Current location:	Berwyn, Pennsylvania
Current mood:	writerly
Current music:	Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Tori Amos
Entry tags:	fic, james/sirius, make the yuletide gay

FIC: The Gift of the Marauders
The following were written for the Make the Yuletide Gay challenge hosted by violet_quill. I requested a buzzword, which was ornaments and the following fic appeared.

Title: The Gift of the Marauders
Rating: PG
Pairing: James/Sirius
Notes: Ripped shamelessly from O. Henry's famous story. Not exactly the fluffiest (or even really slashiest) story you will find, but being as this is me and I am incapable of writing fluff, this is the closest you'll get.



One Galleon and eighty-seven Sickles. That was all. And sixty of it all was in Knuts. Knuts saved one and two at a time by pinching small bits from the grocer down the way (he had the look of a Death Eater about him anyway) and bullying Kreacher into giving up his secret stash until his cheeks burned with the silent humiliation of disownment was necessary to survive. Blast his mother. Sirius didn’t care at all for 12 Grimmauld Place, but he did care that not a whit of the Black fortune would be coming to him, especially when he and James ate quite a lot, and seemed to be eating more every day.

Sirius sighed and looked at the money in his hand. Three times he counted it. One Galleon and eighty-seven Sickles. And tomorrow was Christmas. He at least ought to try and get something for his best mate.

He flopped down on the shabby little couch, stifling the urge to curl up and howl (in his dog form or not). Someone had once told him (maybe it was Remus?) that life was made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. Bloody hell. It just wasn’t fair. He had finally gotten the chops to stand up to his hag of a mother and leave with James but now he was living skint, scrounging about for odd jobs while he and James worked for the Order.

Sirius glanced about the flat. It was a miserable little place, with so little space that he and James practically had to sleep on top of one another (although Sirius wouldn’t have minded too terribly…it was really cold at night after all), leaky taps, and temperamental heat.

Bugger. The heat. With a dying sputter, the last of the lamps flickered and died and the whirr of the generator stopped. Fucking hell. He could feel the wind seep through the chinks in the wall and turned up the collar of his leather jacket about his ears.

The door suddenly flew open, letting in a bitter blast of frigid air.

“Hullo!”

It was Prongs, coming home at last.

“Oi,” Sirius called back.

“Happy Christmas, Padfoot!” With a whump, James dropped something at Sirius’s feet. Skittishly backing away, Sirius saw that it was a pine tree.

“Wot’s zat for?”

“Wot’s it for?” scoffed James. “It’s a Christmas tree, you dolt.”

“What?”

“A Christmas tree---“

“I know what it is, Prongs. But why?”

James shrugged. “I figure since it’s Christmas tomorrow, we might have a bit of cheer to warm us up. Some bloke down the street was selling them for two Galleons each, so I thought to myself, ‘Well Prongs, Christmas only comes once a year, so let’s have a bit of fun, aye?’”

“Two Galleons?” Sirius burst out. “Where on Earth did you get that kind of money?”

James shrugged again. “I dunno, had a bit lying about.”

“You didn’t think you might have used those two Galleons to try and pay this month’s electricity bill?”

“Is that why the flat’s all dark? Thought something was up.”

Sirius crossed his arms crossly. “James. It’s late December. It’s the day before Christmas. We have no electricity, or running water, or heat. I’m freezing my bollocks off and you thought it would be a lark to go off and buy us a tree?”

James glanced at the noble fir he was holding in his hands. “Well, I dunno, I suppose I---“

“Didn’t really think about what you were doing? Thought that me mum suddenly decided to change her mind and help us out with the rent this month? What? What was it?”

James looked slightly sheepish. “Listen, mate, I know you’re upset about your mum and all, which is why I thought that, you know, making the best of our Christmas this year would---“

“Would what? Keep us warm at night? Keep food on the table?”

“I suppose not.”

Sirius glared irritably at James, who shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet behind the tree. With a sound of exasperation, Sirius turned around stalked off angrily, unable to exchange any more words with his best friend. “I’m off to the Leaky Cauldron. At least it’s warm in there. Maybe you’ll catch me later.”

**********

A few firewhiskeys in (and all of his one Galleon and eighty-seven Sickles gone), Sirius was finally feeling a bit warmer and a bit more remorseful. He hadn’t meant to fly off on James like that; he knew that James was trying to cheer him up, especially after having been thrown out of his house. Well, he was going to make up for it, he was. Right. He’ll just…buy something for that ridiculous tree. Yeah, it’ll make Prongs’s holiday. And happy Prongs made him happy.

“I’ll be seeing you, Tom,” Sirius slurred at the barkeep, waving away the lights that were starting to leave vapour trails in his vision.

He stumbled out into the snow, staggering a little bit, but feeling quite comfortable. There. That was a gift he could give James. A crystal stag. S’was nice. Sirius tried to focus his eyes; was it just him or was it not moving? He tapped the glass on the display. Maybe enchanted ornaments went to sleep after dark.

“Oi! Get away from there, you!” The store proprietor came charging out like, well, like a stag, butting Sirius away from the shoppe with glares and threats.

“’M shorry,” Sirius said. “’M jush trying to get a gift for, for my friend.” He lost his balance a bit, making his voice catch on the word “friend.” “That, that prongsie thing, you know, the shtag ornament. S’nice pressie.”

The shopkeep glanced behind him and then eyed Sirius. “You got twenty quid?”

Quid? Sirius blinked. Since when did they decide to change the currency around?

“S’what?”

“Quid, twenty quid. Pounds, kid. You got twenty pounds on you?”

Pounds? Oh bugger, he must have gotten out on the wrong side of the Leaky Cauldron. He was in Muggle London now.

“Ummmmmmmmmmmmmno.” Sirius patted his jacket pockets sadly. “Don’t have any money right now. S’all gone. Prongs he, Prongshie, Prongshie’s gonna be mad at me.”

“Well, can’t help you there, kid.” The shopkeep turned round to go back inside, but paused in the doorway. “Listen, there’s a pawn shop up the way. Decent fellow, will keep things for you. If you have any valuables, you can sell them to him and get your friend a gift.” Sirius wasn’t sure the shopkeep was drunk, but it sounded like he stressed the word “friend” funnily.

“Okay.”

Sirius walked up the road. How he found it was a mystery, but he managed to walk into a little room covered with bits and bobs, manned by a little man covered with bits and bobs.

“Can I help you?”

“Ummmmmmmmyeah. ‘M need some money. I wanna get this nice orna, orna, ormanent for my friend as a Chrishmash pressie.”

“All right, what have you got? Give it right here on the counter, lad. Let’s have a look.”

Sirius rummaged through his pockets. He didn’t have anything, except a bar receipt and some lint. Oh wait, he had his wand. That might do.

“Here.”

The wand clattered noisily on the glass countertop. “15 inches, oak wood, with dragon heartstring, that,” Sirius said proudly. “How much is that worth?”

“What’s this?” The old man peered at the wand over his specs. After some close examination, he thrust it back at Sirius angrily. “I don’t like jokes, boy, and if this is all you have, you’d best be leaving right now.”

Sirius hung his head. He didn’t have anything else worth anything to him, not even the clothes on his back. Wait a minute. His jacket was leather. Wasn’t leather worth something to Muggles?

“How ‘bout this jacket?” Sirius shrugged off the garment and slung it before the old man.

The man peered at Sirius before taking a look at the jacket. “Pah, it’s not even vintage. Twenty pounds, tops.”

“Okay!”
The man stood flabbergasted for a moment before acuminous business sense won over. “All right, twenty quid. Here you go; have a happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas!” Sirius said merrily before tripping over the threshold back into the freezing cold.

**********

The walk home was certainly sobering. The wind had picked up and the night was bitterer than the day had been. Sirius wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up pawning his leather jacket for a ridiculous and, well, gay ornament for his best friend, but what the hell, it was almost Christmas and it would be nice to decorate that stupid tree, if only to please James.

“Hullo!” he called, pushing the door open and making his way up the stairs.

“Oi!” James called back. Sirius walked into the living room, where a fire had been lit, warming the room and creating a cozy feel against the chill of the winter night outside.

“Padfoot, what the fuck did you do with your jacket? It’s freezing out there!”

“Oh, this? Haha,” Sirius scratched his head sheepishly, suddenly feeling awkward. “Well, you see, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, James. Didn’t mean to go off on you like that. I know you meant for the best and well, this is for you,” he finished lamely, thrusting the package into James’s hands.

“What’s this?”

“Just open it. It’s a Christmas present. A bit of, um, holiday cheer and all that.”

James undid the wrapping. The flickering light of the fire reflected off the facets on the crystal stag ornament, causing it glitter brilliantly between James’s fingers.

“Um, thanks, Sirius, but what’s it for?”

“The tree, that bloody tree you were all worked up about. It’s an ornament. Go on, hang it somewhere and let’s have a happy Christmas.”

“Um, can’t quite do that, mate,” James said, glancing awkwardly at his feet.

“What? Why not? I pawned my leather jacket for that, you know.”

“Well, the tree’s there.” James jerked his head towards the fireplace where the chopped up remains of the noble fir were now serving as firewood.

Sirius stared dumbfounded at the fire, trying to figure out exactly what was going on when James laughed. It was soft and low and it made Sirius shiver a little (not from the cold). The little laugh grew into a bigger laugh and then an even bigger laugh until at last his hearty guffaws filled the room.

“Oh Padfoot,” James said, wiping away tears of laughter. His chuckles subsided into a gentle smile. “Oh Padfoot,” he murmured.

Sirius glanced at his friend, feeling little flibbertigibbets fluttering about in his stomach. Damn firewhiskey. He’ll probably be hungover Christmas Day. He didn’t dare look at James’s little smile, which caused the storm of fluttery things in his stomach to increase hundredfold. Sirius started to tremble and moved closer to the fireplace to keep warm.

In a few moments, he felt James’s arms encircle him, calming him, keeping him still. “Happy Christmas, Sirius.”

James’s voice was right at Sirius’s ear and now Sirius was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot.

“Er, happy Christmas, James.”

Or at least, that was what he meant to say, except his words were cut off mid-sentence by James’s lips pressing against his own. Sirius clung to his friend’s arms, marveling at the sweetness of the moment, after foolish sacrifices and silly mistakes had been made by both parties.

They broke the kiss with a murmur and now Sirius smiled.

“So what are we going to do when the fire burns out?” he asked James.

James grinned back.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something.” He stepped in closer. “A very fun something.”

Sirius grinned and stripped off his shirt, figuring he wasn’t going to need it anymore.

FIN



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