A Tale from the First War
Rated: PG-13
Spoilers: Hmm. This story takes place before Harry is born. But let's say post OotP to be safe.
Notes: This story takes place in the months leading up to Harry's birth and beyond.
Disclaimer: While this story is mine, the characters are not. Some bits are artistic license; others are supported by J.K. Rowling's books.
January
The house seemed like an unassuming cottage just down a country lane. In the spring and summer its garden would run riot with flowers. Today, it was a frosty white drift of snow. James' boots sank into the unbroken crust of ice. No one had bothered to clear a path to the door. That worried him. Sirius was usually so tidy. What could have stopped his friend from doing chores?
He trudged through the whiteness; stray clumps falling into his boots, melting against his socks. He reached the door; a warm cherry wood with four small window panes at the top. Rapping on it, he listened to the silence around him. Somewhere, far off, he could hear the muggle world racing about its business. "So blissfully unaware," he whispered to himself.
No sound came from the house. Could Sirius be out? No, that didn't seem likely. Maybe he had misunderstood Dumbledore's directions. He raised his hand to knock again. The door flew open. Steely gray eyes glared at him over the tip of a wand. James smiled softly, raising both gloved hands to show he held no wand. "Sirius," he greeted.
"James." He lowered the wand and opened the door wider, managing to hide a small grimace behind his long black hair. He flipped the hair back out of his face.
"Can I come in?" James asked. Sirius remained in the doorway. He's actually thinking about it!
"Sure." A twinge of hatred rushed through James. How dare Voldemort do this to them! All they'd been through together! And now, they hid from each other; second-guessed each other's motives.
Sirius stepped back from the door. He was not dressed for the cold. He wore a pale blue tank top and charcoal gray shorts. The outfit turned his gray eyes cold. James ducked in and kicked off his boots. Sirius closed the door and folded his arms across his chest.
James watched him out of the corner of his eye. He removed the black overcoat and gloves, hanging them on the coat rack near the door. Sirius took in every movement; memorizing each one, it seemed. With a small sigh, James smiled at his friend. My best friend, he reminded himself.
"So. This seems nice," he began looking around.
"What do you want, James?"
"I. . . I just need to talk to you." James willed all the warmth he could muster into his hazel eyes.
"About what?"
"Well. About Lily, actually." The cautious mask Sirius had been wearing shattered. Concern swallowed his eyes.
"Lily? Is she okay?" Panic edged his voice.
James held up a hand, restraining his friend without touching him. "Padfoot, can I come in?" Sirius nodded.
"Yes, alright. This way." Sirius ran a hand through his hair as he led James further into the house. "Tea?" he asked.
"Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble." Sirius shook his head no. The house looked well-decorated. Warm reds and sage greens dominated the rooms. It didn't seem Sirius' taste at all. "Who lives here?" he asked as Sirius deposited him in a sitting room and continued on to the kitchen. Two beige sofas framed a low oak table.
"I do!" Sirius called from the kitchen. James smiled.
"I mean besides you. Who did Dumbledore commandeer it from?"
"Does it matter?" Sirius returned with a tea tray. "I'll have to leave now. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow." Sirius had been in hiding for a few weeks now. The Death Eaters had made themselves known to Dumbledore's followers. They had started with the 'black sheep' of the Black family.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. How is it?"
"Being cooped up on Dumbledore's orders? It's worse than detention with Filch." A ghost of his usual smile flitted across his face. James remembered that smile. He remembered it lighting up a room, faltering at unwelcome news, and stifled when laughing would have been inappropriate.
Today, it turned into a grimace. "Lily," he prompted. James stopped his own smile. He set his tea down and leaned forward. Sirius imitated him.
"I had to threaten to leave the Order before Dumbledore would tell me where you were. But I wanted you to be the first to know." Worry clouded Sirius' eyes. James watched all the horrible possibilities race through his mind.
"Know what?"
James opened his mouth to say, and then shut it. Sirius' worry flashed to anger and his hands balled into fists. James chuckled. "Easy, Padfoot. I'm just having a bit of fun. Lily's fine. She's pregnant." He laughed as all the emotion and color drained from his friend's face.
"P--Pregnant?" James nodded, smiling. "Are you sure?"
James laughed. "Of course I'm sure! We had it confirmed yesterday morning." Sirius leapt for him. Startled, James' first thought was to protect himself; to fend off the angry blow. Sirius plowed into him, their momentum carrying them back into the sofa. Sirius held him tight; his barking laughter filled the room. James returned the embrace, adding his own laughter to the din. Just like old times.
"When? What?" Sirius started. James pulled away from him, smiling. They sat up, still holding onto each other. "When, when is she," he stopped, his gray eyes searching James' face.
"Due?" Sirius nodded. "July or August."
"And she wants a girl, of course," Sirius laughed.
"Actually, she says it's a boy."
"She says it's a boy? She's a seer, now?" They laughed again.
"I would love to have a son and she says it is one," James shrugged. "Who am I to argue?"
"A smart man doesn't argue with a pregnant woman."
Our old patterns have fallen back around us. The banter, the laughter. It all belongs to a simpler time. A time when we would never hide ourselves away. James' smile faded. Sirius caught the mood change and his face closed down. A pang of sadness lanced through him, "I ought to go," he said. "I just needed to tell you. The longer I'm here. . ." he trailed off.
"I know," Sirius sighed. He huffed and threw his feet up on the couch, spinning to lean his back against James. James leaned into his friend, closing his eyes. He remembered the scent of him; the sure, confident presence of him. A tear gathered in the corner of his eye.
There is nothing more to do but soldier on. James waited for the tension to bleed from Sirius. It faded slowly. He always tried to hold that anger. It seemed to give him purpose; courage. The anger drained away and they sighed in tandem. A sad chuckle escaped from James. They sat motionless, breathing together. Happier days haunted him. This is how it should be. We should be gathered together for tea and dinner. Reliving old times, laughing and telling stories. Hiding from each other. Suspecting and double-guessing each other! None of it should be happening!
James opened his eyes and blinked back the tears. "I'll see you again, Padfoot," he said. Sirius nodded. He wouldn't answer aloud. James stood slowly and turned to look into his best friend's face. Unshed tears glistened in his gray eyes. James reached out a hand and Sirius took hold of it. He pulled him up into an embrace. They held each other close. If we could only stay this way. Sirius pushed away slowly.
"Go now, Prongs. I'm so happy for you, really." He paused, his words stopping hi his throat, "We'll be together again." A sad smile crossed his thin face, "Padfoot and Prongs. Just like before."
Nodding, James started for the door. Sirius stood with his jaw set defiantly as James climbed into his snow gear. Once in his coat he turned back towards Sirius, "No, Prongs. Don't look back." James stopped. Sirius' voice filled with tears, "Just go." James stared at the closed cherry wood door. "Just go," Sirius whispered again.
James reached out, turned the knob, and stepped out into the January chill. He forced himself to walk out into the snow. The door shut behind him, the final click of the lock echoing in his heart.
A scream of rage and pain shattered the silence. It tore from the cottage and into James. The crash of breaking furniture followed it. Swallowing back the tears, James pulled out his wand and disapparated.