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James Potter wakes on November 3rd, 1982. He only knows it is 1982 because of the paper draped across someone’s face at his bedside. His brain struggles beyond that—his body struggling at disuse and, by Merlin, his lungs feel like they may collapse.
There’s a cocoon of magic surrounding him, bluish and yellow. It turns vibrant red at his growing duress. Where was Lily? Harry? Who is this person at his—
A painful wheeze escapes his lips.
The person beside him jolts upright, a familiar wand curled in hand. James doesn’t understand. His mind won’t stop shrieking and screaming and what happened—
“Prongs. Hey,” Sirius’ voice hits like a slap. “I need you to breathe—Can I get someone in here? Do I look fucking qualified—”
Then Sirius is gone, replaced by a face James doesn’t recognize and a wand pointed at his eyes. James can’t understand a word of what she’s saying—it all blurs together. He croaks out, “Lily? W-Where is my wife?”
“Lord Potter—”
“Where is my fucking my wife?!” James shouts, raising his fists to bang on the cocoon. “Where is my son?”
“He’ll need to be sedated.” Another voice this time. Lower. More gruff.
“He’s slept enough! He doesn’t need to be sedat—”
“Lord Black—”
The noise ruptures a piece loose in James’ mind. He cradles his head and groans, images flashing across his vision. Lily’s hand over his knee from where she kneeled on the floor, the other outstretched to Harry. Their son was so determined; balancing on his tiny knees and rise just enough for him to lift. He never made it to walking, magic sending him twirling upward. Harry had giggled so much. Lily had laughed too.
No, that’s not, James tries to think—he does. There’s so much noise. It melds and builds—Lily’s hand moving away. The startled look on Harry’s face. How he looked between them before Lily’s eyes met his own. Frightened. His wife had never been frightened.
Take Harry, he had said.
Take Harry.
Take Harry—James whines low in his throat, temples pulsing angrily. There was a war, wasn’t there? Who—Voldemort. No. No, no, no, no—
“Prongs—”
“Pads,” James begs hoarsely. His voice breaks. “Where are they? Where are they?”
Sirius, for the first time since James had known him, cannot speak.
“Where is my wife?!” James bellows, enraged.
The healers have to sedate him.
-
Sirius takes him home after four grueling days.
Grueling because of what he learned, not that he was alive.
Though James Potter wouldn’t mind not being alive either.
But Harry was alive.
It should’ve been a comfort.
It was.
-
The girl he had spent years chasing, watching, was gone.
-
Lily Evans was gone.
His wife—no. Lily Evans. Lily Evans was gone.
-
“Where is she buried?” James eventually asks. Grimmauld sits aged around him, but brighter. It was his request because he couldn’t bear to go to his childhood home knowing that his parents were no longer alive to comfort him. How much they comforted him in his youth. James was an only child, despite their desperate tries, but they loved him fiercely.
There was irony in this.
The year before his wife died, his parents did.
James never knew The Mother could be so cruel. He pries his gaze from his mug of tea when Sirius doesn’t answer. The silence is as unnerving as those dim, silver eyes. His hands go white around his mug, teeth grit, and must he repeat himself? To Sirius? The person who read him as easily as Lily had? Is it necessary for him to be so cruel?
“With your parents,” Sirius answers after a long moment. There is a distance between them, but it felt like a chasm.
James can’t fully remember the last time they talked or what it was about. If Sirius actually smiled with all his teeth—if Lily were there. She likely was; always was. A group of once four became a solitary group of three. Remus was hardly around much because of Dumbledore. Peter—
Peter.
James forces down his fury until it nearly chokes him. He forces his eyes away and stares into the liquid of his coffee. “You didn’t have to—”
“Who the fuck else would?” Sirius asks, blunt. I would’ve buried you too, his face says, but he doesn’t.
James sometimes wonders how their friendship endured this. But it endured Hogwarts; the House of Black’s heir sorted into Slytherin, as expected. The House of Potter’s heir sorted into Gryffindor. Their conversation on the Hogwarts Express should’ve died there. It didn’t. Their fights on the Quidditch pitch should’ve killed any chance at decorum—it didn’t. It should’ve died during the war as their friends did.
It didn’t.
And Sirius Black buried James Potter’s wife alone when he should’ve buried them together.
James swallows. His voice cracks, “Can I see him?”
“Whenever you want.”
James muffles a sob into his fist.
Sirius pretends he didn’t hear.
-
“Did you have a sitter?”
“No,” Sirius answers, pushing a plate of food into James’ hands. “Kreacher is watching him.”
Who?
Oh.
The house-elf—”Doesn’t he hate you?”
“We found common ground.”
James wonders when that happened, but the portrait of the Black parents no longer sits on the fireplace mantle as it did when James used to sneak Sirius out. Instead, it’s a picture of Regulus Black from a time before the war—when he was still warm enough. And Sirius—before he became what he was.
“Eat,” Sirius commands.
-
Harry is nervous when they meet; little hands fisted into Sirius’ collar like they used to do for Lily. He’s a touch longer, eyes still so bright and evergreen, but the scar on his face breaks the perfection of childhood innocence he once held. It’s a ghastly thing; like lightning. It bisects his right eye and turns the places where it touched his eyelashes pale.
James can’t stop staring, heart in his throat. He truly failed them both, hadn’t he?
“Pad,” Harry whispers, glancing at James before looking to Sirius. He tilts his head. “Ba?”
“Yes, bambi.” Sirius bounces him gently with a grin. “This is your baba. Remember?”
He waves his hand in a slow, fluid motion, and a sparkle of gold bursts from his fingertips. A golden stag follows, antlers raised high in the same proud angle James’ animagus held. It nudges Harry’s forehead, earning a giggle, then darts around Grimmauld’s living room before settling beside James.
The golden stag twitches and shifts before becoming a man—a man James realizes is him.
His breath hitches. How long have you been doing this, James wants to ask. He can’t find his voice.
Harry’s eyes go wide, darting between him and the golden version. A loud, eager shriek leaves his lips as he wiggles furiously in Sirius’ arms. “Ba! ‘ome!”
“Yes, bambi. Your baba has come home.” Sirius kisses his temple. “What do we say?”
“Welc!” Harry cheers.
“We’re working on it.” Sirius sniffs. “Healers say he’s doing great. Just a small hiccup, right, sprog?”
Harry gives James a big thumbs up.
A tear spills from James’ eye when he blinks, then another, and another. He staggers forward. Harry is already reaching for him, excitement transforming his face. It feels almost as monumental as it did when Lily first passed Harry to him; her smile weak but coy. You’re a daddy now, Potter.
You’re a mother, Evans.
Evans Potter.
James remembers kissing her knuckles, wondering how he ever deserved her. Harry’s smile is hers almost exactly, but it starts where his does. How did he ever help create something so marvelous? Lily was a wonder. It should be expected.
“No sad. Be cool!” Harry gives James a gentle pat on the chin, expression very serious.
James laughs, small and watery. “I’m happy. I’m cool.”
Harry grins so sweetly.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” Sirius offers his fist to Harry, who smacks happily. “Good man. Take care of your baba, ok?”
Harry gives him a big thumbs up.
-
James’ back is against Harry’s crib, speckles of moonlight casting a low glossy, gray glow. His gaze remains fixed on the tightly closed bedroom door, wand in hand. Wand in hand when it couldn’t be before.
Harry coos softly in sleep, flat on his back. A worn stuffed doe watches over him silently, the eyes merely suggestions of buttons and torn ripped string. He had never been good with buttons.
James continues to watch the door.
A shadow shifts in his peripheral, followed by a low, jaw cracking yawn. Padfoot offers nothing beyond that, body haphazardly tucked beneath Harry’s crib as if it could accommodate the sheer mass. It doesn’t; the crib is slightly lifted off the ground.
“You must think I’m insane,” James mutters.
Sirius thumps his tail once, in disagreement.
James wipes his nose. “I fucked up, Pads.”
Another thump. Another disagreement.
“What do I do now?” James whispers.
Harry giggles in his sleep. The sound settles in James’ chest and breathes there.
Sirius lets out a soft canine version of a laugh.
There’s your answer.
-
Harry offers James a tomato.
James hasn’t an idea where he got it, considering they’re in Grimmauld’s garden. He takes it carefully; the flesh firm and smooth beneath his fingers. James turns it into a misshapen deer. It wasn’t as perfect as Lily’s.
Harry gasps, eyes wide with awe. He holds out his little hand.
James passes it over.
Harry handles it very carefully for a child. When he looks at James, it’s like he hung the moon. Harry grins, “Ba!”
“Ba.” James agrees.
-
There’s your answer.
-
James finds Sirius on Grimmauld’s balcony after Harry is asleep. He often finds him here; a lit cigarette between his lips and tomes spread out on a stone table. The language eluded him, but Sirius never seemed to struggle with much. It got him into a lot of trouble when they were in school. A bored Black was never a good one until he and Lily became friends; rivals to be exact. They brought out the worst and the best in each other.
James and Lily getting together turned those sharp edges softer.
Marlene always said they’d eventually become like siblings.
Then it happened.
James had never been more grateful for Marlene’s foresight.
“You should be asleep.” Sirius doesn’t look up, a roll of parchment floating beside him. A quill scribbles furiously on it; words, diagrams, and strange triangular shapes. A cigarette bobs between his lips. He glances up when James doesn’t respond and cocks an eyebrow. Sirius nods to a chair that materializes across from him. “Don’t stay standing on my account.”
James sits. “What are you doing?”
“Homework.” Sirius exhales a thin trail of smoke. “I might have it.”
“Have what?”
Sirius leans back in his seat and waves the materials away. “You should be resting.”
“Why are you being evasive?” James asks, displeased. Was Sirius always this cagey?
“Why are you ignoring healer’s orders, Potter?”
“Prongs,” James corrects.
“Prongs,” Sirius drawls. He knuckles his eye. “I’m handling it.”
“Sirius—”
“Padfoot,” Sirius corrects, smile cheeky. There are bags under his eyes. Deep ones that make him appear older than his twenty two years. He looks away and takes a long drag. “He wanted him. Dumbledore.”
James straightens. “What?”
“Yup.” Sirius pops the p. “I threatened to bring down the entire Wizengamot on his head. I am quite crafty, but you already knew that. Most of those fucks owe me several favors. How else are they not in Azkaban?”
“You got Death Eaters—”
“I did what I needed to do to keep your son from the Dursleys.” Sirius meets his eyes evenly, gaze an icy shade. He waves a dismissive hand. “Plus, it was only two of them. Malfoy, of course, but I have his wife under my thumb, and you know Dolohov and I have history, I guess. I killed the rest.”
James straightens, alarmed. “Sirius—”
“Harry is my priority.” Sirius’ voice drops. “If you wanted sunny, you should’ve picked Lupin.”
“Where is he?” James manages.
Sirius shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t fucking care. He was your friend. I just tolerated him like I did your rat.”
“You loved him—”
“I love you,” Sirius interrupts. He gestures to the upstairs window. “I love that kid up there. I love your wife. My family. It doesn’t extend beyond that. Everyone I love is dead or in this house. Nothing expands beyond that, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Yes, James thinks. His voice trembles slightly, imagining the things Sirius had done for them, for Harry. He couldn’t imagine his son growing up with Lily’s sister; how much hatred he’d likely face. His son. Lily’s son. Still, James struggles with gratitude, knowing that life couldn’t be given back.
“I won’t let anyone else fail that kid upstairs.” Sirius taps ash from his cigarette. “Lupin failed. He wanted him to go to the Dursleys, too. Blood wards. Some family nonsense. I’m his fucking family. Me.”
He stabs the cigarette at James. “You. Lily. That is our family. My wards are better than anything Dumbledore’s theories might’ve conjured. In fact—”
Sirius taps his finger on the table; a book appears. James recognizes Lily’s handwriting, her messy, hurried scrawl. He wants to ask how Sirius has this, but why wouldn’t he? Who else picked up the pieces?
Sirius flips lazily through the pages despite his manic expression. It lights up when he reaches what he’s looking for. Sirius spins the book to James and pushes it. He taps an entry and says, “She should’ve gotten a Mastery.”
James reads through it, mouth twitching into a smile. His wife could be so obsessive sometimes. The war made her into a person he had never seen before, but oh, how he loved her. Fiercely protective. Until her end.
Jay, the page ripples under his fingers. If you’re reading this, I suppose I was successful. So sorry about that! It must be quite a shock. You understand, however. He can’t have our boy. I won’t let it happen. Take care of him, please. You and Harry are the best things that have ever happened to me.
PS ensure Sirius hydrates. I imagine he’s obsessing.
Yours,
Lily
James’ breath hitches, vision blurring dangerously.
“She’d approve. Why else did she make the charm so flexible? Guess I was family to her.”
You were, James thinks, but cannot say.
Sirius stretches widely. “Your wife should’ve been a Slytherin. We could’ve taken over the world.
“Then what would I be?” James manages, roughly wiping his eyes.
“Sunny,” Sirius teases, wagging his cigarette at James. He takes another drag. “Just like a Potter. Your wife and I had many conversations about that.”
“You did?” James doesn’t know why he asks. He knew that. Lily told him everything.
“Our little ball of sunshine.” Sirius’ head tilts to the sky.
-
“He doesn’t talk much.” James mourns the constant babbling Harry used to do.
Sirius drops potatoes into a large bowl. “Yeah.”
Harry claps happily in James’ lap when Sirius offers him one. He chews on it.
James watches him, eyes dragging back to Sirius. “Why?”
“Healers said trauma.” Sirius takes the potato from Harry when it’s offered back. He drops it into the bowl, covers it dramatically with his hands, and gasps. “What could be inside?”
Harry chews his lip intensely. He bangs a little fist on the counter.
“You’re right!” Sirius gasps once more and shows the contents; now fully mashed.
Harry shrieks.
Trauma, James thinks.
“You coming home was the best thing that could’ve happened to him.” Sirius sniffs, pushing the mash towards them.
Harry sticks his entire fist inside and offers it to James.
James licks it.
-
There’s your answer.
-
“You are so much more expressive, Bambi,” Sirius mutters, flipping through a book. His hand reflexively catches a glob of food sent his way. He glares at Harry, who is floating next to him. “Sprog, I will eat- Ew. Why is this fucking chunky? Ahhh, that’s just sick.”
Harry squeals, eyes so bright and adoring. He spins around Sirius in the kitchen, little fist in his mouth, and brightens when noticing James in the archway. Harry chirps, “Ba!”
Sirius glances over his shoulder, hand raised once more. He slowly lowers it, studies the contents that resemble peas and maybe carrots, and smooths it gently onto Harry’s face. “You keep this up and I’m putting you out on the streets with your daddy.”
Harry eats it readily, pleased as fuck.
“Are we too loud?” Sirius asks, pushing Harry towards James, mess and all. “You should be asleep.”
Harry laughs all the way to James. You used to laugh like this for your mother, he thinks, gathering Harry to his chest. James should be sleeping. He’s so exhausted all the time. Everything sucks. His wife is dead. Oh my god, James swallows, vanishing the mess much to his son’s disgruntled expression. Harry’s bottom lip wobbles, but he doesn’t demand Sirius like he has before; he demands James with little arms thrusting upward.
Harry is easily appeased, however; happily touching and smearing mess onto James’ glasses.
Sirius smothers a laugh into his fist. “I’m making shakshouka.”
“Tomatoes,” James finds himself saying. “Can you say tomato?”
“Toma,” Harry chirps. “Toe.”
James gasps, giving him a little shake. “So good!”
Sirius nods solemnly. “Very good, Hazza.”
Harry tucks his face into James’ neck and giggles.
James holds Harry close, breathing in the smell of what felt like nostalgia and childhood. He watches Sirius from the corner of his eye as he watched him at Hogwart’s. Sirius wasn’t the same lithe kid who would badger Slughorn when he tried to give them detention. His shoulders were more broad, waist narrow, but the vibrant coil of his curls remained just as rampant.
James looks away.
-
James picks Harry up from his…sitter? He actually doesn’t know; just knows Sirius was gone, as was Kreacher, and James had, heavens help him, therapy. He knew Sirius wouldn’t leave Harry with just anyone, yet he was nervous standing outside a muggle apartment door. His knock echoed loudly in his mind. He doesn’t remember being so jumpy.
There’s someone arguing a floor above.
Sweat beads along the back of his neck. James forces himself to inhale, exhale—
“Ba!” Harry’s face lights up his darkening vision. He’s wiggling furiously in a woman’s arms, covered in flour as was she. There is a clump of something in her curly hair, which must be child-related foolishness.
James stares at them, swallows, and thrusts out his hand. “James. You must be Brittany.”
“I am!” The woman, Brittany, beams and shakes it readily. “He was so good as always. You have a precious son.”
I do, don’t I, James thinks. “Yeah, he’s great.”
“Baba!” Harry claps happily. There is a cloud of white, and James coughs, waving his hand to keep the fumes at bay.
Brittany’s mouth makes an o shape then winces, “Sorry—”
“Not at all!” James says quickly. “I can help you clean. I truly can’t thank you enough.”
Brittany waves him off. “We were attempting to make puddy. I don’t even know if we needed flour, but it seemed like a radical idea.”
She makes a crazy face at Harry, who squeals. “Wasn’t it, Haz?”
“Yessuh,” Harry says, fiendish and wild and surely every inch of his mother.
“Well, thank you. I have—”
Brittany waves him off when James reaches for his wallet. “All handled! Mr. Black pays me monthly, even when I don’t see Harry. He’s such a generous man! Godfather, yes?”
James nods automatically.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’ve recovered,” Brittany says earnestly. “As much for this one and him.”
“Thank you,” James replies because he doesn’t know what else to say. He was grateful. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you next time.”
“Sure thing!” Brittany waves dramatically at Harry. “Bye bye!”
“Yuh!”
“Tell me about your day,” James whispers as they walk away. He can’t understand most of it, but Harry is waving his fists and kicking his tiny feet.
-
“I failed you.” James whispers.
Lily Evans Potter’s name stares back at him, her likeness adorned in sparkling, golden magic. There is a space between her and the statues of his parents, hardly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t a Potter. Spaces meant welcoming. They meant you have a place here when you fall. James knows that empty space is for him and how strange that someone who wasn’t a Potter understood that.
“I’m sorry.” James’ mouth trembles. “I’m—I’m so sorry—”
A breeze whistles through the tomb, and the low burning candles roar brightly. There should be no wind here.
James muffles his sobs into his fist.
The breeze continues to brush through his hair.
-
Take care of him, please.
-
“You’re hunting something.” James nudges his plate away, sitting across from Sirius.
Harry babbles happily between them, more words, the same vibrant gestures.
Sirius slowly lifts his gaze to meet his. He doesn’t lie. “Yup.”
“What is it?” James asks, curious.
“‘ads,” Harry interrupts. “Potats?”
Sirius exhales harshly, scrubbing his face, and turns to Harry. There is an incredibly tiny potato in his hands. Sirius blinks, looking at James, who seems just as perplexed if not amused. Sirius turns back to Harry.
“Where did you get a potato, Bambi?”
“Potats,” Harry responds, like Sirius is being ridiculous and dumb. He wiggles the potato at Sirius demandingly.
Sirius takes the potato. It’s very warm and soft and easily sags when he applies the slightest amount of pressure. This child, James thinks, watching Sirius break the potato in half. He hands a smaller piece to Harry, who gasps and takes it with clumsy little fingers. Sirius waves a hand and summons a plate, setting the potato on it before positioning it in front of James.
Harry nods very seriously at this turn of events.
James snorts.
“There was something in his scar,” Sirius says carefully.
“What kind of thing?” James asks, turning the potato into mash. Harry gasps again. James offers it him. “Would you like this?”
Harry glances between as if he’s unsure who to ask. There is food all over his face. They make a unified decision to push the plate towards Harry. Harry wiggles excitedly, watching in awe as James turns the plate into a small silicone bowl for him.
James wonders about his son’s mental state often but Harry seemed unbothered by everything; just as Lily wanted. You don’t understand, he thinks, realization dawning on him. Perhaps it was for the best. A headache is building in his left temple. Sirius has plenty of pictures here, but that didn’t seem like enough for Harry. It wasn’t even enough for him.
It wasn’t what either of them deserved.
“We’ll talk later.” Sirius is pushing to his feet. “You’re upset. I’m not trying to piss—”
“Just—” James massages the bridge of his nose. “Don’t go, alright? I’m not upset. I’m just… dealing.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, Prongs.”
“When have I ever lied to either of you?”
Lily’s name drifts between them.
“Sit down, Pads.” James nods to his seat.
“‘ads sit.” Harry agrees.
Sirius sits.
-
James sits alone in his room at Grimmauld—his room, and wasn’t that kind of funny? He often considered breaking Sirius out of here, but Sirius wouldn’t go. Loyalties, he said once. James knew it wasn’t for either of his parents.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, in this house, and why it feels safer than anything he’s felt in a long time. Godric’s Hollow was a home until it became a target; a home until their son was to be targeted like fodder. But it was theirs.
Lily, Harry, and James’. A home where Sirius would show up unannounced even when they were hiding, and before then, with food and alcohol (and so much cheese because Lily loved cheese; cheddar, brie, goat, and so on). A home that could experience laughter, joy, and—
James is shoving clothes into a bag before he can think better of it; is already halfway to Harry’s room when he hears a quiet, little sob. A low, soothing sound follows. James rests his head against Harry’s door and struggles to breathe.
“‘addy,” Harry whimpers.
“I know, bambi,” Sirius whispers. His low, rich tenor follows. “Close your eyes… Have no fear. The monster’s gone. He’s on the run and your paddy’s here.”
Harry giggles softly.
“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful—” A soft hitch of breath. “Beautiful sprog.”
Harry laughs, louder this time, then squeals.
“Neither of you is going anywhere,” Sirius promises.
James knocks hesitantly on the door.
“This is your house, too,” Sirius teases roughly from the other side.
James carefully twists the knob and pushes the door open, bag on his shoulder. There is starlight scattered along the ceiling; Harry perched happily in Sirius’ arms. He reaches out one hand to James, eyes crinkling like Lily’s would. “Ba!”
“There’s your baba.” Sirius bounces him gently.
James leaves his bag behind at the door.
-
“Me?” Sirius barks out a laugh. “A godfather? Me? Oh Merlin, you’ve both lost your—”
“Are you saying no?” Lily asks, her hand folded into James’.
Sirius straightens in his seat, all confidence evaporating from his haughty features. He nervously fiddles with his coffee, ears red. Sirius lifts the cup, and it trembles slightly in his hand. He sets it down and swallows.
“Say yes.” James grins.
Lily makes an agreeing noise.
Sirius points at himself, voice cracking. “Me?”
“You,” they say in unison.
“You’ve—” Sirius’ mouth opens and closes. “You both have lost your fucking mind—”
“Are you saying no, Paddy?” Lily tilts her head, red hair spilling down her arm.
“Sounds like it,” James whispers.
“It does, darling,” Lily simpers. “Who better than you, Sirius?”
“We just came to an accord—”
“We did, didn’t we?” Lily meets his gaze evenly, smile impish. “Say yes.”
Sirius swallows once more, eyes darting to James in a quick, fleeting gesture. He looks away, and Lily’s smile widens. Her voice comes out as a purr, “Say yes. We’re a family.”
James perks up. “Yeah, Pads. A family. Be our godfather.”
Sirius glances at James once more. He stares for a long moment, and Lily squeezes James’ hand in reassurance. James doesn’t know what she’s reassuring.
Sirius looks away.
“Fine.”
-
Sirius lets them turn Grimmauld’s living room into a bouncy house of sorts. James turns a stiff couch into a slide and cushions into easily moldable foam. Harry wobbles around, placing his hands on each item James creates with precious wonder. When he finds a ball and tries to stick it into his mouth, James makes it bigger.
Sirius watches from the archway, arms folded across his chest, and a soft, little look as he watches Harry bounce around.
“You could join us,” James offers.
“Now why would I do that?” Sirius grins. He rasps his knuckles against the wall and leaves just as quickly, dark hair trailing after him.
James watches him go. He’s beautiful, he thinks, and then immediately dismisses the thought. It wasn’t an uncommon opinion. Sirius had been popular in school; he just never gave a shit beyond ensuring he had James’ attention.
James takes off his glasses and wipes the clean glass absently. He swallows, shame curdling in his gut. His wife is dead. His son traumatized.
Get a grip, Potter, James thinks, sliding his glasses back on.
Harry toddles towards him, a scruffy, worn dog in hand. “Ba, play.”
“Okay.”
-
“I should talk to Dumbledore.”
Sirius doesn’t look up from the rat he’s holding between two fingers and the book open in his hand. He doesn’t respond, but there’s disapproval in the line of his shoulders. James studies him, waiting. Sirius’ mouth twitches. He drops the rat, wiggling and shrieking, into the book and snaps it closed.
“Is that what you want?”
James swallows. “What are you hunting?”
“Voldemort.”
James rears back, eyes widening. “He’s dead—”
“He isn’t.” Sirius lights a cigarette. “But I’ll make sure he is.”
“Pads—”
“I hold grudges. You know that,” Sirius snorts. “He lifted his hand towards what’s mine too many times.”
“Who—oh.” James breathes. “Is that how he died? Regulus?”
Sirius, despite the distance he carved, felt the loss of his brother as though they had never parted. The opposite of love wasn’t hate; it was indifference, and Sirius Black had never been indifferent towards Regulus Black. The opposite was also true.
“Yeah,” Sirius’ voice cracks slightly. “Fucking idiot. He killed Marlene. Pettigrew under Voldemort’s orders. Voldemort killed Cas. He killed Lily. He nearly killed you and Harry. As I said, if he isn’t dead, I’ll make it so.”
“Don’t blame yourself—”
“Who else then?” Sirius snaps furiously, eyes wild. “Who? Who else but myself? Passivity—”
He cuts off, nostrils flared, and a devastating emotion sweeps over his features.
James carefully offers his hand as Lily used to do for them both.
Sirius doesn’t take it; just stares and stares. He grits his teeth, eyes watering. “I won’t fail this time. Any of you.”
“Pads—”
“I won’t.” Sirius grasps James’ hand desperately, fingers shadowing his eyes. His shoulders shake. A low, mournful whine leaves his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. She trusted me to take care of you. Both of you.”
“You did, Pads—”
“I didn’t!” Sirius shouts, shoving to his feet. He resembles Walburga, face twisted in hatred. Sirius looks away, breathing out what might’ve been a sob. His hands tremble where they’re braced against the stone table. Then it’s all swept away under a careful mask. Sirius straightens, demeanor changing completely. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going—”
“Out.” Sirius pivots on on his heel then he’s gone.
-
“Ba.” Harry tugs on James’ hoodie strings. “‘ads?”
“I don’t know where he is, Haz,” James responds quietly.
Harry’s eyes water, bottom lip between his teeth, but he nods as though he understands, tucking his face into James’ neck.
“He’ll be back,” James assures him.
Harry nods once more.
-
“Sirius? As in Sirius Black,” Remus repeats slowly. He almost appears hurt.
Lily merely stares through him, taking a quiet sip of tea.
“He’s responsible,” James argues, pouring Remus another cup of tea. “He loves us.”
“He does.” Lily sets down her cup in finality. “He’d die for James.”
Remus’ eyes flash with something that could’ve been jealousy.
“He’d die for our son,” Lily finishes. “I won’t accept anything less.”
-
James doesn’t remember what happened after; could only remember how pleased he felt.
-
Sirius returns nearly a week later with a furred keychain that whiskers and a box of something foul tucked under his arm. He tossed the keychain to James with hardly a word—it’s a gift—over his shoulder.
The fur was soft. Grayer than he remembered. James closes his fist around it and says nothing.
Harry is thrilled to see Sirius. He babbles happily in Sirius’ arms and peers curiously at the skull, head tilted. His hands pat Sirius’ chin and he presses a sloppy kiss right after. “‘ad man?”
Sirius doesn’t miss a beat. “Not anymore, bambi.”
Harry coos.
“Did he suffer?” James doesn’t know why he asks.
Sirius doesn’t look up from Harry, smile soft and adoring. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
Sirius doesn’t ask for his guilt, and he doesn’t care that it never comes.
-
The following day, James arrives to find a skull positioned near the fireplace picture, alongside additional photographs. Marlene McKinnon grins back at him, under Sirius’ arm. Dorcas Meadowes and Lily laughing too loudly in the library.
“There’s breakfast on the—” Sirius cuts off, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He glances between James and the fireplace. “Uhm—”
“It’s nice,” James manages.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Harry comes barreling down the stairs in a ball of magic.
-
“Should I go back to the Aurors?” James felt a bit useless. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. What he wanted to do.
“Do you want to do that?” Sirius prompts, dangling upside down from the couch. Those silver eyes drift to James, who has Harry hanging from his neck. “It’s fine to not do shit.”
“You’re doing stuff.” James blurts out.
Sirius barks out a laugh. He twirls a finger. “I’m on a spiral. We aren’t the same.”
“She’d want you at peace,” James says carefully. “Both of us.”
“That’s the thing, Potter,” Sirius rolls upright, long legs swinging to tuck beneath him. “She would want that after I eradicated everything else. I am not done yet.”
“Let me—”
“No.” Sirius’ gaze is icy. “No second chances.”
For who, James wonders.
-
“You ever think about soulmates?” Sirius lies sprawled on James’ bed after kicking out Peter and Remus. His dark hair spills over the edge. It’s an interesting contrast to the heavy Gryffindor red of James’ comforter.
James briefly wonders how Sirius would look in their uniform. He sets his Transfiguration essay aside and rocks forward from where he sits on the floor beside his bed. “Soulmates don’t exist.”
“Tragic.” Sirius sniffs. “That’s not an answer.”
“This is some romantic shit, Padfoot.”
Sirius rolls onto his stomach. “You can have friends as soulmates.”
You can? James perks up. “Then you’re my platonic soulmate!”
Sirius’ eyes dim a bit. He offers his pinky as James had taught him. “Soulmates, then.”
James links his own. “Soulmates.”
-
Sirius presses a vault key into James’ hand and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. James doesn’t want him to leave. His mind is a mess.
Don’t leave me too, he nearly begs.
Don’t leave me—
“Ah ah.” Sirius taps two fingers under James’ chin. “Remember, sunny, Potter.”
“Prongs,” James chokes out.
Sirius smiles slowly. “Prongs.”
-
Lily is dead, and James is holding their son, and Sirius is gone, and James doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel this way.
He doesn’t know if he can stop.
-
It feels like a goodbye.
-
It feels like waking up from a coma to realize his wife was dead.
-
Harry cries for a long time when Sirius leaves. James can only hold him, struggling with his desire to reach out and demand Sirius not leave them and the crushing guilt that follows.
-
They manage to settle into a normal, a new normal. Harry is just as happy and vivacious as a little shit could be. He talks more confidently to James and the little metal dog Sirius made for him. Sometimes the dog will talk back, sometimes it would bark.
James eventually speaks to it, “Bark twice if Harry can draw on the walls.”
It barks enthusiastically.
-
James finds a box of Lily’s things in an office on the third floor. He’d never ventured this far up despite being at Grimmauld for weeks—months?—but Sirius isn’t here and James finds himself looking for him as Harry did. The door is plain, unremarkable almost, and slightly ajar.
The room is airy. Fresh drapes line the windows, and there is a couch, a desk, but otherwise it remains bare. James finds the box on the desk. It’s a beautiful thing; all golden filigree and red lilies.
There’s a stack of journals inside, pictures of the Evans’ parents, and several opened letters. They’re addressed to Sirius. James doesn’t think he should look, but he does. He hadn’t known his wife kept Sirius so informed. It was almost clinical in that certain way of hers.
James reads them all, mouth twitching at how mundane the contents are, but they were important enough for Sirius to keep. He finds a sealed letter at the bottom with his name written across in the same dramatic flourish Lily would use to write grocery lists.
To keep things exciting, she’d say.
The weight of it is heavy. James settles on the floor with it between his fingers.
-
We’re having a baby. Isn’t that exciting? I believe it to be, no matter how stupid it is. There’s a war. A war, and I’m having a baby. We are having a baby. James is over the moon, but when isn’t he?
My… my little ball of sun.
I wonder if he knows how much I love him.
Sirius knows. He always knows. I believe if he believed me to feel anything less, I’d be dead by now. James Potter has such terrible taste in friends. But I’ve never minded Sirius Black. If there was any worth me sharing James with. It would be him.
-
Sirius looked at James today the way I look at James. The way James looks at me. At him. I wonder if either of them have noticed. I wonder if I should say anything.
-
James is worried. He hasn’t said but I know him well enough. I want to tell him to reach out to Sirius. Idiots. Both of them.
-
James reads and reads until his eyes turn exhausted from strain. At the end, there is a letter addressed to Sirius, unopened, worn and brittle at the edges. He opens it.
-
Sirius,
You’ll take care of them, won’t you? If I die… If I die—please believe that I don’t wish this—but promise me. Promise me you’ll take care of them. What am I even saying? I’m sorry, Siri. Everything is so stressful and my hormones. You’d never say, but I know you care. That’s how you are. You’d roll your eyes and hand me a tea.
Evans, you’d say. Finally ready to admit I’m better than you?
You’re such a cocky fuck. I’ve wanted to hate you. I tried, but you’re right, Black. Perhaps you are better than me because you’re a liar. You love him. I know you do, but you won’t admit it. Coward.
I understand, though. He’s perfect, isn’t he, Sirius? You called him sunny once in fourth year, do you remember that? I’m certain you do. You remember everything about James Potter.
You are so much kinder than me, Sirius. You let him go. I couldn’t… I can’t imagine not having James. Or Harry. Oh. We have a name now.
Harrison. Harry for short. What do you think? I believe you’d call him Haz. You’re terrible at nicknames, Sirius Black.
Tell him you love him. If I go, if I don’t. Be brave.
I’d ask for no one else to share him beyond you because you’d die for him. I suppose you’d die for me as well just so he wouldn’t be upset. How selfless, Sirius Black. Unlucky for me, I am not you.
Yours,
Lily
-
James roughly rubs his eyes, struggles to breathe, and his lungs collapse in on itself. He wants to know Sirius kept all this, why this box is in this room, but the longer he sits there, studying how different it is from the rest of Grimmauld, James wonders if Sirius carved a room for Lily here like he did for James.
-
James doesn’t know who he’s crying for when he does cry. He thinks about every time Sirius sat across from them in the Great Hall despite Slytherin’s furious disapproval, how he’d body check purebloods whose words cut through Lily’s carefully crafted dismissiveness. Sirius in their kitchen when they were both exhausted from raids.
Sirius’ arm around James’ neck. How his smile felt when it pressed to his ear.
Lily’s eyes darting between them, a knowing smile hidden behind a cup if tea.
James didn’t deserve either of them—
Our little ball of sun.
His tears soak through Lily’s last letter to Sirius Black.
-
Harry covers the walls of his bedroom with terrible art. A too tall doe, a stag with too long of a snout, and a tiny dog.
The images frequently cause James to burst into laughter.
-
Kreacher pops in often enough, but James decides to learn how to cook. Lily liked sweeter things. Sirius, naturally, preferred savory. Harry enjoyed both, which felt like some form of cosmic justice.
-
They’re playing in the front garden when Sirius comes home, expression etched in relieved elation at the sight of them. His mouth twists, amused, when James meets his gaze, Harry dangling upside down in his arms. Kreacher hesitantly peers from around him, holding his robes.
James can’t help but stare, mouth dropped open. “You’re home.”
Sirius’ eyes light up. “Yeah—”
“Paddy!” Harry gasps.
“Look who came home, Haz.” James hoists him upright. “Shall we say hi?”
“Yus!” Harry claps happily. He bounces when James sets him down, falls, then hops back up just as fast with a giggle. Sirius crosses the garden in a few quick strides, Harry already reaching for him with both hands. “Paddy! Paddy! Paddy!”
“Whose sprog is this?” Sirius scoops him up, burying his face in Harry’s wild hair. “So many words! Who taught you this?”
“Ba!” Harry squeals.
“You have a good baba, don’t you?” Sirius coos, glancing at James over Harry’s shoulder. His expression cracks at the corners, something incredibly soft bleeding through, and—Lily was right. Wasn’t she always? How did James never notice?
“I’m stealing my godson.” Sirius spins on his heel, Harry giggling into his neck. “Kreacher, show him the body.”
“Body?” James’ voice cracks.
Kreacher rubs his gnarled hands together.
-
Seeing Voldemort outside of the commanding presence he was is a surreal experience. It’s a barely formed husk that has some humanoid features. If James were honest, he’d say it looked like jerky.
“Master Black tell Kreacher that Lord Potter can make kindling,” Kreacher offers.
James blinks. What a Sirius thing to mention. He turns to Kreacher, mustering a grin. “Got a light?”
-
“You could have died,” James says quietly once they’re alone.
Sirius snorts, cigarette bobbing between his teeth. “Wouldn’t have mattered if you were both safe.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Sunny,” Sirius singsongs. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s gotten so much longer. “It takes a lot to kill me. If my mother couldn’t do it, neither could some wannabe fuck with no nose.”
“He didn’t have a nose.” James agrees.
“See?” Sirius grins at him; it transforms his face completely. “Maybe he was inbred. Guess not everyone can be a Black. We make incest look cute.”
James chokes on his spit.
Sirius wags the cigarette at him, grinning. “Sunny.”
-
Our little ball of sun.
-
Harry falls asleep on Sirius’ chest during a story. Sirius falls asleep watching him.
James watches them both from the other side of the couch.
He eventually gets up to cover them with a blanket.
Sirius’ face twitches in sleep, head turning towards James. He clutches Harry tighter, fingers splayed protectively along his back.
James hesitates, then places his hand over Sirius’.
Harry whistles softly.
James doesn’t move his hand, feeling them both breathe steadily. I love you, he thinks. It’s not the first time he’s said it in his own mind, but maybe the first time he acknowledged it. James loves Sirius. He loved Lily. So different, yet their fundamentals were nearly identical. James doesn’t know how to hold them both in his chest without breaking.
Sirius shifts in sleep, skin warm beneath James’, and breathes.
“I love you,” James whispers.
Harry releases a giggle, hands fisted in Sirius’ collar.
-
“Out here all alone, Black?” James pokes his head over the railing of the Astronomy Tower.
Sirius sits perched on the edge of a precarious ledge, cigarette between his lips. He doesn’t look at him, merely pats the spot beside him.
James nearly faints several times trying to get over the railing and into this tight fit. The ground spins beneath him. A hand slides along the back of his neck. Sirius smirks. “Fly a broom, but scared of heights. Are you a coward, Potter?”
“Are you suicidal?”
Sirius shrugs. “Maybe. We all have our vices.”
“What kind of vices beyond being an ass?” James asks, stealing Sirius’ cigarette.
“I keep chasing the sun.” Sirius laughs.
What a strange thing to say, James thinks, watching Sirius light another cigarette.
They watch the horizon until sunlight turns the Black Forest the color of fire.
-
“You were right. You’ve always been right,” James whispers. The morning light catches the photograph on the wall—Lily, laughing, red hair spilling everywhere. He could swear she’s smiling wider than before.
-
“We’ve been here for a while,” James hedges carefully. He flicks a Cheerio into Harry’s open mouth. His son claps feverishly, little legs poking straight out.
Sirius drags his fork through eggs, head propped up by his fist. He twirls the fork absently, but doesn’t look at James. “You ready to leave?”
“I found the office.”
Sirius’ shoulders stiffen. “So.”
“Why did you keep her stuff, Pads?” James asks gently.
Sirius’ mouth twists. His fork drags through eggs once more. He whispers, “If she’s here, you won’t leave. Neither of you. She wouldn’t mind.”
“Why is that?”
Sirius’ jaw works. He forces his eyes up, the whites of his irises reddening. The tension in his shoulders hasn’t left, and he’s trying so hard to be still, controlled, but they’ve been… friends for so long that James knows every tell. Sirius sets down his fork. It clatters loudly.
Harry sends him a curious look, nibbling furiously on his toast.
“I’m not trying to replace—”
“I know that,” James says kindly.
I know you love me and I know I’ve been a fool, but how marvelous it has been to have you both for as long as I did, he thinks.
“Do you?” Sirius presses.
“You never read her letter.”
Sirius’ mouth twists. He looks away, shame flickering across his face, and barks out a laugh. “Evans always knew too fucking much. It’s why I hated her for so long. Then I didn’t. She let me have what I could.”
I know that now, James thinks.
“I’d rather she were here.” Sirius roughly rubs his eyes. “So we could fight about it. About you. Harry. But she isn’t.”
I love you, James thinks, tentatively holding out his hand. “I don’t want to leave, Padfoot. Neither does Harry. We’re a family.”
Sirius stares at the hand, eyes brimming and brimming. He carefully places his hand in James’, expression crumpling. “I didn’t do all this—”
“Family.”
Harry gives them both a big thumbs up.
Sirius laughs, fingers curled tight around his mouth. He squeezes James’ hand roughly and bursts into laughter.
James laughs with him. “Ask us to stay.”
“I never want you to leave.” Sirius’ voice breaks. “Either of you.”
“Then we stay, right, Haz?”
Harry reaches out to smack his hand on theirs. “Yus!”