The Potter’s Household
“Dammit Moony, learn to aim better!”
“You’ll see how good my aim is later tonight, Padfoot,” Remus grunted, throwing a snowball at Sirius.
“Can we please keep it PG?” James asked, hurling his own supply of snowballs at Sirius.
“We’re 17 James, there’s no need for PG anymore,” laughed Peter, as he joined the attack on Sirius.
“18, actually,” Sirius said, hugging his head as several more snowballs were shot at him.
*
Christmas at Hogwarts had been unexpectedly empty —Well, Remus had thought so. Many of the students had taken the opportunity to return home upon the first arrival of the Hogwarts Express. There had been several Christmas presents exchanged, and an unending chain of embracing and hugging, crying and promising. Promises that one told to the other; I’ll definitely see you next year, just don’t draw attention to yourself too much, or get caught up in public affairs.
Of course, everyone had known why the adieu felt bleak and melancholy, rather than unbroken and bittersweet —No one knew who would live, or who would die. With ongoing day, the population of Death Eaters prospered and grew, and thus, there stood a colossally bold correlation of how the increase of such a disgustingly foul, loathsome, sickening, abominable, and repulsive society lead to the heightened death rates of the innocent and pure, young and old. It had certainly not been a genocide, but a massacre (which the huddled students would have argued was worse).
Many mornings, Remus awoke to a silent hallway serving breakfast that no longer tasted filling, nor sweet, only serving as the painfully patient blockade between his sleepy, unaware self and how devastated he and everyone else would be once the Daily Prophet started arriving. Because everyday, that black, rusted headline in Moore Mary printed upon that sickening yellow parchment (which to Remus, felt very criminal-like) described the killings of many, with something new everyday: Sectumsempra, that had sliced deep, gashing slashes upon the torsos and limps of the Ellington family, painting their living room floor a rich surge of blood that matched with the scarlet curtains on the left —as depicted in the photograph, and the use of the Crucio curse (which Lily had gasped at; ‘An unforgivable curse?!’) had tortured Suede and Liam Perkins into smashing their heads onto their mahogany dinner table, that still held the steam of warm carrot, potato, and leek soup sizzling in the porcelain plate bowls when the photographers of the Daily Prophet had arrived. Suede, in the end, had killed herself using the Avada Keravra curse, while Liam had only gotten himself a skull fracture. He definitely suffered from PTSD after that, but it was at least better than death —Remus thought.
Overall, no one knew what would be coming for them, whom, where, or when…
All he knew that his friends would be there for him.
While the students were allowed to leave school early, James; Sirius; and Peter decided to stay with him for the upcoming of the full moon. They planned that once Remus felt better, they would head off to Christmas at the Potters.
The full moon came and went, with Remus’ transfiguration more painful than the last, and the recovery even worse.
“Oh my god, I hate my bones,” Remus groaned upon his hospital bed, clenching at his white, dull sheets.
“You’ll be fine Moony,” Sirius stopped massaging Remus’ leg and propped his hand upon his chin, leaning in further towards him, “Get your rest, you don’t want to be drained for the next few nights. I’ll be sleeping next to you.”
“You’ll just have to deal with it,” Remus said curtly, “I’m not missing out on sleep just so I can snog you.”
“Oh, but it’s definitely gonna be more than just snogging,” he winked, “I’ve not been feeling very idle these past few days.”
“Poor Sirius,” Remus sighed sarcastically, “What can I do to get the crown Prince well-rested again?”
“We’ll see,” he grinned, then leaned in more until he was pressing against Remus and kissing his chapped lips. He licked them until they were wet, sucked them, and brushed against the Cupid’s bow of his lip that looked much alike an albatross spreading its wings against the open, clear sky.
“Moony, do you bite your lips accidentally?” Sirius sighed, moving down to kiss his collarbones.
“Not sure. I think I do it to kinda busy myself from the aches in my joints.”
“Well, you better stop doing that, because I want to kiss you more often, but if your lips are chapped then I don’t want to make it worse for you.”
“I’ll try,” Remus sighed, breathless, gasping at the place Sirius licked on his chest, “I’ll try for you.”
*
The hospital wing’s beds had always been comfortable, with their clean, laundry-scented sheets folded neatly and precisely. There were rows of them, each hosting patients for every few bed —which is what it would have done if not for the sudden decline of students leaving early for Christmas— and their privacy curtains were shut for the night, still unopened for the first light of dawn seeping through the windows. That was —until a specific someone pulled aside the curtains with extreme enthusiasm at 5 in the morning.
“Good morning lads- what a fine morning to be— SIRIUS?!” James yelled.
What James had unwillingly walked into was the scene of Remus and Sirius desperately kissing, mouth upon mouth as if eating each other, and not only was this the inappropriate thing, but Sirius’ legs were bracketing Remus’ hips atop him, back arched so the calloused palm of Remus’ hand could stroke the curve —digging his thumb into the spine and causing faint admiration whispering of love from Sirius which were uttered onto his jaw, instead of his ears.
They both looked up, Remus unbothered, and Sirius going unusually pale, until spiralling into a gush of red embarrassment.
“Thank goodness you’re not at the anal sex part yet,” James gagged, making his way to the spare seat to Remus’ left and plopping himself down, unfazed.
“What’s wrong, Prongs?” Remus asked, trying not to laugh as Sirius slid off Remus slowly, slithering back to his seat at the right.
“We’re off home tomorrow,” James grinned, waving a letter scented with the aroma of Mrs Potter’s delicious mince pies and the faint trace of her lavender perfume. The red wax seal had been ripped open by James, and the envelope was held behind the letter, crumpled, “Mum and Dad managed to convince Dumbledore they’ll look after you well. No need to worry about anything.”
“That’s nice of them,” Remus smiled half heartedly, “But I’ll only add to their troubles. You, Pads and Wormtail can go. I’ll write once Madame Pomfrey lets me out.”
“Unbelievable,” Sirius shook his head, “The person I was just making out with minutes ago cannot be the same person uttering these words to me now.”
“What?” Asked Remus.
“What Pads is saying is,” began James, “We’re not leaving you behind all alone in Hogwarts, especially when it’s Christmas. Not that we’d leave you if it wasn’t, and even mum and dad are so fixated on the idea. The statement is final, Moony, you’re coming with us.”
Remus had melted into a smile on that white, comforting bed frame, where the suns light hit at James’ glasses, that created a small, blinding spark, lighting up the slightly darkened room draped by the curtains a-front the windows. That pretty face of Sirius was illuminated by the glint, the darkness pooled underneath those sharp cheekbones —highlighting them. Now that Remus recalled, the moment had been so homely and hearth, very unlike what a hospital was supposed to convey. Sirius Black had been lit up by James’ glasses like a birthday cake, being presented to him. And the pure excitement of having to spend the upcoming Christmas Day by no one other than Remus had brought great joy to such deserving of a soul, that even the section of his eyes that would darken at the thought of Walburga and Regulus had faded, and instead sparkled like the the very star he was named after. They had been very sad, at the time, that Peter had not followed James to go into the hospital wing to give Remus a visit, and play a game of Blackjack with them that had unexpectedly lasted 3 hours. It would have continued if not for Madame Pomfrey’s strict shoes clicking close to Remus’ hospital bed, and her curt demeanour of an austere medic that deeply worried about Remus’ health and bedtime, which sent James and Sirius all the way back to the Gryffindor dorms to impossibly wait for the next day when they’d depart to the Potters. Before they left the hospital wing, Sirius had pressed his hand upon his beautifully smooth lips —which Remus could argue that its own shade could be more elegant than any flower’s blush— kissed his fingers excluding the thumb, and extended his palm outwards towards Remus, sending a flying kiss.
Remus had made a striking gesture behind Madame Pomfrey’s back, silently clasping that non-tangible flying kiss that seemed more real than James’ eye roll at the act. He lowered his hugged hands onto his chest, sheltering it with warmth and smiling up at Sirius as he left.
This, Remus had smirked, is going to be the best Christmas ever.
*
It had been the first night over at the Potters. The four of them had boarded the Hogwarts Express together, feeding on chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties. James had taken most of the treacle tarts for himself. Throughout the whole journey, Remus couldn’t keep his hands off Sirius; They brushed knuckles and fingers, held hands once they knew James and Peter were too preoccupied with a game of chess, they tangled legs, wrestled each other atop the red leather couches at a single disagreement, and Remus didn’t hesitate to stare at that handsome, porcelain face with almond eyes, that could so easily replicate a rockstar’s mien once half lidded. And Remus knew the waist he was caressing had been inked into drawings of the stars, moons, and runes the night before. Once they had ported the train, they were greeted by Mr and Mrs Potter, smiles embedded onto their happy, pleasant faces, and arms open with welcome. They had come all the way to London to pick them up with their Morris Minor (which Remus, Sirius and Peter gapped at while James nodded proudly), and with Mr Potter on the wheels, they drove their way back home.
Remus had learnt then that despite James’ personification of London —with his desperation to drink fire whiskey at night, and wake up early in the morning— ready to play Quidditch, the Potters didn’t live there. Instead, they were inhabited in a village in Wiltshire —called Castle Combe. Remus had once heard it was one of the prettiest villages in England, and certainly lived up to it’s name; Flower beds were towed neatly, shades of vibrant plants sprouted upon the limestoned cottages, and the vines enveloped the walls. There was also an enchantingly beautiful little brook, with waves that had been blown from miles away, and waters that carried such merry and lovely fish—which James had told many stories about getting injured when he was a child and messing around (Peter had pointed out that, in fact, James was even more childish, and at horrible risk to injure himself again, so the three of them carried James to the Potters cottage as Fleamont and Euphemia guffawed.)
Once they arrived, Remus was greeted by the hauling smell of thyme and marjoram blended into the sound of Mrs Potter putting the stove on for the bubbling of the creamy soup, syncopating with the growling of Remus’, Sirius’ Peter’s and James’ stomachs.
“Oh my poor dears, has the journey starved you?” Mrs Potter hummed, stirring the soup and taking out her floral tureen with streaks of gold and lapis.
“Yes, we are very starved indeed,” James nodded.
“Have they removed Mabel —the trolley lady, from the express?” Mr Potter questioned, “She never lets any students out of the train without giving them plentiful of snacks.”
James then sighed after the strict look on his fathers face, and emptied his pockets which had grown home to multiple sweet wrappers and a few chocolate stains.
“Onto dinner, you four,” Mrs Potter laughed.
*
The table had been stacked to the brim with food; a hearty made beef stew placed at the centre of the table, with tender chunks of meat, carrots and potatoes alongside it —rich with thick gravy. There are a few dumplings, fluffy in texture and pleasantly fresh to the taste, with a side drink of rose lemonade for Mr and Mrs Potter, but apple juice for Remus, Sirius, James and Peter.
“May God gift those in need during these horribly desperate times —with food, and clothes, and a roof to put their heads under,” Mrs Potter puts her hands in prayer, “May we stay this fortunate for as long as we’re here, and be blessed with the ability to help those in need around us. Amen.”
“Amen,” they follow.
*
Despite being so near the brink of a war, the four of them have a naively wonderful time after dinner. First, they ran up the creaky, wooden stairs, curving into James’ room and all at once jumped upon the bed —groaning from knocking each other over. Remus tutted as he and Peter were pushed off the bed to witness the centuries most epic wand duel between Sirius and James.
“I, Supreme Duel Master, challenge James —the Lesser Supreme Duel Master to dethrone me!” Sirius announced, arms wide in the air with wand clenched, as he stepped down the bed into the duel arena ( the place where Remus and Peter had rearranged some furniture for some more space), with posture so confident as if he’d been applauded by a thousand claps.
James scoffed, “I, Prongsbane, accept this welcomingly polite offer on absolutely kicking your ass.”
So for half an hour, James and Sirius goofed around —horrifyingly wrecking the room into pieces, while Remus and Peter played wizard chess at the corner. Remus noticed how at ease Peter looked since returning to Hogwarts.
“Something troubling you before, Pete?” Remus asked, grinning softly at him.
“Yeah,” Peter sighed, scoffing at James and Sirius yelling at each other, “It’s just, everything got tiring suddenly.”
“Hm. You mean the exams?” Remus asked.
“No,” he groaned, setting down his knight back to its starting position, “It’s everything. This is the year that matters, and we have to deal with all this— ‘You-know-who.’”
Remus furrowed his eyebrows, “Peter…”
“Our lives are going to get ruined, Remus, don’t you see?” He lowered his forehead onto his palms, exhaling, “We promised each other we’d fight together, but, what after? What if we don’t make it?”
Remus looked around with a straightened posture, first to a worried Peter, then to James and Sirius smacking each other with pillows.
“My uncle,” Peter began, “He was in the war. Came back with a missing limb— a leg. The ministry couldn’t protect everyone in the wizarding world from the muggle world.”
“Peter, I’m so sorry…”
“I know, I know. It’s just,” Peter looked up at Remus, “Magic couldn’t protect him from muggles. How could magic protect us from people like us?”
Remus grabbed onto Peter’s shoulder, shaking him, “Hey, we’re not like them, and they’re not like us. We both may have magic, but we’re very different.”
“I know that.”
Remus sighed, clenching his hold on Peter, before patting him reassuringly, “We’ll find a way.”
Peter smiled weakly, “We better, or I’m going take everyone to Australia to live there instead.”
“Hah, why Australia,” Remus grinned.
“Dunno. It’s sunny, unlike here,” Peter offered.
“By Merlin’s beard, by Merlin’s BEARD, BYMERLIN’SBEARD! JAMES POTTER GET OFF ME NOW!”
When Remus and Peter whipped their heads around to look at what unexplainable mess the two dumbasses made, they were struck shock with a James Potter tackling a Sirius Black to the ground— tickling him.
For a few seconds, the room was filled with Sirius’ laughter and attempts to flee from James’ grasp, until Peter gasped, “Sirius is ticklish??”
“I guess so,” James laughed.
So when Remus and Peter scrambled away from their game of wizard chess to all in unison tickle Sirius, to which Mrs Potter walked in on to tell them to ‘cut the ruckus, guests will be arriving soon’— Peter’s and Remus’ worries had been forgotten.
In truth, they both knew chances were slim to overpower the corrupted with only the will of good-heartedness, and the naïve courage of the brave and young. They both knew that once the war ended— if it was won or lost— they’d emerged as changed people, perhaps untethered by their bonds of friendship, and too the love that held them together. They both knew that perhaps their hearts would turn bitter, or rust dead in the overwhelming battlefield— where they would no longer be recognised by their ruined faces nor bodies, but only the dog tags that would rest atop their once pulsing hearts. They both knew that war changed men and women, that there is no going back once it starts. And maybe their identities will be stolen, buried deep within their souls; Never-loving, never-opening, but to Remus, there would still be a key and lock.
So let it be forgotten, Remus thought, going in to tickle Sirius once again.
Only for a bit.