Dreams Are Falling Short

We spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. I couldn’t remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry locked himself upstairs all day, and even when Molly called upstairs around lunch time for food, he didn’t show. It was only around six when Hermione showed up from her Skiing from with her parents did anyone see him. She headed upstairs, determined to talk with him. Ron, Ginny and I waited in Harry and Ron’s room and soon they pair walked in. Harry was rather surprised when he saw us waiting for him.

“I came on the Knight Bus,” said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. “Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr Weasley was in St Mungo’s and he’d given you all permission to visit. So…”

She sat down next to Ginny, and the four of us looked up at Harry.

“How’re you feeling?” asked Hermione.

“Fine,” said Harry stiffly.

“Oh, don’t lie, Harry,” I said impatiently, and he shot me a betrayed look.”

“Ron and Ginny say you’ve been hiding from everyone since you got back from St Mungo’s,” Hermione added on.

“They do, do they?” said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.

“Well, you have!” she said. “And you won’t look at any of us!”

“Maybe we’re taking it in turns to look, and we keep missing each other,” I suggested, the corners of my mouth twitching.

“Very funny,” snapped Harry, turning away.

“Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,” said Hermione sharply. “Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears –“

“Yeah?” growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. “All been talking about me, have you? Well, I’m getting used to it.”

“Oh, Harry,” I said, raising and going to stand beside him. “Stop being so childish.”

Harry only huffed.

“We wanted to talk to you, Harry,” said Ginny, “but as you’ve been hiding ever since we got back –“

“I didn’t want anyone to talk to me,” said Harry.

“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.”

I smiled, knowing she’d caught him out. It was conformed as he remained quite still as the impact of the words hit him and he wheeled round.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, and I knew he meant it.

-

Sirius’ delight at having the house full again, and especially having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer our sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with our help, so that by the time we all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas trees, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius’s family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.

Watching Sirius these past few days made me think what it would’ve been like for him when he was our age; with Harry’s father, James, Lupin and maybe even Peter Pettigrew all sitting around in their Hogwarts dorm room on Christmas morning, their hair all ruffled and long – long uncut because their mothers weren’t around to tell them off – and their eyes sparkling with youth and excitement. I could picture them chattering excitedly around the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall as they passed the plates of food to one another and I could see Harry – free of worry – in his father.

That night, when everyone else had gone to bed, I was still sitting straight backed in bed, with the covers pooled in my lap. George, who I had chosen to share a bed with that night, finally got fed up with having a cold back and rolled out of bed – pulling on a sweater and with crack, he disappeared.

“George?” his brother said, sitting up half already asleep. “Where’d he go?”

I just shrugged in the darkness, and watched as Fred reached over to the bedside table, snatched up his wand sleepily and cast a spell. A small green flame danced at the tip of his wand for a couple of seconds, before it disconnected and floated delicately to his outstretched palm, where it flickered peacefully as we watched. It cast the whole room in an eerie green glow, and for the first real time, despite everything I had seen – everything felt magical – magical in the scary sense and I felt myself shiver.

Fred shuffled to sit against the headboard of his bed, watching me sidelong as he did so. He opened his mouth, almost ready to say something but instead yawning widely. George still hadn’t return after another five minutes, and Fred opened his mouth again a couple of times – before reconsidering and not saying anything, just to try again a few moments later.

“Oh please, just say it,” I said.

“The kiss - what did that –“

There was a loud crack, and George reappeared, a bottle of Firewhiskey in hand. He sat down next to me and twisted off the top with a few delicate flicks of his long fingers. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a swig, making a face as it burnt his throat and he passed the bottle on to me.

I took it gratefully, feeling the weight for a short second so as to see how much damage it could do to me. I raised it – smelling the burn before I tasted it as I felt the cool touch of glass on my lip and the delightful liquid splash onto my tongue. I gulped it down – once, twice, and a final time. Un blinkingly I leant forward to hand the bottle to Fred, who did the same as George and I.

My whole chest felt as if it had come alive with warmth, and I felt almost more than alive. I wanted to reach out to the bottle again, to feel it’s comfortable touch on my palm and its sweet nectar forever on the palate of my mouth.

“We’re not going to get wasted,” George said, smirking as he took the bottle playfully from his brother. “Mum would get so mad at us I think she might actually kick us out on Christmas day.”

Resealing the cap, he slipped it safely into his trunk, under an unfolded pile of clothes and products.

“Get some sleep,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Just try, at least – lie down.”

“It is Christmas tomorrow after all,” Fred said.

We all lay down, pulling blankets up and curling into comfortable positions. Fred still had his wand by him, in ever near presence of his hand. I caught his eye and we stared for a moment, questions unasked floating between us.

Finally, his fingers closed around the little green flame and as the glow died, he said a soft goodnight.