A Very Sirius Christmas Carol

A/N - I don't own it, Rowling and Dickens get all the credit! Enjoy!


Sirius sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He was alone and for that he was grateful. He was sick of Remus and his endless justifications for why he should sit here instead of going out, and Tonks flashing him sympathetic looks. Then there was Molly and her constant parade of food in front of him; she was convinced that the best way to lift his heart was with food. He soon found himself avoiding the kitchen when he smelled her cooking something up it there. Arthur wasn’t much better. He was so jovial around this time of year, and Sirius never did understand how he could keep such a jolly demeanor. Christmas no doubt strained his vault this time of year, and Molly feverently worked on sweaters around the clock. He was slowly going mad listening to the needles she jinxed to knit be themselves in the corner.

Dumbledore was the worst. He was in a great mood all the time, but this time of year it was intensified greatly. When he arrived at Grimmauld Place, Sirius could smell the fresh cut pine trees on him, and the smell of ginger wafted off of him. It brought back memories of Christmas’s in the past, ones whiled away at Hogwarts, plotting with his friends. As much as he tried to get rid of them, they were there, something would trigger his memory and it would start like an old machine, throwing him images that only served to make his heart just a little colder and harder.

Some were funny, like the time they had slipped a poinsettia potion into Peter’s pumpkin juice. They were aiming to turn his skin a brilliant red, but having obtained a muggle poinsettia on accident, the prank had gone horribly wrong. But the look on Peter’s face as he had to ask Madame Pomfrey for a quick and much needed Stool Stopper potion was priceless.

Others made him nostalgic; there was an image of Lilly and James’s first kiss. No one else knew that he had seen it; he was on his way to the kitchens and ducked aside as he spotted them. As James pointed to the mistletoe, Sirius wanted to laugh at him so badly, but there was magic in the moment that Lily looked at James. Sirius was awestruck and revenant as he watched his best mate plant a kiss on her scarlet lips. Time stood still as James passed a hallmark in a wizard’s life. Sirius never told anyone of that memory, Sirius kept it guarded as a testament to the special relationship that Lily and James shared.

Some memories confused him, he felt as though they were foreshadows of what was to come. There was the Christmas party in the Gryffindor Common Room and the marauders had exchanged their gifts to each other. Boys never knew the proper gift to give, and they were mostly gags and sweets. Peter had passed a small box to Sirius and he lad laughed when he opened it. Peter had always had a deranged sense of humor, despite the awkward façade he presented. Sirius opened the box and found a single cherry cordial chocolate finger, purchased at a joke shop. Peter had completed the gag by making one of his own fingers invisible for the night. They had all shared a hearty laugh over it, but if only they could have seen what was to come! Sirius was disgusted by it now.

Sirius paced from room to room, anger over the holiday brewing in him. It just wasn’t fair. He desperately wanted for this to be a happy time again, but so much weighed on his mind that he simply couldn’t find it in himself to join the festivities. When he did make the effort, it was strained and shallow. Harry seemed to notice his reservations and tried to goad him into happiness, but this time of the year meant nothing but despair for Sirius.

Arthur found him contemplating the tapestry and quietly approached him. Sirius was startled by his appearance and turned on his friend harshly. Arthur had looked abashed for a moment and tentatively asked him if he wanted to join them at the table for a family meal. Sirius declined, he felt his bitterness creeping up on him, but instead of the words escaping as regretful, they came out tinged with anger. Arthur silently left the room and Sirius made his way to his room. A good sleep would clear these cobwebs from his mind; he knew that that was the thing he needed. A good lie in would do him some good.

He walked into his room and shut the door. He latched it, not wanting to be disturbed for the night. As he turned and gazed at the bed he was startled to see a man seated at the end of it, boring his pale eyes into Sirius’s. The man had shaggy hair and a gaunt face and was almost the image of Sirius.

“Regulus! But you’re dead.” Sirius was not happy to see the image of his dead brother perched on the edge of his bed. Maybe the stress of the holidays was getting to him.

“I have warnings for you, brother. Things that you need to hear. I have to teach you something.” Regulus’s voice was a haunted rasp of what it used to be.

“What is there that you could possible teach me? We went separate ways, brother.” Sirius paused after spitting out the last word. “Please leave. I have nothing to discuss with you.” Sirius pulled his robes off and changed into his nightclothes. When he turned, Regulus was at his heels, standing so close that Sirius could smell the grave dust sifting off him.

“Do not make the same mistakes that I have, brother. Do not let your bitterness dictate your actions. If you are intent upon ignoring me, if you will not hear what I have to say to you, I understand. I am damned to tell you these things, relive all of my most shameful moments for all of eternity, do not let your path meander in the wake of mine. Three will come to you this night and make you aware of the seriousness of the situation you have fallen into.” With that, Regulus vanished, and nothing was in his place, save for a small trace of dirt.

Sirius shook his head. He blamed the vision on his stubborn refusal of Molly’s food, his weariness and his foul mood for the last few days. Surely the visage of his brother had simply been his subconscious mind telling him to cheer up. What a dry sense of humor his mind had to send a corpse of his brother with the message. He closed his eyes and a wave of fitful sleep engulfed him.

It was still dark when Sirius opened his eyes. He walked to the window where he could still see snow swirling about and sighed. There was no sleep to come to him tonight. He watched as the ebony clock in the corner ticked the minutes past.

He ambled back to his bed and pulled his covers around him tight to stave off the chill that crept into his room as the hours passed. Muffled by the snow, he heard the lonely whistle of a train undulating into the night. He shivered and pulled the sheets even closer.

It was now the hour of one, and nothing yet had happened. Sirius started to laugh at his own foolishness and was about to make his way to the kitchen. Surely a bit of Molly’s famous pumpkin roll would settle his stomach and chase away these visions he was having. Before he could step a foot from his bed, he stopped cold.

A curious noise carried to his ears. It was the clanking of manacles. He could hear that sound clear as a bell over the loudest clamor, and the memories it evoked now caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation. His fine tuned animagus senses told him that there was something else with him in the room, and it was an unearthly thing, he knew it. His heart rose in his throat, for he knew that this being was not like the ghosts of his alma mater, it would not be friendly.
The chill in the air had intensified so much that he could see the tendrils of frosted air as they floated away from his mouth. He felt childish for at that moment, with his foot suspended awkwardly out of the bed, then the clock in the corner chimed.

The sound reverberated through the room like a shockwave. A solitary stroke of one. That dreaded hour of the night. There was no more frosty air from Sirius’s face as he stopped breathing for the moment. As the sound settled on the room like a layer of dust, there was a thick silence, and then the clanking of the chains resumed.

Sirius moved so quickly that his movements would have been blurred to the onlooker. So spooked was he, that he did the only rational thing he could think of. He pulled the bed sheets over his head and squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears.

But some things mean for their tomes to be heard. The din of manacles as a specter approached haunted Sirius to no end, and he felt his bones grow cold as nearer and nearer they drew. A hand, weighted by the burden of said incumbents, pulled the covers back and Sirius opened his eyes.

Dark murky brown eyes peered into his very own. Sirius almost screamed at the closeness of the visage and drew away from it in revulsion. The eyes were glazed and seemed to have a glaze on them that was reminiscent of the frost that graced the windowpane.

The specter stood still, pulling itself to its full height and loomed over the bed. It said nothing for the moment, waiting it seemed. The face was unlined, the eyes hollow and deep at the same time. Ageless it seemed; no passing years seemed to have left their tacks on the features. It was clad in curious garments, ones that Sirius knew quite well. Although instead of being a dinged and dirty look, they were made of the purest white, never before had he seen his Azkaban robes in such brilliance? The being that donned them had thick arms and legs, well-muscled and felt recognition creeping up on him as his terror receded. Surely this being would bring him no ill omens.

James Potter never could bear to bring bad news to his best mate.

“James. James. Why are you here at the hour of one? Are you the being that my brother had announced?” Sirius shook his head, not understanding what the meaning of this visit was.

“I am.” James’s voice carried no resonation; the timbre fell as though hitting a wall of wool. There was no echo against the wooden floors, and Sirius’s own voice seemed a shout, even though it rose no higher than a whisper.

“What happened to you? You’re dead, and wearing my clothes? What is this madness?” Sirius knew that the clothes and chains that his friend wore were not in fact his, but logic had failed him when he first gazed into James’s eyes.

“I am the Specter of Christmas Past.” The being moved forward slightly, his movements so slight that it seemed as though he floated.

“My past? What do I need to see my past for? I was there for it. I remember it.” Sirius was getting agitated at this point. He had passed thinking that this was a hallucination due to hunger and now simply sought answers to his questions.

Something strange welled in Sirius’s chest and he rose from the bed and grabbed a robe. He averted his eyes from James and held out another robe for the specter to wear. The sight of his prison robes was too much for him to bear to look at and he wanted them out of his sight if he were to talk candidly with him.

“You wish me to cover that which you have made? I wear these because it was your passions that thus brought me forth in this state of dress. Your unbridled emotions that curse me to wear these shackles as I so do.” The deceased hand took the rode and was quiet as Sirius apologized his offense. But the spirit sensed that he would find no logic in the man unless he did as instructed, and with that he covered the robes with the new one.

“I ask again what brings you here?” Sirius looked at the now faceable ghost of his friend.

“Your welfare, Sirius Black.” With nothing more, the spirit held out an arm.

Sirius looked back at his bed and again the thought that this was all a horrible dream washed over him. Maybe if he just fell back asleep, Molly would wake him up with the morning, and he could forget that this had ever taken place.

“You will come with me, for I do not stand in the haze of dream.” When Sirius hesitated, the spirit looked at him with fire in his gaze. Despite the heat of the stare, Sirius was chilled to the core.

Sirius took a step forward and allowed his arm to be taken by the cool embrace of the specter. They stood at the window, which opened at a glance from the specter. Sirius felt the deep chill of the London air as it rushed past the sill. He was dressed in nothing but his nightclothes and didn’t dare step any closer to the freezing chill beyond. The hand that held him, though slight as a doxy’s flutter, pulled him forward with the ease of a threstal. Sirius objected, surely the door was more proper than the second story window?

“James, mate, I’ll fall and kill myself if we exit through the window.” Sirius did not attempt to pull away.

“If you can so stand for me to reach you here,” the spirit said, laying a hand over Sirius’s rapidly beating heart, “You will be held high in more ways that you could ever imagine.”

No sooner than the words were spoken than all of Sirius’s doubts were thrown to the ice in the air. They rushed out the window and the feeling was recumbent of a portkey, but Sirius knew that this was no charm…