Year One: Christmas

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy, and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. James had cheered up—he’d gotten to see the second Quidditch match of the year. However, he, Sirius, and Peter were in detention the entire week after for hexing Snape and the Malfoy prefect on their way to dinner.

Apparently, Sirius had been practising the hair-vanishing spell, and gotten quite proficient. Malfoy didn’t have eyebrows for the remaining time they spent at Hogwarts. Remus had to admit he didn’t mind the stint as much as he thought he would.

The boys emerged from the dungeons with the other Gryffindors and crossed Hagrid in the entrance hall. He waved at them cheerily, nearly dropping the giant pine tree he was carrying on his shoulders. The Hogwarts Express would take the students back to London on Saturday.

James had asked if any of the others wanted to visit him over the holidays, but Remus declined. His parents were nervous as it was, and he saw no reason to make it worse.

Sirius, who would have loved to spend two weeks mucking about with James, also had to refuse. His family had made it clear that they did not approve of him visiting the Potter family under any circumstances.

With their last bout of homework turned in and the feast done with, the boys were ready to catch the train home in the morning. Carriages took the students through the deep snow down to the village, and they boarded, glad to strip off the heavy cloaks. At nine, the train set off. The boys had a carriage to themselves, and Peter emptied his pockets—he’d snuck into the kitchens to coax some treacle tarts Remus loved from the house-elves.

Sirius stretched, putting his feet up onto the seat opposite, crossing his arms behind his head. “We really need a name for ourselves.”

“What?” James asked.

“A group name.”

“Like a boy band?” Remus asked.

“What’s a boy band?” Sirius asked.

“The Beatles? Rolling Stones?” Remus prompted. His mother listened to records on repeat, going about her day.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” James said.

“Are they like criminals?” Peter suggested.

Remus blinked twice. “No,” he said slowly. “They make music. Have you seriously never heard of boy bands?”

“Orchestras?” James offered.

Sirius groaned. “If I have to listen to another violin sonata, I will hex my ears off.”

“Who makes you listen to violin sonatas?” Peter asked.

“Can we focus on the important?” James demanded.

“Right,” Remus said. “What do we need a name for, exactly?”

“So we can pledge our loyalty,” Sirius said. “Listen, if we all think about it over Christmas, I’m sure we can come up with something worthy of our pranks.”

They brainstormed ideas until the trolley rolled up. The others made Remus explain what a boy band was. Sirius insisted Remus find a way to get some of the music to Hogwarts.

Remus’s father waited on the platform in King’s Cross. Sirius had already been dragged away by his cousins before the train stopped, and James and Peter happily joined their parents in the crowd. Remus didn’t have a chance for a proper goodbye, only managing a half-hearted wave to the others before his father disapparated with him.

They landed under a gnarly apple tree in the garden. Remus felt like he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. His mother waited by the door, waving. Remus clamoured through the snow into her embrace.

“It is so good to have you back home, dear,” she whispered into Remus’s hair.

Remus nodded, following her inside. “I missed you too.”

Tears gleamed in the corners of her eyes, and she kissed him on both cheeks, pulling Remus close for another hug, smoothing down his hair. “Goodness, haven’t you had a haircut at all?”

“All the boys keep their hair long,” Remus said.

“Still?” his father asked, hanging up his cloak. Lyall laughed, shaking his head. “I thought that had changed, at least.”

A fire crackled in the living room. A stack of books sat abandoned on a side table, buried under empty mugs. He followed his parents into the kitchen.

“Dinner is almost ready,” his mother said. She squeezed Remus’s shoulder. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Remus said. “Just tired from the long journey, I guess.”

The table had already been set, and Remus dropped into his usual seat.

“You must be famished,” his father said, passing a bread basket.

Remus smiled. He could hardly tell him that his friend had stolen food from the kitchens—off-limits to students—so he just nodded. His mother set a steaming pot in front of him. “We can’t wait to hear all about Hogwarts,” she said. “Your letter has been fascinating. I’ve made soup.”

His mother filled a plate for Remus. “Oh, yeah,” Remus said, nibbling on a piece of bread. “It’s great.”

“Is old Slughorn still the potions master?”

Remus nodded. He’d never thought about the fact that he might share the same teachers as his father did. “I’m not very good, though,” Remus admitted, playing with his spoon.

“I never was either,” his father said. “Spent more time cleaning up my mishaps than anything else. I was glad to drop potions after OWLs.”

“Tell me about your friends,” his mother prompted.

“Oh, um—Well, there’s Peter, and Sirius, and James.” His father raised his eyebrows. “They’re nice.”

Remus squirmed in his seat. He knew his parents were afraid. Afraid of others finding out about his secret and abandoning him, and he couldn’t think of a way to explain that he was handling it; well, at least mostly handling it. The little slip-up with Sirius had been a one-time thing, and if he just continued to act normally, Sirius wouldn’t see anything else and get bored eventually, as he did with everything else.

His mother brushed her hair from her face. “What do they like to do? Are they from wizarding families?”

Remus nodded, grinning. “They don’t know what boy bands are.” His mother shook her head. “They’re all pure-bloods, I think,” Remus admitted, not looking at his father.

“What families are they from?”

Remus couldn’t meet his eyes. “Um—Pettigrew, Potter, and Black.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

“The Blacks?”

Remus nodded. His mother looked between Remus and his father. “Who are the Blacks?”

“They’re one of the oldest and most prejudiced wizarding families. Ho—How do you even meet a Black?”

“He’s in Gryffindor, too,” Remus said.

“A Black. In Gryffindor?”

“Why is that so special?” Remus’s mother asked.

“It has never happened before,” his father replied. “Never. All Blacks are put into Slytherin.”

“Oh, rubbish,” his mother said. “Your last name doesn’t define who you are.”

Remus swallowed, studying the reflections in the window.

“You really have to be careful, Remus,” his father said. Remus could feel his gaze on him.

“I know,” he mumbled. “I never change when they’re in the dormitory, and Professor McGonagall helps me find excuses. The others don’t suspect anything. They’re all too busy with coursework to care.”

Remus very pointedly didn’t mention that Sirius and James spent much of their free time in detention. His father still muttered under his breath, but Remus’s mother smiled encouragingly.

***

Christmas was still a week away, and his father had to work, although he attempted to be home for dinner every night. Remus spent the sunny afternoons exploring the woods bordering on the backyard, bundled in his father’s heavy cloak. His mother had protested, but he’d assured her he was perfectly safe, and promised not to venture into the village. Once, he’d come close to the other forest’s edge, catching a glimpse of the Muggle village of Abercoed.

When the weather was too cold, Remus nestled by the fire. The books scattered around the house when he’d first arrived had all mysteriously disappeared. Remus snuck into his father’s office and lifted the first titles he came across. He hadn’t brought enough library books to keep him occupied for the full two weeks.

His mother had insisted on cutting Remus’s hair. He had to admit that she was right. His hair was long and uncomfortable, falling into his eyes all the time. Remus wondered how Sirius didn’t go crazy—his hair was even longer. Remus had refused a buzz cut, so his mother soaked his hair, cutting off the tips until the hair framed Remus’s face neatly.

He was especially delighted when his mother announced she would let him join her on her trip to the village on Thursday morning. He’d overheard his parent’s discussion the night before but pretended to be surprised.

Giddy, Remus awoke early, pacing the living room, unable to focus. He watched the hands on the grandfather clock in the corner move slowly, wondering what the other boys were up to.

Peter was the only one who had been allowed to visit James over the holidays, and Remus knew he was supposed to leave tonight. He’d meant to ask his father if he could send a letter, but his father had already left for work. He’d see them soon enough, anyway.

Remus and his mother finally set off shortly before lunchtime. The walk into the village led them along the forest edge and over an old stone bridge across the narrow river. Every so often, they passed a Muggle house.

They used to have a car when he was a little boy, and his mother had worked before they moved out into the countryside. Faintly, Remus remembered being strapped into the back seat, impatient to arrive at a destination.

It was Remus’s first trip to the village, despite living in the cottage for almost two years. His heart thumped as Remus strolled alongside his mother through the narrow lanes, the snow crunching under their feet.

Remus peaked curiously at the colourful displays in the shop windows. They passed a bakery, a charity shop, and a barber. His mother pointed out a small seamstress shop next to a cafe. In the town centre, in front of the ancient stone church, a bus stop connected the village to the city down on the coast where Remus’s Muggle grandparents lived. He’d last visited them in the summer after his scrapes from the full moon had healed.

The locals turned their heads to get a better look at Remus. His mother had announced that she’d taken a part-time job for the council, and the town’s inhabitants were curious at the sight of the mysterious young woman’s son returned from the exclusive boarding school, when she barely made enough to keep herself afloat.

They stopped at the greengrocer. The old man smiled when they entered the shop, putting down his pipe. Wild grey hair sprouted from beneath a brown hat, and his hands shook as he adjusted his collar, straightening.

 Whilst his mother shopped, Remus wandered the aisles of the small store. The overhead lights flickered every so often, and a low hum emanated from the large refrigerators. Remus sat next to a small shelf with sweets. It was reassuring to know chocolate that didn’t attempt to hop away still existed. Although Remus had to admit, the cards that came with the frogs made it worthwhile. Peter’d given him all his duplicates, so Remus had amassed an impressive collection in his suitcase.

An old lady in a heavy coat walked past him, smiling, her walking stick dragging along the linoleum. Remus clamoured to his feet and looked around. His mother still chatted with the old man by the till, a bag slumped at her feet. She looked to be in no hurry. Remus ambled toward the back.

A bell jingled softly, and the shop filled with laughter as a cold gust rattled the shelves. Remus continued down the aisle with crisps. Two older girls rounded the corner, chattering. Three boys raced after them, squishing between the shelves and the girls to overtake them. Remus flattened himself against the shelf in the last moment before the three bounded past him.

He looked after them, astonished.

“Sorry ’bout that,” a fourth boy murmured, stopping by Remus.

“What?”

The boy was wrapped in an oversized green jumper, his black hat askew on his head. His cheeks were rosy and dusted with freckles, and he shifted from one leg to the other. “About them?”

“Oh,” Remus said. It came out as a huff. He twisted his arms around himself and looked around the aisle. “Nothing you need to be sorry for.”

“My idiot cousin has no understanding of personal space or respect.”

Remus chuckled. “I know people like that.”

“I’m Andrew.” He held his gloved hand outstretched.

Remus shook his hand. “Remus.”

“Do you live here?”

Remus nodded.

“Cool,” Andrew said. "I'm visiting for the holidays."

“Remus?” His mother’s voice came from the front.

“Here,” Remus called. “Sorry. I have to go.”

“Oh, alright. Bye then.”

“Bye,” Remus said, hurrying toward the exit. Before rounding the corner, he turned around to catch a glimpse of Andrew waving. Remus waved back before joining his mother and stepping into the snow.

Remus awoke on Christmas morning to find their cottage completely snowed in. His father was cooking breakfast when Remus padded into the kitchen, wrapped in a giant woollen jumper.

“Good morning,” his father said, smiling.

Remus rubbed his eyes. “Morning, Dad,” he mumbled.

“Your nan sent a letter. She and Grampy are not going to make it up this Christmas. He fell—nothing serious—but it’s too much to travel.”

Remus nodded. He only saw his grandparents every once in a while. This way, he didn’t have to lie about Hogwarts, at least.

“This came for you,” his dad said, gesturing to two parcels on the table.

Remus blushed, recognising Peter’s handwriting. He hadn’t even thought of getting his friends a gift. Peter had sent a box of chocolate frogs and James a set of chess figurines and a tin with mince pies. Remus smiled to himself, aware that his father was watching him from the corner of his eyes.

“Where’s mum?” he asked.

“Still sleeping. She works so hard,” his father said, waving his wand, and the table set itself. “She deserves a break.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said.

“What for?” his father asked. Remus shrugged, playing with the discarded wrapping paper. His father shook his head. “Have your friends sent you anything good? I presume your friends sent you these?”

Remus nodded, showing the presents to his father. “They’re really great,” Remus mumbled.

“A chess set?”

“Yeah. We play all the time.”

“I think I still have an old one in my office,” his father said, pondering and loading Remus’s plate with eggs and sausages. “We could play a few rounds after.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Not today,” he said. “I’m spending Christmas with my family.”

Remus’s mother sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, knitting and nursing a hot cup of tea, an eye on the chess game Remus had going on with his father. Remus was grumbling, scratching his head. He was losing—badly. His father’s figurines trusted him blindly, almost as if player and piece were one. Remus, on the other hand, struggled to give his figurines the easiest of instructions, the pieces constantly shouting advice in his face.

After dinner, they gathered around the fireplace, the warmth casting flickering shadows on the walls. Remus’s mother handed out two small wrapped presents. Remus tore into his gifts, revealing a hand-knit jumper, and a book titled ‘Practical Spellcasting: A Hands-On Guide for Beginners’. As the evening drew to a close, Remus curled up on the couch, his new book in hand. Outside, the waning crescent moon bathed the snow in a silver glow.