Chapter 2
James hadn’t been sleeping. Every time he lay down at night, he found himself unable to relax, tossing and turning until he would admit defeat and slouch down to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea. It was becoming a sort of routine by the middle of the christmas holidays, and tonight was no different.
He sat at the kitchen table, breathing in the warm steam and listening to the low rumble of thunder. An old, familiar longing urged him out on his broom, and he might of considered it if it weren’t for the harsh winds and relentless rainfall. Instead, he sighed wistfully and tapped his fingernails against the mug, wondering idly how Sirius was doing. He hadn’t heard a word from him all Christmas, nor had Remus or Peter. This wasn’t particularly unusual for Sirius, he supposed, but James always worried regardless.
The room was illuminated by nothing more than moonlight, which flickered as the swaying branches outside briefly hid and revealed the moon. It was nearly full, two days away, a night that Remus would spend alone in the basement of his childhood home. Just the idea of Remus transforming by himself made James nauseous, but none of them had been able to think of a reasonable excuse as to why they would need to be in the cell while Remus transformed, other than revealing their identities as illegal animagi.
Then James worried a little about Peter, because he didn’t want to leave any of his friends out, even if they would be none the wiser to it either way. Peter had seemed all right when James last saw him the week before, if a little quiet. But Peter had always been quiet, hadn’t he? Or was that a recent development? Bloody hell, James thought, he ought to start paying closer attention to his friends.
A soft knock on the front door made him jump briefly, before he relaxed again with a little shake of his head. The door had a tendency to rattle in the wind; it sometimes sounded as though someone was knocking and gave James the fright of his life. But no one would be at the door in the middle of the night, he reasoned, even when the soft knock sounded again.
Perhaps the sleep deprivation was making him hallucinate. Stashing the empty mug by the sink to rinse the next morning, he turned towards the stairs when the knocking rang out again, harsher this time and far more insistent. That certainly didn’t sound like the wind.
James froze in place, foot hovering above the first step. He considered racing upstairs to wake his Mum and Dad, but feared the perpetrator could see him through the little blue window at the top of the door and was waiting for him to run in order to strike. With a sharp intake of breath, he crept towards the end of the hall, realising right as he reached the handle that he’d forgotten his wand upstairs. As his heart leapt into his throat, he threw the door open.
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Sirius wasn’t wearing any shoes. He only realised this as he climbed the steps to Potter Manor, the smooth stone a welcome reprieve from the harsh gravel and dirt that had left the soles of his feet bruised and bleeding. He didn’t have anything really, other than his wand, a stained white tee and a plaid pair of pyjama bottoms in Gryffindor red he wore purely to aggravate Mother. He thinks they belonged to James first anyway.
Another strong gust of wind threatened to topple him over as it sprayed him with a wave of pounding raindrops. The storm was brutal, but there was a soft orange glow emanating from the windows of James’ house, and Sirius allowed himself to feel relieved for the first time that night.
He slumped against the side of the porch and knocked softly with his knuckles, afraid to wake anyone and equally afraid to spend all night alone in this storm. There was no answer. Checking over his shoulder, he knocked a few more times and held his breath in anticipation. Still, the door stayed closed, but he could see the silhouette of a figure moving through the kitchen, towards the stairs.
Suddenly, Sirius felt desperate. He didn’t want to spend all night outside in the cold rain, where Mother and Father could appear at any moment and snatch him away. He wanted to be safe and warm in James’ bed, with Effie fussing over him and Monty suggesting they play a game of chess tomorrow morning. He wanted, desperately, to feel part of a family, a real, proper family full of love and warmth and everything else the Potters encapsulated. He knocked again, loud and desperate, and watched with bated breath as the figure turned and slowly crept towards the door. Finally, it flew open and Sirius was greeted by James’ face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Sirius?” James doesn’t know why he asked, he knows Sirius like the back of his hand, there was no one else it could be. But the boy in front of him was so far from the Sirius he knew he couldn’t help but question it.
“James.” Sirius’ face crumpled as he reached out a bloodied hand for him. Tears rolled over the dried, bloody handprints on his cheeks.
“Sirius.” James breathed, “Bloody hell, come inside.”
He tried to pull him through the door, but Sirius resisted, shaking his head. “I’ll- I’ll make a mess.”
“Don’t be daft, it’s freezing out there.” James replied as he tugged him inside. “Merlin, you’re soaked through. It’s like you fucking walked here.”
There was pregnant pause as Sirius ducked his head and looked at him sheepishly, tears and rain still drying on his cheeks. James sighed and shook his head, something close to wonder in his eyes. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I- I didn’t know-“ Sirius’ voice broke, and he looked dangerously close to crying again. He was swaying on the spot, still clinging to James’ arm and shirt like a lifeline.
“Alright, mate, don’t worry. I’ve got to yell for Mum and Dad, alright?” Sirius nodded, eyes wide and earnest, yet James still hesitated. He knew what it was like for Sirius when people yelled sometimes, and he didn’t want to take any chances, especially on a night like tonight. “Do you want to cover your ears? Or should I run up and get them?”
Sirius startled, clutching him impossible tighter. “Don’t go.”
“Alright, I won’t, okay? Just cover your ears for a minute.” Sirius complied, lifting his hands to cover his ears. James suddenly realised how much of Sirius’ weight he’d been supporting, and immediately wanted to steer him towards the sofa. He went to do just that before remembering to call his parents, and hollering up the stairs.
“Mama! Baba! Ma!” He saw the light from their bedroom flood across the landing floor and sighed in relief, removing Sirius’ hands from his ears. “Alright, they’re coming, alright?”
Sirius nodded and seemed to relax for a split second, before his eyes were clouded with fear again.
“James,” He said, shaking James urgently, “James, where’s your wand? Where’s-“
“It’s upstairs, mate. Wh-“
“What if they- what if they come looking for me? What if they come to get me? You need your- I can’t protect- what if- I won’t be able to-“
“Sirius, Pads slow down.”
“No, James, you don’t understand. She’s gone- she’s gone psycho. I shouldn’t have even come here.” Sirius was shaking his head, eyes wide and unfocused as he backed away from James. “I’ve- I’ve got you all in trouble.”
“It’s alright.”
“Don’t you remember second year? She’s going to- she’s going to come back for me. And- and she’ll- you’ll-“ Sirius had continued backing away, until his thigh grazed the little table and brought a lamp crashing down to the floor. James’ house was carpeted in almost every room (the Potters knew their son all too well) so it didn’t smash, but it thudded loudly against the wall during its descent.
“Sirius-“
“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry.” Sirius dropped to his knees, trying to place the lampshade back over the light bulb with shaking hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to-“
“Of course, mate, it’s alright.” James reached out towards his best friend, but Sirius flinched back so suddenly he fell backwards onto his hands, staring at James with wide eyes.
“Don’t send me home. Don’t make me go back. Please, James, I can’t go back. They’re going to- she’s gonna kill me. I’m going to die, I’m going to die.”
“Hi Sirius, love.” Suddenly Euphemia was kneeling on the ground beside Sirius, and James was certain he’d never been more relieved to see his mother before in his entire life.
“Effie,” Sirius cried, like a prayer, and then he was sobbing again. “Effie, she’s done something to me. I can’t breathe. I can’t- she’s- I’m going to die.”
“Sirius listen to me, you’re having a panic attack.”
“No, no, she’s cursed me. She’s really going to do it. She’s really gonna kill me. I don’t want to die. Please, I’m not ready to die.”
“You’re not going to die. Listen to me, Sirius. You’re at Potter Manor with James, Fleamont, and I. You’re safe.”
Sirius had pulled his knees up to his chin, making him look younger than James has ever seen him. With wide eyes and trembling hands, his voice comes out as little more than a whisper. “I’m scared.”
“I know, love. We just need to get you breathing all right again and then we can talk about what’s going to happen next, okay?”
Sirius choked on a sob, nodding even as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Okay.”
“How about you try to follow along to James’ breathing?” James took this as his cue to kneel beside Sirius, who immediately reached out to press a hand against his chest. It was their routine, of sorts. Ever since James first witnessed one of Sirius’ panic attacks at eleven years old, Sirius had been pressing a trembling hand to his best friend’s chest and following his breathing. James knows it isn’t how magic works, but sometimes he swears he can feel the same incandescent tug in these instants as when he holds his wand. It’s moments like these, while James slows his heart and counts his breaths, that he thinks maybe there’s a bit more to magic than wizards really know.
“That’s it, Sirius, you’re doing very well.” His Mum says softly as Sirius’ breathing begins to slow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense darling, you’ve nothing to apologise for.”
“Are you hurt anywhere, Pads?” James interjects because he’s still a bit caught up by the dark red handprints stamped on each of Sirius’ cheeks and it’s beginning to make him feel quite ill.
“Um…” Sirius’ eyes go a bit distant as he looks down at himself, at the t-shirt James thinks used to be white but is now more reddish-brown than anything. He shakes his head softly, confused almost. “I don’t really remember.”
James feels something like fear drip ice cold down his spine. “You don’t remember anything, Pads?”
“James.” Euphemia scolds gently, and James tries to bundle up all the worry that’s seeping out of him into something more manageable. “How about we get you all cleaned up and healed, Sirius? You’ll feel better going to sleep in some clean clothes, I’m sure.”
Sirius nodded shakily, and allowed himself to helped into the bathroom down the hall. They passed Fleamont on the way, who was heading to the kitchen to make some ‘much needed tea’. “Glad you’re home, son.” He said on his way past, and James pretended not to see the tears that gathered in Sirius’ eyes.
James sat beside Sirius while his mother busied herself looking for all her healing remedies, wordlessly wrapping an arm around his friend’s back. Sirius sank into him with a sigh. They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped up in one another’s warmth.
When Euphemia gently pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, Sirius seemed to startle awake.
“Sorry love, I’m just trying to get you cleaned up. Do you think you could take off your shirt for me?”
James wasn’t sure he was prepared to see the extent of Sirius’ injuries, but he helped him remove his shirt nonetheless. It was unlike anything James had seen before.
Sirius’ entire back was mauled by deep gashes and wounds that crossed over each other. Blood pooled in the divots of his skin, scabs having been ripped off as they’d removed his shirt. His front was no better, skin blossoming with bruises of almost every colour. And worst off all, right in the middle of his chest: an intricate shape burnt directly into Sirius’ sternum. The Black family crest.
James heard his mum gasp beside him. He felt as though he might be sick. They’d branded him, like some sort of animal.
“Sirius…” He heard himself whisper, voice breaking more than he’d like to admit.
“It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt really.” Sirius’ voice was empty, his eyes gazing unseeingly at some point on the wall.
“You never need to lie to me, darling.” Euphemia murmured, going to heal Sirius’ injuries. Yet no sooner had she slipped her wand from her sleeve, than Sirius had jerked backwards with a fresh terror in his eyes. James caught him with an arm around his back to save him tumbling backwards into the bathtub, but Sirius (even in his weak state) still struggled to break away.
“Sirius, stop. You need to be healed.” James tried to plead, but Sirius was having none of it, shaking his head and staring at the wand like it was going to grow teeth and eat him alive.
“Okay, look, I’m putting my wand outside Sirius, see? I’m not going to hurt you.” Euphemia said, opening the door just long enough to throw her wand out into the hall. Sirius was still panting and sort of mumbling incoherently, but he seemed to calm significantly, at least enough for James to let him go.
James could hear his mum murmuring softly, but his attention was firmly captivated by the sight of his arms. They were covered in his best friend’s-his brother’s-blood. He could feel the bile that had been churning in his stomach all evening rise up his throat, turning just in time to heave over the toilet.