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( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖔𝖓𝖊 ) — a wonderful christmas time
Everybody had spent the rest of the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Sirius was in an exceptionally good mood; he was actually singing carols, delighted to have company other than a brooding werewolf over for Christmas.
His voice echoed through out the usually cold and empty drawing room, which seemed to have been infected by the festive joy through the house. There was a hearty fire roaring in the serpent-embossed fireplace, the quilted-button leather lounges had been dusted with a jolly green sheen, and the grand piano was laden with Christmas crackers. Even a ten-foot tall tree had been erected in the corner of the room, much to Kreacher's chagrin, who had choked on a few pine needles.
Before the transformation, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place reminded Evangeline too much of Rosier Manor. Emerald and silver no longer brought her much comfort, so she was delighted with the way the house had turned out come Christmas Eve.
As per usual, Molly had barricaded herself in the basement kitchen, accompanied by a battered and bruised Arthur who had gotten out of St. Mungo's the morning of December 24th. Hermione, who had shown up a few days earlier, was chasing around Crookshanks and begging him to stop bothering Kreacher. Sirius was busy entertaining Ginny by transforming to and from dog-form, whilst Remus shared some tricks from his Hogwarts days with Fred and George. Ron and Harry were somewhere upstairs doing who knew what, and Evangeline was easing herself back into playing the piano.
It was a slower rendition of ❛Clair De Lune❜, yet it didn't fail to raise goosebumps over your skin and make the little hairs on the back of your arms stand straight. The brunette hadn't played since the summer she was disowned, yet the years of practice had served her well. The melody flowed beautifully into the moon-drenched sky through a cracked window until Sirius decided it was time for some dancing and charmed the keys to play themselves.
''You can take the girl out of the pure-blood, but you can't take the pure-blood out of the girl,'' the Black man joked as he twirled her through the drawing-room.
Evangeline's dressed shimmered mesmerizingly in the dimly-lit room. It was a heavy gown, with an alluring applique of black lace down the bodice, and a skirt of golden sequins that glittered as they bathed in the flames from the candle's reflective flames.
Remus watched the scene with bated breath as one thought continued to play repetitively in his mind: the Rosier girl looked so beautiful. So completely and utterly beautiful that he didn't deserve someone like her. Someone who was so effortlessly perfect in every way, shape, and form.
