The Christmas tree was taller than either of you expected.

Remus stood in the doorway of the sitting room, hands on his hips, staring at it with mild disbelief.

“I’m fairly certain it wasn’t that tall when we bought it.”

You tilted your head. “It definitely was.”

He sighed, already smiling. “Right. Then this is entirely my fault for being optimistic.”

Getting it inside was a project in itself — pine needles everywhere, the base stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Remus knelt on the floor, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes as he adjusted the stand with careful concentration.

“Hold it steady,” he said gently.

“I am holding it steady.”

The tree leaned.

Remus flinched. “You’re absolutely not holding it steady.”

You laughed as he reached out instinctively, hands catching the trunk before it could topple.

“Alright,” he said, breathless but amused. “Let’s try again. Slowly. Together.”

Once the tree was finally upright, the room smelled like pine and warmth. You plugged in the lights, handing the tangled strand to Remus.

“I can untangle these,” he offered.

“You said that last year,” you teased.

“And I succeeded.”

“You gave up after five minutes.”

“…I regrouped.”

Still, he worked at it patiently, tongue caught between his teeth as he freed knot after knot. When the lights finally flickered on, warm and golden, he looked absurdly proud.

“Oh,” he murmured. “That is lovely.”

You draped tinsel while Remus handed you ornaments one by one, pausing every so often to examine one more closely.

“This one’s from the year Sirius enchanted it to sing,” he said, smiling faintly. “Nearly drove Minerva mad.”

You laughed. “You look fond.”

He shrugged softly. “It’s nice to remember the good parts.”