Haircut
July, 1981
James was standing over his year-old-minus-a-day son with a pair of scissors, looking down at the tufts of jet black hair which were already causing James twice as much trouble as his own unruly locks ever had.
"This isn't possible," he mumbled for the sixth time.
"It's quite remarkable," Lily agreed, plainly amused, regarding her cheerful son, who was clearly oblivious to his father's confusion.
"I am standing in two feet of hair, Lily. It's up to my knees. But he looks just like he did yesterday."
"Just like his father," she relayed fondly, leaning over the pile of hair to peck his cheek.
"Definitely handsome, to be sure, but... this is dark magic."
"Oh, come on, James."
"We should call the Order. Or Dumbledore, at the very least."
"He'll laugh at you."
"He laughs at me anyway."
"Everyone laughs at you anyway."
James ignored this last comment and regarded the top of Harry's head with suspicion. He attacked his son's hair once again, causing a shower of jet black to fall softly to the floor. He stepped back moments later, small beads of sweat forming on his brow, to find the hair exactly as it had been thirty seconds before. "How are you doing this?!" James asked Harry incredulously.
Harry giggled.
"That's it," James said, stepping out from the pile of hair and storming over to the fireplace. He took a pinch of powder from a small jar on the mantel and threw it into the fire, poking his head into the green flames moments later. "Padfoot, mate, you have to come see this."
"Oh, really, James."
But James had stepped back into the leg holes formed in the large pile of hair and was attempting to stare Harry's hair down. Sirius climbed out of the fireplace and swept the soot off himself as he stepped with concern over to the couple. "Something in the Prophet?" he asked nervously.
"No," James said, beckoning at Harry's hair. Sirius frowned.
"I've seen your son before, Prongs. It's generally agreed that he's lovely; a spitting image of his father with his mother's eyes, yadda yadda yadda. Not that I'm not fond of you lot, but you called me all the way here to see Harry sitting in a booster chair?"
"Just watch," James said, once again bending over and chopping off large chunks of Harry's hair. Before James stood upright, Harry looked identical to the way he had when Sirius had walked in.
Sirius' jaw dropped. "That's mad!" he said, in awe of his godson.
"I know!" James exclaimed. Harry smiled at Sirius as he and James rushed around to see him from Lily's point of view, unclear on why he was getting all this attention, but not exactly minding it. The baby raised a fist, opening and closing it rhythmically. Sirius grinned and waved back in similar fashion.
"I like your son," Sirius decided.
"Me too," James responded happily. But his smile faded. "I think it's a curse."
"It isn't a curse!" Lily exclaimed annoyedly. Sirius likewise shook his head.
"He's a wizard, Prongs. What else do you expect him to do? Plus he's your son, and you hate haircuts."
James pouted and ruffled his hair without thinking about it. "I do not."
"You do so, you nearly cried last time I gave you one," Sirius grinned.
"That's because you botched the job, didn't you? I had to wear a toque for two bloody months after that one, everyone thought I was going prematurely bald..."
"If you're quite finished," Lily said loudly. James was strongly reminded of fifth-year Lily, and smiled sheepishly at her. Her expression softened immediately.
Sirius grinned. "Anyway, I best shove off, I'm on watch tonight. I sent Harry's present in the post yesterday, it should get here by tomorrow."
"Oh, Padfoot, you didn't have to," Lily gushed.
"What sort of godfather would I be if I didn't?" he grinned. "I'll see you two next month, if not before." He gave James a brotherly hug and pecked Lily on the cheek before ruffling Harry's full head of hair affectionately.
"Be safe," Lily said, putting her arm around James as they watched Sirius step into the flames.
"You know me," he winked, and disappeared from view.
Lily turned back to regard Harry, who was ogling after them as though wondering why he wasn't the centre of attention anymore. "I worry about him sometimes."
"I think he's all right," James reassured her, "aside from this hair business. I don't know what's going on there."
"I mean Sirius, you dummy," she said, turning into him and wrapping her arms around his middle.
"I know. I worry too."
She sighed. "When will we quit, James?"
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," he said softly. She'd heard it before; he said it often, mostly after particularly harsh battles that took more than just gusto out of him, but this time it was in resignation rather than determination.
All the same, she frowned. "You couldn't have chosen an attainable goal?"
James broke from the hug and kissed her. "We've already attained it," he said softly, turning her around so she was facing Harry and wrapping his arms lightly around her waist. The boy was dozing in his chair, head flopped over to once side, black hair sticking up in all directions.
"He's extraordinary," she whispered.
"Mm," James agreed.
"We made one hell of a baby."
"Mmmm."
"Even if his hair is Voldemort's work."
"A curse, I say."