Four Nights Before Christmas Eve

Four Nights Before Christmas Eve

0.

And it snows.

1.

Four nights until Christmas Eve.

“It doesn't show signs of stopping, and I've bought some corn for popping, the lights are turned way down low, let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!”

“For god’s sakes, why does it keep on singing that same song?” Remus throws his books aside and yawns.

“Don’t know,” is the reply from Sirius, who sits cross-legged and bent in front of the sparkling, singing Christmas tree. In a clean, swift motion, he stands up and sits down next to Remus. “But I bet if you kick it hard enough, it’ll start to sing a different song. I’m going to bed.”

Remus stares at the tree, in all its snowy glory, and is puzzled. Christmas bothers him; not a whole lot, but it bothers him. Magical, the Muggles call it, but Remus cannot understand Christmas’s magic at all — their idea of magic is too abstract anyway, so he decides. But it unsettles him nonetheless, especially on this night when outside the fireplace’s downy heat, snowflakes drift so languidly. Especially when fear plagued the world.

But Remus must not think of that.

“Yeah, Christmas is a weird thing,” Remus mutters absently to the still singing tree.

“Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!” the tree replies in its gaudy voice with a rustling motion and a gold plated glass ornament falls.

“Oh shut up,” Remus says, and goes to bed after Sirius.

2.

Three nights until Christmas Eve.

Outside, night descends and December gust draws more crystallites that sketch a pale shroud about the Hogwarts castle; cold, knife-like, and cathartic. But the two boys in the Gryffindor Common Room do not know this, because they lie within the warm orb of their fireplace; ignorant, safe, and lazy. They didn’t think they would actually spend a quiet, idle Christmas curled up on the couch, but there aren’t much pranks to pull when most of the school has gone home.

Sirius watches Remus, who sits across from him, book in hand, and realizes that it is the last Christmas they’ll ever spend in Hogwarts — and possibly the last chance he’ll have in Hogwarts with Remus. They’ll be graduating shortly and sooner or later everyone will have to settle down and walk their own paths, so to speak — that is, if the Dark Lord spares them.

But Sirius will say nothing of that.

“Moony,” Sirius starts in a casual, easy voice, “will you miss me after we graduate and get married?”

“Assuming that there is someone imprudent enough to marry you,” Remus states nonchalantly, not even looking up from his book.

“Skip the insults and answer me.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” yawns Sirius. “Just checking.”

Remus yawns too.

After a drawn out, comfortable pause, Sirius asks lazily, “What are you reading anyway?”

“The Scarlet Letter. It’s a Muggle book; Vincent let me borrow it.”

“A Muggle book?”

“It’s pretty good, actually,” Remus concludes, knowing that Sirius isn’t at all interested in Muggle Studies.

And they do nothing, really, for the rest of the night, except for their routine bantering, and a kitchen raid too keep themselves occupied.

3.

Two nights until Christmas Eve.

“Ouch!”

Remus looks up from the book at the cry.

Sirius walks down from the dormitory, rubbing his left hand. “That damned doorknob bit me!”

At that, Remus laughs.

“Whose brilliant idea was to have a carol singing doorknob?”

“Probably one of the house-elves.”

“Great… This one has a horrible lisp too.”

All Remus does is smile. “Well, if you’re not in the mood for badly-sung Christmas carols, silence it like you did to the tree.”

“Good idea.”

Time lapses between words, and snow falls steadily to cover the Forbidden Forestin silver. Remus rather likes snow — he likes it better than rain — especially this kind of feathery, powdery snow. Rain is just too wet, too damp, and way too gloomy; Sirius prefers the rain, of course. He tells Remus that the rain is clean and fresh and alive, but Remus certainly doesn’t think so.

But he won’t argue with Sirius.

4.

One night until Christmas Eve.

It stops snowing today, and the remaining students go outside and have fun in the snow; but the two Marauders want a break from all the mischief they had done all year, so they just go to sit by the frozen lake after moonrise.

“You know, it’s getting really cold. I think we should go back,” suggests Remus, wrapping himself tighter in his winter robes.

But Sirius says nothing, because he is thinking, knowing that it isn’t the cold at all that disquiets Remus, but the moon.

“Do you like Christmas?”

Remus frowns, quite unsure, “Not particularly. Of course, I don’t hate it.”

It is now, Sirius’ turn to smile. Time slips away between them once again, and they stare at each other for too long. Both of them see the awkward tension that has long fastened around them, but they see no way of breaking it — because they do not yet realize what it is.

Sirius almost wishes that they are not alone and staring into each other, but at the same time he doesn’t want to admit that he is afraid. So he dismisses the strain as too fantastic a thing.

“Yeah, you’re right, it is getting cold.”

5.

It is Christmas Eve.

The only snow that falls now, is the warm snow from the enchanted ceiling; and the two boys are finishing the bottled butterbeers they’d gotten from their latest kitchen raid.

“Do you think it lasts?” A question out of the blue as they walk up to the dormitory.

“What lasts?”

“Love.”

With a chuckle and a frown, Remus seems perplexed. “Perhaps.”

“You’re a big help,” Sirius rolls his eyes that inevitably rest onto the snow outside.

“Oh, you’re very welcome. Just that I didn’t expect such a philosophical question from you,” states Remus in derision.

Sirius sneers, but no other rebuttal comes. “Hey, a mistletoe…”

So it is a mistletoe. They stop in their paths, and do not enter their dorm because hesitation grows heavy in both. Sirius once thought of kissing Remus and wondered if he can guess the feel and taste of his lips. But it was weird to think that way, Sirius had decided. Standing next to Remus now, he wonders again.

But when it comes, he knows that he can never get ready for it; it comes dancing, pulsating, and all alive on its own. And absolutely, utterly, colorful.

“Who told you that you were a bad kisser again?” Remus asks shortly after they pull apart.

“Veronica, you know, the Ravenclaw girl.”

“She is officially a nutter.”

And maybe Remus knew too well, what is meant by a magical Christmas.