Chapter Text
James Potter loved Christmas. It was his favourite holiday and had been for as long as he could remember. He loved not just receiving gifts (as an only child, he got plenty of those), but giving them to his friends and family, as well as warmth that seeped through the entirety of wizarding and muggle society. His parents had even taken him to look at muggle Christmas lights this year, which paled in comparison to the wizarding Christmas light show, but beat them in term of the crowd size and Christmas music blaring through the street.
His parents and him were settled around the living room, the Christmas tree in on of the corner, decorated with charmed ornaments that lit up, moved around and changed colours every few minutes, while the fireplace cast a gentle glow around the room. James had even transfigured his parent’s dress robes into having matching Christmas tree designs, and had even managed to make his mother’s sing Christmas carols (though she’d muffliatoed it after it became apparent that he, Remus and Peter had sung it in their worst singing voice).
His father was reading a book on the history of wizarding London, while he and his Mum were in the middle of a lazy game of exploding snaps, but she kept leaving every few minutes to check on the biscuits she was baking. A plateful of them had already been devoured by James earlier that evening and he was practically drooling at the mouth for the next batch to finish. All in all, it was like any other Potter family Christmas Eve, the kind that could only have been made better if his best friends, Remus and Peter, had been allowed by their families to join.
And that was then the fireplace turned a vivid blue colour for a few seconds. The sign of the floo network being activated. James grabbed his wand, as did his father. A few years ago, that reaction would have been ridiculous, but these were dark times. They’d half considered taking the house off the floo network completely, after one account of Death Eaters entering a muggleborn’s house and killing him in his sleep. In the end, they’d only restricted it to friends and family.
“James, get to the kitchen with your mother,” his father demanded, but only a second later, it was too late.
A flailing body fell out of the floo, catching himself on the Christmas tree to avoid falling on his face. The intruder was covered in ashes and grime, from the floo, but James could recognise the dark, wavy hair, his aristocratic features and his steely, almost mad grey eyes.
“Stupefy!” James shouted, as he collapsed against the Christmas tree, sending both of them onto the floor, the tree pinning him down. Some of the ornaments flickered and moaned unhappily, muffled by the carpet.
“James!” His father scolded him, as he took in the unconscious teenager on the ground.
“That’s Sirius Black, Dad,” James said, keeping his wand raised. He tightened his grip, looking for any sign that he was anything less than out cold.
No sooner had the name left his mouth, did his Dad’s eyes widen. Sirius Black, heir to the infamously dark Black family, had no business being in the Potter family home. It didn’t matter that he was a teenager, the same age as James, or that they had been both going to Hogwarts together for five years now. Sirius Black was every inch as dark as the rest of his family, believing the same pureblood vitriol that had become frighteningly common as of late, and no doubt aligning himself to the same dark wizard, You-Know-Who, that had been responsible for wiping out muggleborns.
“Euphemia, darling?” Dad shouted. “Come here, please?”
“Hmm? What’s the matter?” Mum answered, her footsteps coming closer, “I heard a crash — what did the two of you do to that poor Christmas tree—oh!” Her surprise was clear when she saw Sirius Black, unconscious and pinned under the Christmas tree. “Well, this is a surprise.”
That, James thought, was an understatement. “He’s a Slytherin and a dark wizard,” he said.
“Then what’s he doing here then?” Mum asked, bending down. “What’s his first name again?”
“Sirius,” James replied.
“Sirius?” His Mum said, tapping his skin lightly, “Sirius, can you hear me?”
“James hit him with a stupefy,” Dad said.
“James,” Mum sighed, “Did you have to?”
“He’s a dark wizard!” James insisted. “He’s hexed my friends and I so often in the corridors that it’s practically instinct at this point.”
“He’s fifteen,” Mum pointed out, “He hasn’t even finished his O.W.Ls yet. I doubt he was a threat to your father and I.”
“He knows enough dark magic for that not to matter,” James muttered.
“Dear, James does a point. We shouldn’t underestimate a Black, especially not in these times,” Dad said.
Mum signed, unhappy. “Monty, fix the tree, would you? I’ll levitate him to a bed.”
“What?!” James yelled, “Levitate him to a bed? This is Sirius Black, Mum! He’s not a patient of yours!”
“If you hadn’t stupefied him, then he wouldn’t be,” Mum replied.
James rolled his eyes, but his Dad had already lifted the tree and Mum levitated Sirius Black, leading him through the living room as though connected by a string to her wand. “I’ll just put him in the guest room.”
It was strange seeing Sirius Black, limp as a rag doll, covered in ashes and grime. It was the first time James had ever seen him without his proud stance, or a trace of glittering madness in his eyes. Without them, he looked almost doll-like, something carved out of porcelain, his features delicate, rather than sharp and sneering. Even his robes, while clearly expensive and tailor made, were obviously designed to be worn in the privacy of home rather than in society. James had the distinct feeling that Sirius Black was never meant to be seen like this by anyone but intimate family, of which James Potter, his nemesis was the opposite. He smirked. At least he had the upper hand now.
“Take his wand too, would you?” Monty asked, as he re-righted the tree and began to cast repairos on the broken ornaments.
“And tie him up, while you’re at it,” James said, following her.
“James,” Mum sighed, “He’s injured. Because of you.”
“He’s a Black. A Slytherin. A dark wizard,” James said, as they walked up the stairs to the bedroom wing. “He probably tried to target us to get into You-Know-Who’s good books.”
“Don’t be foolish, James. We don’t have a target on our back.”
“Do you know what Slytherins call me? Blood traitor.” James replied, “How is that not a target? Just because we’re pureblood doesn’t mean people like him see us as any better than muggleborns.”
“James Fleamont,” Mum hissed, “We’re not discussing this right now.”
“But it’s true!” James said, raising his voice, “You and Dad are just in denial, we need to start protecting ourselves, not tucking in a dark wizard into the guest bedroom!”
“Go to your room,” Mum ordered.
James froze, “What?”
“Now,” she said. “You can come out tomorrow, when you stop talking nonsense.”
He stared at her, in disbelief. “It’s Christmas Eve.” He’d never gotten in trouble on Christmas. It was the only time of year when he practically had an immunity, when his parents were the most likely to laugh off his mischief and settle in for a few games, or a chat. Hell, it was Christmas!
“And tomorrow will be Christmas Day,” Mum said. “Room, James. Now.”
“I’m being punished, because I’m the only sensible one in this — Mum!” James was cut off by his mother’s wordless banishing charm, that sent him sliding back in his socks, right into the open door of his bedroom. The door closed after him, shutting gently.
“I’ll be making French toast tomorrow morning,” Mum said, as he heard the door to the guest bedroom open next door.
James glared at the door, half debating opening it and trying his luck. He didn’t see himself getting very far, and he’d probably be stuck in his room for even longer, or without his wand. He sighed, collapsing on top of his bed.
Why didn’t his parents see what was coming? Even Hogwarts, one of the last places left safe from the violence, had gone through changes. The petty house rivalries had turned dangerous. More Gryffindors and Slytherins were appearing in the hospital wing, while the amount of people walking alone down the hallways was shrinking. Nearly everyone was walking in groups now, except of course, for Sirius Black.
Bloody Sirius Black. If there was one person (apart from possibly Snivellus) that James could expel from Hogwarts, it would be him. If he hadn’t already casted at least one of the unforgivable curses, James would eat one of Peter’s socks. Not to mention his equally awful brother, Regulus Black. The two of them were like shadows, slithering through the corridors and casting themselves on every wall, creating a cold shadow that drowned Hogwarts in darkness.
At least he could tell his friends about this. Maybe they’d at least know what happened if Sirius Black murdered his entire family tonight. Couldn’t they have just sent Black to the Malfoys, unconscious and all? The Black’s floo was notoriously difficult to access, but the Averys, or any other of dark family, would probably be overjoyed to receive the Black heir, tend to him dearly before gleefully sending for the Black family to take him back.
James scowled to himself as he composed his letters to Remus and Peter, telling them all about Black’s surprise appearance and how if they all perished, they knew who to blame. Maybe if they wrote back about what an awful person Black was, his parents would take homing seriously and throw Black out completely. He sent off his letters with his owl Lucinda, so hopefully he might get a response in the next day or two.
He could still hear movement downstairs, so his parents hadn’t gone to bed yet. James glanced at the door and moved the knob, seeing that it wasn’t unlocked. He was good at being sneaky, so he opened it up a few more millimetres, making sure there weren’t any charms to detect the door opening, before he made quick work of walking to the guest room.
He could hear a few words of the conversation happening downstairs, so he crouched by the stairs to hear better.
“…send an owl to the Blacks?” That was his father.
“No. Not tonight—” His mother replied.
“…on our doorstep…”
“Tomorrow. Let’s let the boy sleep, and we’ll handle it tomorrow,” his mother said, “At least James will be a familiar face for him, rather than two strangers.”
James was hoping Sirius would shit himself tomorrow, after he realised who’d stupefied him and ruined his plans of murdering his entire family. He grinned, excited to relish the look on his face when he realised James had gotten the better of him, and how excited Remus and Peter would be. Compared to the two of them and their crazy families, James never had any good stories to tell over the winter holiday.
James held his wand close, as he tried to open the door. It was locked. He whispered a quick alohomora, but whatever locking spell his mother had used was clearly more powerful than one an alohomora could unlock. Had she done that to stop Black from getting out, or to stop him from getting in?
“James Fleamont Potter! Get back in your room,” Mum ordered from downstairs, as he felt his wand fly out of his hands, zooming down the stairs.
James sighed, giving the guest room door a half hearted kick, before going back into his room. He laid on his bed, before grabbing his broomstick and his polishing kit, keeping watch on the door. Black had ruined Christmas, officially, and James was going to make him regret it.