meet Remus’s stony, rather unamused face. He barked out another laugh.
“Come on, that was a good one,” Sirius said, winking.
Remus smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah, yeah, now come and hold this so I can screw in those ruddy bolts.”
Sirius leapt to his feet, gripping the tree’s trunk through the velvety needles. It was sticky with sap, but Sirius leaned in anyway, inhaling the scent. He pictured nights racing through the Forbidden Forest, Moony and Padfoot and the scent of pine under a full moon…
“Sirius, I need you to hold it straight,” Remus said, interrupting his reflecting. “I can’t get these bloody screws into place if you’ve got the tree wobbling about.”
Sirius straightened the tree. It had, after all, been his idea not to use magic to do some of the more traditional aspects. He wanted the whole experience—but he also wanted Remus’s help. With a bit more wobbling and a lot more cursing, the task was complete.
*****
Some time later, Sirius sat on the sofa facing the tree. It was in front of the bookshelves—there really was nowhere else for it—and they had managed to get it into the tree stand, watered, and strung with lights (a chaotic experience in and of itself). They had wrapped the base with tiny white lights so that the tree seemed to glow from within, and the branches were laden with large incandescent lights in white, orange, green, red, and blue. The overall effect was quite pleasant, even without the rest of the ornamentation, and Sirius was content to sit there, running an elegant hand absentmindedly up and down Remus’s back as he dozed with his head in Sirius’s lap.
Sirius allowed his mind to wander. He hadn’t a clue what to get Remus. There was so much pressure—of course, Sirius could afford to get Remus anything, but it wasn’t about that, was it? His parents had absolutely spoilt him and Regulus both, but there was no thought or care put into it. They were Sirius and Regulus Black, and as sons of one of the most prestigious wizarding families in England, it went without saying that they were to have the absolute best.
It wouldn’t do, however, to get Remus something so absolutely meretricious. Remus was hardly ostentatious, anyway—he would be more appreciative of something sentimental, but what?
Sirius pondered over this long after Remus’s light dozing became heavy snoring. Sirius shook him awake, guiding him gently to the bedroom. He lay there, beside Remus, wracking his brain until he eventually drifted off to sleep himself.
*****
“Faaaaalllll on your kneeeeeeees, oh heeeeaaaar the angel voices,” Sirius belted.
When Remus got home the following evening, he found Sirius up to his knees in boxes of Christmas baubles, the record player blaring Muggle Christmas carols.
“Hello, love,” Sirius nodded at him, switching quickly to singing the chorus again, “Oh niiiiight diviiiiiine…”
Remus leaned against the doorjamb, smiling softly as he watched Sirius’s performance. Sirius got into it, hamming it up a bit for Moony, and bowed theatrically as the song ended. He pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it at the dial, turning the volume to a level that more easily allowed for conversation.
“I quite like those Muggle Christmas carols.”
“You’ve a bit of tinsel in your hair,” Remus said, still smiling that same soft, sweet smile.
“Do I?” Sirius arched a brow. “Can’t imagine why…”
He gestured to the mess of ornaments and tinsel strewn about the flat’s sitting room.
“Mmhmm, puzzling, innit?” Remus stepped closer, sliding his hands over Sirius’s waist.
His hands were cold from being outside and he slid them underneath Sirius’s white t-shirt. Sirius shivered. Moony’s freckled cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were sleepy, heavy lidded, and the way that he was looking at Sirius made his own cheeks flush in response.
“Does one of your traditions involve snogging in front of the Christmas tree?” Remus asked.
“It certainly could,” Sirius said, biting his lip.
That was what did it for Remus, it seemed.
He waved his wand, sending a roaring fire into the hearth, and then he was on Sirius, twining one hand into his hair as their lips met, the other hand still on Sirius’s spine, pressing him even closer. Sirius gasped as he pulled Remus in to deepen the kiss, frantic meetings of tongues and teeth. He slid his hands into Remus’s jacket and shoved it to the floor. They stepped back towards the sofa without breaking their kiss.
Sirius breathed in the parchment and chocolate and pine scent of his darling Remus, his senses entirely consumed with Remus yet unable to get enough of him. Remus trailed kisses down his neck, biting softly at the place behind his ear and then running his tongue over it.
“Plus de ca,” Sirius sighed, tilting his head back, eyes closed.
Remus moaned, and Sirius bucked his hips, impatient. Remus chuckled, running a finger lightly over the taut denim of Sirius’s trousers before sliding his eyes up to meet Sirius’s. Whatever he found there made him equally impatient, and it wasn’t long before he gave Sirius exactly what he wanted.
When it was over, they lay in each other’s arms in front of the now-smoldering fire. They had formed a little divot amidst the decorations and the sofa and the pile of clothes and were content to stay that way, listening to the carols on the radio and the sound of one another’s heartbeats.
“There’s a Christmas market tonight,” Remus said quietly. He was playing with the ends of Sirius’s hair.
Sirius lifted his head from Moony’s chest.
“D’you want to go then?”
“I would quite like that, I think,” Sirius said, snuggling in again.
“They’re doing Christmas karaoke. I think you should enter. It would be fun.”
Sirius rolled his eyes.
“Moony…”
“Sirius, you’re a great singer—if you had a record I would buy it. So you might as well.”
Sirius flushed. He could sing, he knew that—but there was something about having Remus tell him that that made him suddenly shy. It meant more, somehow, knowing that Remus—with his fabulous taste in music—thought that Sirius was worth listening to.
“All right then,” Sirius said simply.
*****
The Christmas market was insanely crowded. That was Sirius’s first impression. He and Remus were walking and then suddenly they were unable to move, trapped against a wall of people.
“Why do they always do these bloody things in the smallest areas?” someone mumbled bitterly from behind them, and Sirius privately agreed. This was worse than Diagon Alley on August 31. It was absolute chaos.
Once they broke through the initial throng of people, Sirius felt his eyes light up with glee. There was an ice rink set up in the distance with a Christmas tree that was easily twenty feet tall in the center.
“No way, Pads, not today,” Remus said, answering Sirius’s unspoken question.
Sirius felt his lower lip pout out like a petulant child, and Remus laughed.
“We’ll come back after Christmas—it’ll be less crowded then,” Remus promised, putting an arm around Sirius’s shoulder and tugging him close enough to press a kiss to the top of his head.
The vendors were set up in wooden booths made to look like one of the Bavarian night markets, which Sirius found utterly charming. They wove in and out of the mass of people, and Sirius signed up for a karaoke slot when they passed the booth—hastily, before he lost his nerve. They sampled wine that tasted a lot more like vinegar and pretended the mulled wine was better (it wasn’t) and that they would be by later to buy (they wouldn’t).
They split a cheese Danish that was delightful enough that Sirius wished he would have gotten his own. Remus insisted on going to get them cocoas to make up for the “horrid, lingering piss wine taste” and so Sirius wandered around the booths searching for inspiration for a gift while he waited.
He still had no idea what to get Moony. The vendors boasted a variety of wares—handspun mittens and blown glass ornaments, hand painted grater dishes and silver jewelry (which Sirius carefully noted so that he could keep Remus safely away). Hats and fragrances and leather goods and pottery, but nothing that leapt out at him and made him think Moony must have this.
Remus made his way through the crowd—Sirius recognized the top of his head, and he stood on the toes of his combat boots to help Moony find him more easily. He had just passed Sirius his cocoa when a static-y speaker crackled and announced the next karaoke singer.
Merlin, he’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he had barely noticed anyone else had been singing.
“Sir—Serious—Sir-eye-us Black? Please report to the stage.”
Sirius sighed, rolling his eyes. Remus laughed, taking the cocoa back and following Sirius towards the stage. Sirius shook his hair from his face and leapt neatly onto the plywood stage, fiddling slightly with the sleeves of his pea coat as he waited for the man with the elaborate speaker system to notice him.
“Are you Sir-eye-us?”
“It’s Sirius, but yes, I am,” he said primly. He always felt so formal when he was uncomfortable—a default mode, undoubtedly.
“What’ll you be singing, Sirius?” the man asked, looking at him from under a jauntily angled Father Christmas hat.
“Um…” Sirius blinked rapidly, his mind racing to come up with a song. Hadn’t he been listening to them for bloody weeks at this point? “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” he said, blurting the first title to pop into his head.
“Sirius Black singing ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’!” the emcee shouted into the microphone before passing it over to Sirius, who dearly wished that he could wipe the man’s spittle from it before using it himself.
But there was no time. The opening background vocals and the 1950s rock & roll guitar riff began and Sirius felt his soul leave his body a little bit. There were some many bloody people and while he was used to being a bit of a spectacle in the Gryffindor common room, this was most definitively not that. His voice snagged a bit on the first low note (fucking party hop), but then his eyes found Remus and he felt his confidence return.
He swayed his shoulders and even wiggled his hips, tapping the toe of his boot and bobbing his head during the saxophone solo. When he finished belting out the final note, he quickly passed the microphone off to the emcee and raced off the stage to Remus, who was grinning broadly.
“Padfoot, that was fucking amazing!” he exclaimed. “The people behind me were talking about how good you were, and I almost cursed a group of girls over there who were bloody swooning over you.”
“You’re winding me up,” Sirius said, flushing.
“Oh go on, you know you were good,” Remus nudged him.
“Honestly Rem, I completely blacked out up there,” Sirius laughed. “I could’ve been singing in Parseltongue and wouldn’t’ve known the difference.”
Remus smiled at him indulgently, looping their arms together.
“Shall we?” he asked, passing Sirius his now-tepid cocoa.
And off they went to peruse the rest of the market.
*****
Things were not going according to plan, not at all.
Considering that he was decent at Potions, it was unexpected that baking was completely elusive to him. And yet it was, it seemed.
Remus had been banished to the sofa, and there he remained with his nose in a book. Sirius had peered out at him when this had first started, smiling tenderly at the image of Remus curled up and illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree.
Now, though, Sirius was furiously poking at the gelatinous mess in the bottom of the pot with his wand in quick, sharp jabs, as if hoping to salvage some of the mess. Remus, mercifully, hadn’t come into the kitchen yet, but after another growl of “Oh come on, what the buggering fuck!” Remus came through, a wary expression on his face.
“Just stopping in for a cup of tea,” Remus said, busying himself with the kettle—wisely avoiding Sirius’s gaze.
Sirius, for his part, noticed that Remus appeared to be holding back a smile.
“Well?” Sirius demanded.
Remus slid his eyes over to the congealed mess in the pot and then up to Sirius, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Only—what are you making, love?”
“It’s meant to be bloody mincemeat, but clearly I must’ve done something wrong because it became this fucking mess,” Sirius snarled.
He was so frustrated.
“You may’ve had the burner up a bit too high—nothing irreparable,” Remus said, clearing the mess away with a wave of his wand. He turned the burner down slightly, moving some of the extra ingredients on the counter into the pot to simmer.
“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled, not meeting Remus’s eyes.
“Now do you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?” Remus asked, setting down the little plaid dish towel and tugging Sirius closer.
“Moony, it’s all a mess,” Sirius began, pulling back. “I’m trying to make Effie’s mince pies and I completely ballsed it up and she’s not here and I wanted Harry to be able to try them, and then Lily sent an owl and said James and Harry are both sick and they won’t be able to come for Christmas dinner tomorrow anyway, and it’s Christmas bloody Eve and I have no idea what the fuck to give you, still, and I’ve been wracking my brain for weeks!”
“Sirius—”
But Sirius was really gaining steam now, he knew it. He talked with his hands a lot, but especially when he was upset or excited, and his arms were borderline flailing as he continued.
“I wanted this Christmas to be special because it was our first one really together, on our own. I wanted us to form traditions and hear all the songs and do all the things, to experience every experience together, and now I haven’t even gotten you a bloody gift,” Sirius said, not realizing he was crying until he wiped his hand absentmindedly across his cheek and it came away wet. He often cried when he was mad—it was incredibly inconvenient.
“And to top it all off,” he inhaled deeply, exhaling before continuing, “it’s not even snowing.”
“Sirius, love, come here,” Remus said, tugging him closer again. “You don’t have to get me a thing.”
“I bet you have something for me,” Sirius muttered darkly. “It’s probably been wrapped for ages.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Remus said, confirming Sirius’s anxieties in that one phrase. “I think you might be trying to take on a bit too much, Padfoot. We can’t do every Christmas activity known to humanity in three and a half weeks. It’s not realistic.”
Sirius didn’t know how to explain—it wasn’t just for this one season. It was finally having a person who felt like home—something they had both been sorely lacking for all of their young lives thus far. It was to make up for the years that Remus spent in a care home, years that Sirius spent enduring malicious words and haughty attitudes over Black family Christmas dinners. He wanted this to be the start of their traditions, and besides putting up a ruddy tree they hadn’t accomplished much.
Sirius slid the pot off the burner.
“I’m going to go lie down for a moment,” Sirius said tightly, not trusting himself to look at Remus.
He went through to the bedroom and tossed himself grandly onto the unmade mess of blankets and twisted sheets. Sirius laid there upon the bed, stomach side down and his chin propped up by two fists stacked on top of one another, and he remained like that, trying to empty his mind and mellow his mood. He stayed there and watched the light change against the wall above the headboard, turning from bright to low golden to a dusky purple.
Sirius turned his head towards the nightstand where, weeks ago, he had placed a darling little snow globe he’d found. It had a cottage inside, surrounded by tall pines and a blanket of snow. The windows lit up when the bottom was wound and it played a melody—“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” Remus had said, and they’d laughed a bit as Sirius kept singing the lyrics as “God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs”. It had become a bit of a joke over the season, and Sirius smiled in spite of himself.
That was something.
And hadn’t he always been amazing at Transfiguration?
Sirius sat cross legged on the bed, pulled out his wand, and got to work.
*****
When Sirius emerged from the bedroom, it was to see Remus curled on the sofa, still immersed in the same book. He looked up when he noticed Sirius and marked his place, setting the book aside.
“Hello,” Remus said. His face was cautious.
“’Lo,” Sirius said, suddenly shy. He cleared his throat. “I should like to propose a new tradition.”
“Oh? And what is that?” Remus asked gamely.
“I think we should exchange our gifts on Christmas Eve.”
Remus’s answering smile was like the sun, brightening the room that was otherwise lit only by the incandescence of the Christmas lights.
“I’ve got yours right here,” Remus said, sliding off the couch and readjusting his green and brown argyle jumper. He bent down by the tree and picked up a tiny brown paper package tied neatly with red and white string—understated, just like Moony.
Sirius tugged the string and gently lifted the corner of the wrapping. Inside was a plastic box. Sirius looked at the label—“Moony’s Mix for Padfoot, Christmas 1979”—and the doodle of a crescent moon and a star.
“The track list is inside,” Remus said.
Sirius slid out the little slip of paper and raked his eyes hungrily over the track list. It was all of their songs—the songs of their relationship. T. Rex, Bowie, Queen, Mott the Hoople, even bloody “O Holy Night” was on there!
“Remus, this is brilliant,” Sirius said.
“It’s the story of us—all of the songs we’ve loved since we were kids. I know you think we don’t have any traditions yet, but listening to music with you over Christmas has always been one of my favorite things,” Remus said.
Sirius swallowed against the lump in his throat, knitting his brow slightly. He’d been quite emotional as it was without falling to pieces again.
“Do you want yours now?” Sirius asked, grandly holding out the present.
The box was wrapped in shiny crimson paper and topped with a glittering gold bow. He swept his hair from his face, doing his best to appear insouciant as Remus nimbly unwrapped the offering.
Remus’s face was bemused as he pulled out what was clearly the snow globe from their bedroom.
“Look closer,” Sirius said, huffing out a laugh.
Remus peered into the glass orb, squinting at what appeared to be two figures added to the tableaux.
“Is that… us?”
“It is,” Sirius said. “Give it a shake, love.”
Remus was looking at Sirius as if he were a three-headed dog, but he shook the snow globe nonetheless, flipping it upside down and wiggling it vigorously in one of his long scarred hands before flipping it upright again. Sirius smirked.
Within seconds, snow began to fall in their cosy little flat. The Christmas tree remained as it was, but where there were bookshelves there now stood a forest. The scent of pine and the sweet crisp scent of the snow surrounded them and a diamond-studded starscape dotted the inky blackness above them.
Sirius smiled, pleased and glowing with pride. Remus was gaping at him in wonder.
“Sirius—are we in the snow globe?”
“Not quite,” Sirius shrugged, biting his lip. “More of an immersive experience for us without having to leave the flat.”
“It’s bloody snowing!” Remus laughed. “This is incredible. Your magic is like stardust.”
Sirius beamed with pleasure. “I drew a bit of inspiration from the Room of Requirement and the Forbidden Forest. The scent of pine has been driving me mad for weeks and I couldn’t stop thinking of our romps.”
“You’re doing it, Sirius—that’s tradition. You’re tying our past to our present and we’re creating a future.”
Remus stepped closer to Sirius as the snow swirled. There were snowflakes resting on their cheeks and on their lashes and in their hair. Sirius’s heart leapt as he slid his hands into Remus’s, where they fit just so, as if they were made to be there.
“Happy Christmas, Sirius.”
“Happy Christmas, Remus.”
And then they were kissing, and the snow was falling around them inside their Chinatown flat, and everything was magic.
*****
They spent the evening dancing in the snow-filled living room to the mix tape that Remus had made, laughing and revisiting all of their old memories. Eventually they ambled into the kitchen and finished making up the mince pies, which turned out a bit misshapen and not quite as good as James’s mum’s were, but they were flaky and wonderfully nostalgic regardless.
Sirius could sit talking to Remus forever and would cherish every moment of it, but he also knew that he would never forget this Christmas in particular. He was thankful to have the mix tape to listen to and bring him back to this time, and that Remus had the snow globe that they could bring out and shake whenever they wanted to be in a winter wonderland in their own living room.
That was a tradition, wasn’t it? Something lovely that happened once and then was so good that it just had to happen again and again, year after year? Something that just had to be recreated, to bring back a particular time and place, a feeling, with the people who mattered most?
Sirius knew that it wouldn’t be realistic to assume that he could do it all every year—he wouldn’t be able to recreate Christmas market karaoke each year, or the exact Christmas tree, or this particular moment, but that wouldn’t make it any better or worse than any other year. It’s what they share, together, that makes a home.