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December 1977
This was always Euphemia's favorite part of a party or gathering. After dinner was well squared away, after the initial hubbub of obligatory mingling had been done, after those who had dropped in just to make a polite appearance had excused themselves. There had been fewer of those this year, one of the few pleasant side effects of looming war and the expanding gulf between political factions. Not that the party hadn't been well-attended, no, for many of Britain's wizards, Euphemia Potter's yearly Christmas party couldn't be missed. But as she surveyed the large tinsel- and holly-lined parlor, watching the small groups that had separated into cozy conversations, there seemed to be a huge hole left by one missing attendee.
“You did it again, my pet,” Monty said, appearing beside her and kissing her temple. She couldn't help but smile, turning to meet his hazel eyes behind his chronically crooked spectacles. He raised an eyebrow, “You're upset.”
“Not upset,” she said, shaking her head, “Just, rather, oh I don't know, I suppose you could say pensive.”
Monty chuckled affectionately, looping his arm around her waist, “Nearly forty years together and I still haven't quite got the knack for naming your feelings.”
“Oh well,” Euphemia kissed his cheek and smiled to show how not-upset she was, “I do have rather a lot of them.”
“Mm,” Monty agreed, and rested his chin on her shoulder, “But we're discussing pensive at present. What brought that on?” Euphemia gave him a significant look and her husband frowned, squeezing her waist a little tighter in understanding, “Sirius?”
“I know Jamie said he's alright...” Euphemia said, her eyes straying like a magnet to her son. He stood—my, but he'd gotten tall!--by the hearth with his friend Peter, talking about something and gesturing with both hands despite the glass he held, while the shorter boy applied himself to a slice of Grasshopper Cake. She wondered if the boys noticed they'd left a space beside them, as if in case of Sirius' sudden arrival.
“Jamie wouldn't lie to us,” Monty pointed out, “I'm sure it's as he said, that Sirius simply didn't want to impose on us any longer.”
“He never imposed--” Euphemia began, stiffening.
“Yes, I know that, love,” Monty assured, “But you know he felt as though he did.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, “But why wouldn't he come for Christmas?”
“Effie...”
“What if he's back with them?” she whispered low, a sick slice of worry sharp behind her ribs. She hadn't even known until she'd said it, but of course that was what she was worried about.
“Wouldn't James have said?” Monty said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. Euphemia watched her son for a moment more before turning back to her husband, seeing her own concern mirrored on his face.
“I don't think Jamie told us everything,” she admitted, hating saying it. She knew her son was an honest man, growing into such a good man, one she was so proud of every day. But all that honesty meant he wasn't a very practiced liar, and something was amiss, she just didn't know what.
“Have you asked him?” Monty asked evenly, openly curious and not the least bit accusatory.
Euphemia shook her head, her Christmas bell earrings tinkling slightly against her jaw, “That's just it, dear, you must've noticed. The very mention of Sirius and he,” she shrugged.
“Yes, I had noticed that,” Monty agreed. He'd have to have been blind not to, honestly. Every time Sirius had come up, her James had not only evaded the topic but grown stiff, secretive, even angry, “I'm sure it's just a quarrel, you know how teenagers are.”
“I hope you're right,” Euphemia said, but deep down, she knew he wasn't. She'd seen quarrels between Sirius and James before. They simmered for a few hours, or maybe a day, before giving way to a few minutes of shouting or punching before they were back to laughing each other as if nothing had ever been as funny as the unspoken joke they both had heard. If it had just been Sirius' sudden moving out, well, that would be one thing. She had never thought the displaced sixteen-year-old they'd taken in would not one day fly the nest, it had never been quite clear how long he meant to stay, though she would have been happy to have him under his roof until he was going grey.
But it wasn't only that. He'd kept his distance at King's Cross in the spring, he'd stayed away all summer when even James' more reticent mate Remus had been for a few days in August. He had been completely silent, completely absent, when for years he and Jamie had begun to seem like a match set, so much so that even she had wondered from time to time if she somehow hadn't noticed giving birth to twins. It hurt, she had to admit, not knowing if he was well or where he was or what he was doing. Like losing a son. Maybe that was foolishness, as she'd only ever had one son of her own, and of course, she was so lucky to have one who was becoming a man she could be so proud of. But Euphemia was not in the habit of denying her own emotions, so she took a deep breath, smelling the pine and sweets and mulled wine of Christmas, and let herself feel the hurt.
Monty kissed her cheek, knowingly, and didn't try to smooth it over with easy platitudes. She leaned into his side, grateful. Grateful for the familiar love between them, grateful for the safety and warmth of her home. She hoped it was safe and warm and loving wherever Sirius was, even if it couldn't be here, near her, where she would have liked.
Just then James tapped his wand against the rim of his glass, smiling a little giddily at the grown-up-ness of signaling a toast that way, “Happy Christmas, all,” he said in that charming way of his of saying something a little formal or corny and making it sound very natural. She glanced at Monty and saw him grinning, knew he loved that same quirk of their son's, “I won't demand your attention long, and I'll let you get back to the serious business of celebrating post-haste,” There were scattered chuckles and then James' hazel eyes, so like Monty's found hers, “I just wanted to toast my mum and dad, not just for always putting on a first-rate shindig,” there were a couple hoots of agreement, but James continued, eyes shining sentimentally and making Euphemia wonder for a second how many glasses of mulled wine he'd put away, “But also for all of their kindness, acceptance, good humor, and warmth. You're the best parents anyone could ask for.”
“To Effie and Monty!” Their guests echoed cheerfully, but Euphemia only had eyes for her son. She followed Monty's lead in following his goofy bow with a curtsy of her own, and tried to put her worries aside with one last wish that the home she had opened to Sirius, however briefly, had at least taught him something about the way a home ought to feel.