remus/sirius. first christmas raising harry.

There is a strong part of Remus that inclines toward quiet and solitude. When he imagines Christmas, he thinks of silence and candlelight, soft snow and nights by the fire. But there must, he reflects as he watches a tousle-haired Sirius Black lift a shrieking Harry above his head and stomp all over the piles of wrapping paper scattered across the floor, both of them bright-eyed whirlwinds of laughter, there must be a stronger part of him that needs to be wrestled out of his shell and thrust into mess, into chaos. Because he can’t remember the last time he had a quiet Christmas, or a quiet life, for that matter, and he can’t bring himself to regret it. 

He opens his arms wide as Sirius zooms Harry in for a landing, and Harry’s sticky hands grab at Remus’ face. Christmases past have meant drunken carols and snow down his collar and James waking them all up at dawn with the loud bang of a Christmas cracker—and now toys all over the carpet and gingerbread crumbs in his hair. And Harry patting at his nose and saying, “Moony.”

“He’ll never learn my real name,” Remus says to Sirius, hefting the boy up to stand his socked feet on Remus’ knees and shaking his head. Sirius grins unrepentantly and ruffles first Harry’s hair and then Remus’ and offers to make tea.

By the time Sirius returns from the kitchen, Harry is yawning and they’re both sprawled on the floor, watching a model of the Hogwarts Express rattle around a loop of train tracks. Sirius sits down next to them. Remus accepts his steaming mug, cradling it carefully out of Harry’s reach.

Outside the diamond-paned windows, the light fades, leaving the room lit by fairy lights and candles. Harry falls asleep with his head on Sirius’ belly. Remus stretches out on his back next to them, thinking about cleaning up. Maybe in a few minutes.

“All right?” Sirius asks him quietly.

“Yeah,” Remus says. “Yeah. I mean, you know…”

“I know.”

They lie there in silence for a minute, ghosts of Christmas pasts slipping silently into the room. 

“I think sometimes about how much worse it could have been,” Remus admits. “I know it’s terrible to be thankful about what happened that night, but…”

“No,” Sirius says. “I think about it too. If my motorbike had been working right—if I’d gotten to Peter like I meant to—”

“Who knows what would have happened. Where we’d all be now.” Remus reaches instinctively for Harry’s hand and squeezes it. Harry mumbles something in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. He’s drooling on Sirius’ shirt. He’s made Remus’ life a hundred times more complicated and Remus would die before losing him.

“Come here.” Sirius reaches out and pulls Remus close. Remus smiles, inches away from Sirius, who smells like green tea and gingerbread and baby spit, and bends down to kiss him.

“This isn’t exactly how I’d imagined my twenties,” Sirius says, smiling crookedly. “I can’t believe it’s how you’d imagined yours.” 

“Not in a million years.” Undeniably, in some ways, it’s far worse: the things he’s lost over the course of his young life are immense, uncountable. But the candles are flickering and their cottage is safe and so is Harry; and he and Sirius, as Remus curls up with his arms around them both, are so solid, and so warm.

its past thanksgiving so no one can stop me from posting christmas stuff

‘tis the season

Wolfstar at Christmas

Remus really loved Christmas.  Sirius never saw the allure, it was always this big formal thing in his house growing up.  But Moony taught him what it really was, sitting in front of the fire in the common room after curfew, wrapped up in their warmest clothes, a blanket around them both, and hot chocolates with mini marshmallows. 

Then came the year they moved in together after graduating Hogwarts. Remus introduced both himself and Sirius to eggnog.  That was the year Remus taught him the carols as well.

In Azkaban, Sirius counts every single day.  He always knows the date, just so that when Christmas Morning arrives he can sing the twelve days of Christmas every day until the fifth of January just like he and Remus used to.  Christmas Morning he’ll look up at the sky and say ‘Merry Christmas Moony’.  He tries to imagine Remus doing the same thing somewhere, he never succeeds.

He has no way of knowing that Moony thinks of him every Christmas as well, thinks of him and curses him for ruining it all, for taking his friends away, for taking Christmas. By the time Sirius escapes, Remus has largely ignored Christmas for years.  Then, Christmas of 1994, a letter arrives in the mail. On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree. The next day there’s another. On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves and a partidge in a pear tree. This continues until, on the fifth of January, there’s a knock on his door.  He opens it to find carolers who sing the entire song before quickly moving off, leaving only a small package behind. Inside is bag of mini marshmallows, a packet of Muggle instant Hot Chocolate, and a note. Your true love knows you better than to get you all that.  Merry Christmas, have some liquid chocolate instead. ~ Snuffles

Messrs Moony and Padfoot would like to wish you all a happy holiday.

“c’mon smile moony!”

“no. I’m protesting this sweater.”

"Moony! Moony! Moony!" Harry exclaimed excitedly, running towards Remus where he was lying on the floor. Remus had been given explicit instructions by his four year old to not move as apparently Remus's legs were now an elaborate piece of roadway. A tunnel? A bridge? In either case, Remus didn't much care, the carpeted floor of the makeshift playroom-parlor feeling nice on his back that seemed to always ache.

"Harry!" Remus responded, hearing Sirius's laugh behind

"Guess what! Guess what I saw!"

"In the lav?" Remus asked looking down at Harry who had collided forcefully with Remus's tunnel-bridge legs, Harry wrapping his arms around them.

"Yeah! You havta guess!"

Remus looked up at Sirius who had come from the bathroom with Harry, ensuring that someone washed their hands and wasn't using "i have to pee" as an excuse to leave the tap running and create an ocean to play in. Again.

"Don't look at me, I haven't a clue. Harry just said he had to tell you something while washing--"

"Padfoot made me use soap." Harry made a face, "Smells funny."

"He makes me use soap too," Remus nodded, sitting up on his elbows to get a better look at Harry. "Hm...did you see a grindylow in the sink?"

Harrys eyes went wide, "No! I want to!" Harry looked over to Sirius who had found a spot on the floor next to Remus, "Padfoot, do we have those?"

"I don't think so, love."

Harry pouted shortly, "No fun."

"What'd you see, Harry?" Remus asked

"We're the same!"

"What do you mean?"

Harry pointed a tiny finger at the scar on his face that ran into his eyebrow, spanning across his forehead in a lightning strike pattern, "We match! I gots a special mark and you do too!" Harry's hand went to Remus's face touching the scar that cut into Remus's own eyebrow and extended to his cheek. It was such a gentle touch, and Remus couldn't help but smile, noting how even at four Harry was learning how to hold things--faces and hands and cups of tea and stuffed animals--so carefully, the way Sirius did. Time spent watching his godfather cup Remus's face and heal bruises after full moons was evident in the way Harry touched every one of Remus's scars.

"I suppose we do," Remus nodded, grabbing Harry's hand and squeezing it. "Our own special club."

Harry looked over to Sirius, before stepping closer to Remus and whispering, "No soap allowed."

"No soap."

adventures from the gryffindor boys’ dorms

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I fell into a Wolfstar hell hole and I can’t seem to leave I’m really sorry for all this fanart