#p:james

Summer, 1976 (right?)

It hadn’t been planned. It had been one of those impulses, his ability of thought washed away with the waves of anger that crashed through his mind. He hadn’t been planned, no, and Sirius hadn’t been quite sure of what he was doing, what it all meant. No, wrong. Sirius knew. He had thought about it plenty. He knew that he would erase himself from the family bound by blood. He knew it meant the end. His teenage mind, rather, couldn’t apprehend truly all that would entail. What it really would mean. He knew deep down that this is what he needed to survive, that he would follow relatives into madness - brought on either by inbred genetics or from the maddening pacing of a trapped animal never allowed to roam free - if he had stayed. If he had forced himself to play the part he had never wanted, never asked for, had no desire to play. He wanted rid of that. He wanted rid of the expectations, the heavy traditions, the lack of any understanding or wellbeing for the individual rather than always always being about the family. 

But had Sirius understood that it would mean that he could never come crashing through Regulus’ door again, to gleefully annoying the younger brother that was so unlike him that Sirius couldn’t help but love? He knew, in theory, what it meant. What it meant that he would never be invited into Orion’s study for discussion and tutoring, to feel that heavy hand on his shoulder, or those moments when mother played the piano and everything was alright, for a while. He could imagine the concept. He wasn’t able to feel it. Hadn’t thought through that it meant pushing Regulus - unprepared, oft ignored but better son from the beginning - into the role Sirius now had refused. 

All in all, Sirius had never liked it at home. The brief moments of joy and familiarity was too often shadowed by the heaviness of the air at Grimmauld. When he first had heard stories that James had spun about his family life, Sirius had thought it fairytales. And then Remus seemed to have a similar, but not entirely same, spin on it. Peter, no. Peter had had a more normal stance on family life. James, Hogwarts, meeting the outside world hadn’t planted the frustration Sirius had always felt, the anger and sadness and hopelessness, but it had nurtured it, encouraged the feelings that he could have something else. 

And thus, that evening, Sirius had tugged out his trunk, filled it with all the letters he had saved from summers past from Peter, the mirror from James, the drawings of Remus laughing, reading, clothes he couldn’t leave behind, precious books, the leather notebook and pencils Regulus had gifted him the past Christmas. The essentials of Sirius - the essentials of him that he had been allowed, or been able to sneak by - thrown into the trunk with a teenage boy’s gangly anger. And then, he had opened the window, levitated it outside (having learned one of the very, very, very few weaknesses of Orion’s fortifications that had allowed him to slip out, to drag himself back home drunk), and jumped after it. He hadn’t looked back, the feeling of it being real rather than just a few days away on a holiday, to punish his parents, to put his foot down. He hadn’t looked back. Maybe he should’ve. Would it had been a difference? Maybe, for his own emotions, later. 

Sirius hadn’t his bike back then. Hadn’t a broom (that was Regulus’ thing). Apparation would be too far for him, too risky in his anger, in his non-licenced novice. Sirius had dragged his trunk the posh London street, saw waiting for the Knight Bus to come collect him.

It hadn’t even rained that evening. 

It hadn’t even rained. 

It all felt so very summery, so happy, so promising, when he later that night stood underneath James’ window, head tipped back to look up at it. He felt his soul yearn for the boy inside. James, James that had rocked his world so, that fateful day they met at the train, and ever since. Where else would he go? He didn’t like to intrude, and he had always felt rather weird the times he had been allowed to stay at the Potters, unused to the warmth and familiarly the Potters showed James, showed him. But where else? Remus had his sickly mother, and they weren’t that kind of best friends that he could just pop along and claim Remus’ place as his own. Peter, never, too miserably, too same-same. Potter, then. And it hadn’t even been an option, a conscious decision. He had just gone there. Followed his heart. 

Serena knocked on the door to James’s apartment, balancing the pizza boxes and bag of breadsticks with one hand. The food had cooled a bit on the way over, but Serena could still feel the heat that emanated from the bottom of the box, warming up her palm. She doubted James would be upset even if the pizza had been cold. Boys seemed to have the strange ability to digest anything remotely edible. It had led to several horrifying meals when they’d all been at Hogwarts.

It took only a few seconds for the door to open and Serena grinned up at James. “I have a ton of food and no one to share it with. Care to trade some company for a free meal?”

Lucy had learned early on that every conversation had the potential to change someone’s life. She’d experienced it when her father had told her that her mother would never be coming back home; when Daniella had grumpily burst into her life; and when she had followed a boy out of a party. But most recently, it had been her talk with Aislinn. She’d started to follow the older woman’s advice, working through what she was feeling as opposed to repressing them. It was hard and she’d had to really focus in order to do it properly. 

It wasn’t until she’d really started to pay attention that she’d realized just how angry she was. At the Death Eaters, at herself... It was constant. And it was driving her mad. She’d never been one for self-loathing. But ever since she’d returned to her normal life, even the sight of her reflection was enough to make her feel sick. Lucy knew that she couldn’t keep going the way she had been. Something had to change or else she would never feel comfortable. 

Perhaps during a family dinner had been the wrong time to make the decision. But as she stood in her grandparents’ bathroom, half of her hair gripped tightly in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, she found she couldn’t really care. Lucy was halfway through the first cut when the door opened. 

This whole ‘no strings attached’ arrangement wasn’t typical for her as most of the time she found herself as one half of a relationship but there was no harm in trying something different. In fact, she was learning that it was a hell of a lot less stressful. With people in this industry, making time and being in the same place wasn’t always easy so the less pressure, the better. Nothing wrong with treating herself to a bit of fun and with James around, fun would certainly be had. While she waited for him to arrive, Gi would fuss around on her phone, scrolling through social media and then returning a few emails, as much as she may have tried to avoid work, there was always something to be done. A few minutes later she heard the knock at the door. Hopping up off of the couch, she’d walk over and open the door, greeting him with a smile, “hey handsome.”