All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Second Year : Christmas Eve

By the end of their first day with the Potters, Sirius had decided that he definitely understood all the Christmas fuss. He had always grimaced whenever people brought up the “holiday season,” which in his experience was just as bleak and joyless as any other time at the Black household (although with more family members milling about.) But if he had grown up spending Christmases as James did, Sirius imagined that he would look forward to December with an almost religious fervour.

Before they’d even unpacked, Mr. Potter took them all tramping outside in the snow to toboggan down the high slopes in the back garden—something Walpurga would never allow (snow got your clothes all wet and left you dripping on the hardwood floors that Kreacher had just polished!). Peter popped over from the main village to join them once he heard they had arrived, and they spent the afternoon engaged in a thrilling and ferocious battle involving lots of snowballs and sneak attacks that left them careening down the hills on their toboggans. Mr. Potter even joined in, using magic to make up what he lacked in youthful vigour.

At lunchtime, Mrs. Potter called them all in and didn’t even care when they dripped water onto the carpet—although she did make them change out of their wet clothes (“We can’t have you catching a chill, dear!”). They sat around a roaring fire not unlike that of the Gryffindor common room, and the teacakes she served were so flaky and buttery that they all but melted in Sirius’s mouth (Mrs. Potter didn’t care if they got crumbs on their shirts, and she let them sit cross-legged on the floor to eat).

Sirius and James were eager to go back out into the snow afterwards, but Peter had gone home for lunch and Mr. Potter had gone to lie down. James’s mum didn’t want the three remaining boys out on their own near dark, so instead she recruited them to help decorate the biggest Christmas cake that Sirius had ever seen. They smeared white icing on in layers and stuck in tiny magical figurines made of sugar (Mrs. Potter didn’t care if they got icing on their fingers or the countertop, and she didn’t make James wash the dishes with scalding hot water when he snuck a bite of the cake, just shook her head fondly and frosted over the dent). Once the cake was done, they moved on to wrapping presents for the Potters’ friends and house elves.

As James twisted spell-o-tape around his fingers, Sirius said, “We never got anything for the house elf. Mind you, Kreacher’s a moody git; I doubt he wants anything.”

“They’ll take gifts as long as it’s something edible, I find,” Mrs. Potter replied, smiling (she didn’t care that James and Sirius had all but abandoned gift-wrapping and were wholly involved in playing with the tape; she didn’t snap at them to stay on task or tell them to behave with decorum), “No clothes, of course, that only upsets them.”

“Tell mum what your lot does to house elves, Sirius,” James piped up, reaching for more tape. Sirius shifted self-consciously, but since James had already brought it up he laughed, lightly,

“Mounts their heads. Once they’re dead. At least, I think we wait until they’re dead…Kreacher’s the only house elf I remember.” He hoped Mrs. Potter wouldn’t recoil, wouldn’t think that it was too barbaric. He needed her to like him.

“Goodness,” her eyes widened a bit, but her features remained free of judgment, “I had rather thought that tradition had died out.”

“Not with the Blacks.” Tradition had a way of clinging to life, in his household. Sirius thought of Narcissa and sighed.

“You’re making a lovely job of that Remus,” Mrs. Potter turned to their friend, who was diligently wrapping a book in striped paper. “Unlike some naughty boys I could mention…” She gave a stern look to Sirius and James, who were taping their hands to the tabletop. But there was an amused twinkle in her eye that let them know she wasn’t really upset, not even a little.