Work Text:
There were three things Sirius knew without a shadow of a doubt: he would never, ever, ever be in Slytherin, he was a disgrace to the Black name, and he had the best family (no, not that one) in the whole entire world.
The first certainty came when he was 10 and his mother slapped him so hard he had her handprint on his cheek for two weeks because he dared to say something positive about one of the other houses. He vowed never to be in Slytherin. He wanted nothing to do with a house that hated other people like that.
The second came when he was 11 and his mother screamed it at him through a howler she sent a few days after he’d been sorted. He held the hurt (she was still his mother, after all, and her words still stung) behind bravado and jokes, saying loudly how being a Gryffindor and making her so mad was his greatest accomplishment.
The third came in the summer between his third and fourth years. His mother had been in one of her fits, and Sirius hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying some smart comment that he knew would get him in trouble. She’d been needling at him, purposely getting under his skin so he would snap.
It had worked, and Sirius had paid dearly.
He could barely walk as he snuck into his mother’s room later that evening while she was yelling at the cook about dinner, his eyes stinging with tears.
He knew he had to get away from his mother, knew he couldn’t stay any longer, so he grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into the flames of her bedroom fireplace.
“Fleamont Potter’s House,” he said as clearly as he could through his tears.
Last year, James had noticed the bruises Sirius came to school with, and in typical James fashion had wormed the reason out of him.
“Sirius,” he’d said emphatically, “if you ever need to, come to my place. Use the floo system. If you don’t feel safe, just come, no questions asked. My parents love you.”
“Thanks mate,” Sirius had answered, but never thought he would need to use that invitation.
Today, his mother had gotten meaner than ever, her words and her magic going further than they ever had. He remembered the offer and knew he needed to take it.
Luckily, he had spoken clearly enough, because after the dizzying ride through the flu system, he shot out of the fireplace of the Potter’s home.
James was sitting in the room, reading a book on transfiguration as he lounged on the couch, and he glanced up in surprise to see his best friend on the floor. James’ initial excitement at seeing Sirius was quickly overshadowed by the state he was in.
Sirius’ shirt was torn, his cheek was bruised, and he had tears streaming down his face as he heaved heavy sobs. James was slightly terrified to see the normally cavalier boy so distraught.
“James, what on earth is going on?” Euphemia Potter asked.
“Mum, it’s Sirius! He’s hurt bad.”
No more words were needed. Mrs. Potter led the boy to the kitchen and James trailed anxiously after them. He watched as his mum applied a salve to Sirius’ bruises, and heard her bone-deep sigh of sorrow as she finished treating him.
“James, go get one of your shirts,” she said, and James hurried off, his footsteps echoing upstairs.
“Thank you,” Sirius said softly. “My mother, she- well, I just couldn’t stay there any more and James said I could come here if I was ever in trouble.”
“James was right. I’m so glad you came, dear,” Mrs. Potter answered. “You’re safe here, alright? You can stay for as long as you need.”
James came in then, and Sirius gratefully changed into the shirt and then accepted the warm potato soup placed in front of him. It tasted delicious, warming right to his very soul and making him feel truly safe.
It wasn’t long before it was time for bed. James had a large enough mattress that the boys decided to share. Mrs. Potter knew that they were going to just stay up talking, but after the day Sirius had had, she didn’t have the heart to separate them.
They did end up staying awake until well past midnight, and when they woke up, they were curled up close to one another, gangly limbs and sheets tangled together.
***
“Good morning boys,” Mr. Potter greeted them with a smile as they shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast one morning, a week after Sirius had come to them.
“Morning!” They chorused.
Mrs. Potter was busy cooking up a small feast, and both boys stared greedily at the pan as she cooked the eggs.
“Off with you two,” she said, playfully swatting at them with a spatula. “Go set the table.”
Once everyone was settled and food was served, the contented quietness surrounding them tensed.
“Sirius, dear,” Mrs. Potter said, her voice hesitant, “If you’ll be staying with us for the rest of the summer, and of course you’re welcome to, love, won’t you need more of your things?”
Sirius nodded slowly, his shoulders tensing. James knocked his elbow against Sirius’ in silent support.
“I was thinking, why don’t we go get your things today. Just your clothes, school books, anything else you’d want. You can keep them here in the guest room.”
Sirius knew it was necessary, but he didn’t want to go back to that house again. Not so soon. He didn’t want to see his mother, remember her wicked smile as she tortured him. Didn’t want to go back to the halls and the bedroom that had become oppressive and evil.
Mrs. Potter understood. “Now I know you don’t want to go back, but James and I will come with you. He’ll help you pack your things and I’ll make sure that mother” her voice hardened and she spit the word mother like it was a curse, “of yours leaves you alone. Will that be alright?”
Sirius nodded again, suddenly not very interested in finishing his toast.
The drive to Grimmauld Place, and James talked the whole way, trying to distract his friend. Sirius felt stupid for it, but he held onto Mrs. Potter’s cloak like a 4-year-old, hiding behind her as she knocked on the door. A servant answered.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Euphemia Potter. I have Sirius here with me. He’ll be staying with us this summer, and I brought him by to collect his things. He left in rather a hurry last week.”
The servant, upon seeing Sirius, let the group in. Sirius darted upstairs, hopeful to avoid his mother, with James right on his heel.
“Just tell me what to do,” James said as they stood in Sirius’ room. He looked around, grinning at all the pictures on the wall, the Gryffindor tapestry hanging proudly by the window. A warmth filled his chest as he noticed a picture of their friend group, all four boys with arms thrown around shoulders and bright, warm smiles lighting up their faces.
“Yeah, don’t go getting ideas to take those pictures down. There’s a permanent sticking charm on them,” Sirius joked, and James laughed, but sobered when his friend explained. “It was the only way to keep her from taking them down and ripping them up.”
They quickly packed Sirius’ favorite clothes (James would never cease to be amazed at how many band t-shirts Sirius had), and his school things, and carried the trunk down together. Sirius nearly dropped his end when he heard a familiar shriek.
“I suggest you stay out of this, Euphemia, this is none of your business,” Walburga Black yelled.
“You made it my business when your son showed up in my living room sobbing, hurt and afraid. Afraid of you .”
“You’re exaggerating. There’s nothing wrong with a little tough love.”
“Tough love? I know an unforgivable curse when I see one, Walburga,” Mrs. Potter hissed, unafraid of the woman in front of her, who was trembling with anger. “You won’t touch my son, and I’m not just talking about James. I’m leaving, and I’m taking Sirius with me.” She gestured to the two boys she could see cowering on the stairs, trying to stay out of sight. They darted past Walburga, who didn’t dare try to touch them, to stand behind their mother.
“You have no right-”
“And you have no right to torture him,” Mrs. Potter interrupted, wrenching her arm away from the other woman. “Now let go of my wrist, and stay away from my sons.”
With that, she turned on her heel, the boys under her arms like little ducklings under their mother’s wings.
“Thank you,” Sirius said, his voice small and trembling with the tears he couldn’t stop from falling.
“Of course, love,” Mrs. Potter said, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder lovingly. “Now, I couldn’t help but overhear the other night, but you two seemed to have some wonderful idea on getting back at that old bat. Did I hear something about throwing eggs at a window?”
The boys laughed out their shock.
“What’s that saying about lying down with dogs, mum?” James asked, innocently.
Mrs. Potter had tried to teach James that lesson after he’d met Severus, but it hadn’t stuck. Of course he would remember it now. She grinned, anyway. “Well, I suppose a few fleas would be worth it.”
Right then, Sirius knew. As he played Quidditch in the backyard with James, as he bonded with Mr. Potter of the uses of hair product, as Mrs. Potter taught him to make homemade bread, as he threw his arms around his friends later that year at Hogwarts, he knew. He had the best family in the entire world.