Title: The Best Christmas Gift
Author: Airam
Author E-mail: [email protected]
Category: Drama
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Not so much

Summary: Madam Pomfrey is witness to a little interlude between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin on Christmas Eve. No explicit slash, Remus is unconscious the whole time! (Not that that would stop some people ^-^)

Author's Notes: This is my Christmas present to all my friends. (Yes I am being cocky and assuming you will all want a story by me for Christmas! J) I hope you enjoy this! It's not really about Christmas, but that's ok. It's sorta fluffy and sappy and it can be taken as Sirius/Remus if that's the way you swing it. (I do!) Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Disclaimer: I own Malia, she is mine. So is that Kaleidoscope. I do not own the other characters in this story. They are divvied up into parts by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and other places, I think. They also own the characters' situations. I am not making any money off this story and I don't intend copyright infringement. Thank you!   

The flickering torches were the only light that lit the drafty infirmary. Madam Pomfrey bustled about, doing last minute chores before she retired to her small bedroom that connected to the hospital wing.

 As she approached the only occupied bed in the wing, Poppy looked with sad eyes upon the prone figure of a young boy that lay in the hospital bed. Remus Lupin lay, unconscious still and covered with bruises and gashes. His deplorable body looked peaceful as his battered chest rose and fell with his breathing.  Madam had always been amazed by this child; she had known him since he had been very young and had first gotten bit by a werewolf.

Poor boy, she thought, to have to spend Christmas all alone in the infirmary. For that was what tomorrow was. Tonight: the Eve of Christmas. Slowly the young woman made her way across the infirmary, straightening bedclothes and blowing out candles. She left the lamp burning in the window, a symbolic tradition passed on to her by her own Mother. 

Finally she sank into the cool sheets of her own bed and piled as many quilts as she could on top of herself. She would be cozy tonight. With relish, Poppy opened her dog-eared and battered copy of Oliver Twist to the last place that she remembered reading. Slowly, her eyes began to wander from the page and to fall shut. As she sank into sleep she wished for one thing, for a good night and a merry Christmas for all of her students, her children, but for one in particular, a young boy who had no one to share it with.

~*~*~

Poppy woke slowly from her sleep, as though she were making her way to the surface of a deep pool. Finally, she was able to break to the top and open her eyes. Her reading candle had long since burned down to the stub and went out. Nothing stirred in her room. What had woken her up? Then, suddenly a small noise was heard. It was coming from outside of her room and it sounded very much like crying. Immediately Poppy knew that Remus must have woken finally after his long stretch of sleep and was afraid. Should she go to him? Comfort him? What could she possibly offer? What would you say to someone in circumstances like that?

It was with slow uncertainty that Poppy extracted herself from the mountain of blankets and quilts that covered her. Startled by the chill air, she quickly put on her dressing robe and slippers. As she fumbled for the matches she listened to Remus cry. It was quite a sad sound. It sounded so lost and helpless. Of course it would, she thought, how would you expect it to sound? Finally, abandoning her quest for the matches, she tiptoed out of her room and into the hall that shortly led into the main room of the infirmary. Light from the lamp bounced and played across the shrouded hallway; she had been sure to leave enough oil in it to last all night. She didn't know why she tiptoed except perhaps to avoid interrupting that cherubic weeping that was growing louder now that she got closer.

She stepped quietly into the light of the big room, and almost gasped at the sight before her. It was not, as she had expected, Remus Lupin who was crying. No, another figure, a young boy with soft black curls covering his head, knelt by the bedside, his hands grasping Remus's, and his head bowed. It was he who was weeping. The light from the infirmary danced on his dark skin, making it look rich, and his deep-red robe spread out around him like a pool of blood. His sobs, soft and plaintive, echoed through the room. It was, Poppy realized, Sirius Black.

Sirius was a second year, as was Remus. They were in Gryffindor together, but she had no idea they were close. They had only known each other for a short time, after all. Remus had not been admitted into Hogwarts until just this year, only a few weeks ago in fact. Dumbledore had just taken the position of Headmaster and insisted that the boy be allowed in. And Sirius, she knew, had not been allowed friends as a child growing up. He lived alone with his mother. Adoptive mother, she corrected herself. That's right, and the woman insisted that he remain aloof. Albus had explained both situations to the staff, on separate occasions, and both times Poppy had felt such a sadness for these boys, forced into seclusion; one because of what the people believed him to be, the other what the people did not know.

Slowly she drew herself back into the shadows, continuing to keep her eyes on the boys in the infirmary. She chose not to interrupt the young boy; she couldn't bear to do that. He looked so sweet, his dark Spanish-brown complexion contrasting to Lupin's pale, freckled skin. He cried for someone else, which was, in her opinion, the noblest thing you can do for another person. So many people cry for themselves, because they are not loved, because they don't have what they want, because someone hurt them. It was such a rare thing to find someone who cries, not for themselves, but for another human. Someone who hurts because person another is hurting. How devine, she thought, there was no time when a person was closer to God than when they wept for the pain of another soul. And here in front of her was this beautiful example of such compassion, and of such zealous devotion that she couldn't help but tear up herself.

Suddenly, the boy lifted his head. As Poppy watched he drew from his cloak a small, gold tube. What was it? She didn't have to wonder long. Slowly, in a calm, quiet voice Sirius explained to his Remus what the bauble was.

"It's a kaleidoscope, Remus," he said. "You put your eye up to this end and you look in. Then you can spin it and it makes different patterns." He demonstrated this action to his friend.

For a long moment he paused. "Malia gave it to me," he said. "She adopted me when I was young. But I want you to have it. I know you'll love it. I always did."

Slowly, he placed the kaleidoscope on the table without making a sound, and he rose from his kneeling position at the bedside to stand by the bed. He still grasped Remus's hand in his own. Finally he let it go. It dropped quickly to the bed as Sirius walked, quite silently, out of the hospital wing and back to his dormitory.

Madam Pomfrey watched him go; she would never have the heart, or the courage, to tell him that she had been witness to his emotional display. Nor could she take away house points from him after what she just saw, probably never again. Slowly, she tiptoed to the bed where Remus Lupin slept and picked up his present. She raised it to her eye and smiled in delight as the beautiful colors danced and played before her eyes. She pointed it to the lamp and saw, even more brightly, deep red, gorgeous violet, striking ginger, burgundy, indigo, jade, gold, and silver. What a wonderful gift. But even more that any bedside bauble, she knew the real gift that Sirius Black had given to Remus Lupin that night. Devotion. And compassion, perhaps. Even such beautiful words could not describe what she had seen. Maybe she would try. For Remus, at least.

She went back to her room then, excited at the idea that had sprung into her head. Without thinking she grabbed the lost matches and lit the lamp. Quickly she gathered up all she would need. Parchment, quills, ink, wax and a seal. Setting all these things on her writing table, she sat down and thought. As she though she chewed on the tip of her quill and tapped her fingers on the wood of the table. Then, suddenly, she began to write. Dear Remus…

She wrote until her candle sputtered out, and finally she was finished. She took the letter and slipped it into her desk drawer. To be read by Remus at a later date. Much, much later. Or perhaps never at all. But she would always know the precious gift that had been given to Remus on this Christmas that could have been the worst, but that now could be better, or even, who knows, the best.