All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

First Year : Christmas 1971

Sirius hated Christmas.

He always had, ever since he could remember. Christmas for the Blacks meant family dinners and boring galas and far too many of Sirius’s relatives hanging about in their dress robes. His mother was always on edge, ready to snap at a moment’s notice under the stress of playing the perfect hostess. His father grew sombre and strict, always watching his sons with a reproachful eye to ensure they did nothing to embarrass him. It was altogether joyless—even the presents were boring, books about family history or dusty heirlooms that served no purpose past decoration.

So as November drew to a close, and December edged brittle and biting into Hogwarts, Sirius grew more and more sullen. While other students chattered about holiday parties and presents and family visits, he scowled and threw himself into his research, spending hours in the library. Even James was becoming insufferable—he kept talking about his mother’s mince pies, or how badly he hoped it would snow.

“Last year my dad apparated us to this huge hill just outside of London—I side-alonged, it felt SO weird—and he charmed the sleds so we wouldn’t fall off, it was unbelievable how fast—”

Sirius slammed his book shut. They were sitting in the common room, next to the roaring fireplace. Remus and Peter were playing a game of gobstones on the floor, and James was holding a quidditch magazine. He hadn’t been reading it, though; instead, he’d been chattering on, once again, about Christmas.

“Do you mind?” Sirius snapped, “I’m trying to read.” James fell silent, and both Peter and Remus glanced up when they heard the book slam (a thick tome on ocular transfiguration). Now, they watched him in tense silence.

“Er…sorry, mate,” James said, awkwardly. Remus’s lips were pursed, like he thought Sirius was being ridiculous, and Peter was looking back down at his gobstones nervously. Sirius knew he wasn’t being fair, but he couldn’t help responding to the sharp prick of irritation he felt at the excitement in James’s voice. They would be boarding the train the following morning, and his own nerves were stretched thin.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, “Too loud to concentrate down here anyway.” He picked up his book and retreated to their room, hoping to make a dignified exit. He was already embarrassed about snapping at James—he got frustrated with Peter all the time, and even Remus, but never James. It felt strange.

Of course, James Potter was too good to hold it against him. That night, when Sirius tiptoed over to his bed, the other boy let him in immediately. Sirius didn’t even have time to speak before James was apologising,

“Look, Sirius, I’m sorry about earlier—I wasn’t thinking, I know that Christmas is rough for you—”

“No!” Sirius gaped, horrified with himself, “No, I should be the one apologising! It’s not your fault my family’s awful. You have every right to be excited—I’ll try to be less of a miserable git.”

They were both smiling, all forgiven, and Sirius felt an incredible sense of relief. What would he do without James Potter?

*  *  *

The next morning, Remus came to see them off at the station. He was staying at Hogwarts over the break—James had invited him to come visit, but apparently there was some sort of complication with the muggle law that meant he wasn’t allowed. James had also invited Sirius to stay with his family—but of course, Sirius had had to refuse. He could only imagine how his parents would respond if he asked to go to the Potters’ for Christmas.