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Remus has pulled a kitchen chair over to the window, and though he sits there with a book in his hand, his eyes are on the street outside. People pass by in ones and twos, going to and from their daily errands, heads bent against the cold wind. The sky is heavy with dark clouds that threaten snow. Sirius promised that he'd be back any day now; he wanted to be well away from Hogwarts before the First Task of the Tournament started, before Hogsmeade was overrun with spectators and ministry officials. Time is running out.
He's distracted from his thoughts by a faint pop from the front hall. He discards the book and hurries to the hall where he finds Sirius, who's looking grim.
'How did it go? How's Harry?' Remus asks.
Sirius doesn't reply. He just shakes his head, and keeps shaking it as he peels off his winter clothes. Once he's shed his coat and boots, Remus moves to embrace him. Sirius collapses against him, dead-weight in his arms.
'That bad, eh?' asks Remus. He can feel Sirius nod against his shoulder. 'Cup of tea first, then?'
Once the kettle's boiled, Sirius fills him in. '– Karkaroff hanging around, I don't like it, Moony. And the Tournament! How Dumbledore could've let him enter! I didn't have time to tell him about the Conjunctivitus curse, do you think he'll be able to figure it out on his own? And that Rita Skeeter, making everything worse with her bloody articles... you know, I've half a mind to pay her a visit –'
Remus reaches for Sirius's hand and gives it a squeeze. 'He'll be all right. No one would dare try anything at Hogwarts while Dumbledore's around.'
Sirius shakes his head. 'Were we this much trouble when we were in school?'
'We were ten times as much trouble and you know it,' Remus tells him, which makes him laugh.
'Still.' Sirius sighs. 'I can't help but wonder... do you think this is how it all started last time?'
Remus sets his tea down so that he can wrap both arms around Sirius. 'Maybe. But we're smarter than we were last time. Older, wiser, all that. And Dumbledore's already getting the Order together again. From what I've heard, last time Voldemort pretty well caught them all by surprise.'
'And this time we know that Peter's a rat.'
'True.'
They're quiet for a moment, and then Sirius pulls out of Remus's embrace. 'All right. I've got a few things to do today,' he says. 'I'm gonna walk down to the market – as Padfoot, of course,' he adds, catching the worried look on Remus's face.
'I'll come with you,' Remus says. 'We're almost out of Earl Grey. I don't want to have to resort to drinking that horrible matcha the neighbour gave us.'
'Mrs Baines gave you that matcha. Dogs don't drink tea,' Sirius says. 'And it's all right, I'll go by myself. You don't have to come.'
Before Remus can properly argue, Sirius has already transformed and slipped out the door. Remus closes it behind him, feeling a bit disappointed.
*
Sirius is increasingly withdrawn over the next few weeks. At the full moon, they Apparate together to a forest, where they spend the night picking out a Christmas tree ('This one smells the best,' Sirius insists). And each night at home, they climb into bed together, and Remus often wakes in the early morning to Sirius snoring beside him. However, Sirius spends most of his days shut up in Buckbeak's room, or else out on long, solitary walks. Remus isn't hurt; Sirius had a bout like this in the early fall, too, and he eventually climbed out of it. But he is feeling a bit lonely.
Christmas day dawns sunny and cold. Remus is reminded of his Christmas at Hogwarts last year, as he squints at the weak winter sun. How strange to be able to mark the passage of time again, year to year.
Much like last year, he decides to have a lie-in. New this year, however, is the pleasantly warm body sleeping next to him. He cuddles up to Sirius, who grunts in his sleep, and lets himself doze. It's only when Buckbeak finally comes to scratch at the door, looking for breakfast, that Remus gets up. He stretches and ambles to the kitchen, where he's joined about twenty minutes later by Sirius.
'It's Christmas!' Sirius exclaims. 'I have a present for you, do you want to open it?'
'I have one for you too,' says Remus, handing him a plate of breakfast. 'Shall we open them together?'
They go through into the sitting room. Remus sits down in his armchair and Sirius deposits a large, paper-wrapped package in his lap. It's lumpy and squishy and very light for its size. He tears open the paper.
It's... a pile of yarn?
As Remus folds the paper back, he realises there's some order to the way the yarn is organised. It's a scarf. He can tell which end Sirius started at, because the knitting does improve as the scarf goes on, and by the end it actually looks nigh on professional.
'Is this what you've been doing all this time?' Remus asks.
Sirius nods. 'I wanted to do something handmade this year, but it ended up being more difficult than I thought. And I had to keep going back to buy more yarn.'
The scarf is certainly massive. It just keeps going and going. As Remus unfurls it, something small falls to the floor. He reaches down and picks up the small box, which proclaims itself to contain assorted chocolates.
It's a familiar gift. Quite similar to something he received last year, at Hogwarts. Piecing things together, he looks up at Sirius. 'It was you. Last year.'
Sirius has no poker face whatsoever. Maybe that's why he spent so much time in detention. Remus mulls this over. The socks and the chocolates had been so kind, so thoughtful.
Eventually, Remus says, 'You gave Harry a Firebolt.'
Sirius laughs. 'Do you want a racing broom, Moony? I'll buy you ten of them if you want them!'
'No, no,' Remus smiles. 'The socks and the chocolates were much appreciated.'
'I thought...' Sirius begins. 'I thought an expensive gift might raise your suspicions. I decided a smaller gift would be more likely to go unnoticed among all your other gifts.'
There are several things Remus could say to that, but he just wipes his eyes and says, 'Thanks.'
His gift for Sirius is in a rectangular box, and very prettily wrapped thanks to a very helpful shop assistant. Sirius hesitates for less than a second before ripping away the paper and lifting the lid of the box. He frowns as he looks at what's inside.
'What?' asks Remus, concerned. 'Is it not OK? Did you not want something like –'
Sirius lifts a hand to calm him. 'No, no, it's OK. I'm just – confused. Because it sort of looks like my old guitar, before it ended up spread halfway across the Forest. But it's much... smaller?'
'It's a ukulele,' Remus explains, as Sirius pulls the instrument out of its box. 'It's a similar idea to a guitar, but has a different... tone, I think, and...' He struggles to remember what the shop assistant had told him about ukuleles. 'At any rate, I thought you might like it.'
Sirius strums all four strings and a smile breaks out across his face. 'I love it.'
*
The neighbour, Mrs Baines, had been very interested when she discovered that Remus had no plans for Christmas lunch. She invited him round and he accepted, with the caveat that he could bring his dog. She agreed reluctantly, though once there, Remus regretted insisting upon Sirius's inclusion; Mrs Baines apparently had designs to fix up Remus with her daughter. It made for an awkward meal for both Remus and the daughter, though Sirius's tail had wagged furiously the entire time. Once back home, Sirius threatens to become insufferable with his teasing, and Remus has to give him a good snog to shut him up.
With no plans for the evening, they pass it by lazily. Remus lights a fire in the sitting room, and curls up with a book and a glass of mulled wine, his new scarf wrapped ten times around his shoulders. Sirius spends much of the evening strumming around on the ukulele experimentally. It's long past dark outside when Remus finishes his book. He looks up from it to see Sirius sprawled across the sofa, still playing the ukulele, and hears him singing softly. 'I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words...'
'Oh,' says Remus, recognising it. 'It's our song.'
'No, it's Your Song,' Sirius says, and winks.
Remus smiles. The joke is well-worn, but with the dust brushed off it feels brand new again. He finishes the chorus: 'How wonderful life is, while you're in the world.' He's a little atonal, not nearly as good a singer as Sirius, but it makes Sirius smile all the same.
'I missed you, Moony.'
'I missed you too. ...Happy Christmas.'
'Happy Christmas. Here's to many more just like it – unless you're planning on leaving me for the neighbour's daughter?'
'Oh don't start –'