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Title: Yuletide Mourning
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Christmas at Grimmauld Place: Sirius is an outsider in his own house, but it's worth it for Harry.
AN: There is something odd about the situation of balancing your own beliefs with those of your friends and family in order to make them happy.
He’d tried this year, to make Christmas something that Harry would enjoy. In truth, he knew that if Arthur hadn’t been bitten, then Harry would have spent the holidays at Hogwarts as he always did, and Sirius wouldn’t have had a chance to see him until (possibly) the following summer. And regardless of the fact that Christmas wasn’t a holiday Sirius celebrated, Christmas it was. Such was the trial of hosting mudbloods and blood traitors over the Yule season.
His fixed smile turned a little sharp at the edges. His mother, at least, would be pirouetting in her grave; he could take comfort from that.
He’d conjured bunting similar to what he’d remembered from Christmases at the Potters’ and Godric’s Hollow, and he’d sung the carols James had taught him and relished every cringe from his ancestors just as much as Harry’s smile. Harry had even joined in a couple of times, soft and shy, and Sirius had liked that best of all – James carols becoming Harry’s. He’d set up a tree decorated with red and gold and candles that were enchanted not to spread their flames and burn the house down. Next to that, the Yule log had gone unnoticed, and if anyone had seen the old carving of the Crone in the corner of the drawing room then they hadn’t said a word about that either.
The last Yule he’d spent at home, he and Reg had smudged ashes from the log on their faces and worked together to steal goblets of mulled wine. It was the last time they’d acted like the brothers they were. This Yule he’d spent in silence, banned from speaking of his own traditions in his own house (the Old Ways are only for Dark wizards now), and he remained silent days later. An outsider looking in on a world he wasn’t part of.
He’d never understood the love people could have for a god who wouldn’t suffer a witch to live.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Christmas at Grimmauld Place: Sirius is an outsider in his own house, but it's worth it for Harry.
AN: There is something odd about the situation of balancing your own beliefs with those of your friends and family in order to make them happy.
He’d tried this year, to make Christmas something that Harry would enjoy. In truth, he knew that if Arthur hadn’t been bitten, then Harry would have spent the holidays at Hogwarts as he always did, and Sirius wouldn’t have had a chance to see him until (possibly) the following summer. And regardless of the fact that Christmas wasn’t a holiday Sirius celebrated, Christmas it was. Such was the trial of hosting mudbloods and blood traitors over the Yule season.
His fixed smile turned a little sharp at the edges. His mother, at least, would be pirouetting in her grave; he could take comfort from that.
He’d conjured bunting similar to what he’d remembered from Christmases at the Potters’ and Godric’s Hollow, and he’d sung the carols James had taught him and relished every cringe from his ancestors just as much as Harry’s smile. Harry had even joined in a couple of times, soft and shy, and Sirius had liked that best of all – James carols becoming Harry’s. He’d set up a tree decorated with red and gold and candles that were enchanted not to spread their flames and burn the house down. Next to that, the Yule log had gone unnoticed, and if anyone had seen the old carving of the Crone in the corner of the drawing room then they hadn’t said a word about that either.
The last Yule he’d spent at home, he and Reg had smudged ashes from the log on their faces and worked together to steal goblets of mulled wine. It was the last time they’d acted like the brothers they were. This Yule he’d spent in silence, banned from speaking of his own traditions in his own house (the Old Ways are only for Dark wizards now), and he remained silent days later. An outsider looking in on a world he wasn’t part of.
He’d never understood the love people could have for a god who wouldn’t suffer a witch to live.
