The Abominable Cake-Man!
“I can never show my face again,” James lamented into his hands, mortified beyond belief. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. He wanted to sink into the ground and cease to exist. He wanted to change his name and move to Antarctica, where he would never have to see any of those people again.
“You’ve got to admit, it’s objectively pretty funny, mate.” Sirius couldn’t hold back his shit-eating grin. “I mean, when you flooed in, you looked like a frosted monster. The abominable cake-man. You can’t blame people for laughing — even I laughed.”
“You’re a terrible friend.” James’s voice came out muffled through his hands. He screamed, short and guttural, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of embarrassment he housed in his body.
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Sirius scooted closer and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Prongsie. It was a freak accident — coulda happened to anyone.”
“But it happened to me,” James pointed out miserably. “On my debut.”
“Yeah, okay, there’s no sugar-coating that one.” Sirius then proceeded to crack up at his unintended joke. “Sugar-coating! Oh fuck, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be laughing, but…”
James groaned and curled in on himself further. “Not. Helping.”
Sirius wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh Godric…” He collected himself. “Okay! Yes, you accidentally made a gigantic cake fall on you, on one of the most important days of your life, and everyone saw—”
“Still not helping.”
“But you can come back from this!”
“Can I?”
Sirius clapped his shoulder firmly. “Yes, you can! All you have to do is pretend it didn’t faze you!”
“It did faze me. I’m considering moving to Antarctica. Do you think the name Jordan or Jake would suit me better?”
“Jake, but you’re not changing your name and fleeing the country.” Sirius pulled James closer so that he leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re going to go to bed and try to get some sleep, because it is Yule tomorrow, and we are going to have the best time! And then, you are going to get dressed up, put your game face on, and get back out there!”
James sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You are James Potter,” Sirius emphasised, as if that meant something.
“So?”
“So, this is not even close to the wildest thing you’ve done!” Sirius elaborated. “James Potter is the guy who challenged Peeves to a break-dancing competition! James Potter is the guy who rocked pink hair for three weeks straight! James Potter is the guy who accidentally set off fireworks in Charms class, set his own trousers on fire, and then screamed and ran around for thirty seconds before remembering he was a wizard!”
“Why do I ever leave the house?” James wondered aloud. “I’m a hazard to society.”
“Exactly!” Sirius nodded. “You’re a menace! You do the weirdest shit, but do you know why you get away with it?”
“I’m a Potter?”
“You’re James,” he corrected. “James is fearless. James is fun. James doesn’t give a shit what people think of him.” Sirius took his hand. “James is the bravest person I know. He takes life by the balls and laughs in its face. He taught me to treat every day as though it’s an opportunity, and he taught me to treat myself as though I deserve to enjoy my days.”
Tears welled in James’s eyes.
“That’s who you are,” Sirius told him strongly. “You’re James Potter. If you want to go to the next ball, then you’re gonna go to the next ball. So what if people stare? So what if they laugh? You’ll just stand tall and own it. Like you always do. Because nothing tears James Potter down.”
James wiped at his tears, grateful beyond words. After a rollercoaster of emotions tonight, he felt frayed at the edges, but Sirius knew just what to say.
“Thanks, Pads.”
“Anytime, Prongs.”
“Love you.”
“Oh, don’t get soppy on me, Potter.”
*
Despite the reassurance from Sirius and his parents, James still didn’t sleep particularly well. He woke up first, disturbingly early, and made his way down to the kitchen. For a moment, he just stood there, bracing his hands against the chipped wooden countertop, and breathed in the comforting smell of the citrus-scented cleaner they used.
The kitchen was James’s favourite room in the house. Both of his parents loved to cook, and so this room had always felt like the centre of the home to James.
This was where James learned about his Pakistani heritage; his Mum telling him stories with a fond and reminiscent tone as she guided his hands through making naan for the first time. This was where James learnt Urdu, his Mum’s old family recipes written in the language, meaning they flitted between English and Urdu in equal measure as James was gradually taught to cook.
This was where James finally understood his father’s passion in life — he was terrible at Potions and never really had an interest in it, but cooking could be similar sometimes. James had never seen his Dad’s face brighter than when he taught his son how to peel the skin off of vegetables or vigilantly stir a bubbling pot. And it finally clicked to James where the joy was in Potion-making.
This was where a lot of firsts had happened for him too. His first tooth fell out while he was sitting right at the breakfast bar. His first grazed knee was treated while sat on the countertop. His first proper argument with his parents happened as they yelled at each other over the stove. His first chore was scrubbing the dishes in the sink.
James cherished all of the memories this room held. Memories of giggling with one parent while he baked a birthday cake for the other sleeping parent. The looks on his parents’ faces when he made them breakfast for the first time. The three of them dancing along to the radio while they were supposed to be chopping vegetables. Shrieks of laughter filling the room when flipping a pancake went horribly wrong.
This place was his comfort. Even with the gas stove that you had to blow on to make the fire catch. Even with the cupboard doors that creaked and never closed properly. Even with the chips and the dings and the scratches and the stains. This kitchen was well-used and well-loved. James always felt at peace here.
He decided to start cooking breakfast, hoping the act would drown out the doubts and the mortification clouding up his mind. And it would be nice for his family to wake up to breakfast on the morn of Yule.
He went through the familiar motions of pulling out bowls and utensils and ingredients from their respective homes, taking care to be as quiet as he could so that he didn’t wake anyone by accident. He was just adding the sugar to his egg and flour filled bowl when someone else shuffled into the kitchen.
“Morning,” Regulus mumbled, fluffy-haired and half-awake, clad in green flannel bottoms and a loose t-shirt (that must have belonged to Sirius at one point, given the band name sprawled across it).
James had to remind himself to breathe. Regulus should not be allowed to look this adorable in the mornings! It was too early for this shit!
“Morning,” James managed to say back. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No.” Regulus slumped down at the breakfast bar, rubbing at his eyes. “I woke up on my own. I think I’m too excited.”
James doubted he would have said that last part if he wasn’t still so sleepy. “It’s gonna be a good day.”
“Are you making breakfast?” Regulus asked, his words coming out as a cute little mumble, heart-warming hope leaking into his tone.
“Waffles,” he confirmed, fighting down his lovesick smile.
“Blueberry ones?”
James would never be able to deny those big grey kitten eyes. “Sure.” He poured the rest of the sugar and then went to retrieve the blueberries from the stasis shelves.
A comfortable silence descended upon them as James finished up the batter and Regulus watched him silently. It was only when James was pouring some batter into the press that Regulus spoke again. He seemed more awake by now.
“I thought you would be hidden away somewhere, refusing to re-join society,” he drawled, and James sighed.
He placed blueberries in the batter-filled press for Regulus and waited for the waffle to cook. “I can’t hide. I’ve got to pretend it didn’t faze me.”
“But it did?”
James just raised an eyebrow at him. “Forty pounds of cake landed on me. What do you think?”
Regulus smirked, amused. Then his expression dropped. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned in confusion. “What for?”
“You were hurrying after me.”
James huffed a laugh. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who wasn’t looking where I stepped. And I don’t need help embarrassing myself.”
His lips quirked up. “I suppose that’s fair.” A beat. “What will you do tomorrow?”
James removed the waffle from the press, plopping it onto a plate. He walked over to Regulus and placed it in front of him. “I’ll go to the Greengrass Ball.”
They stared at each other, pretty grey meeting boring brown. Regulus slowly began to smile. James felt himself instinctively smile back.
“You’ll dare to stand?”
James smiled wider. It was weird hearing his family motto spoken from Regulus’s lips, but nice, nonetheless. “I’ll stand to dare.” He went back to the counter whilst Regulus went on the hunt for maple syrup.
“That’s your family motto?”
James hummed in confirmation.
“Very Gryffindor.”
James laughed. “I guess so. But I’ve always thought of it more generally.”
“Go on.” Regulus sat back down and began lathering his waffle in syrup.
He poured out some more batter for a second waffle, adding chocolate chips this time, for himself. “Dare to stand. It means be brave, yeah, but also do the right thing. Be the change. It means audacity, it means radical thinking. It’s new and relentless and strong and unshakeable. It’s staring down Goliath and believing in yourself enough to come out as victor.”
Regulus seemed to consider this. “And what about the call and response thing? Seems a bit redundant to me.”
James grinned. “That’s my favourite part. ‘Dare to stand’ is the ideal — the idealistic hill to die on. ‘Stand to dare’ is the reality.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow.
“It means standing,” James continued passionately, “even when your knees are weak. When you’re so tired, you can barely move. When you’re so scared, all you want to do is run. Standing to dare is the physical representation of what it takes to be bold. The struggle — whether it’s physical, or mental, or both. The work, and the effort, and the inner strength that it takes.”
“But the best part,” James took his waffle out of the press, “is that you can’t say it alone. You have to have someone there to say the second half. You need to have people you can trust. People to lean on. It acknowledges that you might have to stand on your own, dare on your own, but you always need someone there to catch you after. The Potters are a family before we are a House. We support each other no matter what.”
He looked up in time to catch Regulus’s gaze already on him, breakfast untouched. “Dare to stand,” he said again, with new understanding.
James smiled. “Stand to dare.”
He turned off the waffle maker and adorned his waffle in fresh fruit with a touch of chocolate sauce. He came to sit on the other side of the breakfast bar, and they began eating together.
“It’s better than toujours pur,” Regulus commented absently. “I’ve always hated that.”
“‘Always pure’, right?” James clarified. The boy nodded. “I wonder if it was always about blood purity.”
Regulus visibly paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “You think it might have meant something else originally?”
James shrugged. “You would know better than I would. But my brain jumps to: always pure of heart. Maybe it was about intentions. What you could do for others, what you put out into the world. Maybe it wasn’t about appearing pure and perfect, maybe it was about striving towards the purest form of life and goodness?” He speared another bite. “Who knows? Could’ve just as easily been about virginity or blood purity or some shit.”
He shovelled in his mouthful and chewed contentedly. It took him several seconds to realise that Regulus was still staring at him, not eating. “You know, that’s going to get cold soon.”
Regulus didn’t seem concerned about his waffle. “You have the strangest way of looking at things, Potter.”
James tilted his head curiously. “It’s called optimism.”
“It’s called naïveté,” he corrected.
James smiled despite himself. “Hard disagree on that. I’m well-aware of the bad things, I just prefer to focus on the good where possible.”
Regulus shook his head, a small smile escaping him. “That doesn’t sound sustainable. I prefer to be realistic.”
“You mean, pessimistic,” James countered, pointing at him with his fork.
Regulus batted it away with his own fork. “I mean, I look at things as they are and accept it.”
“You’re over-cautious,” James asserted.
“You’re under-cautious,” Regulus shot back. “Reckless even. You’ve never had to be careful.”
James conceded this. “True. But you’re in my world now, sunshine — it’s time for you to let your hair down.”
The boy raised a sceptical brow. “And when it all blows up in my face?”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can hope,” James argued. “And I can do everything in my power to keep it from blowing up.”
“Hope is a luxury not all of us can afford,” Regulus told him slowly.
“I’ll lend you some of mine. I’ve got plenty to spare.” James mimed handing over hope and dumping it in the Slytherin’s lap. “There! You’re all stocked up now!”
Regulus laughed quietly at his ridiculousness. His face seemed to light up when he laughed. It looked brighter and younger and beautiful. James could stare at the sight all day.
“Well, you two are tooth-rottingly sweet,” a new voice cut in.
They both jumped and leaned back as though they had been doing something they shouldn’t, turning to see Sirius in the doorway.
“Get it?” Sirius chuckled at his own joke. “Sweet like our favourite Cuddle Muffin.” He gestured to James.
“The cake jokes are never going to end, are they?” He despaired, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Never.” Sirius grinned. “Are those waffles? Hey, Frosty the Cake-Man, can I get one of those?”
James sighed, getting up. “You’re lucky it’s Yule. Otherwise, you’d be doomed to a waffleless existence after that joke.”
*
His parents joined them shortly after that, his Mum dropping a kiss on James’s forehead in thanks for the food, while his Dad ruffled his hair and grinned. Breakfast was a light-hearted affair, the room filled to the brim with chatting and laughter; they excitedly talked about their plans for the day and bantered amongst themselves as they ate their waffles.
Until now, every Yule morning, every start to the Winter Solstice that James had experienced, had consisted of only James and his parents. It had been lovely, of course, and James had so many fond memories of the holiday to look back on. But this was the first time he had other people to share the festivities with. This time, James could look over and see his best friend in the world, smiling so wide it made his heart sing. This time, he could turn and see such a beautiful brightness in Regulus’s eyes that he never wanted to look away.
Don’t get him wrong, James had loved growing up with his parents. He’d loved having Peter and Marlene over for play dates as often as he could. He’d had an absolutely wonderful childhood. But this, what he had right now, was a feeling he’d been craving for years. A feeling of true family. Of being surrounded by light.
He’d begged his parents for years and years to give him a baby sibling, and he hadn’t understood until he was older that they couldn’t. They’d wanted to — wanted a large family themselves — but James was a miracle baby, born after years of health complications, failed fertility treatments, and devastating miscarriages. James was, by all accounts, not supposed to exist; just when Euphemia, Fleamont, and all the healers helping them had given up on the reality of the couple ever conceiving a child, James showed up. His parents called him a blessing, a gift from the gods, and as much as they would have liked to give him a sibling, they couldn’t. Their little family of three remained a little family of three.
Now, sitting here in this kitchen, James knew that this was fated. The gods worked in mysterious ways, and this was what Hecate had intended all along. James was meant to be born against all odds, so that he could stumble upon the Black Brothers. So that they could find their way here — somewhere safer, somewhere where they would be loved and appreciated, just as they were.
His parents went through so much to have children, and now they had three. James could see it in their faces, as they laughed at a joke Sirius made, that they were happier now than they ever had been. That they cherished Regulus and Sirius, just as much as they did James.
He could also see that the brothers were happy too. Could see it in the relaxed set of their shoulders, and the sparks in their eyes. In Regulus’s dimples peeking out when he dared to smile, and Sirius’s voice reaching obnoxiously loud volumes without fear of reprimand. They weren’t made to be shoved into moulds or beaten down until they broke, because they were both so perfect and shone so brightly already.
They were stars, born to be admired.
And in this house, they were. Here, James admired them.
Just a boy bathing in starlight.