Chapter Text
T H I S
James Potter was hanging on by a thread. A thread so thin and worn, it had to have been grinding against the edge of a brick wall for a long time. Twenty-four hours, to be exact. Twenty-four long hours, for the duration of which he hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep. He couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, because whenever he did a terrible image crossed his mind; one he couldn’t seem to shake. It was the image of a cold, pale boy, lying still and alone in bloodied sheets; a mere shadow of the vivid, sarcastic prat he used to be.
Sirius Black was dead. At sixteen years old, James’ best friend had bled out in his own bedroom, at the hands of his own mother. A mother who was probably in Azkaban by now. She deserved worse; James found himself thinking. She deserved worse than Azkaban. If only there was a way to give that monster feelings. If only she could feel, truly, what she had done. If she could grieve, like he did, if she could feel the guilt, like he did. That was what she deserved. And yet, she was shipped off to Azkaban, and James, James was left with nothing but guilt and grief.
“You don’t have to go if you’re not ready, darling. You can always stay here longer.” James was going back to Hogwarts in the morning, and his own mother was an angel. He found himself feeling guilty about that, too. Why had he been given two amazing parents, and Sirius none? If only he could’ve switched places with him, before it was too late. If only he had done something, before it was too late. The painful truth was that he had known. They all had. Sirius had been covered in scars that he hid underneath layers of clothing. It had taken months before he was comfortable with as much as a hug, not to mention the teasing hair ruffle. James had known, and he would never stop hating himself for not doing anything. For not saving Sirius before it was too late.
“I need to go back, mum. It’ll be… good, to see the lads,” he managed, swallowing down on the thick lump in his throat. It wouldn’t be good in the least, he knew that, it would be terrible. But they needed him. Peter and Remus would need him now, and he couldn’t selfishly isolate himself with his perfect parents and ignore the remainder of his second family. Those two boys had been through enough already, they didn’t deserve this. Especially Remus, he couldn’t… James needed to be strong now. For them.
“Well, you can always change your mind, alright? If you want to come home, just owl me.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Now, get some sleep.”
The boy snorted in response as his mother left the bedroom, convinced he wouldn’t be getting any sleep this night either. But this time, as he closed his eyes, he was too tired to picture Sirius dying, all alone. This time, he fell asleep instantly, and in the same moment that he closed his eyes and drifted off, his hazel eyes opened up somewhere else.
T H A T
It was the familiar pop of apparition that woke James up and had him rush to the bedroom window. Despite the fact that it was still dark out, he could make out a figure on the lawn, with awfully familiar dark locks.
As the boy rushed down the stairs, his legs could barely keep up, and the noise of excited, stomping feet on stairs echoed throughout the small house. He shoved the front door open and ran out on the lawn in his pyjamas.
“PADFOOT!” he exclaimed in tears, throwing his arms around the neck of the bloodied boy on the lawn.
“You’re alive!” he cried, holding on to his friend, his brother, for dear life.
“Barely,” Sirius coughed darkly, wincing in pain as he did so.
“MUUM!” James yelled, upon the realization that his best friend had just coughed up blood, terrified that this was it; that he was going to lose his best friend again. That Sirius was going to bleed out right there on the lawn, rather than in his bed at Grimmauld Place.
“Step back, James,” Euphemia ordered as she rushed out onto the lawn, Fleamont close behind.
“Sirius, dear, we need to get you to the hospital, alright?” the elderly woman doted, as she fell down onto her knees next to the battered boy.
“No hospital,” Sirius managed, coughing again, splattering blood onto Euphemia’s white nightgown. “Please.”
“Fine,” she muttered in response, ordering her husband to help her levitate the boy into the living room. Thankfully, the retired witch had once worked at St. Mungos, before her long career at the Ministry of Magic. She managed to put him back together, somehow, eventually leaving one bruised boy and one concerned best friend in the living room for the remainder of the night. While Sirius slept uneasily, James didn’t. He sat by his friend’s side, hazel eyes set firmly on the blankets slowly moving along with Sirius’ breaths.
It had been a nightmare, the boy told himself. He hadn’t lost Sirius – today. He had dreamed of losing him, and he would live in constant fear because of it. Sirius had made it here, to safety, in time. He was alive. Just barely, but still, alive. And that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
“Why were you surprised?” Sirius managed, at the end of the day, still lounged on that same sofa, covered in bandages and blankets.
“What?”
“You were surprised I was alive.”
“Oh, that… it was just a nightmare,” James explained, having nearly convinced himself of it. Sirius didn’t need to say it. It was odd. James had dreamed of Sirius dying by his mother’s hand and woken up to find it minutes away from coming true. Had it been a warning? A premonition? Legilimency?
“James, it’s time for bed now. I know you’re concerned but you need to get some sleep before school starts tomorrow. I’ll keep an eye on Sirius,” Euphemia ordered with a warm smile on her lips, and he couldn’t bring himself to be irritated with his mum, because something felt off. As he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom he could feel the anxiety build up like nausea in his chest, and a thought he didn’t dare think brushed past him; what if this was the dream?