Chapter 183: Christmas Feast
The "Christmas tree" Sirius had prepared was actually a withered cypress transfigured into shape. Its branches were hung with glowing candies, while Kreacher muttered to himself, stuffing struggling doxies into decorative ornaments.
"Kreacher, what are you doing?" Sirius barked, stopping him at once.
Grumbling under his breath, Kreacher crushed the doxy in his hand into pulp and tossed it into the trash.
A rich, mouthwatering aroma drifted from the dining table.
Ron stared at the centerpiece—a roasted peacock—swallowing hard.
"Isn't the fire on its tail a bit too much? And… shouldn't we be eating turkey?"
"Black family tradition," Sirius replied, flicking his wand to dim the blue flames flickering along the peacock's tail.
"You lot have way too many traditions," Ron muttered.
Sirius chuckled lightly.
Honestly, he agreed.
The Black family had far too many traditions.
"In the seventeenth century, one of our ancestors decided to replace turkey with peacock—just to show off wealth."
"Though, as I understand it, it also had something to do with a feud with the Malfoys."
"Apparently, the peacock was stolen straight from Malfoy Manor… it was their favorite pet at the time."
"…Alright, that's impressive," Ron grinned. Anything that embarrassed the Malfoys was automatically good in his book.
Wednesday poked at the glowing green pudding on her plate.
"It looks like a slime."
"A slime?" Hermione frowned slightly, pushing her butterbeer aside. "Is that some kind of magical creature?"
"Hermione, you don't know slimes?" Russell looked genuinely surprised. "They're from Muggle stories—kind of like gelatin, soft and bouncy."
"…Oh! I think I've heard of those," Hermione said, tapping her chin. "Are they the—"
She was cut off—
"AAH!"
Ron yelped.
The gingerbread man he had sneakily grabbed suddenly bit down on his finger, crumbs spraying all over his scarf.
"So… what's Christmas dinner like in Azkaban?"
Wednesday turned to Sirius, her curiosity unmistakable.
Sirius slowly swirled his goblet, frost forming along its rim.
"The Dementors bring you… something," he said quietly. "Maybe meat. Maybe powdered stone. Depends on what they've been doing that day."
"One year, a storm flooded the northern wing. My Christmas 'gift' was rainwater dripping onto my left foot."
"…Since then, I can tell whether rainwater comes from the North Sea or the English Channel—just by taste."
He paused.
"You know what Dementors are?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued.
"They wear tattered cloaks. Their bodies look like they've rotted in water… hands covered in scabs."
"Wherever they pass, they drain all happiness—forcing you to relive your worst memories."
"And beneath their hoods…"
"…they have a mouth that consumes souls."
"The Dementor's Kiss."
As he spoke, Sirius's face grew noticeably paler.
Even now—
The memory still lingered.
Harry's knife and fork froze midair, while Wednesday tapped her black fingernails lightly against the table.
"Did prolonged exposure to Dementors enhance your mental defense mechanisms?"
"More accurately," Sirius said with a wink, "it taught me how to build an amusement park inside my own mind."
"At one point, I spent three months reconstructing the Hogwarts kitchens in my head—every stitch on the house-elves' aprons perfectly remembered. Thank Merlin for that… the first pie I ate after getting out tasted exactly like I remembered."
Hermione's face paled as she looked at him with quiet sympathy.
At that moment, Kreacher shuffled in, placing a flaming Christmas pudding on the table. The flickering firelight illuminated the faint redness in everyone's eyes.
"The portrait of Mrs. Black is yelling again," Ron said, pointing toward the hallway, where furious cries of "defiling noble bloodlines!" echoed.
"Should we cover her with the curtain again?"
"No need."
Sirius passed around slices of glowing raspberry pie.
"Let her listen to what a real family gathering sounds like. At least tonight, our voices are better than her screaming."
Wednesday turned toward Russell, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"Russell, do you know how to deal with Dementors? I'd like to—"
"Don't even think about it," Russell cut in immediately. "They're all in Azkaban. Way too dangerous."
"Well, actually, Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense, page 362 mentions—"
Hermione didn't get to finish.
"AAAGH!"
Ron howled.
He had accidentally drunk the eyeball-shaped juice Wednesday brought—his tongue was rapidly turning into a salamander.
Without hesitation, Wednesday popped a piece of candy into his mouth. Moments later, Ron returned to normal.
Russell raised his crystal goblet, filled with blood-red juice.
"To the survivors of Azkaban."
"To the Christmas feast," Sirius added.
Their glasses clinked, sparking faint bursts of light. The Christmas tree suddenly burst into an off-key rendition of Christmas Bells.
When Kreacher brought out purple-steaming eggnog, Wednesday suddenly tapped her crystal glass with her fork. The sound rang out like the opening beat of a funeral march.
"At the Addams estate," she said calmly, her pale fingers twisting a napkin into a strip of black gauze, "all the Addams across Britain gather for Christmas. At night, we play a game in the garden—digging up the dead."
She tilted her head slightly.
"It's quite enjoyable. If you'd like, I could take you sometime."
Hermione's spoon froze midair.
"…That's… a family tradition?"
"More or less."
Wednesday sliced into a cake oozing red syrup.
"At least we don't use house-elf skulls as decorations—right, Kreacher?"
Kreacher, who had been watching from the side, trembled violently.
"The noble lady is correct! Kreacher's ugly head is only fit to prop up a stew pot—"
Sirius flicked his wand, silencing him instantly.
"Go on, Wednesday," Sirius said with interest. "Do you sing carols when you open presents?"
"Disassemble presents," she corrected.
"Last year, Pugsley opened a giant python Uncle Medivh gave him. There was still one of Uncle's rivals inside its stomach."
"Muggle Christmas sounds much more normal," Hermione said, pressing down a pepper shaker that was trying to crawl away.
"You wake up early because your cousin jumps on your bed. The house smells like roast turkey and oranges. After the Queen's speech, my dad pretends he found Santa's cavity under a dental chair…"
Harry glanced at Sirius.
The man was listening intently—so absorbed that he was unknowingly shredding his steak into pieces.
"We kiss under the mistletoe," Hermione added, her ears turning slightly red. "Just on the cheek! Mum insists on family photos… though one year, the flash scared away a real robin that had flown into the house…"