Work Text:
AU!
THC, Year 12, Round 1
Ravenclaw
Standin - Arithmancy
Drabble
Prompt: [Relationship] Parent/child
WC: 610/1000
James was moping. There was no other word that Euphemia could use to describe her son’s recent behaviour. Ever since he’d returned from Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, he hadn’t seemed like himself.
Although Christmas was James’ favourite time of the year (besides his birthday), he was dragging his feet as he walked, mumbling under his breath, and not even eating the sugar cookies Euphemia had pretended to forget in the kitchen last night.
So, yes, James was moping, and Euphemia was extremely disturbed.
She’d spoken to Monty last night as they lay in bed with their respective crossword puzzles balanced on their raised knees, but Monty hadn’t taken her seriously. He’d actually chuckled and kissed her temple before he said, “It’s alright, my love. He’s a growing boy. He’s just sad he’s not with his friends. That’s all.”
But Monty’s words hadn’t reassured her.
And that was why she was creeping around James’ room when he was in the loo, so that she could find the reason for his brooding.
She was on her hands and knees as she rifled through the unlatched box beneath James’ bed when the door creaked open. She stiffened as James’ voice rang out through the room.
“Mum? What are you doing?”
Euphemia scrambled to think of an answer, but her mind was blank. What could she even say?
“I, er, dropped a knitting needle,” she lied unconvincingly, rising from the floor far too slowly for someone whose knees hadn’t been seventeen in decades. “Anyway, you—you’ve been quiet lately, darling.”
James raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the excuse, but he didn’t press. He just flopped onto his bed, face buried in a pillow, groaning like the world had ended.
Euphemia sat beside him, gently smoothing a hand through his hair.
“It’s nothing, Mum.”
“That’s not true,” she said softly. “You’ve barely touched dessert all week, and you love dessert. Which means you’ve either been hexed or you’ve got a crush.”
James groaned louder, muffled. “Please stop.”
“Oh, James,” she said, unable to help the fond smile curling her lips. “You can talk to me, you know that, right? Anyway, you’ve had that look ever since you came back in the first year with grass stains on your knees and hearts in your eyes.”
James turned his head just enough to glare at her with one hazel-brown eye. “It’s not who you think it is.”
Euphemia blinked. “Oh.” Then she rallied. “Alright, then. But whoever it is—James, honey, you’re wonderful. You’re funny, kind, a little dramatic, yes, but that’s your charm. If they don’t see you, they’re not worth your heart.”
James didn’t answer. He just curled tighter into himself. Euphemia kissed his temple and let it go. He’d talk when he was ready.
He didn’t talk.
Not until the holidays had ended and they were back at King’s Cross, the scarlet Hogwarts Express billowing steam, trunks rolling, owls hooting, and the station alive with goodbyes.
Euphemia scanned the crowd, spotting James near the front of the platform.
He wasn’t alone.
She stopped short, brows furrowing, unsure what she was seeing at first. James was standing close—very close—to a slim, dark-haired boy in pristine school robes.
Regulus Black, of all people. The infamous Black heir–appointed when Sirius had made Gryffindor. Walburga’s younger son.
And as she watched, Regulus flushed bright red, glancing nervously over his shoulder, while James—her precious little boy—smiled a little, almost shyly, and hooked his pinky with Regulus’ as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Euphemia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Oh,” she whispered to no one.
Not Lily.
Regulus.
And somehow, it made even more sense.