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“You still believe in Santa?”
—the words—
Regulus felt like an idiot at that moment, looking down at the ground. Eyes were upon him, and he never liked eyes on him, and yet he ’d made the mistake of letting it slip, the fact he, the newest heir Black, actually believed in Santa Clause, simply because—
In truth, he didn ’t want to be heir; he wanted Sirius to be, and he wanted Sirius to come home for Christmas, so he ’d written a letter to Santa.
Santa, after all—
He ’d quite a few letters hidden away, letters from Santa, yet he remembered seeing Santa quite a few times, and one time he’d seen Santa’s number one Elf, so he’d thought—
What he ’d thought, he’d blurted out to his older brother, instantly regretting telling Sirius that he’d written to Santa, asking that his older brother might return home.
Yet, there he was, being mocked by Sirius for still believing in Santa. He found himself looking at the ground, listening to chuckles from some of the others, including individuals from his own house. “Yes, well…”
“I don’t believe in Santa,” Sirius said. “That’s baby stuff, Baby Black.”
And in that moment, Regulus wanted to cry. Instead, he fled from the scene, spinning on his heels. He let out a deep breath, still hearing the laughter behind him. He felt an arm around his shoulders, resulting in him flinching. “That was just something he made up, right?”
Regulus turned to look at Barty, disliking how his third cousin constantly invaded his personal space. He lifted Barty ’s hand off his shoulder, pushing it away. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yes, but…”
“Leave him be,” Evan said. “He’s not in the mood.”
And—
Regulus didn ’t get what he asked for Christmas from Santa.
He sat on the couch in the drawing room, staying awake until—
He ’d fallen asleep, wondering for a moment if his belief in Santa broke because his brother didn’t believe when he awoke. A familiar magic caught his attention.
There was the familiar magic of Santa, but also—
“Hey.”
Regulus lifted his head. “I’ve still got all of his replies.”
“Well, this year he asked I talk to you,” Bernard said, sitting on the arm of the chair nearby.
“I still believe,” Regulus said.
“Yes. I know you do,” Bernard said, dressed from head to toe as if he’d stepped out of one of the older portraits at Hogwarts, yet—
Regulus wondered about the Christmas elves and whether they were like the elf in front of him.
“Santa can’t grant every wish. I mean…”
“There are certain wishes he can’t grant?” Regulus asked.
“Yes,” Bernard said. “As much as he wishes for them to be granted. But you believe that’s actually quite magical.”
“More so than a mere child?”
“You’ve grown past the age most children stop believing,” Bernard said. “And children who can do magic, something about them is a bit hard to explain.”
“There’s a war going on,” Regulus said. “And Sirius says…”
“I’m not allowed to answer for you what side is right,” Bernard said. “Santa’s told me as much. But…” There came a pause. “Whatever you choose to do, it will be the right choice. Because that’s who you are. I mean, you wouldn’t still believe in Santa if you didn’t have a good heart.”