[Kaleidoscope revision] Colours | 6. The Things We Remember
Chapter 6 of Colours (the first "book" of Kaleidoscope) has been revised and is now up at FanFiction.net.
Kaleidoscope (I): Colours
6. The Things We Remember (4705 words | PG)
[also on FF.N] [ old LJ version at metamorfic_moon]
Sometimes, the hardest thing about Christmas is not the giving, but the receiving. Still, a carefully chosen Muggle gift just might be magical enough to set a little piece of the past right again.
Chapter 6
The Things We Remember
Remus found Sirius right where he’d left him two hours before-in the kitchen, tipping his chair back at a rather alarming angle as he pored over a stack of maps and reports of Death Eater activity from the first war.
“I remembered to get you some Stilton this time.” Remus pulled a handful of tiny parcels out of his pocket and let them mushroom back to their rightful size with a tap of his wand.
“Ta.” Sirius brought the front legs of his chair down with a crash and padded over. “Any crisps?” He rifled hopefully through the various bags and packages, generally getting in Remus’s way, as he did after every shopping trip-it was a household ritual by now.
But then he stopped, his attention caught by a red striped bag with curly gold script across the front. “A tea shop? In Diagon Alley?”
“It’s new-they had a good price on lapsang souchong,” Remus started to explain, but Sirius opened the bag to peer inside and a frenetic jingling drowned out the rest of his words. Two small silver bells tied together with red ribbon came floating out of the bag, shaking themselves madly.
Then a manically cheerful voice filled the kitchen, loud enough to carry over the din of the jingling bells. “Season’s Greetings from Terwilliger’s Tea Shoppe! We stand ready to fulfill your every tea-related need! And let us suggest exotic imported teas, in lovely hand-crafted boxes, for everyone on your Christmas list! Yes, Terwilliger’s is now open at number seventy-two, Diagon Alley, just in time for the Christmas shopping season!”
The bells crumpled into a red and silver heap on the table, and the sudden silence was deafening.
Christmas.
Remus had carefully avoided any reference to the approaching holiday in front of Sirius, even though the street lights and storefronts in Diagon Alley had been festooned with evergreens and holly for at least a fortnight, and Muggle London was full of fairy lights and elaborate window displays.
It was easier all around not to mention it.
After all, Remus reasoned, what joy could thoughts of Christmas possibly bring to a man whose last happy one had been fifteen years ago, at the home of dear friends who hadn’t lived to see another?
Surely Christmas would be even more painful for Sirius to face than it was for-
Remus squelched that line of thinking, which was hardly fruitful. He attempted a careful sideways glance, only to find shrewd grey eyes stealing a tentative look at him as well.
“Christmas, eh?” Sirius picked up the bells and gave them an experimental shake. “I hadn’t realized. I’m a bit out of practice with all of that.”
“Did you-” Remus swallowed. “In Azkaban. Did you know when it was Christmas?”
“Hell, no.” Sirius laughed, a half-mocking laugh only slightly tinged with bitterness. “I was lucky if I knew what season it was. And then the last two years, when I was on the run, I saw the decorations, but I never knew which day was actually Christmas. So this will really be the first one, since...”
“Right,” said Remus quickly.
He watched as Sirius’s gaze sharpened, taking on that keen expression that always made him feel completely transparent. He turned away, in a dogged attempt at self-preservation, pulling the tin of lapsang souchong out of the Terwilliger’s bag and fussing with it.
“You would have known what day was Christmas. Every year.” Sirius sounded thoughtful.
“Mmm.” Remus tapped the kettle with his wand and Summoned two large mugs from the cupboard. “Want to try some of this tea?”
“Eh?” Sirius blinked, successfully distracted. “Yeah, all right.”
Remus reached up to drape the silver bells on their red ribbon over one of the chandeliers that hung above the long table. “I’m fascinated,” he said dryly, “to see that someone’s modified the Howler charm for nefarious advertising purposes.”
He was rewarded with a barking laugh and a change of subject.
~ * ~
Tonks clumped merrily down the basement stairs at Grimmauld Place in her heavy dragon-hide boots, one hand skimming along the worn handrail for balance. She emerged into the kitchen, which always felt more welcoming than gloomy to her now-partly from Remus and Molly’s tireless efforts at cleaning, and partly from sheer familiarity.
“Wotcher, Sirius. Remus.”
“Hello, Tonks.” Remus gave her a warm, if tired, smile. He set aside his Daily Prophet and poured her a cup of tea. It smelled smoky, like lapsang souchong.
“What rubbish have you brought me this time?” Sirius drawled. He always pretended to be bored with the maps and documents she smuggled out of the Ministry for him, and of course he’d rather be out doing something reckless, but Tonks suspected he was secretly glad to have a major Order project all his own.
“I’ve got copies of all the Auror reports from 1979 and 1980 that you asked for-” Then she laughed, blinking in disbelief. “What is that?”
A single red ribbon, with a silver bell on each end, hung down from one of the chandeliers.
“That is pitiful!” She fixed the occupants of the kitchen with a mock glare. “Surely you can get a little further into the Christmas spirit than this?” She aimed her wand at the chandeliers and shot holly garlands at them. “Christmas is magical!” she harangued, enjoying herself. “Christmas is a celebration! This is no time for half measures!”
And then Sirius caught her gaze. Tread carefully, he telegraphed.
Puzzled, Tonks glanced at Remus. There was a small smile on his face, but his shoulders were as tense as she’d ever seen them, and the smile came nowhere near his eyes.
Oh, bugger.
She had learned quite a bit about Remus Lupin over the past few months, but she knew almost nothing about what he’d done in the long years between the loss of his friends and his return to Hogwarts. Sirius had told her that even he didn’t know very much.
But right now, she was definitely getting the feeling that happy Christmases had been a little thin on the ground.
“Never mind all that,” said Sirius hurriedly, “because this Christmas will be the jolliest one this bloody house has seen in years. Centuries, even. Moony and I will have plum pudding and everything. And you’ll stop by for a while on the day, won’t you, peanut?”
Tonks felt a grin spread across her face. In a hidden little corner of her mind, Sirius was still her cooler-than-cool older cousin, and here he was, specially inviting her.
“Thanks. I will if I can.” She sighed. “I’m pretty junior on the force, you know. Last year, I had to work a double shift on Christmas Day.”
“Grim,” Sirius allowed. “Almost as grim as Christmas in this place used to be. Sitting around all day in dress robes with stiff collars, being The Heir and letting all the nasty aunties kiss my cheek-blech.”
“No presents?” asked Tonks, curling up in a chair at the table with her tea. It was indeed lapsang souchong, and it was rather good.
“Oh, we had presents after a fashion. But no Father Christmas, of course.”
“Really?” Remus looked more curious than tense now. “I never knew that, Padfoot.”
“It’s not so surprising.” Sirius shrugged. “Lots of pureblood families don’t have Father Christmas, even ones that aren’t as bollocksed up as mine was. He’s a Muggle tradition, after all.”
“Yeah,” said Tonks, with a wry grin. “Mum flat-out refused to let me believe in Father Christmas. She says it’s appalling to deceive children that way.” That same little corner of her mind that still hero-worshipped Sirius suddenly let loose a wave of disappointment, much stronger than she would’ve expected. She was a grown woman, for Merlin’s sake. “Dad used to tell me stories about when he was a boy, writing letters to Father Christmas, staying up late at night to try to see him arrive-it always seemed like a little piece of Muggle magic that I never got a chance to try.”
She shook her head to dispel the melancholy mood, and saw Remus watching her, looking thoughtful and even a little sympathetic. She Metamorphosed a blush away. The absence of Father Christmas from her childhood really shouldn’t matter, not anymore.
“We had Father Christmas, with a vengeance,” said Remus. “My mum was a Muggle, you know, and she loved everything about Christmas.” He was finally smiling for real. “One of my earliest memories is coming in from playing outside in the cold, finding the house all warm and full of candles and decorations, with everything smelling like cinnamon.” His eyes had a faraway look. “Like the picture.”
Tonks exchanged a glance with Sirius. Long-ago Christmas seemed to be safe enough conversational territory. “What picture’s that?”
“Oh.” Remus grinned at them, a little sheepishly. “It’s just one of those silly associations that children make between unrelated things... Have you ever heard of Currier and Ives?”
Tonks was intrigued. “Muggle printmakers, weren’t they? My gran had some of their prints.”
He nodded. “Mum had a lithograph-only a modern reproduction, of course. But it showed a gaggle of children skating on a river right outside a lovely cosy farmhouse. The sun was setting, and there was snow all around, and you could just tell that those children were about to run inside and find biscuits baking, and hot cocoa, and someone to make sure they were warm and dry.” He chuckled fondly. “It really wasn’t a Christmas picture, but in my mind, it was wrapped up with Mum, and Christmastime, and the way it felt to wait for Father Christmas-sort of comfortable and exciting all at once.”
Still smiling, he gazed into the flame of a thick candle that sat in the middle of the table, losing himself in old memories. Tonks found she was holding her breath, watching him. His face was open, completely unguarded. His smile showed no hint of restraint or reserve.
He looked so young.
This was, Tonks thought, the smile that belonged to Remus at sixteen, at twenty. Before he had lost everything.
When he had been younger than she was now.
Then Remus stood and went over to peer into the pantry, and the moment was gone. “We were going to have cold chicken for supper tonight, Tonks. Will you join us?”
“Ta,” she said, happily. Much better to have supper here than alone in her flat.
They cleared the table of maps and files and set out plates of leftovers from a recent Order meeting.
“I imagine Harry will be spending Christmas at the Burrow,” said Sirius, using a Slicing charm to detach a leg from the chicken.
Tonks bit her lip. She’d been afraid that something like this would come up. Sirius and Molly seemed to have some kind of competition going over who ought to be looking after Harry.
Remus shot his friend a swift glance across his mug of tea. “At least he won’t have to stay at Hogwarts for his holidays this year,” he said, carefully.
“Do you think- ” Sirius actually sounded wistful. “Not for Christmas Day, of course, but maybe for Boxing Day-would Molly and Arthur bring him over here for a little while?”
“That’s a good idea.” Remus grinned. “I’ll talk to Molly about it the next chance I have.”
“Are you two giving Harry anything for Christmas?” Tonks helped herself to boiled potatoes.
“Yeah.” Sirius was obviously very pleased with himself. “Moony’s found an excellent set of Defence books. Perfect for that group Harry’s leading at Hogwarts. We’re giving it to him together.”
Remus stiffened. “No-I thought we’d settled this. Harry’s your godson, and it’s your gold. The books are from you.”
Sirius countered with a raised eyebrow. “We have settled this, and your name is going on the package. You were the one who spent a whole day in Flourish & Blotts, deciding which books were the very best.” When Remus still looked obstinate, Sirius set down his fork and tried the wheedling tone that Tonks, personally, always found hard to resist. “Come on, Moony. Harry’ll be disappointed if your name doesn’t turn up on Christmas morning. Surely you don’t want to let him down!”
Remus looked up from his dish of stewed pumpkin, honest surprise on his face. “Nonsense. Harry’s hardly going to notice whether he gets a present from me or not.”
“Of course he will,” Tonks broke in, frowning. “He really admires you, you know. He’s told me so himself.”
Remus raised a dubious eyebrow, but after a long moment he nodded, looking uncomfortable. “All right. My name can go on the present from Sirius. I don’t want Harry to be disappointed.”
He sighed.
“But here’s the thing about Christmas.” He picked up a piece of bread and began to butter it, examining it intently. “I’m really...not in a position to be able to exchange gifts.” Sirius started spluttering something about ridiculous bloody-minded independence and deserving a share of the Black family gold for all his work for the Order, but Remus was adamant. “I need you two to leave me off your lists.” He looked up then and met their eyes, first Sirius and then Tonks. “No Christmas presents. Please.” He turned away and carried his plate to the sink, the buttered bread forgotten. Tonks could see that his shoulders were rigid with tension all over again.
And she decided that she didn’t care what he said.
If she could figure out a way to give him back the joy he’d clearly once found in Christmas, she was bloody well going to do it.
~ * ~
What with Arthur’s injuries from Voldemort’s snake, and the unexpected arrival of Molly and the children at Grimmauld Place, it was another week before Remus had time to go to Gringotts. Finally, on a chilly afternoon only a few days before Christmas, he opened his vault-well, it was his parents’, really, but it had been left to him-and leaned in, running his hand fondly over a box of old books and a stack of family photograph albums.
In the deepest corner of the vault glinted a few piles of gold and silver coins. Most of the money was from the sale of his parents’ house or from his Hogwarts salary, because his parents had had very little to leave him themselves. He was at pains to spend his savings as slowly as possible. If Umbridge had her way with her anti-Dark Creature legislation, he might never earn another Knut for the rest of his life.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the case of remarkably good French wine that someone had sent his father as a gift just before he died. Remus had kept it when he’d sold the house. He’d drunk one bottle with his friends in honour of his parents’ memory; he’d given one to James and Lily when Harry was born; and he’d brought three to Hogwarts when he’d gone there to teach, one for Dumbledore, one for McGonagall, and one for Poppy Pomfrey. Now he considered taking a bottle back to Grimmauld Place for a Christmas toast. But really, there was already enough in the Black family wine cellar to keep a holiday party going for a very long time. And he might need to sell the rest of the case someday.
With a shake of his head, Remus turned to a small oaken chest. He opened it slowly and laid aside a few familiar curios and well-loved objects, pausing to touch the tiny box that held his parents’ wedding rings. He soon found what he was searching for-a red velvet case trimmed with golden thread, oval in shape, just the right size to fit in the palm of his hand.
Somehow, the thought of a small pink-haired girl wishing she was allowed to believe in Father Christmas made his heart twist-even though he knew perfectly well that the small girl in question had grown up to be an Auror. A fighter. Tough as they come.
He simply had to do something to make up for that long-ago disappointment.
“You’d like her, Mum,” he said, into the dusty silence of the vault. “You’d want her to have it.”
~ * ~
Both Order missions and Auror work seemed to get busier and busier after Arthur was attacked, so it wasn’t until two days before Christmas that Tonks finally had a chance to go shopping in Muggle London. Now she was braving a cold, fitful rain to peer through the window of a cluttered poster shop. The clerk behind the counter had a safety pin through one ear, and his hair was dyed black on one side and iridescent purple on the other. She grinned, turned her own hair pink and spiky, and marched in.
The clerk smiled at her, adding a flirty wink. “Can I help you find something?”
“Actually, yeah.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and tilted her head. “Do you have any Currier and Ives prints?”
He blinked, once, and then surveyed her pink hair, her clunky boots, her expertly ripped jeans, and the red wool coat she’d Transfigured from her Auror robes. “Currier and Ives?”
At his tone of disbelief, Tonks felt an sudden surge of protectiveness toward Remus-toward Remus!-one of the most competent and self-sufficient wizards in the entire Order. She knew at once that her reaction was silly. But all the same, her chin went up.
“It’s for a friend. It means a lot to him.”
“Sure,” said the clerk smoothly, “we’ve got quite a few.”
He led Tonks to the back of the store and gestured at a large rack of posters mounted on stiff white cardboard.
~ * ~
Remus spent most of Christmas Eve on a damp, chilly surveillance mission outside a dodgy second-hand shop in Liverpool. When he finally came back to Grimmauld Place, the ground floor and kitchen were dark and silent, but the sound of voices-and the occasional minor explosion-led him up the dimly lit staircase to the drawing room.
There he found a roaring fire in the grate, candles burning everywhere, and a ferocious game of Exploding Poker in progress. Ginny, eyes twinkling behind a fierce scowl that would rival Molly’s, appeared to be winning by a generous margin. Ron dealt a card that made Harry’s entire hand explode, and the two of them laughed and swatted at each other through a cloud of smoke. Hermione grinned a little at this, even though she was curled up in an armchair with a very thick book, pretending to ignore the antics of the card-players.
And Sirius was stretched out on the floor next to Harry, roaring with laughter and slapping one of the twins on the back. If it hadn’t been for the ravages of Azkaban, he probably wouldn’t have looked much older than Fred or George when he laughed like that.
Remus smiled at all of them from the darkness of the hallway. It was good to see that everyone was happy.
But it was late, and he was tired, and the one he’d been looking for wasn’t there.
He turned away and retreated down the dark passage toward the library, laughter and good-natured jeers drifting faintly after him.
~ * ~
Tonks didn’t get off work until after nine on Christmas Eve, and maybe it was a little late for a social call, but she couldn’t resist stopping by headquarters to look for Remus. She simply couldn’t wait any longer to give him her Christmas-present-that-wasn’t.
She started off heading for the drawing room, where she could hear voices and laughter. But along the way, she saw a light in the library, so she paused just outside the doorway and peered in.
There sat Remus, in an armchair close to the fire. He was resting his head on one hand and staring into the distance. The firelight cast a glow of burnished gold over his features, picking out the silver threads in his hair, illuminating his eyes one moment and abandoning them to the shadows the next.
And what she saw in his eyes, when the firelight danced over them, cut Tonks to the core. It wasn’t anything as acute as raw grief or angry frustration. It was something even harder to look at-a quiet, understated sadness that looked almost...well-worn.
Habitual.
Did he always look like that when he was alone? Or was it special for Christmas?
Either way, it made tears prick at her eyelids.
Sirius had pulled her aside, that evening when she’d learned about the Currier and Ives print. “I don’t think Moony’s had a truly happy Christmas for a very long time,” he muttered. “Let’s make sure this one is a good one for him, all right?”
But now Sirius was all wrapped up in his godson. His delight at spending Christmas with Harry was wonderful to see, but it didn’t seem to leave much room for thinking about Remus after all.
Molly had said something to Tonks recently, too. “Remus is looking awfully tired these days, don’t you think, dear? I’d say he needs a warm jumper and a lovely Christmas dinner.”
Except that between her concern for Arthur’s injuries and her worry over Percy’s persistent silence, Molly seemed to be in no shape to mother anyone. In fact, she seemed to be leaning on Remus rather heavily herself these days.
Practically everyone in the Order depended on Remus.
Who was there for him to depend on?
Me, thought Tonks, with the second unexpected flood of protectiveness toward her cousin’s best friend in as many days. You can count on me.
She tiptoed a few paces away from the library door and then returned, letting her boots clump a little this time. Now when she stuck her head into the library, Remus was sitting up straight and tall in his armchair, wearing his usual friendly smile. His eyes didn’t even appear to be particularly guarded.
So is that sadness always there somewhere, even when he’s smiling?
“Tonks!” His smile brightened, and he jumped to his feet, crossing the room to where she stood. “I was hoping I’d see you tonight. I wanted to give you this, before Christmas.” He pulled something small out of his pocket. “Here.”
Caught off guard, Tonks reached out automatically. The object he pressed into her palm was a little larger than an egg, and quite heavy for its size. The light from the gas lamps shone on red velvet, trimmed in gold.
She stared at Remus. Whatever this was, it was not inexpensive. “But-you said no presents-”
“Oh, don’t worry-it’s not a Christmas present.” He shook his head with a quick apologetic smile. “It’s not even new. It’s only something of my mother’s.” But his warm brown eyes were alive with anticipation. “Go on, then, open the case.”
There was a hinge on one edge, she saw, so she felt for a catch on the other side and released it. The two halves opened to show an exquisitely delicate painting-a diptych-done in jewel-bright enamels that glistened in the gaslight. The right half showed a kindly old Father Christmas in a gift-laden sleigh, crossing a sky sprinkled with stars. The left half showed his reindeer, tossing their horns and prancing as they flew. The images didn’t move, but they didn’t need to-they were full of life all the same.
“Now you’ll have your very own Father Christmas,” said Remus softly, “every year.”
Wordlessly, Tonks stared at the lovely little thing, and then up at Remus again. Hadn’t he sold off most of his family’s belongings over the years? If he’d kept something as obviously valuable as this, it could only be because he loved it.
And now he was giving it to her.
Her confusion must have shown in her eyes, because Remus stiffened and looked away. “It’s only a Muggle painting, of course,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing special. I only thought-Mum was very fond of this, and after what you said the other day-”
“No, no,” she whispered. “It’s-it’s absolutely beautiful.” He met her eyes again, looking almost shy and oddly hopeful, and she knew that she was about to crush something unexpected and fragile. “It’s just-Remus, I can’t let you give away something your mother loved. You should keep it yourself, to remember her by.” She closed the case again and tried to place it in his hand.
“But I really want you to have it.” He turned his wrist and covered her hand with his, gently curling her fingers around the plush velvet. “The way Mum loved this time of year-if she knew you’d never had a chance to believe in Father Christmas, she would have given this to you in a heartbeat.” He smiled down at her. “I have other things to remember my mother by, but if you don’t take this home with you, you won’t have any Father Christmas at all. And I hate to think of that.”
Tonks swallowed. No matter what he said, how could she possibly take something so special away from this man who had so little?
Watching her wrestle with indecision, Remus tensed again, and when he spoke, his voice was so low that she had to strain to hear it. “Don’t you see? This is one of the things that makes Christmas so difficult. There are so many times I want to give something to someone, and I don’t have the means to do it. This one time, I can.” His eyes were very bright. “Tonks, please-I want you to have this. Let me give it to you.”
Tonks took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes never leaving his.
Maybe accepting something could be a kind of giving, sometimes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll keep it very safe.”
His slow, warm smile was yet another gift.
“May your dreams tonight be filled with flying reindeer.” He gave the velvet case in her hand one last affectionate pat. “Happy Christmas, Tonks. Good night.”
“Remus, wait!” She caught him by the arm as he made to walk past her.
He turned back, brow furrowed in concern.
She laughed at his expression. “It’s just that I have something for you, too.” She reached into the deepest inside pocket of her Auror robes and brought out a matchbook-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper. She tapped it with her wand, enlarging it until it was nearly a metre across.
“Tonks.” His shoulders went rigid again. “We said no Christmas presents.”
“After what you just gave me, Remus Lupin, I did not hear you say that!” She held the parcel out to him and tried the excuse she’d practised on the way over. “Besides, it’s not a Christmas present. You see? It isn’t even wrapped in Christmas paper.” She smiled at him around a lump in her throat. Take it. Please trust me. “All I’m giving you is a memory.”
Remus reached out for the large flat parcel and slowly pulled the brown wrapper off. He stared at the reproduction lithograph, running a finger over the farmhouse, the sunset, the skaters on the river.
“That’s the one.” He looked up again, eyes still wide. “That’s the very picture. How on earth did you find it?”
“Half an hour in a Muggle poster shop was all it took.” Tonks grinned, enjoying his surprise. “You described it quite thoroughly, you know.”
He shook his head, rendered speechless.
“And you’ll keep it, won’t you?” she asked softly. “Because it’s not a Christmas present. And because you understand what it’s like to want to give something to someone.”
As she had intended, there was really nothing Remus could say to that.
She held her breath, watching him inspect every inch of the scene in the poster, and was rewarded with the smile that turned him young again.
“I should be going-I have an early shift tomorrow.” She held her own little Father Christmas very carefully in both hands, the velvet case soft against her palms. “Happy Christmas, Remus.”
“It-is,” he said, blinking at her over the top of the poster. The surprise in his voice made her heart ache.
But the soft wonder in his eyes made her want to raise a cheer.
~ * ~
[ ← Chapter 5 | → Chapter 7 | ↑ Kaleidoscope series index ]
Author’s notes: This story was originally posted at the metamorfic_moon community on LiveJournal in January 2008. The Currier & Ives print is “Early Winter.” [August 2013: Small edits made to bring the story into compliance with the new information about Remus's parents released at Pottermore.]
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Kaleidoscope (I): Colours
6. The Things We Remember (4705 words | PG)
[also on FF.N] [ old LJ version at metamorfic_moon]
Sometimes, the hardest thing about Christmas is not the giving, but the receiving. Still, a carefully chosen Muggle gift just might be magical enough to set a little piece of the past right again.
- What has changed: Minor revisions. Mostly, I trimmed the treacliest bits. There’s a new ending-I never did like the original one (this story was an Advent piece at Meta, so of course, I was running up against the deadline!). And now there’s also a little more of a theme to what it was Tonks wanted to give Remus, to balance the theme in Remus's gift to Tonks.
Chapter 6
The Things We Remember
Remus found Sirius right where he’d left him two hours before-in the kitchen, tipping his chair back at a rather alarming angle as he pored over a stack of maps and reports of Death Eater activity from the first war.
“I remembered to get you some Stilton this time.” Remus pulled a handful of tiny parcels out of his pocket and let them mushroom back to their rightful size with a tap of his wand.
“Ta.” Sirius brought the front legs of his chair down with a crash and padded over. “Any crisps?” He rifled hopefully through the various bags and packages, generally getting in Remus’s way, as he did after every shopping trip-it was a household ritual by now.
But then he stopped, his attention caught by a red striped bag with curly gold script across the front. “A tea shop? In Diagon Alley?”
“It’s new-they had a good price on lapsang souchong,” Remus started to explain, but Sirius opened the bag to peer inside and a frenetic jingling drowned out the rest of his words. Two small silver bells tied together with red ribbon came floating out of the bag, shaking themselves madly.
Then a manically cheerful voice filled the kitchen, loud enough to carry over the din of the jingling bells. “Season’s Greetings from Terwilliger’s Tea Shoppe! We stand ready to fulfill your every tea-related need! And let us suggest exotic imported teas, in lovely hand-crafted boxes, for everyone on your Christmas list! Yes, Terwilliger’s is now open at number seventy-two, Diagon Alley, just in time for the Christmas shopping season!”
The bells crumpled into a red and silver heap on the table, and the sudden silence was deafening.
Christmas.
Remus had carefully avoided any reference to the approaching holiday in front of Sirius, even though the street lights and storefronts in Diagon Alley had been festooned with evergreens and holly for at least a fortnight, and Muggle London was full of fairy lights and elaborate window displays.
It was easier all around not to mention it.
After all, Remus reasoned, what joy could thoughts of Christmas possibly bring to a man whose last happy one had been fifteen years ago, at the home of dear friends who hadn’t lived to see another?
Surely Christmas would be even more painful for Sirius to face than it was for-
Remus squelched that line of thinking, which was hardly fruitful. He attempted a careful sideways glance, only to find shrewd grey eyes stealing a tentative look at him as well.
“Christmas, eh?” Sirius picked up the bells and gave them an experimental shake. “I hadn’t realized. I’m a bit out of practice with all of that.”
“Did you-” Remus swallowed. “In Azkaban. Did you know when it was Christmas?”
“Hell, no.” Sirius laughed, a half-mocking laugh only slightly tinged with bitterness. “I was lucky if I knew what season it was. And then the last two years, when I was on the run, I saw the decorations, but I never knew which day was actually Christmas. So this will really be the first one, since...”
“Right,” said Remus quickly.
He watched as Sirius’s gaze sharpened, taking on that keen expression that always made him feel completely transparent. He turned away, in a dogged attempt at self-preservation, pulling the tin of lapsang souchong out of the Terwilliger’s bag and fussing with it.
“You would have known what day was Christmas. Every year.” Sirius sounded thoughtful.
“Mmm.” Remus tapped the kettle with his wand and Summoned two large mugs from the cupboard. “Want to try some of this tea?”
“Eh?” Sirius blinked, successfully distracted. “Yeah, all right.”
Remus reached up to drape the silver bells on their red ribbon over one of the chandeliers that hung above the long table. “I’m fascinated,” he said dryly, “to see that someone’s modified the Howler charm for nefarious advertising purposes.”
He was rewarded with a barking laugh and a change of subject.
~ * ~
Tonks clumped merrily down the basement stairs at Grimmauld Place in her heavy dragon-hide boots, one hand skimming along the worn handrail for balance. She emerged into the kitchen, which always felt more welcoming than gloomy to her now-partly from Remus and Molly’s tireless efforts at cleaning, and partly from sheer familiarity.
“Wotcher, Sirius. Remus.”
“Hello, Tonks.” Remus gave her a warm, if tired, smile. He set aside his Daily Prophet and poured her a cup of tea. It smelled smoky, like lapsang souchong.
“What rubbish have you brought me this time?” Sirius drawled. He always pretended to be bored with the maps and documents she smuggled out of the Ministry for him, and of course he’d rather be out doing something reckless, but Tonks suspected he was secretly glad to have a major Order project all his own.
“I’ve got copies of all the Auror reports from 1979 and 1980 that you asked for-” Then she laughed, blinking in disbelief. “What is that?”
A single red ribbon, with a silver bell on each end, hung down from one of the chandeliers.
“That is pitiful!” She fixed the occupants of the kitchen with a mock glare. “Surely you can get a little further into the Christmas spirit than this?” She aimed her wand at the chandeliers and shot holly garlands at them. “Christmas is magical!” she harangued, enjoying herself. “Christmas is a celebration! This is no time for half measures!”
And then Sirius caught her gaze. Tread carefully, he telegraphed.
Puzzled, Tonks glanced at Remus. There was a small smile on his face, but his shoulders were as tense as she’d ever seen them, and the smile came nowhere near his eyes.
Oh, bugger.
She had learned quite a bit about Remus Lupin over the past few months, but she knew almost nothing about what he’d done in the long years between the loss of his friends and his return to Hogwarts. Sirius had told her that even he didn’t know very much.
But right now, she was definitely getting the feeling that happy Christmases had been a little thin on the ground.
“Never mind all that,” said Sirius hurriedly, “because this Christmas will be the jolliest one this bloody house has seen in years. Centuries, even. Moony and I will have plum pudding and everything. And you’ll stop by for a while on the day, won’t you, peanut?”
Tonks felt a grin spread across her face. In a hidden little corner of her mind, Sirius was still her cooler-than-cool older cousin, and here he was, specially inviting her.
“Thanks. I will if I can.” She sighed. “I’m pretty junior on the force, you know. Last year, I had to work a double shift on Christmas Day.”
“Grim,” Sirius allowed. “Almost as grim as Christmas in this place used to be. Sitting around all day in dress robes with stiff collars, being The Heir and letting all the nasty aunties kiss my cheek-blech.”
“No presents?” asked Tonks, curling up in a chair at the table with her tea. It was indeed lapsang souchong, and it was rather good.
“Oh, we had presents after a fashion. But no Father Christmas, of course.”
“Really?” Remus looked more curious than tense now. “I never knew that, Padfoot.”
“It’s not so surprising.” Sirius shrugged. “Lots of pureblood families don’t have Father Christmas, even ones that aren’t as bollocksed up as mine was. He’s a Muggle tradition, after all.”
“Yeah,” said Tonks, with a wry grin. “Mum flat-out refused to let me believe in Father Christmas. She says it’s appalling to deceive children that way.” That same little corner of her mind that still hero-worshipped Sirius suddenly let loose a wave of disappointment, much stronger than she would’ve expected. She was a grown woman, for Merlin’s sake. “Dad used to tell me stories about when he was a boy, writing letters to Father Christmas, staying up late at night to try to see him arrive-it always seemed like a little piece of Muggle magic that I never got a chance to try.”
She shook her head to dispel the melancholy mood, and saw Remus watching her, looking thoughtful and even a little sympathetic. She Metamorphosed a blush away. The absence of Father Christmas from her childhood really shouldn’t matter, not anymore.
“We had Father Christmas, with a vengeance,” said Remus. “My mum was a Muggle, you know, and she loved everything about Christmas.” He was finally smiling for real. “One of my earliest memories is coming in from playing outside in the cold, finding the house all warm and full of candles and decorations, with everything smelling like cinnamon.” His eyes had a faraway look. “Like the picture.”
Tonks exchanged a glance with Sirius. Long-ago Christmas seemed to be safe enough conversational territory. “What picture’s that?”
“Oh.” Remus grinned at them, a little sheepishly. “It’s just one of those silly associations that children make between unrelated things... Have you ever heard of Currier and Ives?”
Tonks was intrigued. “Muggle printmakers, weren’t they? My gran had some of their prints.”
He nodded. “Mum had a lithograph-only a modern reproduction, of course. But it showed a gaggle of children skating on a river right outside a lovely cosy farmhouse. The sun was setting, and there was snow all around, and you could just tell that those children were about to run inside and find biscuits baking, and hot cocoa, and someone to make sure they were warm and dry.” He chuckled fondly. “It really wasn’t a Christmas picture, but in my mind, it was wrapped up with Mum, and Christmastime, and the way it felt to wait for Father Christmas-sort of comfortable and exciting all at once.”
Still smiling, he gazed into the flame of a thick candle that sat in the middle of the table, losing himself in old memories. Tonks found she was holding her breath, watching him. His face was open, completely unguarded. His smile showed no hint of restraint or reserve.
He looked so young.
This was, Tonks thought, the smile that belonged to Remus at sixteen, at twenty. Before he had lost everything.
When he had been younger than she was now.
Then Remus stood and went over to peer into the pantry, and the moment was gone. “We were going to have cold chicken for supper tonight, Tonks. Will you join us?”
“Ta,” she said, happily. Much better to have supper here than alone in her flat.
They cleared the table of maps and files and set out plates of leftovers from a recent Order meeting.
“I imagine Harry will be spending Christmas at the Burrow,” said Sirius, using a Slicing charm to detach a leg from the chicken.
Tonks bit her lip. She’d been afraid that something like this would come up. Sirius and Molly seemed to have some kind of competition going over who ought to be looking after Harry.
Remus shot his friend a swift glance across his mug of tea. “At least he won’t have to stay at Hogwarts for his holidays this year,” he said, carefully.
“Do you think- ” Sirius actually sounded wistful. “Not for Christmas Day, of course, but maybe for Boxing Day-would Molly and Arthur bring him over here for a little while?”
“That’s a good idea.” Remus grinned. “I’ll talk to Molly about it the next chance I have.”
“Are you two giving Harry anything for Christmas?” Tonks helped herself to boiled potatoes.
“Yeah.” Sirius was obviously very pleased with himself. “Moony’s found an excellent set of Defence books. Perfect for that group Harry’s leading at Hogwarts. We’re giving it to him together.”
Remus stiffened. “No-I thought we’d settled this. Harry’s your godson, and it’s your gold. The books are from you.”
Sirius countered with a raised eyebrow. “We have settled this, and your name is going on the package. You were the one who spent a whole day in Flourish & Blotts, deciding which books were the very best.” When Remus still looked obstinate, Sirius set down his fork and tried the wheedling tone that Tonks, personally, always found hard to resist. “Come on, Moony. Harry’ll be disappointed if your name doesn’t turn up on Christmas morning. Surely you don’t want to let him down!”
Remus looked up from his dish of stewed pumpkin, honest surprise on his face. “Nonsense. Harry’s hardly going to notice whether he gets a present from me or not.”
“Of course he will,” Tonks broke in, frowning. “He really admires you, you know. He’s told me so himself.”
Remus raised a dubious eyebrow, but after a long moment he nodded, looking uncomfortable. “All right. My name can go on the present from Sirius. I don’t want Harry to be disappointed.”
He sighed.
“But here’s the thing about Christmas.” He picked up a piece of bread and began to butter it, examining it intently. “I’m really...not in a position to be able to exchange gifts.” Sirius started spluttering something about ridiculous bloody-minded independence and deserving a share of the Black family gold for all his work for the Order, but Remus was adamant. “I need you two to leave me off your lists.” He looked up then and met their eyes, first Sirius and then Tonks. “No Christmas presents. Please.” He turned away and carried his plate to the sink, the buttered bread forgotten. Tonks could see that his shoulders were rigid with tension all over again.
And she decided that she didn’t care what he said.
If she could figure out a way to give him back the joy he’d clearly once found in Christmas, she was bloody well going to do it.
~ * ~
What with Arthur’s injuries from Voldemort’s snake, and the unexpected arrival of Molly and the children at Grimmauld Place, it was another week before Remus had time to go to Gringotts. Finally, on a chilly afternoon only a few days before Christmas, he opened his vault-well, it was his parents’, really, but it had been left to him-and leaned in, running his hand fondly over a box of old books and a stack of family photograph albums.
In the deepest corner of the vault glinted a few piles of gold and silver coins. Most of the money was from the sale of his parents’ house or from his Hogwarts salary, because his parents had had very little to leave him themselves. He was at pains to spend his savings as slowly as possible. If Umbridge had her way with her anti-Dark Creature legislation, he might never earn another Knut for the rest of his life.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the case of remarkably good French wine that someone had sent his father as a gift just before he died. Remus had kept it when he’d sold the house. He’d drunk one bottle with his friends in honour of his parents’ memory; he’d given one to James and Lily when Harry was born; and he’d brought three to Hogwarts when he’d gone there to teach, one for Dumbledore, one for McGonagall, and one for Poppy Pomfrey. Now he considered taking a bottle back to Grimmauld Place for a Christmas toast. But really, there was already enough in the Black family wine cellar to keep a holiday party going for a very long time. And he might need to sell the rest of the case someday.
With a shake of his head, Remus turned to a small oaken chest. He opened it slowly and laid aside a few familiar curios and well-loved objects, pausing to touch the tiny box that held his parents’ wedding rings. He soon found what he was searching for-a red velvet case trimmed with golden thread, oval in shape, just the right size to fit in the palm of his hand.
Somehow, the thought of a small pink-haired girl wishing she was allowed to believe in Father Christmas made his heart twist-even though he knew perfectly well that the small girl in question had grown up to be an Auror. A fighter. Tough as they come.
He simply had to do something to make up for that long-ago disappointment.
“You’d like her, Mum,” he said, into the dusty silence of the vault. “You’d want her to have it.”
~ * ~
Both Order missions and Auror work seemed to get busier and busier after Arthur was attacked, so it wasn’t until two days before Christmas that Tonks finally had a chance to go shopping in Muggle London. Now she was braving a cold, fitful rain to peer through the window of a cluttered poster shop. The clerk behind the counter had a safety pin through one ear, and his hair was dyed black on one side and iridescent purple on the other. She grinned, turned her own hair pink and spiky, and marched in.
The clerk smiled at her, adding a flirty wink. “Can I help you find something?”
“Actually, yeah.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and tilted her head. “Do you have any Currier and Ives prints?”
He blinked, once, and then surveyed her pink hair, her clunky boots, her expertly ripped jeans, and the red wool coat she’d Transfigured from her Auror robes. “Currier and Ives?”
At his tone of disbelief, Tonks felt an sudden surge of protectiveness toward Remus-toward Remus!-one of the most competent and self-sufficient wizards in the entire Order. She knew at once that her reaction was silly. But all the same, her chin went up.
“It’s for a friend. It means a lot to him.”
“Sure,” said the clerk smoothly, “we’ve got quite a few.”
He led Tonks to the back of the store and gestured at a large rack of posters mounted on stiff white cardboard.
~ * ~
Remus spent most of Christmas Eve on a damp, chilly surveillance mission outside a dodgy second-hand shop in Liverpool. When he finally came back to Grimmauld Place, the ground floor and kitchen were dark and silent, but the sound of voices-and the occasional minor explosion-led him up the dimly lit staircase to the drawing room.
There he found a roaring fire in the grate, candles burning everywhere, and a ferocious game of Exploding Poker in progress. Ginny, eyes twinkling behind a fierce scowl that would rival Molly’s, appeared to be winning by a generous margin. Ron dealt a card that made Harry’s entire hand explode, and the two of them laughed and swatted at each other through a cloud of smoke. Hermione grinned a little at this, even though she was curled up in an armchair with a very thick book, pretending to ignore the antics of the card-players.
And Sirius was stretched out on the floor next to Harry, roaring with laughter and slapping one of the twins on the back. If it hadn’t been for the ravages of Azkaban, he probably wouldn’t have looked much older than Fred or George when he laughed like that.
Remus smiled at all of them from the darkness of the hallway. It was good to see that everyone was happy.
But it was late, and he was tired, and the one he’d been looking for wasn’t there.
He turned away and retreated down the dark passage toward the library, laughter and good-natured jeers drifting faintly after him.
~ * ~
Tonks didn’t get off work until after nine on Christmas Eve, and maybe it was a little late for a social call, but she couldn’t resist stopping by headquarters to look for Remus. She simply couldn’t wait any longer to give him her Christmas-present-that-wasn’t.
She started off heading for the drawing room, where she could hear voices and laughter. But along the way, she saw a light in the library, so she paused just outside the doorway and peered in.
There sat Remus, in an armchair close to the fire. He was resting his head on one hand and staring into the distance. The firelight cast a glow of burnished gold over his features, picking out the silver threads in his hair, illuminating his eyes one moment and abandoning them to the shadows the next.
And what she saw in his eyes, when the firelight danced over them, cut Tonks to the core. It wasn’t anything as acute as raw grief or angry frustration. It was something even harder to look at-a quiet, understated sadness that looked almost...well-worn.
Habitual.
Did he always look like that when he was alone? Or was it special for Christmas?
Either way, it made tears prick at her eyelids.
Sirius had pulled her aside, that evening when she’d learned about the Currier and Ives print. “I don’t think Moony’s had a truly happy Christmas for a very long time,” he muttered. “Let’s make sure this one is a good one for him, all right?”
But now Sirius was all wrapped up in his godson. His delight at spending Christmas with Harry was wonderful to see, but it didn’t seem to leave much room for thinking about Remus after all.
Molly had said something to Tonks recently, too. “Remus is looking awfully tired these days, don’t you think, dear? I’d say he needs a warm jumper and a lovely Christmas dinner.”
Except that between her concern for Arthur’s injuries and her worry over Percy’s persistent silence, Molly seemed to be in no shape to mother anyone. In fact, she seemed to be leaning on Remus rather heavily herself these days.
Practically everyone in the Order depended on Remus.
Who was there for him to depend on?
Me, thought Tonks, with the second unexpected flood of protectiveness toward her cousin’s best friend in as many days. You can count on me.
She tiptoed a few paces away from the library door and then returned, letting her boots clump a little this time. Now when she stuck her head into the library, Remus was sitting up straight and tall in his armchair, wearing his usual friendly smile. His eyes didn’t even appear to be particularly guarded.
So is that sadness always there somewhere, even when he’s smiling?
“Tonks!” His smile brightened, and he jumped to his feet, crossing the room to where she stood. “I was hoping I’d see you tonight. I wanted to give you this, before Christmas.” He pulled something small out of his pocket. “Here.”
Caught off guard, Tonks reached out automatically. The object he pressed into her palm was a little larger than an egg, and quite heavy for its size. The light from the gas lamps shone on red velvet, trimmed in gold.
She stared at Remus. Whatever this was, it was not inexpensive. “But-you said no presents-”
“Oh, don’t worry-it’s not a Christmas present.” He shook his head with a quick apologetic smile. “It’s not even new. It’s only something of my mother’s.” But his warm brown eyes were alive with anticipation. “Go on, then, open the case.”
There was a hinge on one edge, she saw, so she felt for a catch on the other side and released it. The two halves opened to show an exquisitely delicate painting-a diptych-done in jewel-bright enamels that glistened in the gaslight. The right half showed a kindly old Father Christmas in a gift-laden sleigh, crossing a sky sprinkled with stars. The left half showed his reindeer, tossing their horns and prancing as they flew. The images didn’t move, but they didn’t need to-they were full of life all the same.
“Now you’ll have your very own Father Christmas,” said Remus softly, “every year.”
Wordlessly, Tonks stared at the lovely little thing, and then up at Remus again. Hadn’t he sold off most of his family’s belongings over the years? If he’d kept something as obviously valuable as this, it could only be because he loved it.
And now he was giving it to her.
Her confusion must have shown in her eyes, because Remus stiffened and looked away. “It’s only a Muggle painting, of course,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing special. I only thought-Mum was very fond of this, and after what you said the other day-”
“No, no,” she whispered. “It’s-it’s absolutely beautiful.” He met her eyes again, looking almost shy and oddly hopeful, and she knew that she was about to crush something unexpected and fragile. “It’s just-Remus, I can’t let you give away something your mother loved. You should keep it yourself, to remember her by.” She closed the case again and tried to place it in his hand.
“But I really want you to have it.” He turned his wrist and covered her hand with his, gently curling her fingers around the plush velvet. “The way Mum loved this time of year-if she knew you’d never had a chance to believe in Father Christmas, she would have given this to you in a heartbeat.” He smiled down at her. “I have other things to remember my mother by, but if you don’t take this home with you, you won’t have any Father Christmas at all. And I hate to think of that.”
Tonks swallowed. No matter what he said, how could she possibly take something so special away from this man who had so little?
Watching her wrestle with indecision, Remus tensed again, and when he spoke, his voice was so low that she had to strain to hear it. “Don’t you see? This is one of the things that makes Christmas so difficult. There are so many times I want to give something to someone, and I don’t have the means to do it. This one time, I can.” His eyes were very bright. “Tonks, please-I want you to have this. Let me give it to you.”
Tonks took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes never leaving his.
Maybe accepting something could be a kind of giving, sometimes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll keep it very safe.”
His slow, warm smile was yet another gift.
“May your dreams tonight be filled with flying reindeer.” He gave the velvet case in her hand one last affectionate pat. “Happy Christmas, Tonks. Good night.”
“Remus, wait!” She caught him by the arm as he made to walk past her.
He turned back, brow furrowed in concern.
She laughed at his expression. “It’s just that I have something for you, too.” She reached into the deepest inside pocket of her Auror robes and brought out a matchbook-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper. She tapped it with her wand, enlarging it until it was nearly a metre across.
“Tonks.” His shoulders went rigid again. “We said no Christmas presents.”
“After what you just gave me, Remus Lupin, I did not hear you say that!” She held the parcel out to him and tried the excuse she’d practised on the way over. “Besides, it’s not a Christmas present. You see? It isn’t even wrapped in Christmas paper.” She smiled at him around a lump in her throat. Take it. Please trust me. “All I’m giving you is a memory.”
Remus reached out for the large flat parcel and slowly pulled the brown wrapper off. He stared at the reproduction lithograph, running a finger over the farmhouse, the sunset, the skaters on the river.
“That’s the one.” He looked up again, eyes still wide. “That’s the very picture. How on earth did you find it?”
“Half an hour in a Muggle poster shop was all it took.” Tonks grinned, enjoying his surprise. “You described it quite thoroughly, you know.”
He shook his head, rendered speechless.
“And you’ll keep it, won’t you?” she asked softly. “Because it’s not a Christmas present. And because you understand what it’s like to want to give something to someone.”
As she had intended, there was really nothing Remus could say to that.
She held her breath, watching him inspect every inch of the scene in the poster, and was rewarded with the smile that turned him young again.
“I should be going-I have an early shift tomorrow.” She held her own little Father Christmas very carefully in both hands, the velvet case soft against her palms. “Happy Christmas, Remus.”
“It-is,” he said, blinking at her over the top of the poster. The surprise in his voice made her heart ache.
But the soft wonder in his eyes made her want to raise a cheer.
~ * ~
[ ← Chapter 5 | → Chapter 7 | ↑ Kaleidoscope series index ]
Author’s notes: This story was originally posted at the metamorfic_moon community on LiveJournal in January 2008. The Currier & Ives print is “Early Winter.” [August 2013: Small edits made to bring the story into compliance with the new information about Remus's parents released at Pottermore.]
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