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Sirius turns seventeen at home. He is glad for it - though he's never imagined meaning it quite the same way he does now. His idle childhood daydreams could never have come up with this solid kind of bliss. He wakes as he had almost every day the summer prior, snug in his bed in the room across the hall from James, the tree leaves casting shadows across his pillow. The house is silent, but there is a warmth he'd never known silence could hold before he turned eleven. A sense of safety hums in the walls of this home - his home - and he relishes the stillness, the contentment.
Stretching leisurely, he draws the covers up around him once more. A heavy yawn overtakes him as he rolls over, and he rubs at his eyes. To his left, Harpies seeker Gayatri Nair zooms in and out of the poster Mrs. Potter had given him last Christmas. Sirius grins at the young James taped just below the poster - his arm thrown over Sirius's shoulder - the boy in question waving brightly out of a creased, well-loved photograph. It was the very first thing Sirius had put up on the wall when he finally managed to sleep in his own bed again, instead of climbing in with James to quiet the sounds of his parent's laughter in the dead of night. James had rolled his eyes watching him press spellotape to the pictures frayed edges, perched on Sirius's brand new four-poster bed.
"Pads, I'm on the other side of the hall," he'd said bemused. Sirius studiously ignored him, running his fingers briefly over their smiling faces, unable to voice the feeling settling in his stomach that young James would be safe here: the novel idea that he wouldn't need a Permanent Sticking Charm to ensure his still being there at the next holiday, and the absence of dread that his face would have been scratched out.
Belatedly, he realizes the severe lack of lanky limbs and messy hair in his room. James must still be asleep, catching up from a grueling week of early morning Quidditch practices. It's odd to wake up here without James throwing open the door to jump onto his bed, the solitude compounded by the last two months he's spent sequestered in a cozy dormitory with his mates. This trip back wasn't one they'd been planning for - still he can't deny the pleasures of simple home comforts and Mrs. Potter's magnificent meals.
Breakfast in the Great Hall had recently become one of Sirius's least favorite times of the day. It'd all be going well one minute, he'd be settling into a bowl of porridge and leaning over to nick the bacon from Peter's plate when he wasn't looking. But then, inevitably, the flapping of wings would begin and the hoots would cause excited murmurs as the owls swooped in with their mail. Sirius had taken to viciously buttering his toast, glowering across the hall as a Black Family owl would settle in front of Regulus. It wasn't even that he wanted to hear from them, he'd try to reason with himself. After all, they hadn't written except through Howler in the last five years to begin with. Still, Regulus would open up the letter - eating a breakfast that looked painfully similar to Sirius's own - and Sirius would poke and prod the toast on his plate, a foul expression across his face until Remus whacked his shoulder with a rolled-up Prophet demanding help in the crossword.
Last Friday's scene had been much the same, though he'd noted with some interest that Tara, the Potter's owl, was among them as well. Unusual since Mrs. Potter tended to write on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe James had asked for sweets again. He'd salivated at the thought, angling to rope Remus into stealing the kaju katli with him as he leaned over his shoulder to begin the crossword. He was in between deciding whether 16 across (fastest capture of a snitch) was Roderick or Plumpton when a sharp nip at his finger distracted him. Looking down at Tara's leg he realized with a start the envelope, in Mrs. Potter's sprawling cursive, was addressed to him.
He blinked at it dumbly for a few seconds before taking it from the owl who'd begun to stare at him impatiently. She pecked at the bacon on his plate briefly and then she was off, leaving him to read the letter on his own.
Dear Sirius,
Hi beta, how are you? Keeping out of trouble I hope. We haven't received an owl from Minerva in nearly a month, are the owls on strike or has she just gone soft? Might need to have a word with her. Are you boys eating? I do worry about how long you all go without proper sabzis in your stomach. Shall I send something? I've told James so many times to share the mithai boxes between you, so certainly tell me if I need to be sending a separate dabba for each of you. He takes after his father in the sweets department.
Monty and I are missing you both very much. The house seems quiet without the two of you stomping up and down the steps and playing catch in the garden. Although Monty wanted me to pass on that he does not miss the constant scavenger hunt for his glasses and is pleased to find them on top of his head where he last left them.
His work is going well, and you'll be happy to hear I've managed to nurse back the flutterby bushes from that unfortunate quaffle incident last summer.
My cousin-sister sent more vinyls from Delhi for Monty's collection and we've managed to end up with quite a few duplicates. I wasn't sure if I should send them over now, but I've put them up in your room so you can take a look next time you're around to see what you want to keep.
Your birthday is coming up next weekend and I’m sure you boys will have made plans. Whatever it is, I have the feeling I might be better off not knowing. In any case, I was hoping you might like to come home next Friday? After all, it's your first proper birthday with us and Monty and me, we'd like to do something small to celebrate. You only turn 17 once, it's a big age for a young wizard and you should spend it with family.
Do let me know what you think.
All My Love,
Effie Aunty
P.S. Beta I hope I'm not overstepping by saying that this is an open invitation. I'd like to see you on your birthday and I want you to know that while you're welcome to bring James, you don't always have to. It is your home as much as it is James's or ours.
Sirius swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, the lead knots in his stomach unraveling considerably. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes burning slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath. Chewing his lip, Sirius scanned the letter over again, a sort of buzzing in his ears. Beta, he'd paused. He knew that word, he thought, he'd heard it all summer. He looked up. Remus was smiling faintly and gave Sirius an encouraging nod when he caught him looking. He leaned over, "James what does - what does beta mean?" he asked.
"Means son," shrugged James, around a hefty mouthful of egg. He swallowed, "Why? Are you in trouble with Mum?"
Sirius had shaken his head clutching the note closer. It only took him until lunch to ask James to come along with him, wordlessly sliding the letter across the table at their next meal. James had only nodded, smiling as he stood.
"Excellent," he'd said rubbing his hands together. "Curry." Clapping Sirius on the shoulder, he'd grabbed his books and they headed off to lessons. That was that.
He wonders now if Minnie made a special accommodation to allow them to come here, and feels that same light feeling overtake him. It's a Saturday morning and Wormtail and Moony will be arriving later for lunch. Andy is planning on stopping by too, and she'd promised to bring Dora if she was feeling up to it. On the way back to the castle, they'll stop in at the Three Broomsticks and for once Sirius won't have to flirt with Rosmerta for his Firewhiskey. He still might though, if only to get a rise out of Remus who goes very red around the ears and does a terrible job of playing it off. James might even spill butterbeer all over his front when Lily comes over to say hello. The thought has Sirius chuckling.
James isn't here at the moment though and Sirius feels bereft. After all these days, despite Euphemia's stern looks and loving letters, the incredible meals she cooks just for him - he can't shake the lingering feeling that he is a guest here. One who has far outstayed his welcome. He thinks of the way Euphemia's face would twist if she could hear his thoughts and grimaces. Shaking himself from getting too maudlin this early in the day, he decides it might be time to head downstairs and find some tea.
The first mornings living in the Potter household had been a painfully awkward experience for Sirius. He'd arrived abruptly at their doorstep one evening and promptly collapsed into James's terrified arms. He could only manage a few words to Euphemia and Fleamont, who murmured quiet reassurances to him through ashen faces and shepherded him up to bed. Euphemia had plied him with healing potions while Fleamont wrote to Dumbledore and arranged to get Sirius’s things. His meals were brought up to him by James, who’d sit and eat with him while informing him of everything happening on the outside. There was a scarce moment Sirius was awake where he did not feel the sturdy presence of a Potter at his bedside. Sirius had never felt so out of depth in all his life - it was overwhelming.
So when he awoke alone in his room to the whistle of a kettle and quiet conversation he panicked. They'd been nothing but kind to him in the last week and he was already going to ruin it by being late to breakfast. He leapt out of bed and hurriedly took a shower. Fifteen minutes later he buttoned his good shirt and rushed downstairs before stopping immediately in the doorway. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter were sat at the table in their matching dressing gowns, her hands curled around a steaming mug while he scanned the morning paper. Sirius stood there awkwardly, wondering what to do when Euphemia looked up and caught sight of him.
"Oh, Sirius!" she'd exclaimed, fretting over him as she set him down in a chair. "How are you feeling now? Come, let me make you some breakfast."
Monty had smiled over his paper at him while Sirius ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling thoroughly out of place. Euphemia returned moments later with a plate of eggs and toast and more spreads in her hand than Sirius would've thought possible. She sat down across from him, beaming. "It's nice to see you all cleaned up," she said kindly.
"Yes," Fleamont added, looking over at him. "Do you have somewhere to go?" Sirius looked down at his plate as Euphemia smacked Fleamont sharply on the arm.
"Monty, honestly!" she said, shaking her head. "Never you mind that Sirius dear, you eat your breakfast. I'm afraid James won't be making out of bed for another hour at least."
She was right. Sirius was done with his breakfast and was arguing with Mrs. Potter about clearing the table when James finally emerged from his room and stumbled down the steps, yawning.
"Mum have you seen Sirius?" He asked before walking straight into him. Sirius stared at the rumpled boy in front of him: hair askew, shirt riding up to expose his stomach, his pajamas just an inch too small for him. He imagined for a brief second what might've happened if he'd walked into the dining room like that at Grimmauld Place and shuddered, pushing the thought far from his brain. James stared right back at him, taking in his dress shirt and slacks before he'd burst into raucous laughter.
"James," said Monty warningly, as Sirius flushed. "That's enough now." James nodded, sat down beside Sirius, and tried to curtail his giggles as he accepted a plate from his mother. "There's more in the kitchen," she told the boys, dropping a kiss to both their heads. "I'm off to shower, do clean up after yourselves." All three of them at the table nodded. The pans continued to sizzle in the background as Monty and James ate, Sirius struck up a conversation about the Harpies and amused himself by seeing how many pieces of sausage he could steal from James's plate before he noticed.
James kicked him under the table good-naturedly when he was caught and leaned over to yank Sirius's ear. "When have we ever showered before breakfast here?" he reminded Sirius smirking. "Keep that up and they'll start making me do it too, then we'll really have a problem." It took Sirius the better part of a week to stop wearing slacks to breakfast, but no one commented on it.
Now, he pulls an old jumper over his shirt and barely glances in the mirror while tying his hair in a loose bun (this is very much a lie) (but still, he's come a long way he thinks).
The kitchen is calm save for the pan scrubbing itself in the sink. He checks the kettle and finds it lukewarm against his palm. Someone is awake then. It's not Fleamont, notes Sirius as he pulls two mugs from the cabinet, the still-folded Daily Prophet on the counter is evidence of that. The water boils as Sirius drops a tea bag into each mug - setting the other one aside in case whoever is awake comes back for more tea. He stirs a spoonful of sugar slowly into the steaming liquid and watches the color change to a respectable tan. A sudden heavy hand to his shoulder startles him, and his arm jerks spilling milk on the counter. He curses under his breath.
Fleamont's face falls as he feels the boy jump beneath his touch, retracting his hand quickly. "Ah sorry, beta, didn't mean to scare you like that," he says softly, waving away the mess with a flick of his wrist.
Sirius shakes his head, a little pink in the face, "s'alright I just didn't hear you come in."
For a minute it seems Monty might say something, his face etched with concern. Instead, he takes the extra mug from the counter and makes quick work of preparing his own tea.
"Cheers," he jokes smiling kindly at Sirius, holding his steaming mug in the air. "Though we shouldn't be making the birthday boy do any work." Sirius grins over the rim of his mug and watches as Fleamont sets his own down, smoothing his hands on his flannel bottoms.
"Speaking of," he winks, looking at Sirius again, "I have a package for the birthday boy." He pulls a rectangular-shaped box from his pockets, wrapped in a neat burgundy color complete with a ribbon. "I had Effie do the wrapping," he says in response to Sirius's unasked question.
"It's tradition to gift a wizard a watch for his 17th," begins Fleamont a little awkwardly, holding the gift out to Sirius. He watches as Sirius opens the package delicately trying not to disturb the ribbon or tear the paper.
"My father gifted this to me on my birthday," he says, and Sirius's eyes snap up to his own, face frozen. Monty clears his throat, a rush of affection surging through him.
"Well you know James already has the cloak," he explains gruffly, waving his hands about before putting them back in his pockets. "I wanted you to have something from y- something from me too. A Potter heirloom of your own." He nods matter of factly, taking a sip from his mug.
Sirius swallows harshly, his throat hurting. He opens up the box and stares for a long moment at the slightly battered clock face resting on the velvet. His eyes burn. His heart feels like it's falling - or is it flying - and his chest aches. He has no idea what to say. With shaky hands, he takes the gold watch from the box and puts it on his wrist. The solid weight of it grounds him somewhat, the cool feeling of the metal against his flushed skin a balm to emotions swirling inside of him.
His throat feels tight as he tries to speak, to explain somehow the weight of what the man across from his has done for Sirius these last six years. Monty watches him patiently. Sirius blinks several times, "I didn't know it could be like this," he says helplessly. There are no words. In the end, he can only cross the space between them and wrap his arms around Fleamont like he hasn't done since he was twelve.
Monty's arms are around him an instant, and Sirius squeezes his eyes shut against the man's woolen jumper. "It should always be like this mera bachcha," says Monty roughly, rubbing Sirius's back absentmindedly. "It will always be like this here."
Sirius lets out a strangled sob at that and burrows closer allowing himself a rare moment of comfort. "Thanks... Dad," he whispers into Monty's chest before he can think better of it. Monty doesn't say anything in response, only tightening his arms around Sirius with a hitched breath of his own.
They exchange shy smiles as they pull away, both turning to dab their eyes discreetly. There is a short-lived but deeply comfortable silence before Euphemia and James burst into the room with a rather worryingly lopsided chocolate cake, blazing with 17 candles to boot. Sirius just knows they've been outside the room this whole time, but taking in the huge grins plastered on their faces he can't bring himself to be embarrassed. James is practically vibrating behind his mother with excitement and Sirius throws the wrapping paper at him.
"Prongs what the hell happened to this cake?" he laughs incredulously. If the sound is a little watery, neither Euphemia nor James mention it.
The morning is lost to the chaos of more presents and Effie Aunty filling his plate every time she thinks it too empty. More than once his gaze wanders to the watch on his wrist and every time he finds James watching him with a brilliant smile of his own. Obviously, Sirius has to kick him in the shin for this. They wrap up breakfast, play catch in the garden as they had all summer.
Much later, he and James are relegated to dish duty as Euphemia begins to set up in the garden for lunch. They empty the sink diligently and make piles of china to carry out to the back table. Sirius grows quiet as they work and James tries to cure this by flicking the wet dishrag at him. Sirius obliges him with a distracted tussle, but James can see his heart isn't in it.
"Alright Pads?" He asks, concerned. Sirius nods.
"Can I talk to you a minute?" He doesn't wait for a response and drags James out the front door, suddenly looking very nervous. He wrings his hands awkwardly, kicking pebbles from the front steps. Sirius's eyes are trained on the ground and James remains blessedly silent as he tries to find the words. A moment passes, then another. Bewildered, James is opening his mouth to ask when he finally speaks.
"Thank you," Sirius mumbles, in a voice tinier than James has ever heard, looking firmly at his feet. James stiffens beside him, his heart breaking in his chest. Sirius looks more uncomfortable than he's ever seen.
"If you ever say that to me again I'll hex you," James tries to say angrily his voice cracking as he looks at the other boy. He cuffs Sirius's shoulder half-heartedly, shoving him before pulling him into a fierce hug. You're my brother, he thinks desperately, his face hidden in the crook of Sirius's neck. What's mine is yours. If he thinks it hard enough the thought might bury itself in Sirius's skin where it belongs.
Remus and Peter stumble on them like this several minutes later. The boys are glued together, clutching fistfuls of one another's clothes. Peter clears his throat awkwardly and the two spring apart with cries of "Wormtail!" and "Moony!"
Remus, faintly alarmed at their red-rimmed eyes, looks back and forth between them to assess the damage. Whatever he finds there between Sirius's sheepish look and James's stubborn expression must reassure him because he shakes his head huffing a breath through his nose.
"Aww guys," complains Wormtail. "You could've waited for us too you know." He walks up the steps and piles into the hug, both boys catching him with an arm around his waist. Sirius looks slightly confused, but James is grinning again.
"Group hug!!!" he cheers. Sirius turns his head and looks at Remus expectantly, eyebrow raised. Remus simply rolls his eyes before joining in, slotting himself in between Sirius and Peter, his arms stretching around them.
"I love you guys," comes Peter's muffled voice from somewhere between them, and James laughs brightly. Remus looks at Sirius, who's smiling a special shy little smile that Remus has only ever seen a handful of times. He turns his head and presses his lips to Sirius's temple.
"Happy Birthday," he says softly. Sirius sighs against him.
Family, thinks Sirius, has never been so warm a word.