24th of August, 1976
It had been officially one month and three weeks since Sirius Black had run away from home and moved in with the Potters, and life had never felt sweeter. His summer was being so good to the point he found it hard to believe that summer days could actually be like this: he could sleep in as much as he wanted, he woke up to birds chirping, had biscuits for breakfast almost everyday (Mrs. Potter baked them herself), spent mornings chatting around with James, played quidditch with him and Mr. Potter, they all had meals together and they lied on the sofa with hot cups of tea basically every evening. Furthermore, as if everything wasn’t perfect already, James often invited Peter and Remus over, which made him feel just like they were back at Hogwarts. The house was always warm and loud, even though nobody shouted. The loudness was just a consequence of jokes and laughs, which filled every space with brightness and joy. It was so different from Grimmauld Place that Sirius hardly believed the two houses were on the same Earth. Actually, his whole life was being so good to the point he found it hard to believe that it could actually be like this.
Well, that is if you don’t take into account the sleepless nights, the unintentional flinching at any loud noise, the long minutes spent staring at the ceiling, the shutting down whenever he laughed a little too loud, the nightmares that made him wake up screaming in the middle of the night, the stiffening whenever Euphemia or Fleamont brought out their wands, the anxiety that rose in his chest when the Potters had guests over and the house filled with tens of people he didn’t know, and the constat, irremovable sense of guilt, which haunted him every second, making him feel like he didn’t belong there, because deep down you know you don’t, and you don’t deserve their kindness, their love, you don’t deserve anyone’s love actually, because you’re just a filthy disgraceful excuse of a son--
Yes, despite that, everything was perfect. He was fine, he felt fine, and he hated the idea of not feeling fine, because it would make him even more ungrateful. How could he not feel fine when the Potters were giving him the perfect life he had always dreamt of? Ever since he was eleven he often caught himself secretly wishing that James was his brother, that they would go home together for Christmas and receive tight hugs from their mother and warm smiles from their father. That he had parents who actually cared about him, that were proud of how he was doing at school and didn’t scream at him. That he had a brother who could look at him without feeling ashamed. That his family loved him. That his mother hadn’t pointed her wand at him and screamed Crucio, crucio, crucio--
Yes. His life was absolutely fantastic. He felt perfectly fine.
He certainly felt amazing as he was dancing around in the living room with James that evening. Fleamont had given him permission to put on the new Bowie record Andromeda had sent him (his hands were slightly shaking as he asked, but Fleamont had just replied, “Of course you can, my boy! Just try not to go to sleep too late, we’re going to Diagon Alley tomorrow and I don’t want you to be tired.”), and as soon as “Diamond Dogs” started playing James joined him and started humming and awfully dancing to the song. It was such a funny scene to watch that Sirius couldn’t help getting up from the sofa and starting to dance with his best friend. It made him feel so carefree, so light and happy. He never would’ve believed he could feel like this in any other place but Hogwarts. His evenings at Grimmauld Place (his good evenings, since the bad ones were filled to punishments, screams and curses) were all the same: his parents shutted themselves in his father’s studio, discussing only God knows what; Regulus went to the library to spend hours surrounded by books and chess boards, and he was just left to his room, staring at the ceiling for hours (he had to be careful not to make any loud noise, that would’ve made his mother very angry, and he certainly didn’t wish for any more cuts or beating).
He was quite having the time of his life, sliding around the living room as the song went on, and he wasn’t actually thinking of anything at all, which is why he didn’t pay attention enough to notice the cups filled with tea on the small table near the sofa. At least, not until he slammed against the table, making all of the four cups fall on the floor.
The tea spilled, the ceramic shattered.
Oh, fuck.
Sirius allowed himself to stay frozen in place for exactly eight seconds, before collapsing to his knees and starting to collect the broken pieces of ceramic. His breath came out sharply, his whole body was vehemently shaking and he wasn’t paying attention to the tea staining his trousers nor the ceramic cutting his hands.
“Sirius-- Sirius, stop,” James was muttering something, but he didn’t hear him, he didn’t even care. Sirius wasn’t aware of anything that was going on around him, because suddenly he was nine again, back at Grimmauld Place, a glass shattered on the floor. He’s crying. His mother is screaming, You are incapable of even holding still without destroying everything around you, Sirius, how can you think anyone will ever love you?, and now he was on his knees, glass cutting deep into his legs and hands, and it fucking hurts, he cries even harder, his mother screams even louder, You are not to leave until everything is perfectly clean, you hear me?, she presses his hands even deeper onto the broken glass, he lets out a strangled cry, Oh don’t you dare complaining, boy, you deserve this, and so he stays here, because he deserves it, he deserves to suffer, to feel pain, because he destroys everything, and no one will ever love him--
“Sirius, my son, can you hear me?” His eyes flickered, and he saw Euphemia sitting on the floor next to him, her hand gently placed on his cheek. But oh, oh that made it even worse: if the Potters saw the mess he had made, they would certainly kick him out without hesitating. But could he blame them? He had always known they were being too kind, and deep down he reckoned it couldn’t last forever. He had always known, how hard it was to love him. People just didn’t, his parents had always made sure he remembered that much. The Potters had probably grown tired of him the second day he had been there, he was honestly surprised they had let him stay for more than a month already. He wondered if they were actually glad he had broken the cups, as at least now they had an excuse to kick him out. Not that they needed one, of course, he would’ve left anyway if they only had asked him. He was ready for it, he had always known there was no escaping it. If his own family, who had given him birth and watched him grow up, who was supposed to love him unconditionally, had given up on him so easily, so could the Potters. He was genuinely amazed they hadn’t, yet.
“Mrs Potter,” he cried out, his voice so broken he barely recognised it himself, “I’m sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry-- I’ll clean everything up right away, I promise, then I’ll go pack my bags immediately-- I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry--” He just went on like that, muttering pathetic excuses and avoiding to look Euphemia right in the eyes, even though his vision was so blurry he doubted he could actually look at anything.
“Packing-- What? None of that now, love, just breathe with me,” she spoke to him so softly, which made Sirius cry even harder. You don’t deserve this. He was noticing only now that he hadn’t been properly breathing, and that his hands were shaking so hard there was barely any point left in trying to collect the broken ceramic. Euphemia was intentionally exaggerating her breathing so that Sirius could try to imitate it, he focused on this: in and out, one breath after another. He focused on the warmth of her hand on his face, on James’ worried gaze fixed on him, and it took a very long time, but eventually his breaths came out a little more steady, and his body shook a little less.
“There you are, love. You gave us a good scare, didn’t you?” Euphemia smiled at him, “Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?”
“What?” he raised his eyebrows, extremely confused. “Mrs Potter, I- I broke the cups,” his voice broke again, and he lowered his head, ashamed to the point he couldn’t bear her eyes on him. What a burden he was, shattering cups and crying like an idiot. “I’ll clean it up immediately, really, and if you want me to go pack my things I’ll--”
“Sirius,” Euphemia stopped his rush of apologies, “why would you do that?” He raised his head, staring at her, his brows still arched in confusion. She hesitated a few seconds, then it hit her. “Oh, my son, no one’s mad at you for breaking a couple cups, you do know that, don’t you?”
Sirius blinked, “What? Why-- How could you- not be mad, I’ve destroyed--”
“You didn’t destroy anything! Really, everything’s fine, you don’t have to worry about some cups which a quick flick of the wand will repair in no time! We’re just worried about you!” she said it with such a spontaneity that it made Sirius’ chest hurt. Was that-- was that how parents were supposed to react? Was it normal that Euphemia wasn’t screaming at him? He certainly believed it wasn’t.
He blinked a couple times, not trusting himself to speak yet. Euphemia, however, lowered her gaze on his hands, “Oh, love, you did cut yourself! It’s okay, we’ll fix in no time, James why don’t you--”
“Fix-- What? No, I don’t need it to be fixed, or else I won’t remember to pay attention next time! I broke it, I deserve it.” the words came out without him actually wanting them to, like it was so obvious , like he was actually shocked that Mrs Potter hadn’t suggested it herself.
She just stared at him for a long time. Her eyes were filled with compassion, pity and… something quite close to affection, even though he had to admit, he didn’t quite know what affection looked like on a mother’s face.
“Sirius,” Euphemia spoke softly, almost whispering, “Did… did your mother make you believe such things?”
“Yeah-- I mean, of course she did, isn’t that how parents are supposed to…?” he cut himself off, seeing the painful, pitiful and hurt expression painted on Euphemia and James’ faces. “Oh. Oh, I… I guess it’s not?”
“God, of course it’s not!” it was James speaking, this time, “you didn’t even do it on purpose! And even if you did, mum can fix it in no time! We have magic, for fuck’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Oh, if only you knew how many objects I used to break as a child…”
“I broke a glass, once,” he admitted, “and my mother’s reaction…” You are incapable of even holding still without destroying everything around you, Sirius, how can you think anyone will ever love you? He swallowed, shievering.
“Oh, you poor boy…” Euphemia still had that look in her eyes he couldn’t figure out. She took his face in her hands, “I want you to listen to me very carefully here. There is quite literally nothing you could do that would make us want you to leave. You’ve been basically part of our family since you were twelve, and we’re so glad you’re here, Sirius, I mean it. Fleamont and I love you so much.”
Sirius’ breath stuck in his throat. Oh. Oh, how strange it was, to have a mother that wanted you. That touched you that gently, without any means of harming you. Oh, how strange was it to have a mother that loved you. He simply didn’t know what to do with it. He felt like he was choking around such a big amount of love.
He didn’t realise his cheeks were wet again until Euphemia brushed his tears away, without losing the gentleness of her touch.
“Mrs Potter, I--” a quiet sob slipped out of his lips, “I don’t know what to say-- How to thank you, I… I probably won’t ever be able to pay you back, for all of this.”
“Oh, love isn’t something you have to pay back for, Sirius.” said Euphemia, like it was so obvious, like it was almost something that came out as easy to them. His mother had never made him feel like it was easy to love him.
Sirius stared at her for a couple more seconds, and that was it. He felt like his bones had given up, and he just let his head fall in the crook of Euphemia’s neck. He cried quietly, his shoulders trembled, and he vaguely thought that he was wetting Euphemia’s shirt. She didn’t seem to mind at all, and he figured he wouldn’t find the strength to pull away even if he wanted to. She embraced him, just sitting on the floor with her arms around him. James was on his knees, too, one hand gently rubbing up and down Sirius’ back, and the other playing with his long hair.
“I love you, too,” he whispered. Thank you for saving me, he thought.
They stayed there for a very, very long time. Sirius allowed himself to be comforted by their gentle touches and words; he had never ever felt so taken care of.
“C’mon,” James said eventually, pulling away a little, “We’ll fix your hands, and then you’re absolutely going to sleep with me tonight! Can he, mom?”
Sirius was so immensely, inexplicably grateful for James Potter. He wondered what he had ever done, to deserve someone like him as his best friend.
Of course, Euphemia loved the idea, and agreed to let them sleep together. Before letting them go to James’ bedroom, she hugged Sirius again, and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m very proud of you, Sirius.” she had said, and Sirius felt his chest ache. Oh, how long had he hoped to hear those words, he almost craved them. He couldn’t even count how many times he had wished for his mother to say it, but he figured it didn’t really matter: she never did, anyway. He almost felt like Euphemia was patching up his wounds, and he suddenly had to fight the urge of bursting into tears again. Instead, he hugged her even tightly, muttering, almost as if it was a broken mantra, Thank you, thank you, thank you…
Later that night, when Sirius was tucked in bed next to James with his wounds patched up and his best friend's arm around his waist, he came to the gut wrenching realisation that the Potters were the only reason he was still alive. He probably would’ve died without them. He probably would die without them. After receiving such a huge amount of care and love, he wasn’t so sure he could go on with his life without it. He wasn’t sure he could live in a world without Mr and Mrs Potter.
But Oh, he thought as he felt James slowly exhaling next to him, still not letting his grip around him loosen, never letting go. James who had rubbed his back as he pathetically cried. James who had patiently patched up his wounds. James who always reminded him he loved him.
Oh, he was so sure he could never, never ever live in a world without James.