Chapter Text
Upon hearing the ringing of the doorbell, Sirius runs down the stairs so quickly that he trips twice and actually vaults over Kreacher as he makes his way down to answer it.
“Master Sirius –” the house elf croaks, ducking as Sirius leaps over his head.
“I got it, Kreacher, don’t worry about it,” Sirius calls over his shoulder, skidding through the foyer.
“Sirius, what have I told you about running in the house?” he hears his mother shout from one of the landings, two floors up, he estimates.
“To not do it!” he yells back. “Sorry!”
He’s stopped running at this point, purely because he’s reached the front door. Sirius pauses for a moment to catch his breath, but nearly immediately afterwards flings the door open to reveal James Potter standing on the step, a duffel bag in hand and a grin on his face.
“Good morning, arsehole,” Sirius says, leaning against the door frame. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
James laughs. “Why is it that every time I see one of my friends after an excruciatingly unbearable time apart, I get called some sort of name?”
Sirius shrugs. “It’s tradition at this point. I mean, I think it’s only happened once, but I can guarantee that Remus and Pete will do it when we see them again.” He steps back and opens the door wider so that James can come in. “What, did your mum and dad just drop you off?”
“No, I took the Knight Bus,” James says as he shoulders his bag and steps inside. The minute he’s through the door, he pulls Sirius into a crushing hug; Sirius notes with some dismay that in the month they’ve been apart, for every inch Sirius grew, he thinks James grew two. “Decided to try and be adventurous and figure out getting places on my own, and it isn’t like they couldn’t take me exactly where I needed to go. Whoa,” he says, letting go of Sirius and looking around.
“Whoa what?” Sirius repeats, shutting the door and leading the way further into the house.
“Tall ceilings,” James says, looking up. “Also, side note, very… classical décor.”
Sirius lets out a quick laugh. “It’s okay, it’s decorated like the Victorian era, you can say it.”
James shrugs, then says in a high pitched voice, “No, I wasn’t gonna say anything, I just think it’s very traditional.”
“Yeah, that’s the point, I think. My mum wants to redo it but I don’t think she can reconcile tearing everything out. You know, generations of our family have lived here, it’s a part of our history, et cetera. Speaking of which, you should come and like, properly meet her.”
“I’m scared,” James says, in a voice that sounds like he isn’t scared at all, or maybe that he is, a bit, and he’s just saying that. “What if she doesn’t like me?”
“Nonsense, you’re from a respectable, super pureblood family, what could go wrong?” Sirius says, waving his hand through the air nonchalantly. “Come on, we’ll go drop your things in my room and go see her, I think she’s in the parlor.”
“You have a parlor? What is this, 1862?”
“Shut up, come on.” They head up the steps, stepping past Kreacher, who’s just reaching the ground floor. “Kreacher, this is James, he’s staying with us for the week,” Sirius says as they pass.
Kreacher gives James a very critical look but bows stiffly and says, somewhat reluctantly, “Kreacher is here to serve,” before shuffling off with his feather duster in hand.
James watches him go before starting up the stairs again. “Why didn’t he just Apparate down the stairs? He doesn’t seem like his knees are that great.”
“I don’t know. He’s really stubborn. He was probably inspecting the banisters for specks of dust.”
“Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He doesn’t like strangers. Come to think of it, I don’t think he even likes me and he’s known me since birth.”
They reach the second floor and Sirius signals James to head in the direction of the parlor, a little bit down the hall. He pokes his head around the frame of the door for a fraction of a moment and then just as quickly moves it back to direct his attention to James.
“Okay, she has a guest.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Sirius grimaces. “Not really, but it’s my aunt Druella and they’re no doubt talking about family shit and together they get very critical, so just. Mate, tuck in your shirt.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, Druella will pick you apart, just – James did you come straight from your bed? Do you own a comb?”
James reaches up and pats his hair. “It just does this.”
“It’ll be fine,” Sirius says. “I just don’t want to give my parents an excuse to tell me that I shouldn’t be hanging around with you, you know? I mean, we already pretty much know what they think of Pete and Remus.”
“Sirius?” his mother’s voice says from inside the room. “Are you going to continue lingering in the hallway or are you going to bring your friend in and introduce us?”
“Coming,” he replies in a slightly raised voice. “Let’s go,” he whispers to James, who raises his eyebrows but follows Sirius into the parlor.
Sirius thinks that maybe he was a little harsh to James just now. There’s something profoundly weird about being in his home with James, especially after what they found out after exams at the end of last term. He knows that he’s not doing anything wrong, that James is actually probably a viable choice of friend in the eyes of his family, that as long as neither of them make waves, there shouldn’t be a problem.
Despite that knowledge, Sirius can’t stop thinking about what Narcissa had told him and what that means going forward.
Sirius isn’t stupid. He knows that he’s rapidly approaching the age when he’s going to start being included in the discussions that his father has with who he can only refer to as his business partners. Sirius doesn’t think his father counts any of them as his friends. But he knows that someday soon, he’s going to be invited into the meetings, into the small circle that he’d eavesdropped on that Christmas, and the more he thinks about it, the less he wants to be involved in that group at all.
He wants things to stay the way they are. He wants his friends to be his friends and he wants his parents to like them. He wants James to make a good impression on his parents and he wants them to like Peter and Remus just as much when they someday meet them properly as well. And maybe, he wants to get to the point with his family that maybe they’ll be willing to let tradition go for long enough to expand their social circle and open themselves up to more than just the same conversations with the same people, day after day, year after year.
This is why he thinks introducing James to his mother and having it go well might be a good place to start. He isn’t sure at all how effective it might be, but he thinks he should at least try.
His mother is sitting on the sofa with his aunt Druella on the opposite end. Both of them look up when the boys enter, Druella with an undisguised expression of curiosity and his mother with guarded eyes but a small smile.
Sirius feels like he’s presenting something he’s worked hard on to a committee. “Mum, Aunt Druella, this is my friend, James Potter.”
James doesn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly a little intimidated by the sight of Walburga Black, the picture of class and elegance and old fucking money, seated on the sofa with impeccable posture and an outfit that Sirius thinks is far too formal for a Tuesday afternoon but is ordinary for her. That isn’t surprising, Sirius is intimidated and he’s spent the majority of his life in the company of both of these women.
Sirius clears his throat, just barely, and James says, “Oh! Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” and reaches out to shake both of their hands.
“Aren’t you darling,” Sirius’ mother says, her smile turning into more of a real one. “You’re in Sirius’ year, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” James replies, eyes a little wide behind his glasses. “We’re roommates.”
“Your parents,” Druella interrupts, leaning forward a little. Sirius’ mother glances over to his aunt but she doesn’t speak. “Is your father Fleamont Potter? The potioneer?”
“Yes, he is,” James replies after a beat. “But he’s retired now, he sold Sleekeazy’s when I was born.”
“Well, we all have our roots in commerce somewhere,” Druella replies dismissively, and Sirius doesn’t like the way she’s speaking to James, but he doesn’t say anything.
There’s a bit of a pause. James says quickly, as though to make sure the silence doesn’t stretch for too long, “Thank you for opening your home to me, I’m very glad to be able to visit Sirius.”
“Of course, dear, you’re very welcome in our home. And of course, I assume you’ll be attending the end of summer party at the manor with us on Saturday.”
“Oh, of course,” James replies, remarkably smoothly, especially given that Sirius had completely forgotten to tell him about that. “I’ve been looking forward to it all summer.”
His mother smiles at James again and seems to be trying not to laugh. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful evening. Sirius, why don’t you take our guest to your room to get settled in?”
“Okay, thanks,” Sirius replies, grabbing James’ arm to kickstart his steps out of the room.
“It was nice to meet you,” James manages as they leave the room.
“Well,” Sirius says as soon as they’re back in the hall and climbing another set of stairs to get to the bedrooms. “That went well.”
“Did it? Did they hate me?”
Sirius laughs a little bit. “I don’t know. Maybe. It didn’t seem like it. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“Thanks, mate, that’s really encouraging.”
They reach Sirius’ room, pausing at the closed door for a moment before Sirius says, “So, just a warning, I've literally never had anyone over in my room who hasn’t known me since birth, so I don’t know if they décor is weird or not.”
James snorts. “Why would the décor be weird?”
“I don’t know! I’m not an interior decorator! My mum designed the bedroom.” Sirius opens the door and pushes it open, leading the way inside.
“Was that the only part of the house that she could control?” James asks, a hint of a laugh running through his words. “The parlor was something else.”
“Just wait until you see the manor house,” Sirius replies as James sets his bag down on the floor by the wardrobe. “It’s... an experience.”
“Well, let me just say, I can’t wait for that,” James says. He stands up from putting down his bag and looks around. “Oh, this is nice.”
Sirius looks around as well. James is right. His room does look quite nice, most noticeably because Sirius actually cleaned up the clothes that he’d had strewn across the floor mere hours previously. He knows that Kreacher could tidy everything for him, but to be honest, Sirius doesn’t like the idea of someone being in his room and touching his things and moving them around, even if it’s Kreacher’s job to do that. Sirius will concede to letting Kreacher do the washing, but any other circumstance of someone rifling through his space, even for the sake of cleaning, is something that makes him feel uneasy.
Maybe it’s just his less than stellar relationship with the house-elf, but Sirius has just always had a firm closed-door policy. That being said, it’s made it a bit easier to sparingly decorate his room how he’d like to, given that he’s the only one who really goes in and out. It's this decoration that James is surveying currently, taking in the little Gryffindor banner above Sirius’ bed and the collection of papers and photographs pinned on the corkboard across from the wardrobe next to the bookshelf and the framed, immobile photo of the four of them at the end of their first year that Peter had managed to take by setting up a timer, just before they’d gotten on the train to head home.
Sirius likes that picture a lot. He thinks there’s something kind of fascinating about the fact that Muggle photos take an instant in time and freeze it, and that nothing will ever be like that again. However, Sirius won’t exactly complain about things not being like that again; he’s got shorter hair in that picture than he’s grown to like and as he remembers it, there was a spot on his nose that’s gone undetectable purely because of the angle of the photo, and Sirius would like to avoid having to have that particular spot again if possible.
But this picture had been the one he’d chosen to get blown up slightly so that he could have it framed mostly because of the way his friends had looked. James' smile was huge and his glasses had been flashing in the light, his arm around Peter’s shoulders and latched onto Remus’ arm slightly, the only one properly posing for the picture; Peter looked as though he’d been a bit preoccupied by positioning people correctly for the photo but had been caught mid-laugh as Sirius had reached across Remus to poke him in the stomach, causing him to double over slightly; Remus had already been taller than the rest of them and had not been looking at the camera at all, his attention caught by Peter’s laugh and one of his own on his way out of his mouth, the morning light making his freckles stand out; Sirius had been on the end, ducking low, reaching for Peter but still managing to turn towards the camera with a cheesy smile of his own.
He thinks he might like that picture most of all because it was something that only belonged to the four of them; they hadn’t asked anyone to help them take it and pretty much everyone had already been on the train. It was a moment that had just been for them.
James makes a beeline for the picture, weaving past the little cot that they’d set up on Sirius’ floor for him. He picks up the frame and looks intently at the picture, then says, “Ha! You look like an egg.”