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There’d been a red card in the letterbox. While you were out, it read in big letters, with ‘Remus Lupin’ and yesterday’s date scrawled across the top in Muggle biro. And printed below that, the details of a sorting office, miles away, in the nearest town.
So far, so intriguing. Since he had nothing better to do, Remus ventured to the place in question. Icy rain prickled his face while he looked for the building and located the right door. He waited for an age in a queue of pernickety pensioners, until finally he was handed a large parcel, done up in brown paper and string. It was covered in lots of colourful stamps, and addressed to him in James’ wonky, impatient hand.
The parcel had a fair weight to it. Remus carried it out into the wind and sleet, down the high street, and around a corner, from where he could safely Apparate home. His parents were still out. He dropped the parcel onto the kitchen table and put the kettle on.
And now here he was, sipping his tea, and wondering about the thing. Why hadn’t they just sent an owl? Remus pictured James and Sirius at the post office, pretending to know what they were doing, and trying to blend in. He’d been trying not to think about them too much.
By the time Remus’ parents had asked what Sirius’ plans were for the holidays, the Potters were already firmly expecting him to spend Christmas at theirs as a matter of course.
‘They’ll be offended if I don’t go,’ Sirius had said back at the flat, blowing a smoke ring at their bedroom ceiling. ‘Just for the festivities. You don’t mind, do you?’ He passed Remus the cigarette, their legs sliding together under the covers.
‘Course not,’ Remus said lightly, and took a long drag. Always good to get a bit of space, he told himself. He didn’t mind, really – much easier visiting his Muggle aunt and cousins without a tall, dark, and handsome wizard in tow, bemusing them with his sharp wit and his cut-glass accent and his eagerness to out-Muggle them all.
‘It’ll be easier on your family, too,’ Sirius suggested quietly.
With a sigh, Remus handed the cigarette back to him. ‘I’m sure they’d like to see you, really.’
‘Oh yeah, I know they like me. I am incredibly likable, after all. But are they as keen on us?’ Exhaling a plume of smoke, Sirius shifted onto his elbow and flicked ash into a glass on his bedside table. ‘They’d bear it if they thought they wouldn’t get to see you unless I was allowed to tag along, too. Either way, we’d all spend Christmas feeling self-conscious and ill at ease, and I’d feel terrible for causing it all.’
‘Yeah, maybe,' Remus had agreed darkly and closed his eyes.
So now Sirius was in Godric’s Hollow, no doubt having a blast, while Remus was out here, ‘at home,’ with nothing much to do in the back end of nowhere. Suddenly too grown up for his old room, impatient with his parents, and strangely restless. He’d decided not to miss Sirius too much, but that wasn’t really working either.
He cut the string with the kitchen scissors, and tore at the damp brown paper, revealing a cardboard box. When he lifted the lid he discovered a heavy, book shaped present, wrapped in paper printed with holly and ivy leaves. Beneath that, there was a pair of red plaid pyjamas in a Muggle style cellophane bag festooned with a red bow. And there was a postcard, too, with a Christmas tree on one side, and a message from his friends on the other.
Dear Remus, it read, Happy Christmas. Hope you like our present. My parents have kitted us all out in matching pyjamas, you’re lucky you’ve not been landed with the puky green ones. Here the handwriting changed. You’re probably enjoying doing sweet FA, that’s all we’ve been doing too. Still a few days to go until the main event, and we’re already bursting at the seams. Enjoy your break, see you very soon.
Perplexed, Remus stared at James’ and Sirius’ signatures. Was this it? He turned the card over, studying the picture, before reading the message again.
The front door opened, letting a gust of wind into the hall, and slammed shut again. Remus heard his mum calling to the cat, then she bustled into the kitchen, carrying armfuls of shopping.
‘Absolutely horrendous out there,’ she said, shoving her bags and boxes onto the counter. ‘Did you get a parcel? How lovely! Who’s it from?’
‘James and Sirius.’ Remus checked the box again, but there was nothing else in it.
‘Ah.’ Raising an eyebrow, she shot him a glance. ‘You don’t look very pleased with it. Everything all right between you?’
‘Yeah, course.’ He took a sip of tea, glowering at his mug, and was reminded of that particular day in spring when they’d both stood in the kitchen just like this. Sirius had spent a few days here, too, and had presented Remus’ mum with a beautiful bunch of tulips on the morning of her birthday, before Flooing back to London. Remus was going to stay on for another day or two.
And here in the kitchen, out of the blue, his mum had asked Remus about Sirius’ personal life. Struggling for the right words, Remus had kept staring at the tulips on the table - the delicately veined petals, pink and red and yellow. Yes, he’d agreed, it was true that Sirius generally evaded or dismissed any questions about girlfriends. And, yes, he admitted, possibly because girls weren’t really Sirius’ thing.
‘What about you, love?’ she'd asked anxiously. ‘Would you say that - that girls are your thing?’
‘Sure,’ he'd said vaguely. Then he took a deep breath. ‘But if you’re asking if – if he and I… then yes,’ he managed at last, looking up at her. ‘We’re more than just friends. I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time.’
‘Right.’ She looked worried, if not exactly surprised. ‘So he’s...?’
‘We’re together, yes.’ Remus nodded. ‘Have been for a while.’
‘Right,’ she said again, sounding a bit lost. ‘I see. I mean, your dad and I…’ She cleared her throat a few times, briskly folding the tea towel she’d been twisting in her hands. ‘We did have an inkling, I suppose. The way you two…’ Then she shook her head. ‘Remus, do you think this is right for you? You know we only want you to be happy. Only, this, on top of everything else…’
Staring at the flowers, Remus forced himself to remain calm and patient, and began to explain. That he’d not wanted to worry them. That, werewolf or not, at nineteen he was a grown man who knew his own mind. That he and Sirius were good together, and that he was very happy.
His mum kept watching him closely, as though she was attempting to perform Legilimency on him. Perhaps she wanted to gauge his commitment to a life that would cause even more people to treat him badly. Nevertheless, he saw her grim determination to accept what he was telling her, and for that he was grateful, even if he couldn’t be sure she’d be convinced.
His dad only barely acknowledged the news, and in his roundabout sort of way, obliquely hinting that he knew, before quickly changing the subject.
They hadn’t treated him any differently after that, but they’d avoided talking about it. Remus had gone back to London, to the flat he shared with his boyfriend, hoping that in time they’d come to see that it was fine, that he was happy. But they’d barely even mentioned Sirius by name since, and acted as though the conversation had never happened.
Even when they’d enquired where Sirius was going to spend Christmas, they’d quickly asked about James and Peter, too. Remus had decided not to force the point, but he couldn’t help resenting his parents for wilfully ignoring his relationship. And now this parcel only seemed to support their version of reality.
‘Go on then, open it!’ his mum urged him on. ‘You’re not going to wait until Christmas Day, are you?’
Remus shrugged and without much enthusiasm picked up the heavy book shaped present. It turned out to be a volume called Mythical Monsters and Daemonic Entities in their Natural Habitats. He flicked through the lavishly illustrated pages, and had to admit that it did look fascinating.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ he announced, ignoring another long, curious look from his mother.
‘Will you just sort out the fire first, please, love?’
Stacking kindling and firewood into the wood burning stove, Remus tried to shake off his disappointment. Perhaps he was being sentimental, expecting at least a small private note from his boyfriend, something less impersonal than a joint present. Whenever those two were together, Remus thought bitterly, everyone else still receded into the background.
Using his wand to ignite the fire, he slightly adjusted the floo, and stood for a moment, watching the merrily dancing flames.
He thought of that one time, years ago, when they’d all been up late, drinking by the Common Room fire. They’d all been in stitches about something Peter had said. James was laughing so hard he’d dropped his glasses, and never noticed Sirius looking at him – Sirius’ warm, affectionate glance. Remus had noticed it. Back then he never would have admitted as much to anyone, but of course he already fancied Sirius, he was only human after all. But that hadn’t been the point. James and Sirius shared a natural affinity, and a deep, affectionate bond, and by comparison Remus, or in fact anyone, would never get a look in.
Up in his room, Remus put a record on and stretched out on his bed. He thumbed through his new book again, but threw it aside quickly and instead got stuck into a riveting Muggle spy novel.
There was no more post that day. The doorbell rang once, but it was only two old friends of his parents’ who would be joining them for supper. Remus’ mood hadn’t improved much by the time they all sat down to his dad’s famous chicken and leek pie. The conversation flowed, though Remus was paying more attention to the wine than to the village gossip. Eventually, the talk turned to the friends’ children and how they were getting on at university, on their apprenticeship, with their various love interests.
‘And you, Remus?’ asked Leonora, the bespectacled professor whose many bangles clattered with every gesture. ‘Your mum tells me you’ve been enjoying life in the big smoke. Do you think you’ll stay there?’
‘And are you seeing anyone special?’ chimed in their other guest, the owlish Edward who played the tuba in the local brass band.
Remus looked up at them and shrugged, unsure how to answer. Since he’d arrived here, his own life had somehow become abstract and apparently increasingly fictional. He murmured something noncommittal, noticing his mother’s concerned expression.
‘He’s just got a great book from his friends for Christmas,’ she said brightly, ‘in fact, you might know it, Leonora? Mythical beasts and their terrain – right up your alley, I’d say.’
Leonora had indeed heard of it and began telling them all about the author, whom she’d met on her travels in Bhutan.
After the crumble and custard, Remus helped clear the table and cast a slipshod dishwashing Charm, realising that he was quite a bit tipsier than expected. He was repairing two chipped plates when his mum came in to make the coffee.
‘So,’ she began tentatively after a minute or so, ‘did you exchange presents in London, then? You and Sirius?’
Remus looked up in surprise.
‘Your - personal presents, I mean. Did you get him something nice?’
‘I, um,’ he was too astonished to come up with a coherent answer. Just then his dad appeared with two empty wine bottles. Putting them away, he winked at Remus, then he opened the booze cabinet and studied the liqueurs.
‘Sirius and I, er - went for a nice meal,’ Remus said at last, smiling at their expectant faces. ‘And I gave him a pair of Percipient Binoculars – well, they were his uncle’s, really, but I managed to fix them up for him, and improve them a bit.’
‘Did you?’ His dad nodded, sounding impressed. ‘He must’ve been delighted. I’ve heard that some of them have spectacular features. What were the lenses like? Did you play with the magnification?’
While his mum went to serve the coffee, they talked about sharpness over distance, the optical permeability of walls, trees, and types of rock, and whether antique implements were easier to manipulate than modern devices.
Later, while brushing his teeth, Remus still marvelled at their little exchange. They’d actually asked after his boyfriend, as though they no longer considered him a phase, a juvenile error of judgement, a worrying aberration. He wanted to tell Sirius at once. And he wondered whether he’d been too quick to be offended by the stupid joint present. Perhaps his real present from Sirius was still on its way, coming by owl.
He decided to try on the new pyjamas. The flannel was very soft, and they fit as though they’d been tailor made. And there was a faint scent… he sniffed the fabric. An unmistakable blend of smoke, leather, and that fancy aftershave Sirius liked to use. Remus’ favourite scent.
He noticed something in the breast pocket. A very small piece of parchment, folded twice. Remus unfurled it, Say the word. was written across it in Sirius’ purple ink.
This was an old code they’d used at school. Pointing his wand, Remus murmured ’Revelio.’ The scrap of paper instantly Transfigured itself into a slender box, which Remus opened to find a Muggle fountain pen, and a rolled up letter in the same purple ink.
Dear Moony,
Sorry for the subterfuge – I thought I’d rather keep a low profile than potentially ruin your civilised family Christmas. Speaking of which, the Potters have been going into overdrive as they’ve got the whole extended clan arriving tomorrow. For some reason they’re hellbent on making their dream of A Big Family Christmas a terrifying reality. Not sure coming here was such a great idea after all.
I’d much rather be in Wales with you, going for long walks and wild rambles, and I’d love to see that waterfall again! And wouldn’t mind reliving fond memories of that creaky old single bed of yours.
That’s what gave me the idea for your present, actually – been working it out on the sly, something to think about during James' endless diatribes. I hope you’ll like it – a bit lewd though, so best not leave it lying around. The ink is Prongs’ latest invention by the way, smells like a bonfire.
How are your parents? Please give them my best, that is, from the polite and charming bloke they remember, rather than the reprobate who loves you and misses you, and has hopelessly led their son astray. Next year we’re having Christmas together! I don’t mind where – we could escape to the tropics, or have a quiet one at ours? Speak soon. Yours, S.
Remus picked up the fountain pen and examined it closely. It was made of black plastic with a brass clip, its gold coloured nib was stained with blue ink.
He took a fresh piece of parchment from his desk drawer and attempted to jot down a quick reply, but the pen didn’t seem to work at all. It only scratched the parchment, depositing random pools of ink, and sprayed it with an inky mist when he shook the pen in frustration. Then he noticed a word engraved in the cap. ’Oblectamento,’ he read out loud, none the wiser. The pen moved in his hand, springing to life with startling vigour. Having let go of it in surprise, Remus watched as it got to work at the top of the parchment.
Some of the wicked things I’d like to do to you, it wrote, in what looked very much like Sirius’ handwriting. I’d start by kissing you, against a wall perhaps, or by a fire, or let’s say, in a dark alley after a Hobgoblins concert. The gig was amazing, and we’ve had a couple of beers each, you’re still buzzing from the music and looking very sexy. So here we are, snogging, your hands squeezing my bum as I impatiently - no, slowly - undo the top button of your trousers… Remus couldn’t help grinning as the pen continued to conjure up a delicious fantasy in Sirius’ elegant script. Interestingly, the ink faded and disappeared as soon as the pen had moved a few lines down. It also smelled distinctly smoky.
Eventually, the pen finished with a flourish, and came to rest on the paper. Still chuckling, Remus replaced the cap. He got his quill and ink from his desk and quickly scribbled a note.
Dear Padfoot, Thank you for the parcel. It’s been all right here, even if I’ve been bored out of my skull. Please pass on my thanks to James’ parents, too. And to James of course, great book! Cheers for being so inconspicuous as well, using the Muggle post and everything. As it turned out, my mum actually asked about your ‘real’ present, and Dad is very curious about your binoculars. I think they’d really like to see you – maybe you could drop round on Boxing Day, Potters permitting? Might be a bit awkward at first, but we wouldn’t need to be inconspicuous anymore. Your ‘real’ present is amazing, by the way. I love it. Love you, too. Wish you were here. Remus.
He rolled it up, summoned his owl Wynn from the shed, and sent her on her way. Then he settled back into bed, with a piece of parchment and his brand new fountain pen.