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“I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.”
-Charles Bukowski
Christmas at Grimmauld Place was, well, magical.
Tinsel adorned every staircase railing, silver twisting through the black metal like starlight. Mrs. Black’s screaming portrait was hidden behind curtains featuring prancing reindeer, much to Kreacher’s chagrin. Molly had enchanted the ceiling to always snow, but the flakes stopped before they touched a single hair on anyone’s head and never made the house cold. Bright orange flames, the color of Weasley hair, roared in the fireplaces; ornamented trees stood tall wherever they could fit, knitted stockings were pinned all around the family room.
It was the holiday Harry Potter had never known on Privet Drive. Even spending Christmas at Hogwarts paled in comparison to being surrounded by boisterous redheads and awesome Order members, all of whom treated Harry as if he belonged to them, with them. His days were filled with home-sewn sweaters, hugs, hot cocoa, and--if he was really lucky--stories of the marauders’ holiday adventures from a butterbeer-filled Sirius Black.
“And that’s how we convinced your dad to put on a red nose and parade through the halls as a stag,” Sirius finished overtop Harry’s terribly-stifled giggles.
Lupin chuckled, jostling Sirius. The two were on the sofa, Sirius’ head in Lupin’s lap while he read the Daily Prophet. Harry was certain the two had spent many school days lounging in that very position in the Gryffindor common room. Lupin flipped another page, his eyes scanning over the inside matter with detached interest. His thin smile told Harry he was as lost in his younger years as Sirius, who had now reached up to knock a knuckle gently on Lupin’s chin.
“Is was bloody cold in the Shack that Christmas, wasn’t it, love?”
Remus folded the Prophet and set it on the arm of the couch. He took Sirius’ hand in his and kissed the man’s pale skin gently before setting them both on Sirius’ chest and grinning sheepishly at Harry.
But Harry only beamed happily at them as he took another sip of butterbeer. The creamy warmth sat comfortably in his throat and gave him a pleasant tingling sensation all the way to his toes. Toes, he recalled fondly, that were fit snugly in a pair of socks from Dobby, who had taken up sewing just to create this set of scarlet-and-gold striped knee highs for Harry, who wore them as often as possible. The fact that they kept his feet warm seemed an added bonus.
Crookshanks sprinted into the room just as Harry looked up again with another one of Fred and George’s eavesdropping ears in his mouth. He leapt gracefully from the floor to Sirius’ stomach, which resulted in a great “Oof!” from Sirius and another round of delicate laughter from Remus. He watched Sirius struggle with the cat for a moment before nodding politely to Harry and returning to his paper.
“Notorious mass murderer Sirius Black,” Harry read from the cover. It was a bit eerie to see Sirius’ screaming face move on a paper only inches away from Sirius’ actual blissful expression.
“Mm?” asked Sirius when he heard his name. Crookshanks was now lying in a compact, fluffy orange circle on the man’s chest, positively delighted in having claimed the spot. His purring rivaled even the crackling fireplace.
Harry repeated the headline, a little slower this time in case Sirius had downed a bit more butterbeer that usual. When he finished, Sirius laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed sharp around the edges but still held immense warmth, just like chocolate. No wonder Lupin loved him so much.
“It is rather catchy, I’ll give them that,” Sirius said. Harry grinned. “I quite like the idea of being notorious, as well, though it’s troubling to be called a murderer.”
“Yes dear, what an inconvenience.”
“It truly is!”
“And it’s a dreadful picture,” Harry teased.
Sirius smiled. “Right you are. It also greatly impacts my ability to go shopping; a dog can’t really pick up presents anywhere without turning a few heads.”
Remus patted his shoulder to console him and Harry sat back in the unreasonably cozy armchair, suddenly disheartened by the banter. On the surface, Sirius seemed to take his seclusion well, but Harry sometimes caught the restlessness in his eyes or the frustration that sometimes ended in spats with Lupin. Lupin’s everlasting patience usually won out over Sirius’ stubbornness in the end. The rows with Snape, however, were almost theatrical and generally required intervention.
“I’ll do your shopping,” Harry offered. He took another sip of butterbeer, feeling foolish.
Sirius turned to face him, jostling Crookshanks and Remus both. Crookshanks handled the change with far less dignity than Remus, meowing impetuously and stalking off to sleep on someone else. Remus simply threaded his fingers through Sirius’ long, dark hair and replaced the Prophet on the side table. He and Sirius exchanged a look.
“Make sure to tell everyone you’re buying for a notorious mass murderer,” Sirius jested. He no longer seemed fazed by the dreary notes of the conversation and was smiling merrily.
“And his fiance,” Lupin added slyly.
It took a second for Harry’s mind to catch up. When it did, he jumped out of his seat. “You’re getting married!” he yelled.
“We wanted to tell you first,” Sirius told his godson.
Harry lunged for the pair and threw his arms around them. “Wow, congrats,” he said breathlessly, because Sirius was squeezing him a tad too tightly, but he wasn’t about to let go. “When?” he asked, because it didn’t seem plausible with all the Voldemort-fighting and Death Eater attacks and Ministry interventions crowding into their lives and pushing back all the good things.
Remus blinked away the beginnings of tears. “As… as soon as we can, we hope. I never thought we’d live long enough for it to happen.” He inhaled deeply. “It will have to be small, you understand, not the most exciting ceremony you’ll attend--”
Harry was already nodding, imagining Sirius in a tux and Remus in one, too, but with a sweater close by. Everything about it would be perfect. He couldn’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione; she would probably read an entire library section on marriage while he would do everything in his power to keep Snape away from the ceremony.
“I suppose we can finally wear our engagement rings,” Sirius reasoned after more moments of tearful embraces all around. He produced two silver bands from his coat pocket. Harry watched them slide them onto one another’s ring fingers, looking as in love as his parents had been in the photograph he kept. He wished he could capture this moment forever, too.
A few months later when Harry tore after Bellatrix Lestrange and out of Lupin’s arms, his own finger glances over the cold metal of Lupin’s ring and something inside him snapped.
If Remus and Sirius couldn’t have their forever, he’d certainly make sure Bellatrix didn’t have hers.