Disc.: All this, I own naught.
A Rainy Night
James' mother had embraced him, as if he was the lone hero returning from war. James kissed both of her cheeks and smiled at the way her eyes twinkled in the light of her den. Her hair was just as white as Mr. Potter, neatly pulled into place with silver pins. She always looked so put together, even at her advanced age. Her skin was still baby smooth, and firm, with only the start of lines appearing at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She had claimed she'd never give up a single one of those lines. She had earned them from years of laughing and loving, both her husband and her son.
"I do say, James," Mrs. Potter said as she held her son at an arm's length. "You look more and more like your father every day."
"Thank you Mum," James laughed. She was, in his opinion, the most beautiful mother there ever was. He didn't care that she really was old enough to be his grandmother. He wouldn't have changed her for the world.
"Now, I know that you did try harder this year, James, but honestly," Mrs. Potter chastised gently. "Did you really have to set loose badgers and snakes in the great hall?"
"It was all in good fun, Mum," James defended. Try as she may, Mrs. Potter was unable to hold her stern look. He flashed a grin, and the poor woman melted further.
"Well, honestly," Mrs. Potter laughed. "I don't know what Minerva will do once you graduate. I dare to think you've aged her in your year there. I do only hope she can survive what is left."
"Darling, James' means well enough," Mr. Potter interjected. James nodded.
"Mum, I will try harder," James said. She smiled at him and nodded once.
"Two more years, James," she said simply as she dropped her hand from his shoulder. She sat down in her favorite chair. "Stroke the fire will you, son?"
"Yes, Mum," James said as he added a log to the already sweltering fire and poked it a few times for good measure. Sweat beaded his brow and he wiped it off with the back of his hand as he rose. It wasn't uncommon for it to be the dead of summer, in the middle of a heat wave, and for there to be fires burning in the hearths of the Potters. James knew that older witches and wizards had a tendency to get chilled easily, their skin paper thin, and his mother was no exception. He had grown used to it over the years,
"Tea, James?" His mother asked as she poured him a cup. He nodded, despite not really being thirsty. This was their tradition, to share a cup of tea each time he came from school. It was comforting. He knew that he could forward to it, no matter how naughty he had been at school.
"Thanks," James said as he spooned more than twice the amount of sugar into it. Mrs. Potter raised an eye brow at him but said nothing to the effect. The three sat in silence while they sipped their tea and ate their cookies.
"So," Mrs. Potter said as a devilish twinkle entered her eye. She placed the delicate cup on the saucer. "Any change in your quest for a certain lady's heart?"
"No," James said as heat tickled his cheeks. He hid behind his cup, pretending to sip long from the nearly empty cup.
"Shame," Mrs. Potter said smirking. She laughed lightly. "Ah, but it is what it is. She'll come around yet, my boy, in her own good time."
"That she will, Mum," James grinned as he put the empty cup down.
"Well, perhaps a bit of a nap before supper," Mrs. Potter said. James nodded and stood, offering his hand to his mother. She took it, hoisting herself to her feet. She held on a bit longer now, steadying herself. Mr. Potter offered his lovely wife his arm, and the two of them headed out of the room.
"Master Potter," a low growl of a voice said. James looked down at the family's house elf.
"Hallo to you, Faldo," James said to the shriveled creature before him. The house elf bowed so low, his nose was smashed to the side from its contact with the floor. Its embroidered clothing was pristine as it started to clean up from the early tea.
"Your things are in your room," Faldo said as he balanced the sinfully large silver tray.
"Thank you," James said as he headed toward his bedroom. He passed his parents' closed door very quietly, not want to disturb either of them while they took their midday nap. He carefully closed his bedroom door before he stripped off his school clothes. He nearly let out a cheer at their removal, the whole summer laid out before him not confined behind sweater vests, ties, and trousers. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around. His bedchamber never changed. It always looked as if he had been there the day before, and it had just been cleaned.
James suspected that his parents had the house elves clean it ever day. Anytime he had come home unexpectedly, it was as it was now: perfectly tidy. James silently admitted that it was nice to have a clean room. It was hard for them to keep their dormitory neat. Five guys living together could really manage some pretty wicked messes. James glanced at his school uniform. It was haphazardly on the floor, crumpled and wrinkled. He grinned at his reflection.
"Hello handsome," James said. He sucked his stomach in a bit, his hand on his under shirt as he stood there in his boxers. He went to undress further but a knock interrupted him.
"James, can I talk to you?" Mr. Potter said quietly as he entered.
"Sure Dad," James said as he whipped out a pair of sweat pants and pulled them on quickly.
"Do you think you've missed out?" Mr. Potter asked quietly. James frowned in confusion.
"Missed out on what, Dad?" James asked.
"Well, on stuff other boys your age do? I mean other boys your age are off playing Quidditch with their old man. You know… father-son things?" Mr. Potter asked. James hesitated a second before shaking his head.
"Nah," James said grinning. "I was lucky enough to absorb you genetically good flying skills. That is all I needed. Plus having a professional Quidditch player for a father and mentor was enough."
"Ex-professional player, son. I had stopped playing twenty years before you were even born," Mr. Potter laughed. "Even then, I was the oldest Quidditch player known."
"Until Dregrick McLaugin," James completed.
"Well, at least I never was foolish enough to grow a beard and get it caught in the hoop," Mr. Potter roared with laughter.
"That was a pretty funny reel to watch," James said laughing. The old man wiped tears from his eyes.
"I know people think we're weird, James, to have had you so old, and I know that people think I am odd because I refuse to grow a stately beard, even at my advanced age," Mr. Potter said. "But I want you to know, son, your mother and I love you very much. You are the best thing that could have ever happened to us."
"Thanks, Dad," James said. He hugged his father. "And so you know, odd is better than ordinary any day, hands down."
"I couldn't agree more, James," Mr. Potter said. He pulled away and headed toward the door. Stopping, he turned to look at his son. "So you know your mother is fine with your trip in July."
"Thanks Dad," James said grinning. "You're the best."
James liked being home with his parents. Sure they weren't young and hip like some of his friends parents were, but he didn't mind. At his parents' ages, they had seen double and triple the things a lot of his friends' parents had seen. They both told the greatest stories and James wouldn't trade either of them for anything in the world.
Every night, after dinner, the three would retire to the parlor of their home. Mrs. Potter would work on her knitting or embroidery while James and Mr. Potter would play board games, like wizarding chess. It was not uncommon for them to play until as late as nine at night before heading off to bed. James may not have ever mentioned to his school chums, but he was just as likely to go to bed early when there weren't the influences of his fellow students or his reputation to defend. James kind of liked rising with his parents and watching the sun come up over the horizon. The way the early sun warmed his face, standing between his parents, it was something he'd remember always.
It was late one night in middle June, and James had decided that he had to start conditioning himself to the later bedtime for the sake of not ending up the business end of one of Sirius' practical jokes. He had some stuff spread out across the top of his desk, quills and parchment, and a few tomes that were opened up to various pages. From the outside, anyone who did not know James Potter would have assumed that he was hard at work, studying for some life altering exam.
The door bell startled James, though it was neither close nor loud. He had grown accustom to the silence of the house after nine at night, the sound of rain hitting the window, and the roll of thunder. Standing, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, he headed out into the hallway. His father had already immerged as well, wand drawn. These were, after all, dark times and for a witch or wizard to come calling at such an hour to a house like the Potters never bade good news. Mrs. Potter was slower coming to the hall way.
"You two, wait here," Mr. Potter warned. James noticed his father's wand hand trembled slightly and James wondered if it was fear. Surely no dark witch or wizard could seriously want to recruit the ancient Potters. The thought, though, of his father being scared did leave James unsettled. The rumble of thunder seemed the shake the house.
Mrs. Potter seemed so frail standing there in the dark hall way, light spilling over her from her open door. She wasn't wearing makeup and her hair was up in rollers. She seemed void of all color. She clutched James' arm feebly and her wand in her other arm. James would have laughed at the thought that his mother was poised to protect him, if it wasn't so tense in their house.
"This is just like what happened to Magadha Twigg," Mrs. Potter whispered, her breath shallow. "Visitors in the middle of the night, and she was slain in her night clothes." James went to reply but his father had gotten to the door, his wand aimed.
"Can I help you?" Mr. Potter asked as he threw the door open, puffing himself up to be an intimidation man. Even though he was well into the triple digits, he could put some power and force behind his speech.
"Mr. Potter? Is James home?" Sirius said as he stood there, drenched in rain. His school trunk rested on the steps.
"Sirius?" James said as his mother released him to move forward. Sure enough Sirius stood on the stoop, soaked to the bone. Mr. Potter ushered the boy in, using his wand to levitate the trunk into the hall. He peered outside before he closed and bolted the door behind him.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Potter," Sirius said. His voice sounded hollow. "I just didn't know where else to go."
James watched Sirius walk into the parlor, and though he couldn't be certain he thought he saw tears in Sirius's eyes. James shook his head. Sirius Black wasn't one to cry, ever. James wrote it off that it had to have been the rain and nothing more. Faldo brought Sirius a towel to dry off.
"Have a seat, Sirius," Mrs. Potter said, appearing. She seemed to have quickly made her face up, and she gestured to a group of chairs. Sirius hesitated. "No worries, Sirius. Rain never killed anyone or anything destined to be destroyed."
Sirius quickly took a seat as James walked past him, crouching in front of the hearth. James placed a fresh log on the dying embers and stoked it several times with the poker. Within moments, the air was heated and Sirius began to dry. He had his hands folded in front of him, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. He wasn't looking at the Potter's; instead he was focused on the patterns in the carpet.
"I'm sorry, really," Sirius mumbled. "I know you go to bed early, but I couldn't take another minute of being there. James said that I could stop by any time, and I would have sent word if I could."
"Sirius' mother is very strongly involved in the dark arts," James explained needlessly.
"We know," Mrs. Potter said to her son, squeezing his shoulder. "Most of the Black Family is known Death Eater supporter and followers of Voldemort."
"You know?" James asked. He had a look, as if a horrible secret he had been keeping all this time had been found out.
"Of course," Mr. Potter said. He glanced at the boy sitting before him.
"Dad, please don't make Sirius go back there, please," James begged.
"Of course not," Mrs. Potter said immediately. "James and Sirius can bunk up tonight and tomorrow we can discuss things. Faldo will clean and dry your clothes. I am sure James can let you borrow something for the night."
"Thank you Mrs. Potter," Sirius said rising from the chair. She nodded at him and the two boys disappeared up the stairs and into James' room. They didn't say anything as James pulled out a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt for Sirius. He held them out to Sirius, who took them, and the two undressed without words. They didn't need to speak.
"Please tell me you're not studying," Sirius said as he glanced at James' desk. James grinned.
"I'm planning and organizing the pranks we are going to pull next year," James said. Sirius laughed as they extinguished their lights and climbed into James' bed. They remained silent for a minute. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"Not really," Sirius said. He took a deep breath. "And anyways, it is the same old thing, you know? I constantly had to listen about how I am a pathetic waste of space. Like I needed that, you know? Plus, it's not like she and I will ever see eye to eye."
"I thought you didn't want to talk about it," James said lightly. Sirius laughed and punched him in the arm.
"And you wonder why Lily won't give in," Sirius snorted.
"Oh, that stings Paddy," James laughed.
"You know," Sirius said after a few minutes of quiet. "You and I are closer than brothers. I mean, you are closer than I am with my own brother."
"More than best friends," James murmured sleepily.
"Yeah," Sirius said. "You know, I think I'd rather have had you for a younger brother than Regulus."
"Nah," James yawned patting Sirius' face in the dark. "Then I'd be the one walking around with a dark mark permanently burned into my forearm."
"Too right," Sirius said.
"But I know what you mean, and I am glad we are more than best friends, too," James laughed sleepily. "Now, just don't get it in your head that we are more."
"You're as funny as Remus," Sirius chuckled.
"Hey," James laughed as he snatched Sirius' pillow from under his head and pelted the boy in the face.
"Don't start something you can't finish, Prongs," Sirius laughed as he snatched James' pillow and began to join in the assault of his very closest friend.
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