Fic: Celebrating With Family for figliaperduta
Title: Celebrating With Family
Author: mutuisanimis
Recipient: figliaperduta
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *racism (not a main theme), suicide mention, some swearing *
Word count: 5829
Summary: Sirius celebrates winter holidays over the years.
Notes: figliaperduta requested Anglo-Chinese!Sirius, and I did my very best to deliver, but I am a largely self-taught student of Chinese language and culture (one summer course!), so many apologies if anything is glaringly off. His pureblood mum was adopted as a teenager from China by her white pureblood parents, and married white pureblood Orion Black.
I did consciously use traditional characters throughout, as they were much more common in overseas Chinese communities during Sirius’ childhood, but I used modern Hanyu Pinyin for romanized words since that is the system with which I (and probably a lot of readers?) am most familiar for Mandarin. I also incorporated Afro-Caribbean-heritage!Potters (mother and father) because I came across that headcanon recently and like it a lot, though again I am wholly self-taught in that regard.
Many, many thanks to laroseminuit, Mycroft, and Book for their patient beta-ing, and to the mods for keeping this fest going. A glossary of food and holiday terms can be found at the bottom.
26 December 1968 / 農曆四六六六年冬月初七
Sirius was bored. He had spent all day yesterday in formal dress robes, listening to the grown-ups talk, and at nine years old, there’s only so much of that one can put up with. Yesterday, at least, he and Regulus and their cousins had been permitted to read their new books and eat Christmas candy while they talked. Today, the books and candies had been put away, his cousins had gone home, he was wrapped up formal robes again, and they were itchy.
He sat at the dining room table, staring silently across the table at Regulus and kicking his feet. It was always a test of who laughed first and got a scolding; Sirius hadn’t lost in a month. But that was small comfort to a nine-year-old when special foods like jiaozi and ginger noodles and tangyuan were on the table, and they smelled delicious, and the prayers hadn’t even started yet.
Sirius glanced over at his father, who was sitting at the foot of the table, also silently (though, presumably not kicking his feet). Normally Father would have sat at the other end of the table, but today was for Dongzhi. Today was Mother’s celebration. Sirius bit back a wince as Regulus kicked his shin particularly sharply, then drew his legs back, no longer expecting this game to end in laughter.
His mother stood at the sideboard, which was serving as the altar. Two stone basins sat there, one on each side. In the basin on the right was a large, eight-wick black candle to honor the Black family ancestors. In the one on left was a similar green candle for the Lü family, from which his mother had been adopted. Quietly she offered prayers to the dead ancestors of both families as she lit the candles with her wand, asking for their continued blessing on her and Father and Sirius and Regulus. Keep our family safe and pure. Thank you for giving us magical blood. Thank you for giving us strong blood from Han Zu and English.
Sirius, now resting his feet on the floor, began to jiggle his legs up and down. Couldn’t Mother hurry it up? He watched as she took folded paper models of house elves and galleons and laid them in the flames to burn, so that the ancestors would continue to have good servants and wealth. Then she placed one jiaozi dumpling and one scoop of noodles and one ball of tangyuan into each basin.
Of course the candle flames were not strong enough to burn the food offerings, so Mother held her wand over each one, shooting more fire at the food, until it was all burnt away, leaving just the candles burning once more. The flames entranced Sirius, and when Mother lowered her wand, he noticed that he had been tapping his fingers against his thigh. He stopped. She took her seat and they all began to eat.
It was a quiet meal, but not an unfriendly one. “Remember you come from good blood,” she reminded them sternly but fondly. “Be proud you are magical pureblood, you are Han Zu, you are Black.” She gestured to Father and patted Sirius’ and Regulus’ hands.
“You are each a Black,” Father corrected her with a slight smirk. “The name and the common adjective are unfortunately similar.” His face softened a little as he looked at his sons. “Be grateful for what you have, boys. I am proud of you.”
1 December 1973 / 農曆四六七一年冬月初七
Sirius was picking bacon off Peter’s plate at breakfast when the owl swooped past the third-year section of the table and dropped the letter in Sirius’ own bowl of porridge. Peter turned away from his conversation with James to see what the letter was, noticed Sirius’ thievery, and promptly kicked him under the table.
“You can just say ‘Can I have some more bacon, Peter,’ you know,” Peter scolded. “Anyway, what’s that letter for?”
Sirius pulled the parchment out of his bowl and muttered a scourgify before checking the seal. “Looks like it’s from my mum. Wonder how I’ve embarrassed her lately,” he grumbled, cracking it open.
Dear Sirius, it read.
冬至快樂！Dongzhi kuaile! Happy start of winter! Hope you are safe and study hard. Your marks last term are good. Keep it up.
Last year we celebrate the end of Dongzhi after you come home for Christmas holiday, but this year Dongzhi is finished before school is finished. Also your father and I must go abroad for business this Christmas, so you and your brother stay at school for the holiday.
Find time to light candles for our family. Grandparents still maybe will have people over on Christmas day, will let you know. I will write to school and ask for you and your brother to travel that day.
Study hard, do not shame your good blood. Make this year good.
Mother
Sirius bit his lip and drummed his fingers on the table. It wasn’t like time spent at home was pleasant these days, but he didn’t think any of his friends were staying at school for the holiday. Who would he spend time with? Would Regulus even talk to him? The poor first-year had his stupid Slytherin status to maintain whenever other people were around. At least at home they were still friends.
And what were the holidays without the special food? Sirius doubted the house elves made jiaozi or tangyuan or that wretched jiuniang that masqueraded as a pudding. Well, they probably would if he asked them to, he supposed. They always managed to come up with all sorts of food. But they probably wouldn’t be very good.
Still, he half hoped that Dumbledore would say he and Regulus weren’t allowed to travel during the break if they were staying at Hogwarts. Without his parents around to offend, his aunts and uncles would be even less kind about his Gryffindor-ness, and Dromeda wouldn’t even be there. He wondered idly how she and that Tonks bloke were. He should send them an owl.
His fingers had migrated from the tabletop to his teeth, which he was now using to chew on the nails. He only noticed when Remus reached over and pulled them out of his mouth. He could imagine his mother scolding him, and he rolled his eyes.
“So, what’s her problem this time?” Remus asked, setting Sirius’ hand back on the table. “Can’t be too bad, since it wasn’t a Howler.” Remus spoke with a gentle humor, leaving Sirius an out if he didn’t want to talk. Sirius sighed and tried to formulate an answer, but he was grateful for the option.
“No problem, really. She and my dad have to travel for Christmas, so Reg and I have to stay here for the holiday. Which is fine, probably for the best, really.” He tried to look happy instead of worried. He was pretty sure he didn’t succeed. “I just…” He started chewing on his lip again. “Do you think I can get the house elves to make Chinese holiday food over the break?”
25 December 1973 / 農曆四六七一年臘月初二
“You pull on them until they explode?” Sirius demanded, turning a wizard cracker over in his hands. Honestly, why hadn’t he ever seen one of these before? Right, because his family were all extremely boring.
From across the Hogwarts Christmas dinner table, Remus nodded. James and Peter had gone to be with their families, but Remus had talked his parents round to letting him stay at school. (“Kept reminding my mum how lucky it is that I have such good friends, you know, and how lonely you were going to be, and how you would surely do the same for me…” Remus had explained with a wink. “You played the lonely werewolf card? Devious little thing, aren’t you?” Sirius had answered with a grin.)
Regulus was also visiting their grandparents, but Sirius had had a quiet word with Regulus at the beginning of the holiday about not wanting to visit without his parents. Regulus had been disappointed, but understood. Instead, Sirius had begged jiaozi and tangyuan off the house elves (not close to those Mother would have had Kreacher make, but tasty anyway) brought them to an empty classroom, where Regulus had brought candles and paper coins. They didn’t say much or stay long, but it was something.
“Here, look,” said Remus, reaching to take one end of the cracker Sirius was inspecting. Too late. Sirius had pulled it apart himself, and was now covered in glitter, never mind the small birds that had ricocheted into his head and were now nesting in his hair. Sirius wanted to glare at Remus’ badly-stifled snickering or try to pass the whole thing off as intentional, but he couldn’t think fast enough, and instead he gave in and joined the laughter.
Remus picked up the shower cap that had fallen to Sirius’ plate and tried a few times to get it around Sirius’ head without disturbing the birds, but soon gave up.
They pulled another cracker apart, together this time, and it was Remus’ turn to be showered in glitter. Sirius grabbed the red and gold knit hat (complete with pom-pom at the top) and shoved it down over Remus’ head before he could object. Then he picked up the package of muggle pens that had fallen from the cracker and stared at them.
“How do they work?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and bringing the package up to his nose. “And what’s this weird stuff they’re wrapped in?” He looked up to see Remus grinning at his confusion.
“It’s called plastic,” said Remus, pushing the hat up out of his eyes. “If you pinch the front and the back and pull it apart, it should open pretty easily. And without exploding!” he added with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
It took Sirius a couple tries, but eventually he got the package open, scattering the pens all over the table and into the dishes of food. Remus picked most of them up and wiped them off with his napkin, while Sirius scourgified the rest of them. Then he pulled the cap off one of them, inspected it, and, lacking any parchment, seized Remus’ hand and scrawled “Happy Christmas!!” from his knuckles to the middle of his forearm. At first the pen didn’t seem to work, but on the third try he discovered that he merely needed to press a lot harder than he did with a quill.
“Ow!” said Remus, trying to pull his hand away, but Sirius held it tight.
“Why do you have to press so hard, anyway?” Sirius asked, dotting the second exclamation point. “And where does the ink come from?”
“The ink is kept inside the pen, which is made of a different type of plastic, by the way, and you have to press hard because-here, look at the nib of it.” Remus pulled his hand away again, and Sirius let him, reluctantly. Remus picked up another pen and uncapped it. “See the tiny little ball at the end of the nib, there? First of all…”
Remus explained how the pens worked, and Sirius was listening. He was, honestly. But Remus’ fingers were equally if not more interesting as he turned the pen in his hands and pointed to little things. Sirius had never really looked at Remus’ fingers before. Why was that?
“…but you have to press hard enough to move the ball.” Remus finished and took Sirius’ hand, pushed up the sleeve of his robe, and inscribed the same message there.
“Right,” Sirius agreed, his brain scrambling to catch up to what Remus had said. “Hey, ow!”
“You started it.” Remus smirked. Then the table suddenly filled with steaming dishes of food, and they began to eat.
31 December 1976 / 農曆四六七四年冬月十一
James’ mum was an excellent cook. Sirius had recognized that over the summer when he ran away and took refuge with the Potters, but for the holidays she had really outdone herself. On Christmas she had served turkey and potatoes like his family did, but also sausages wrapped in bacon (“‘Pigs in a blanket’, Prongs? Seriously?” Sirius thought the name was brilliant. Where had this food been all his life?), and big dumpling things she called pasteles that you had to unwrap from leaves and were incredibly delicious. She had been making and freezing the pasteles since before he and James had arrived from school, and Sirius couldn’t stop eating them.
Tonight, on New Year’s Eve, they were the main course, along with rice and peas. Sirius drizzled some red sauce over his plate, then handed the bottle off to Peter, who was visiting for New Year’s. Remus was…not. He had told James he needed to be home, because of family obligations on New Year’s Day. James had assured him it was fine, and nobody had pointed out that Floo Powder existed. On the other hand, nobody had voiced the unspoken truth that Remus wasn’t coming because Sirius would be there, either. The wound left in their relationship from Sirius’ ill-conceived prank that fall was still too fresh.
Still, Sirius was determined to make the most of a Christmas holiday with a family who not only didn’t require formal dress robes for anything under their own roof, but also didn’t seem to care very much if he wore muggle clothes or if he even wore a shirt at all. Plus, Remus didn’t know what he was missing with these pasteles.
After handing the bottle of sauce to Pete, Sirius accepted a bowl of rice pudding from James’ mum on his other side. Her fingers were dark beside his pale ones. He dished some pudding out for himself, thinking wryly that his father would lose his mind even further to see Sirius sitting happily among a black family and not a Black family. What had he said so long ago? “The name and the common adjective are unfortunately similar.” Bastard. He was right, but Sirius had decided that it was more unfortunate that people as kind as the Potters could ever be confused with his family.
“Thanks so much for supper, Mrs. Potter!” Peter said, bringing Sirius back to the present. Peter was scraping the sides of his bowl for the last of his rice pudding.
“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” James chimed in. “It was scrumptious, as usual.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” Sirius echoed without realizing it. Then he blushed. “Er-”
Mrs. Potter laid her hand over his and squeezed it, silencing him. “You’re welcome, boys. Naturally the price for all this food is that someone has to clean it up…?” She let go of Sirius’ hand and stood up, leaving the suggestion hanging. James grinned.
“Got it,” he said, standing up himself and collecting dishes to take into the kitchen. “Pads, eat faster. You still have a whole bowl of pudding there.”
“Well, forgive me,” Sirius said with mock offense, “for eating slowly enough to actually taste the food. You really shouldn’t bolt down your food like you do, Prongsy. It’s bad for your stomach.”
James rolled his eyes but clapped Sirius on the back as headed into the kitchen with a stack of plates. Peter, too, stood up and gathered the drinking glasses.
“It is excellent pudding, isn’t it?” he asked. Sirius swallowed a mouthful of it and nodded. It was like jiuniang but didn’t actually taste like feet. What a miracle! He felt a small pang, realizing that he would probably never suffer another bite of jiuniang in his life. Sometimes he hated how much he loved his mother’s food and traditions, given how inextricably linked they were to a world of hate, but nevertheless they were familiar and comfortable. He sighed and scraped up the last bite of the pudding. He would find new comforts.
Sirius took his bowl and some serving dishes into the kitchen to help James and Peter pack up the leftovers and do the washing up. James’s dad sat at the kitchen table doing a crossword and chatted with them.
“What’s a nine-letter word for ‘box’?” he asked. “Ends with -E-R.”
“‘Container’,” said Peter, murmuring a scourgify over the plate he held before putting it in the cupboard and picking up another one.
“Hmm,” said James’s dad. “So ‘avoid’ must not be right for ‘avert’, since T-D is not likely to be the start of a word…” He tapped his quill against the paper. “‘Evade’ might work…”
Sirius set his stack of dishes down on the counter. “Speaking of containers,” he said, “Pete, you’re in the way of the container cupboard, and I need to put away the leftover pudding unless you want to help me finish the rest of it right now.”
“Oi, don’t I get any?” James demanded.
“I was mostly joking,” said Sirius as he fished around in the cupboard. “It was delicious, but so was everything else, and I’m stuffed.” He pulled out a bowl with a lid to scrape the pudding into, then stopped short with it halfway to the counter.
“Do you-would you-” He started, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Peter, James, and Mr. Potter all turned to look at him, and he cleared his throat. “There’s a, erm, there’s a Chinese holiday around this time-I don’t even know when exactly-Mother always just told us when it was-” Get to the point, Sirius. “Anyway, I’d sort of been thinking about it the last few days, and I thought, maybe, we could celebrate it a little while we wait for midnight? It’s not much…” He cut himself off babbling. It felt like such a strange request, and he didn’t want to impose on them, but it also felt strange not to light candles for Dongzhi. He had always lit them the years he stayed at Hogwarts over hols, with or without Regulus.
“Of course!” said James and his dad in unison, at the same time that Peter said, “Yeah!”
Sirius set down the bowl he was holding as James clapped him on the shoulder. “So what’s it called? What do we need to do?”
Sirius recovered himself and smiled. Nothing could faze Prongs, it seemed. “It’s called Dongzhi,” he said. “It means the start of winter, and it’s a celebration for family.” He took a breath. “I don’t see why it can’t be for chosen family.” And besides, he felt like he owed the Potter ancestors his gratitude for what their descendants were doing for him.
James slapped his back again and said nothing, but Sirius got the message. Merlin, he was lucky. He explained about the offerings of food and money and house elves, and Mr. Potter said, “Get what you need. James, I’ll go see if your mum wants to join us.”
So James rummaged up some candles and bowls, and Sirius doled out portions of pudding and pasteles in place of jiuniang and jiaozi, and Peter entertained himself mightily with drawings of galleons and house elves-many of whom were making ridiculous faces. Sirius started to say that such house elves might be offensive to the ancestors, but then, James’ ancestors probably had a better sense of humor than Sirius’ did, so he let it go.
When James’ parents came back down from upstairs, Sirius explained that they hadn’t found any really big candles, but there was one medium white one for Peter’s family and two medium red ones for the Potters. Mr. and Mrs. Potter nodded, smiling, and Mr. Potter said, “Well, will you do the honors?”
“We should all say our own prayers silently while the offerings burn,” Sirius said, unwilling to voice his thoughts in front of them, and unwilling to speak for them, honestly. “But yes, I’ll light them.”
He lit the candles, then dropped the paper offerings into the flames, and everyone watched them go up in smoke. Then he put in the food and aimed more fire at each bowl with his wand. Ancestors of James, he prayed, thank you for bringing me this friend and these parents. Please accept me into your family, and continue to protect all of us. He stared at the flames licking at the food, and after a few beats added, And if you have any sway with Remus, help him forgive me. And help me repay him.
They all stood there until the flames burnt down completely, Mr. and Mrs. Potter holding hands and the three boys pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. When the last bit flickered out, Mrs. Potter coughed slightly and offered to show Sirius a charm for getting all that melted wax and charred food out of the bowls. He smiled and accepted, since in the past that job had more or less been left to house elves. Sirius would not likely have that luxury in the future.
While Sirius and Mrs. Potter cleaned up, James and Peter dug up a deck of Exploding Snap-“Fitting for New Year’s, don’t you think? Firecrackers and all?” James said-and Mr. Potter went to search the basement for butterbeer for them to drink at midnight.
“Firewhiskey, too, Dad?” James pleaded.
“I’ll consider it,” his dad said drily.
The five of them spent the last few hours of the year gathered in the living room drinking butterbeer and collectively playing cards, doing the crossword, and singing along loudly with the wireless. When the clock struck midnight, they all toasted with firewhiskey and wished each other well. Maybe this year would turn out well after all.
25 December 1995 / 農曆四六九三年冬月初四
Remus had gone with the others to visit Arthur at St. Mungo’s, and Sirius had stayed home, alone. Well, he supposed, there was Kreacher, and his mother in her painting.
“BLOOD TRAITORS!” She’d screeched when Sirius had accidentally coughed too near her.
“HALF-BREED SCUM! SHAME TO ALL FAMILY!”
“Disappointment!” Kreacher had mumbled when he passed Sirius in the kitchen. “Master broke Mistress’s heart!” Sirius had been very careful to select the dishes and trinkets most clearly marked with the family crest to throw at the wall. He’d happened upon the dishes his mother had used for Dongzhi offerings and smashed them all the harder. Not like his ancestors had ever done him any good.
Now he had retreated to his bedroom and was waiting for Remus to return. Sulking, said his mother’s voice in the back of his mind. That’s what you do, you useless dog. Yes, he conceded, he was. So be it.
Some time later the door creaked open and from half-slumber he heard Remus’ quiet voice. “Padfoot? Lumos.”
Sirius slowly opened big canine eyes and thumped his tail on the bed as Remus sent lights flying to a couple lamps in the room.
“Hey,” said Remus softly, sinking down next to him on the bed. “Sorry I’m late.” He ran his hand over Sirius’ head several times in silence and petted his ears. Sirius voicelessly woofed his thanks. It was so much easier to let himself be touched affectionately as Padfoot.
“Can you talk to me, Sirius?” Remus asked, now running his hand over the fur on Sirius’ back. “I’m sorry we had to leave you today. But I’m here now, and I’d like to see you.”
Sirius let out a high-pitched whine, but acquiesced. He hopped off the bed to give himself room, then stood up on his hind legs and sat his furless body back on the bed.
“How’s Arthur?” he asked, staring at the floor.
“He’s doing fine,” Remus assured him. “How’s Sirius?” He slid his arm around Sirius’ waist, and Sirius stiffened.
“Peachy,” he answered. About as peachy as a lemon.
Remus pretended to give it some consideration. “Well, you were pretty fuzzy when I got here.”
In spite of himself, Sirius smiled slightly and relaxed into Remus’ hold.
After several loud moments of silence, Sirius said, “I understand why they say suicide rates go up around the holidays.”
Remus grabbed Sirius’ shoulder and turned him sharply. “Have you-?”
“No,” said Sirius tersely. “Didn’t escape an inescapable prison and live on rats for two years just to off myself now.”
He cleared his throat and picked at the edge of his robe. “But I can see how the weight of traditions over the years could drive a person to it. I mean, you just-it’s just-so much clearer what I’ve lost.” Remus’ hand rose from Sirius’ waist to his long hair and started picking through it, unsnarling knots with great gentleness.
Sirius’ throat was tight but somehow he kept his voice steady. “Being back here, it makes me think of being a child. And in retrospect, a lot of my childhood lessons and traditions were bull. Everything was politics and blood purity and family honor-and thinly veiled family feuds.”
He let himself fall backwards to lie on the bed, legs still dangling off the side. Remus followed suit, now moving his hand to hold Sirius’ own, and they stared at the ceiling together. Sirius tried to arrange his next words, and silently blessed and cursed Remus for being such a good listener. On one hand he listened well and often gave good advice, but on the other-without saying anything himself at all-he had a way of pulling thoughts out of Sirius’ mouth that Sirius didn’t always think he was ready to face.
“But it’s the first year I’ve really been able to celebrate any holiday at all with other people, and being here…” He sighed. “I’m thirty-six, Remus. I’m thirty-fucking-six and this is the second Christmas I’ve been able to spend with anyone since Harry was born. I wish…”
He trailed off again. After several more moments of silence, Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand, and Sirius realized that he had been tapping his fingers against Remus’ hand. Then Remus rolled onto his side and leaned over toward Sirius. Remus looked at him so gently and so fondly that Sirius couldn’t help looking away, and he didn’t see Remus moving in to kiss him. But when Remus’ lips met the edge of his, Sirius turned and kissed him back. This was nice. This was familiar. Some minutes later they pulled apart and rolled back onto their backs, staring at the ceiling, hands still intertwined.
“Do you know, Padfoot,” Remus started conversationally, “that if the war hadn’t gone on the way it did, if we hadn’t lost James and Lily and Peter-our collective Christmas parties would have been top-notch. I mean, do you remember seventh year when we threw that party in Gryffindor Tower the day before everyone left for hols?”
Sirius nodded. The fireworks had been spectacular, and somehow the “Secret Santa” exchange that Lily had introduced had gone over remarkably well with all those who participated.
“Joey Flinton, that poor third year, caught Lils under the mistletoe, and I don’t think he stopped blushing for a week,” Sirius remembered.
Remus snickered. “No, and I don’t think James stopped secretly fuming about it for a week, either. Merlin, Prongs was insecure about that.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Sirius said, “And remember that first year out of school? We all piled into Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s house and ate pasteles for days.”
“And Lily was so scared they wouldn’t like her for some reason,” Remus said, “so she brought her mum’s brownies as a bribe, and made James quiz her on wizarding Christmas carols.”
Sirius laughed, then. Not a hearty laugh, but a happy one, listening to the Lily and Mrs. Potter in his mind discuss favored sweets. “And that rat bastard Peter had it right,” he added. “He said, ‘No parent could dislike you, Lily. You’re too good. They’ll love you.’ Pffft.” He snorted. “Of course they loved her. But ’too good’? She was ‘too good’ at masking her misbehavior.”
“Too good at knowing the time and place for pranks, I think you mean,” Remus corrected, a tiny smirk on his face. “Not something you were terribly familiar with.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, somewhat good-naturedly. “No, no, I suppose not.”
“And you taught me about Dongzhi and we found that muggle takeaway place that made decent dumplings,” Remus murmured.
“And we discovered the delicious abomination that is fortune cookies,” Sirius answered.
Remus chuckled.
“And we went to see your folks and give gifts at New Year’s for Calennig,” Sirius added. “Do you still have that ridiculous wearable blanket they gave you?”
“It’s called a poncho, you berk. But no, it hasn’t survived.”
“Good. The last thing you need in your wardrobe is a wearable blanket in various shades of brown.”
Remus laughed again, and Sirius laughed with him, then they lay quietly for a while longer as the candles began to burn low. They took turns squeezing each other’s hand. At one point Sirius started humming “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs”, tapping his fingers in time on the back of Remus’ hand. Then Remus joined in and tapped back. As they reached the end and Remus started in on a second verse (though who knew there were verses in humming?), it struck Sirius that they were just two grown adults, lying half-on and half-off the a bed, badly humming a Christmas carol, and he laughed.
He laughed harder than he had in a while, and Remus stopped short from his second verse, which he was now whistling, to look at him with eyebrows raised.
“Can you imagine-” Sirius explained between gasps for air and a new fit of giggles. “Can you imagine if Molly walked in here right now, and saw us lying here like-” (more laughter) “like fools, humming Christmas carols?”
Remus rolled his eyes, and Sirius hoped he could avoid another lecture on how Molly Weasley was not out to get Sirius nor did she hate him. (She was and she did, as far as Sirius could tell, but he’d stopped pressing the issue with Remus. They had so little time together as it was, it seemed unnecessary to spend it on gossip and other people.)
But instead Remus started laughing along with him. “Or what about Dung? He’d take one look and set out for another go at your mother’s silver.”
“Oh, is that all the invitation he needs? We could have done this months ago, then!”
Their laugher petered out, and Sirius, now in a significantly better mood, rolled onto his side and rested his cheek on Remus’ chest. “You know, I came across-and by ‘came across’ I mean ‘saw and destroyed’-my mother’s Dongzhi offering dishes this morning,” he said as Remus stroked his hair. “I haven’t made offerings for her family or my father’s in years, even beyond Azkaban, and I couldn’t tell you the date of Dongzhi this year for all the gold in Gringotts, but I want to make an offering right now. I want to do something…meaningful.”
And Sirius appreciated that Remus didn’t argue with him. Remus knew that this was meaningful in a different way from how they had been spending time with Harry over the past week, and different from their conversation and memories just then.
Remus got up from the bed first. “We need to get more candles for in here, anyway,” he said. “I’ll get those. You get everything else ready that you need.”
So Sirius found some parchment and drew some coins. He decided that the Potter and Lupin ancestors, to whom he wanted to pray, probably didn’t need house elves. Then he pulled a tin of biscuits out from under the bed that he had nicked a few days before.
Then Remus came back with two handfuls of candles, and he set several of them up around the room for light, then placed a big grey one on the desk and murmured a fire-proofing spell over the desk itself. Sirius didn’t think the families would mind sharing. Remus lit the candle with his wand and took Sirius’ hand with his other one. Then together they moved the paper money and biscuits into the flames, and Remus encouraged the flames with his wand. As they watched the flames eat up the offerings, they held hands tightly and prayed for a brighter future, for themselves and for the children downstairs.
Glossary, in order of appearance
jiaozi - Chinese dumplings. The pan-fried variety are often known as potstickers. According to tradition, the ancient physician Zhang Zhongjing made them for poor people at the winter solstice because their ears were freezing, so now they are eaten at Dongzhi, as well as other times. For further reading look up the story of Zhang Zhongjing, jiao’er / jiao er, and the winter solstice.
tangyuan - balls of glutinous rice, which symbolize reunion. Can be sweet or savory.
Dongzhi - Chinese winter solstice festival, literal meaning “start of winter”. Family reunion and ancestor worship are important. It is not the same as the Chinese Lunar New Year but still has some aspects of restarting and renewing the year.
Han Zu - The Han are the majority ethnic group in China.
jiuniang - Chinese rice pudding made with partially fermented glutinous rice, and often osmanthus flowers. At Dongzhi it is often served with sweet tangyuan in it.
pasteles - Latin-American/Caribbean stuffed pastry, similar to a tamale or empanada, cooked by wrapping in a banana leaf. Filling can be sweet or savory, with popular options including ground meat and vegetables, potatoes or other tubers, and fruits such as plantains and raisins. The pastry itself can be made of many things, including cornmeal or ground yuca.
Calennig - Welsh New Year’s celebration, literal meaning “first day of the month”. Gifts are exchanged among family members, especially including food. (Remus got a poncho, too, as a belated Christmas gift.)
Author: mutuisanimis
Recipient: figliaperduta
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *racism (not a main theme), suicide mention, some swearing *
Word count: 5829
Summary: Sirius celebrates winter holidays over the years.
Notes: figliaperduta requested Anglo-Chinese!Sirius, and I did my very best to deliver, but I am a largely self-taught student of Chinese language and culture (one summer course!), so many apologies if anything is glaringly off. His pureblood mum was adopted as a teenager from China by her white pureblood parents, and married white pureblood Orion Black.
I did consciously use traditional characters throughout, as they were much more common in overseas Chinese communities during Sirius’ childhood, but I used modern Hanyu Pinyin for romanized words since that is the system with which I (and probably a lot of readers?) am most familiar for Mandarin. I also incorporated Afro-Caribbean-heritage!Potters (mother and father) because I came across that headcanon recently and like it a lot, though again I am wholly self-taught in that regard.
Many, many thanks to laroseminuit, Mycroft, and Book for their patient beta-ing, and to the mods for keeping this fest going. A glossary of food and holiday terms can be found at the bottom.
26 December 1968 / 農曆四六六六年冬月初七
Sirius was bored. He had spent all day yesterday in formal dress robes, listening to the grown-ups talk, and at nine years old, there’s only so much of that one can put up with. Yesterday, at least, he and Regulus and their cousins had been permitted to read their new books and eat Christmas candy while they talked. Today, the books and candies had been put away, his cousins had gone home, he was wrapped up formal robes again, and they were itchy.
He sat at the dining room table, staring silently across the table at Regulus and kicking his feet. It was always a test of who laughed first and got a scolding; Sirius hadn’t lost in a month. But that was small comfort to a nine-year-old when special foods like jiaozi and ginger noodles and tangyuan were on the table, and they smelled delicious, and the prayers hadn’t even started yet.
Sirius glanced over at his father, who was sitting at the foot of the table, also silently (though, presumably not kicking his feet). Normally Father would have sat at the other end of the table, but today was for Dongzhi. Today was Mother’s celebration. Sirius bit back a wince as Regulus kicked his shin particularly sharply, then drew his legs back, no longer expecting this game to end in laughter.
His mother stood at the sideboard, which was serving as the altar. Two stone basins sat there, one on each side. In the basin on the right was a large, eight-wick black candle to honor the Black family ancestors. In the one on left was a similar green candle for the Lü family, from which his mother had been adopted. Quietly she offered prayers to the dead ancestors of both families as she lit the candles with her wand, asking for their continued blessing on her and Father and Sirius and Regulus. Keep our family safe and pure. Thank you for giving us magical blood. Thank you for giving us strong blood from Han Zu and English.
Sirius, now resting his feet on the floor, began to jiggle his legs up and down. Couldn’t Mother hurry it up? He watched as she took folded paper models of house elves and galleons and laid them in the flames to burn, so that the ancestors would continue to have good servants and wealth. Then she placed one jiaozi dumpling and one scoop of noodles and one ball of tangyuan into each basin.
Of course the candle flames were not strong enough to burn the food offerings, so Mother held her wand over each one, shooting more fire at the food, until it was all burnt away, leaving just the candles burning once more. The flames entranced Sirius, and when Mother lowered her wand, he noticed that he had been tapping his fingers against his thigh. He stopped. She took her seat and they all began to eat.
It was a quiet meal, but not an unfriendly one. “Remember you come from good blood,” she reminded them sternly but fondly. “Be proud you are magical pureblood, you are Han Zu, you are Black.” She gestured to Father and patted Sirius’ and Regulus’ hands.
“You are each a Black,” Father corrected her with a slight smirk. “The name and the common adjective are unfortunately similar.” His face softened a little as he looked at his sons. “Be grateful for what you have, boys. I am proud of you.”
1 December 1973 / 農曆四六七一年冬月初七
Sirius was picking bacon off Peter’s plate at breakfast when the owl swooped past the third-year section of the table and dropped the letter in Sirius’ own bowl of porridge. Peter turned away from his conversation with James to see what the letter was, noticed Sirius’ thievery, and promptly kicked him under the table.
“You can just say ‘Can I have some more bacon, Peter,’ you know,” Peter scolded. “Anyway, what’s that letter for?”
Sirius pulled the parchment out of his bowl and muttered a scourgify before checking the seal. “Looks like it’s from my mum. Wonder how I’ve embarrassed her lately,” he grumbled, cracking it open.
Dear Sirius, it read.
冬至快樂！Dongzhi kuaile! Happy start of winter! Hope you are safe and study hard. Your marks last term are good. Keep it up.
Last year we celebrate the end of Dongzhi after you come home for Christmas holiday, but this year Dongzhi is finished before school is finished. Also your father and I must go abroad for business this Christmas, so you and your brother stay at school for the holiday.
Find time to light candles for our family. Grandparents still maybe will have people over on Christmas day, will let you know. I will write to school and ask for you and your brother to travel that day.
Study hard, do not shame your good blood. Make this year good.
Mother
Sirius bit his lip and drummed his fingers on the table. It wasn’t like time spent at home was pleasant these days, but he didn’t think any of his friends were staying at school for the holiday. Who would he spend time with? Would Regulus even talk to him? The poor first-year had his stupid Slytherin status to maintain whenever other people were around. At least at home they were still friends.
And what were the holidays without the special food? Sirius doubted the house elves made jiaozi or tangyuan or that wretched jiuniang that masqueraded as a pudding. Well, they probably would if he asked them to, he supposed. They always managed to come up with all sorts of food. But they probably wouldn’t be very good.
Still, he half hoped that Dumbledore would say he and Regulus weren’t allowed to travel during the break if they were staying at Hogwarts. Without his parents around to offend, his aunts and uncles would be even less kind about his Gryffindor-ness, and Dromeda wouldn’t even be there. He wondered idly how she and that Tonks bloke were. He should send them an owl.
His fingers had migrated from the tabletop to his teeth, which he was now using to chew on the nails. He only noticed when Remus reached over and pulled them out of his mouth. He could imagine his mother scolding him, and he rolled his eyes.
“So, what’s her problem this time?” Remus asked, setting Sirius’ hand back on the table. “Can’t be too bad, since it wasn’t a Howler.” Remus spoke with a gentle humor, leaving Sirius an out if he didn’t want to talk. Sirius sighed and tried to formulate an answer, but he was grateful for the option.
“No problem, really. She and my dad have to travel for Christmas, so Reg and I have to stay here for the holiday. Which is fine, probably for the best, really.” He tried to look happy instead of worried. He was pretty sure he didn’t succeed. “I just…” He started chewing on his lip again. “Do you think I can get the house elves to make Chinese holiday food over the break?”
25 December 1973 / 農曆四六七一年臘月初二
“You pull on them until they explode?” Sirius demanded, turning a wizard cracker over in his hands. Honestly, why hadn’t he ever seen one of these before? Right, because his family were all extremely boring.
From across the Hogwarts Christmas dinner table, Remus nodded. James and Peter had gone to be with their families, but Remus had talked his parents round to letting him stay at school. (“Kept reminding my mum how lucky it is that I have such good friends, you know, and how lonely you were going to be, and how you would surely do the same for me…” Remus had explained with a wink. “You played the lonely werewolf card? Devious little thing, aren’t you?” Sirius had answered with a grin.)
Regulus was also visiting their grandparents, but Sirius had had a quiet word with Regulus at the beginning of the holiday about not wanting to visit without his parents. Regulus had been disappointed, but understood. Instead, Sirius had begged jiaozi and tangyuan off the house elves (not close to those Mother would have had Kreacher make, but tasty anyway) brought them to an empty classroom, where Regulus had brought candles and paper coins. They didn’t say much or stay long, but it was something.
“Here, look,” said Remus, reaching to take one end of the cracker Sirius was inspecting. Too late. Sirius had pulled it apart himself, and was now covered in glitter, never mind the small birds that had ricocheted into his head and were now nesting in his hair. Sirius wanted to glare at Remus’ badly-stifled snickering or try to pass the whole thing off as intentional, but he couldn’t think fast enough, and instead he gave in and joined the laughter.
Remus picked up the shower cap that had fallen to Sirius’ plate and tried a few times to get it around Sirius’ head without disturbing the birds, but soon gave up.
They pulled another cracker apart, together this time, and it was Remus’ turn to be showered in glitter. Sirius grabbed the red and gold knit hat (complete with pom-pom at the top) and shoved it down over Remus’ head before he could object. Then he picked up the package of muggle pens that had fallen from the cracker and stared at them.
“How do they work?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and bringing the package up to his nose. “And what’s this weird stuff they’re wrapped in?” He looked up to see Remus grinning at his confusion.
“It’s called plastic,” said Remus, pushing the hat up out of his eyes. “If you pinch the front and the back and pull it apart, it should open pretty easily. And without exploding!” he added with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
It took Sirius a couple tries, but eventually he got the package open, scattering the pens all over the table and into the dishes of food. Remus picked most of them up and wiped them off with his napkin, while Sirius scourgified the rest of them. Then he pulled the cap off one of them, inspected it, and, lacking any parchment, seized Remus’ hand and scrawled “Happy Christmas!!” from his knuckles to the middle of his forearm. At first the pen didn’t seem to work, but on the third try he discovered that he merely needed to press a lot harder than he did with a quill.
“Ow!” said Remus, trying to pull his hand away, but Sirius held it tight.
“Why do you have to press so hard, anyway?” Sirius asked, dotting the second exclamation point. “And where does the ink come from?”
“The ink is kept inside the pen, which is made of a different type of plastic, by the way, and you have to press hard because-here, look at the nib of it.” Remus pulled his hand away again, and Sirius let him, reluctantly. Remus picked up another pen and uncapped it. “See the tiny little ball at the end of the nib, there? First of all…”
Remus explained how the pens worked, and Sirius was listening. He was, honestly. But Remus’ fingers were equally if not more interesting as he turned the pen in his hands and pointed to little things. Sirius had never really looked at Remus’ fingers before. Why was that?
“…but you have to press hard enough to move the ball.” Remus finished and took Sirius’ hand, pushed up the sleeve of his robe, and inscribed the same message there.
“Right,” Sirius agreed, his brain scrambling to catch up to what Remus had said. “Hey, ow!”
“You started it.” Remus smirked. Then the table suddenly filled with steaming dishes of food, and they began to eat.
31 December 1976 / 農曆四六七四年冬月十一
James’ mum was an excellent cook. Sirius had recognized that over the summer when he ran away and took refuge with the Potters, but for the holidays she had really outdone herself. On Christmas she had served turkey and potatoes like his family did, but also sausages wrapped in bacon (“‘Pigs in a blanket’, Prongs? Seriously?” Sirius thought the name was brilliant. Where had this food been all his life?), and big dumpling things she called pasteles that you had to unwrap from leaves and were incredibly delicious. She had been making and freezing the pasteles since before he and James had arrived from school, and Sirius couldn’t stop eating them.
Tonight, on New Year’s Eve, they were the main course, along with rice and peas. Sirius drizzled some red sauce over his plate, then handed the bottle off to Peter, who was visiting for New Year’s. Remus was…not. He had told James he needed to be home, because of family obligations on New Year’s Day. James had assured him it was fine, and nobody had pointed out that Floo Powder existed. On the other hand, nobody had voiced the unspoken truth that Remus wasn’t coming because Sirius would be there, either. The wound left in their relationship from Sirius’ ill-conceived prank that fall was still too fresh.
Still, Sirius was determined to make the most of a Christmas holiday with a family who not only didn’t require formal dress robes for anything under their own roof, but also didn’t seem to care very much if he wore muggle clothes or if he even wore a shirt at all. Plus, Remus didn’t know what he was missing with these pasteles.
After handing the bottle of sauce to Pete, Sirius accepted a bowl of rice pudding from James’ mum on his other side. Her fingers were dark beside his pale ones. He dished some pudding out for himself, thinking wryly that his father would lose his mind even further to see Sirius sitting happily among a black family and not a Black family. What had he said so long ago? “The name and the common adjective are unfortunately similar.” Bastard. He was right, but Sirius had decided that it was more unfortunate that people as kind as the Potters could ever be confused with his family.
“Thanks so much for supper, Mrs. Potter!” Peter said, bringing Sirius back to the present. Peter was scraping the sides of his bowl for the last of his rice pudding.
“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” James chimed in. “It was scrumptious, as usual.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” Sirius echoed without realizing it. Then he blushed. “Er-”
Mrs. Potter laid her hand over his and squeezed it, silencing him. “You’re welcome, boys. Naturally the price for all this food is that someone has to clean it up…?” She let go of Sirius’ hand and stood up, leaving the suggestion hanging. James grinned.
“Got it,” he said, standing up himself and collecting dishes to take into the kitchen. “Pads, eat faster. You still have a whole bowl of pudding there.”
“Well, forgive me,” Sirius said with mock offense, “for eating slowly enough to actually taste the food. You really shouldn’t bolt down your food like you do, Prongsy. It’s bad for your stomach.”
James rolled his eyes but clapped Sirius on the back as headed into the kitchen with a stack of plates. Peter, too, stood up and gathered the drinking glasses.
“It is excellent pudding, isn’t it?” he asked. Sirius swallowed a mouthful of it and nodded. It was like jiuniang but didn’t actually taste like feet. What a miracle! He felt a small pang, realizing that he would probably never suffer another bite of jiuniang in his life. Sometimes he hated how much he loved his mother’s food and traditions, given how inextricably linked they were to a world of hate, but nevertheless they were familiar and comfortable. He sighed and scraped up the last bite of the pudding. He would find new comforts.
Sirius took his bowl and some serving dishes into the kitchen to help James and Peter pack up the leftovers and do the washing up. James’s dad sat at the kitchen table doing a crossword and chatted with them.
“What’s a nine-letter word for ‘box’?” he asked. “Ends with -E-R.”
“‘Container’,” said Peter, murmuring a scourgify over the plate he held before putting it in the cupboard and picking up another one.
“Hmm,” said James’s dad. “So ‘avoid’ must not be right for ‘avert’, since T-D is not likely to be the start of a word…” He tapped his quill against the paper. “‘Evade’ might work…”
Sirius set his stack of dishes down on the counter. “Speaking of containers,” he said, “Pete, you’re in the way of the container cupboard, and I need to put away the leftover pudding unless you want to help me finish the rest of it right now.”
“Oi, don’t I get any?” James demanded.
“I was mostly joking,” said Sirius as he fished around in the cupboard. “It was delicious, but so was everything else, and I’m stuffed.” He pulled out a bowl with a lid to scrape the pudding into, then stopped short with it halfway to the counter.
“Do you-would you-” He started, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Peter, James, and Mr. Potter all turned to look at him, and he cleared his throat. “There’s a, erm, there’s a Chinese holiday around this time-I don’t even know when exactly-Mother always just told us when it was-” Get to the point, Sirius. “Anyway, I’d sort of been thinking about it the last few days, and I thought, maybe, we could celebrate it a little while we wait for midnight? It’s not much…” He cut himself off babbling. It felt like such a strange request, and he didn’t want to impose on them, but it also felt strange not to light candles for Dongzhi. He had always lit them the years he stayed at Hogwarts over hols, with or without Regulus.
“Of course!” said James and his dad in unison, at the same time that Peter said, “Yeah!”
Sirius set down the bowl he was holding as James clapped him on the shoulder. “So what’s it called? What do we need to do?”
Sirius recovered himself and smiled. Nothing could faze Prongs, it seemed. “It’s called Dongzhi,” he said. “It means the start of winter, and it’s a celebration for family.” He took a breath. “I don’t see why it can’t be for chosen family.” And besides, he felt like he owed the Potter ancestors his gratitude for what their descendants were doing for him.
James slapped his back again and said nothing, but Sirius got the message. Merlin, he was lucky. He explained about the offerings of food and money and house elves, and Mr. Potter said, “Get what you need. James, I’ll go see if your mum wants to join us.”
So James rummaged up some candles and bowls, and Sirius doled out portions of pudding and pasteles in place of jiuniang and jiaozi, and Peter entertained himself mightily with drawings of galleons and house elves-many of whom were making ridiculous faces. Sirius started to say that such house elves might be offensive to the ancestors, but then, James’ ancestors probably had a better sense of humor than Sirius’ did, so he let it go.
When James’ parents came back down from upstairs, Sirius explained that they hadn’t found any really big candles, but there was one medium white one for Peter’s family and two medium red ones for the Potters. Mr. and Mrs. Potter nodded, smiling, and Mr. Potter said, “Well, will you do the honors?”
“We should all say our own prayers silently while the offerings burn,” Sirius said, unwilling to voice his thoughts in front of them, and unwilling to speak for them, honestly. “But yes, I’ll light them.”
He lit the candles, then dropped the paper offerings into the flames, and everyone watched them go up in smoke. Then he put in the food and aimed more fire at each bowl with his wand. Ancestors of James, he prayed, thank you for bringing me this friend and these parents. Please accept me into your family, and continue to protect all of us. He stared at the flames licking at the food, and after a few beats added, And if you have any sway with Remus, help him forgive me. And help me repay him.
They all stood there until the flames burnt down completely, Mr. and Mrs. Potter holding hands and the three boys pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. When the last bit flickered out, Mrs. Potter coughed slightly and offered to show Sirius a charm for getting all that melted wax and charred food out of the bowls. He smiled and accepted, since in the past that job had more or less been left to house elves. Sirius would not likely have that luxury in the future.
While Sirius and Mrs. Potter cleaned up, James and Peter dug up a deck of Exploding Snap-“Fitting for New Year’s, don’t you think? Firecrackers and all?” James said-and Mr. Potter went to search the basement for butterbeer for them to drink at midnight.
“Firewhiskey, too, Dad?” James pleaded.
“I’ll consider it,” his dad said drily.
The five of them spent the last few hours of the year gathered in the living room drinking butterbeer and collectively playing cards, doing the crossword, and singing along loudly with the wireless. When the clock struck midnight, they all toasted with firewhiskey and wished each other well. Maybe this year would turn out well after all.
25 December 1995 / 農曆四六九三年冬月初四
Remus had gone with the others to visit Arthur at St. Mungo’s, and Sirius had stayed home, alone. Well, he supposed, there was Kreacher, and his mother in her painting.
“BLOOD TRAITORS!” She’d screeched when Sirius had accidentally coughed too near her.
“HALF-BREED SCUM! SHAME TO ALL FAMILY!”
“Disappointment!” Kreacher had mumbled when he passed Sirius in the kitchen. “Master broke Mistress’s heart!” Sirius had been very careful to select the dishes and trinkets most clearly marked with the family crest to throw at the wall. He’d happened upon the dishes his mother had used for Dongzhi offerings and smashed them all the harder. Not like his ancestors had ever done him any good.
Now he had retreated to his bedroom and was waiting for Remus to return. Sulking, said his mother’s voice in the back of his mind. That’s what you do, you useless dog. Yes, he conceded, he was. So be it.
Some time later the door creaked open and from half-slumber he heard Remus’ quiet voice. “Padfoot? Lumos.”
Sirius slowly opened big canine eyes and thumped his tail on the bed as Remus sent lights flying to a couple lamps in the room.
“Hey,” said Remus softly, sinking down next to him on the bed. “Sorry I’m late.” He ran his hand over Sirius’ head several times in silence and petted his ears. Sirius voicelessly woofed his thanks. It was so much easier to let himself be touched affectionately as Padfoot.
“Can you talk to me, Sirius?” Remus asked, now running his hand over the fur on Sirius’ back. “I’m sorry we had to leave you today. But I’m here now, and I’d like to see you.”
Sirius let out a high-pitched whine, but acquiesced. He hopped off the bed to give himself room, then stood up on his hind legs and sat his furless body back on the bed.
“How’s Arthur?” he asked, staring at the floor.
“He’s doing fine,” Remus assured him. “How’s Sirius?” He slid his arm around Sirius’ waist, and Sirius stiffened.
“Peachy,” he answered. About as peachy as a lemon.
Remus pretended to give it some consideration. “Well, you were pretty fuzzy when I got here.”
In spite of himself, Sirius smiled slightly and relaxed into Remus’ hold.
After several loud moments of silence, Sirius said, “I understand why they say suicide rates go up around the holidays.”
Remus grabbed Sirius’ shoulder and turned him sharply. “Have you-?”
“No,” said Sirius tersely. “Didn’t escape an inescapable prison and live on rats for two years just to off myself now.”
He cleared his throat and picked at the edge of his robe. “But I can see how the weight of traditions over the years could drive a person to it. I mean, you just-it’s just-so much clearer what I’ve lost.” Remus’ hand rose from Sirius’ waist to his long hair and started picking through it, unsnarling knots with great gentleness.
Sirius’ throat was tight but somehow he kept his voice steady. “Being back here, it makes me think of being a child. And in retrospect, a lot of my childhood lessons and traditions were bull. Everything was politics and blood purity and family honor-and thinly veiled family feuds.”
He let himself fall backwards to lie on the bed, legs still dangling off the side. Remus followed suit, now moving his hand to hold Sirius’ own, and they stared at the ceiling together. Sirius tried to arrange his next words, and silently blessed and cursed Remus for being such a good listener. On one hand he listened well and often gave good advice, but on the other-without saying anything himself at all-he had a way of pulling thoughts out of Sirius’ mouth that Sirius didn’t always think he was ready to face.
“But it’s the first year I’ve really been able to celebrate any holiday at all with other people, and being here…” He sighed. “I’m thirty-six, Remus. I’m thirty-fucking-six and this is the second Christmas I’ve been able to spend with anyone since Harry was born. I wish…”
He trailed off again. After several more moments of silence, Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand, and Sirius realized that he had been tapping his fingers against Remus’ hand. Then Remus rolled onto his side and leaned over toward Sirius. Remus looked at him so gently and so fondly that Sirius couldn’t help looking away, and he didn’t see Remus moving in to kiss him. But when Remus’ lips met the edge of his, Sirius turned and kissed him back. This was nice. This was familiar. Some minutes later they pulled apart and rolled back onto their backs, staring at the ceiling, hands still intertwined.
“Do you know, Padfoot,” Remus started conversationally, “that if the war hadn’t gone on the way it did, if we hadn’t lost James and Lily and Peter-our collective Christmas parties would have been top-notch. I mean, do you remember seventh year when we threw that party in Gryffindor Tower the day before everyone left for hols?”
Sirius nodded. The fireworks had been spectacular, and somehow the “Secret Santa” exchange that Lily had introduced had gone over remarkably well with all those who participated.
“Joey Flinton, that poor third year, caught Lils under the mistletoe, and I don’t think he stopped blushing for a week,” Sirius remembered.
Remus snickered. “No, and I don’t think James stopped secretly fuming about it for a week, either. Merlin, Prongs was insecure about that.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Sirius said, “And remember that first year out of school? We all piled into Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s house and ate pasteles for days.”
“And Lily was so scared they wouldn’t like her for some reason,” Remus said, “so she brought her mum’s brownies as a bribe, and made James quiz her on wizarding Christmas carols.”
Sirius laughed, then. Not a hearty laugh, but a happy one, listening to the Lily and Mrs. Potter in his mind discuss favored sweets. “And that rat bastard Peter had it right,” he added. “He said, ‘No parent could dislike you, Lily. You’re too good. They’ll love you.’ Pffft.” He snorted. “Of course they loved her. But ’too good’? She was ‘too good’ at masking her misbehavior.”
“Too good at knowing the time and place for pranks, I think you mean,” Remus corrected, a tiny smirk on his face. “Not something you were terribly familiar with.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, somewhat good-naturedly. “No, no, I suppose not.”
“And you taught me about Dongzhi and we found that muggle takeaway place that made decent dumplings,” Remus murmured.
“And we discovered the delicious abomination that is fortune cookies,” Sirius answered.
Remus chuckled.
“And we went to see your folks and give gifts at New Year’s for Calennig,” Sirius added. “Do you still have that ridiculous wearable blanket they gave you?”
“It’s called a poncho, you berk. But no, it hasn’t survived.”
“Good. The last thing you need in your wardrobe is a wearable blanket in various shades of brown.”
Remus laughed again, and Sirius laughed with him, then they lay quietly for a while longer as the candles began to burn low. They took turns squeezing each other’s hand. At one point Sirius started humming “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs”, tapping his fingers in time on the back of Remus’ hand. Then Remus joined in and tapped back. As they reached the end and Remus started in on a second verse (though who knew there were verses in humming?), it struck Sirius that they were just two grown adults, lying half-on and half-off the a bed, badly humming a Christmas carol, and he laughed.
He laughed harder than he had in a while, and Remus stopped short from his second verse, which he was now whistling, to look at him with eyebrows raised.
“Can you imagine-” Sirius explained between gasps for air and a new fit of giggles. “Can you imagine if Molly walked in here right now, and saw us lying here like-” (more laughter) “like fools, humming Christmas carols?”
Remus rolled his eyes, and Sirius hoped he could avoid another lecture on how Molly Weasley was not out to get Sirius nor did she hate him. (She was and she did, as far as Sirius could tell, but he’d stopped pressing the issue with Remus. They had so little time together as it was, it seemed unnecessary to spend it on gossip and other people.)
But instead Remus started laughing along with him. “Or what about Dung? He’d take one look and set out for another go at your mother’s silver.”
“Oh, is that all the invitation he needs? We could have done this months ago, then!”
Their laugher petered out, and Sirius, now in a significantly better mood, rolled onto his side and rested his cheek on Remus’ chest. “You know, I came across-and by ‘came across’ I mean ‘saw and destroyed’-my mother’s Dongzhi offering dishes this morning,” he said as Remus stroked his hair. “I haven’t made offerings for her family or my father’s in years, even beyond Azkaban, and I couldn’t tell you the date of Dongzhi this year for all the gold in Gringotts, but I want to make an offering right now. I want to do something…meaningful.”
And Sirius appreciated that Remus didn’t argue with him. Remus knew that this was meaningful in a different way from how they had been spending time with Harry over the past week, and different from their conversation and memories just then.
Remus got up from the bed first. “We need to get more candles for in here, anyway,” he said. “I’ll get those. You get everything else ready that you need.”
So Sirius found some parchment and drew some coins. He decided that the Potter and Lupin ancestors, to whom he wanted to pray, probably didn’t need house elves. Then he pulled a tin of biscuits out from under the bed that he had nicked a few days before.
Then Remus came back with two handfuls of candles, and he set several of them up around the room for light, then placed a big grey one on the desk and murmured a fire-proofing spell over the desk itself. Sirius didn’t think the families would mind sharing. Remus lit the candle with his wand and took Sirius’ hand with his other one. Then together they moved the paper money and biscuits into the flames, and Remus encouraged the flames with his wand. As they watched the flames eat up the offerings, they held hands tightly and prayed for a brighter future, for themselves and for the children downstairs.
Glossary, in order of appearance
jiaozi - Chinese dumplings. The pan-fried variety are often known as potstickers. According to tradition, the ancient physician Zhang Zhongjing made them for poor people at the winter solstice because their ears were freezing, so now they are eaten at Dongzhi, as well as other times. For further reading look up the story of Zhang Zhongjing, jiao’er / jiao er, and the winter solstice.
tangyuan - balls of glutinous rice, which symbolize reunion. Can be sweet or savory.
Dongzhi - Chinese winter solstice festival, literal meaning “start of winter”. Family reunion and ancestor worship are important. It is not the same as the Chinese Lunar New Year but still has some aspects of restarting and renewing the year.
Han Zu - The Han are the majority ethnic group in China.
jiuniang - Chinese rice pudding made with partially fermented glutinous rice, and often osmanthus flowers. At Dongzhi it is often served with sweet tangyuan in it.
pasteles - Latin-American/Caribbean stuffed pastry, similar to a tamale or empanada, cooked by wrapping in a banana leaf. Filling can be sweet or savory, with popular options including ground meat and vegetables, potatoes or other tubers, and fruits such as plantains and raisins. The pastry itself can be made of many things, including cornmeal or ground yuca.
Calennig - Welsh New Year’s celebration, literal meaning “first day of the month”. Gifts are exchanged among family members, especially including food. (Remus got a poncho, too, as a belated Christmas gift.)