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The Gryffindor common room had never felt so cold. Or so quiet.
Just a few minutes ago, his friends had boarded the Hogwarts Express, leaving him behind for what would be two long weeks. In general, he enjoyed being alone—he really did. However, there was a clear difference between being alone for a few hours and being alone for days. Days that, slowly, turned into weeks.
Usually, James would invite him to spend Christmas at his house, with his family and sometimes Peter’s. This year, Remus had chosen to give him a break, so he could finally spend Christmas with his family alone—they deserved a rest. James and Sirius could easily be considered family, given their closeness and loyalty. At least that’s how it should be. Unfortunately, Sirius was often excluded from the festivities—or at least from their joy. Being a Black, the son of deranged people, there wasn’t much he could do to escape that life. At least not while he was underage.
Remus was worried about him—he always was whenever they had to part for any of the holidays. It was impossible not to be, when every year upon returning to school, Sirius looked different, worn out. The mischief in his eyes and his smile disappeared, the rebellion stayed hidden beneath layers—and that included the entirety of his personality, everything that made Sirius who he was.
Some years were easier than others. He remembered one in particular—their third year. Remus knew his friend had had a rough time, but that was all. He hadn’t yet realized just how dire the situation with that horrible family was. So when he saw him that day, he could swear that for a moment, Sirius’s whole expression changed. Remus had been watching him while he walked toward them.
That’s why he recognized that change again in his friend’s face when he spotted James in the crowd, when he greeted him. To Remus, every gesture, every signal of change—any shift in movement, whether in his face or in his body—was something he noticed. He always would.
Maybe he only saw what he wanted to see—it didn’t matter. The memory would remain in his mind, neither replaced nor forgotten. Whether it was real or not, whether he wanted it or not.
He sighed in frustration. Raised his hands and pressed his eyelids, suddenly bored with the book resting in his lap. It was impossible to concentrate when he was consumed by thoughts of his friend. He dropped the book on the floor and pulled the blanket wrapped around his legs tighter, so it would cover him completely as he slept.
He squirmed for a while, trying to get used to how uncomfortable the armchair was. He didn’t want to go to his bed—not while the others were still empty.
Through the window in front of him, he could see snow falling around the castle. He had witnessed the beginning of the snowfall, the same one that would accompany him through his lonely days. Surprisingly, that thought brought him comfort, and little by little, he stopped feeling cold and closed his eyes. As usual, Remus didn’t know the exact moment he fell asleep. He only knew that while he dreamt of pranks and laughter, the snow stopped falling.
………………
A weight on his back woke him up with a jolt. It was clearly an animal pressing him into the armchair. It was easy to identify—it had to be a dog, judging by its breathing. Remus knew one dog.
Hopeful, he turned around quickly to see for himself. He accidentally knocked Sirius to the floor. He didn’t seem bothered or even surprised.
He returned to human form in less than a minute.
“Guess how I escaped before my parents could see me!”
“By turning into a dog?” Sirius burst out laughing, confirming the guess.
“There’s nothing they can do now.” He kept smiling as he punched Remus’s shoulder. “You better make it worth it.”
He tilted his head in curiosity, just like Sirius did in his dog form. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Simple. Don’t leave my side.” He winked, and Remus could swear they were flirting. It didn’t matter that Sirius flirted with everyone—that didn’t stop his heart from speeding up. It didn’t stop his entire perception of the holidays from completely changing.
“Alright.”
Right after that, Sirius explained that he hadn’t eaten all day from nerves and that he was starving. Remus replied that food would be served soon. Sirius’s eyes lit up, and without a second thought, he grabbed his friend’s arm and made him stand. Remus, of course, offered no resistance.
And so their holidays began—with a grand feast in the Great Hall. Spending time together for the first time without duties or immediate worries.
They wrote to James to let him know they were staying at Hogwarts together. They both knew how bad their friend had felt about having to leave them. He had tried to seem relaxed in front of them, but the act hadn’t lasted long—he had hugged them tightly before leaving, promising lots of gifts and surprises when he got back. That’s why they sent the letter as soon as they could with the news. They did it on the afternoon of the second day.
That’s when Sirius was at his most hyperactive, the most restless. Remus was excited—but also uncertain. He wasn’t sure how he would keep Sirius entertained in the days ahead. Sirius spent a lot of time with James, with whom he shared his sense of humor and much of his spirit. Remus couldn’t compete with that—nor did he want to.
He wasn’t sure what he said or what face he had made, but on the third day, Sirius interrupted the conversation they were having and changed the subject.
“It’s different.”
“What is?”
“My friendship with James and yours.” He felt a shameful tightness in his chest.
He looked away. “I know that.”
His tone must have given something away—maybe it was sharp—because Sirius widened his eyes in surprise and shook his head.
“I don’t mean one’s better than the other.” He looked him straight in the eye. A dramatic pause that gave Remus goosebumps. With seriousness, Sirius emphasized his words.
“I’m just saying it’s different.”
His mouth was dry—he didn’t have the strength to respond. A slightly uneasy nod would have to do.
“Good, because I don’t want you to keep questioning it. I know you, Remus. I’ll notice.”
That exchange would be his main memory of the day. Remus was sure of it.
It had snowed on the fourth day, just like the first. Sirius had made him promise that the next time it happened, they’d go flying. According to him, there weren’t many things that could compare to it.
“It doesn’t count as flying if you stay that close to the ground, Remus.”
“I got on the broomstick, be satisfied,” he replied, only a little scared.
“I’ve never felt that.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” If he looked down and saw the ground, he’d be doomed.
“No, thanks.” He pulled away from Remus, rising up again, then swooping back down. Remus didn’t like him getting too far. “Don’t you see how important this is?”
“I see the danger.” His hands slipped for a second—he almost gasped.
“Real magic isn’t about waving a wand, you know?” Sirius huffed. “It’s about moments like these. That’s why we need them.”
The honesty in his words left Remus breathless—for once distracted from his fear. Sirius had that effect on him. Besides, if anyone else had said that, Remus probably would’ve made fun of them—a tiny detail, in his opinion.
“What’s the opposite of magic, then?”
“I don’t know. I guess… ordinary stuff.” He flew closer, placing his broom beside Remus’s. “We’re lucky—we don’t know what that’s like.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
Sirius frowned at the question. “If you think about it, everything we do is mundane.”
“No.”
“No?”
“It’s not always about what we do. It’s about who we’re with, Remus.” He let out a soft laugh. “I think you might be the magic.” He was teasing him—that was all.
“Good thing. That means even if we go back to the ground, you’ll still have your magic.”
Sirius ignored his not-so-subtle request and kept flying in circles. Remus didn’t miss the mysterious smile he threw his way. A short while later, he shouted that he was freezing and that only because of that would he agree to return to the castle.
It wasn’t until the fifth day that the anxiety won him over.
His romantic delusions had been nothing but a distraction from what really mattered. And Remus was tired of avoiding the topic. James wasn’t there, and someone had to be the one to press Sirius’s buttons.
They were brushing their teeth, side by side. They had just woken up. Soon, they’d go have breakfast.
“Have you thought about what’ll happen when you see your parents?”
He noticed a pause in his friend’s movements.
“No.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Sirius.”
“Remus, don’t do this, please.”
“Don’t you think James will ask you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“I almost never answer him.”
Remus hadn’t expected that—he had always thought that he and Peter were just left out of those conversations. That they were private. He always tried to understand that whenever he questioned it.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“Then don’t.”
That wasn’t fair.
He spat into the sink and rinsed quickly, impatient to leave, not even bothering to dry his face. He didn’t want to see Sirius disappointed—but he also couldn’t allow himself to be the one feeling that way. He would learn not to get involved again.
He ate alone that day.
Luckily, it was the first and last time he’d have to. He avoided going back to the common room for nearly two hours. Took the opportunity to visit the library and get ahead on some homework. Even if they didn’t assign much over the holidays, there was always something, and he hated having anything left undone.
Sirius never came looking for him.
That thought haunted him for quite a while.
He was afraid to go back and find that Sirius regretted staying with him. It was selfish to think that way—to make it all about himself—especially knowing how awful things were for Sirius at home. Anything was better than going back there.
Even so, he couldn’t shake the fear.
That anxiety was what pushed him to return. The longer he waited, the worse it would be.
Sirius was lying on a rug, his head resting on a pillow. When Remus looked closely, he saw the tension in his face—but fortunately, it disappeared as soon as he saw him. He would analyze that reaction in detail later.
“I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have interfered. I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
“No, Remus. You just need to understand that it doesn’t matter whether I talk about it or not. It won’t change anything.”
Remus placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It helped steady his own trembling.
“It’s your decision. Either way, we’ll support you.”
“I know.”
He opened his mouth but closed it just as quickly. Then he turned around and launched himself toward the armchair. He leaned his stomach against the backrest and stretched out his arm to grab something. When he picked it up, he turned back to face Remus.
He looked oddly nervous—it wasn’t hard to figure out why.
Once Remus saw what he was holding, he understood.
“You left in such a rush, you didn’t let me give you your present.” He handed it over and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Remus.”
“Thank you. Though I don’t have anything for you.”
Sirius waved it off like it didn’t matter. Remus smiled back.
“Merry Christmas, Sirius.”
He tore the wrapping carefully. He wanted to enjoy the gift fully—including the paper.
As soon as his fingers touched the object, he recognized the material. Wood.
Once the last piece of wrapping—by far the largest—hit the floor, he finally saw what it was.
It was them. Each of them.
The wolf, the dog, the stag, and the rat.
They looked happy. They weren’t people, so they didn’t exactly smile, but even so, it was clear.
He wasn’t going to cry.
“At first, I was going to give you a figure of just the wolf. Luckily, I came to my senses—you obviously hate being one, and it wouldn’t have represented what I meant at all.”
He licked his lip thoughtfully. Remus followed the motion with longing.
“I wanted you to see it from our perspective. To see how wonderful it is. We share something that I’m sure very few—maybe no one—else has.”
Usually, words didn’t come easy to him.
Except this time.
This time, he knew exactly what to say. The word that could capture all he felt. His gratitude. His love.
“It’s magical.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
If he were to look in the mirror right then, he’d be afraid of what he might see.
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.
And the only person seeing him this vulnerable was the only person he would ever allow to.
The one he longed to be seen by.
Sirius.