pr0ngs:
snufffles:
He’d slept as Snuffles that night. Being a man–a man who had been kissed by Lily Evans turned Potter, a man who lived in the shoes of his best friend, raising his son, sharing a home with his wife (and now kissing her? He’d never wanted it, hadn’t expected it, hadn’t asked for it–but he hadn’t pulled away either. Not at first. Not immediately. Not as fast as he should have)–it was all too difficult. Being Snuffles was easier. Being snuffles meant thinking like a dog, meant thinking instinctively, meant thinking simply. And Sirius needed simple now.
He only transformed around 7am when Harry woke up and came knocking on the door, crawled into his bed, and snuggled up against the giant Black dog. Sirius let him cuddle for another half hour or so, but when he heard Lily banging around in the kitchen, he scooped Harry up and let the boy ride on his back while he padded out into the hall. Harry laughed and held the fur at the back of Sirius’ neck like a horse’s reins before finally scampering off and hugging his mother’s legs instead. At that point, Sirius, yawning, transformed into a man and poured himself a cup of coffee before sinking down into the kitchen chair.
Lily wouldn’t look at him, but he didn’t miss how big his pancake stack was either. As he ate, cursing himself for being a coward, he thought of speaking at least a dozen times. Played over the words in his head. But each time his lips parted, he’d convince himself he needed a bit more coffee to make the words sound right. Or that Harry shouldn’t be overhearing. Or Harry would ask him a question like why is the sky blue, or why is your fur black, and why do you turn into a dog and mommy doesn’t, and why are the dishes round, and why is the sun bright, and of course, Sirius would be compelled to answer. He had vowed to answer anything Harry asked him, no matter how ridiculous or mundane the question.
“Let’s go to the park,” he said as he finished the last bite. “What do you think?” They could all use a bit of fresh air. And maybe out in the daylight, with other families laughing and talking outside, they could all forget what had happened the night before. Maybe he’d get a chance to tell Lily to wipe that horribly guilty look off her face and forgive herself. Reminder her that he knew a thing or too about mistakes. That she’d never turned her back on him, and so he’d never abandon her.
Harry had just crawled up onto Sirius’ lap and was tugging on his hair, telling him about the seashells he’s collect at the beach when suddenly there was a noise outside and Harry went sprinting after it. “Harry!” Sirius yelled. “Harry! No! On it,” he added to Lily as she nearly squeaked out his name, the fear in her voice evident. Of course she was scared. Of course she assumed the worse. How could they not after what had happened?
Sirius sprinted out in the yard, planning to duel–or transform and bite whoever he saw there–when the sight made him freeze.
It couldn’t be. But he’d known–he’d always believed…
“Lily, stand back,” Sirius growled. Until they knew who this was–until they knew for sure–he’d have to tell his pounding heart to wait its turn. “We don’t know who this is.” He stared at James. At the tiny toddler clinging to his leg. At what he hoped–prayed–was James’ leg. “Harry, come here, Now.” Even as he reached for the toddler, pulling him back, Sirius pulled down the collar of his shirt and revealed a rune tattoo. “This means grey wolf,” he said. “I told everyone I mistranslated, and it was supposed to say black dog. But I’ve never mistranslated a rune in my life. When you called me out on it later, when we were alone, and I swore you to secrecy, you picked out the spot for my next tattoo.” He pulled his shirt toward the left, revealing another ruin right over his heart. “I was supposed to get the rune for stag. But I didn’t. It says brother.”
He pulled his shirt back up and leaned down to scoop up Harry. “What was the first thing your father said to me the day I ended up on your parents’ doorstep?”
He struggles to pick one person to focus on, to pick between the three of them – his family, even if one person is missing – and instead soaks up as many details about them as quickly as possible. They’re okay, all of them, they’re healthy. They’re safe. The realization hits hard, and tension that James isn’t even aware he’s been holding melts out of his frame because they’re here. And Harry, Harry is safe. His son is alive in a world where he’s heard whispers of the war being over, and more than that he’s surrounded by some of the fiercest protectors James knows.
For a moment, he can’t help the thought that he should have fought harder. Out of everyone in the world, there isn’t anyone who will fight, who will take care of his family the same, like Sirius Black will. Has. To think that there is anybody else is laughable, and he almost does.
But it doesn’t particularly matter anymore, not when James sees the three of them together like this, and he knows that if he had to do everything the same all over again - he would. As long as the end result was this, every time.
He watches his wife’s wand slip from his hand, and he ought to chastise her. How much more time could he have bought them that night if he had kept his own on him? Where was his wand now? But the words don’t come, and instead James feels frozen in place as he waits for the proof he needs. This can’t be some trick of the eye, and whoever gave him the portkey is well aware and –
“That’s your theory, anyway,” his eyes are torn from Harry, who looks only confused and not completely traumatized by what’s happening. The reply is instinctual, mostly out of habit even though as usual Lily is right. He does prefer the cinnamon, she knows it – so does he, and Sirius for that matter – but why limit himself? The corners of his mouth twitch, almost as if he’s going to laugh again, but it never comes. Not while Lily is looking at him like that, crying, and he’s always preferred when her tears have come from her laughter. It is her, and his pointer finger curls under her chin while his thumb brushes against her lower lip. His free hand moves to brush away other tears, while words struggle past a lump in his throat. “Merlin, Evans. Look at the state of you.”
The attempt at humor falls flat, but it’s the only way James knows, and then the moment is gone.
Sirius is left to be the rational one of the group, pulling back Lily and Harry, and James is relieved. It’s them, it really is, and they haven’t determined if he’s him yet and Merlin they should’ve done that first. His gaze is once again pulled from Harry, who James finds he can’t tear his attention from more than a few seconds, to follow Sirius’ familiar tattoos.
He nods his head in thanks and is desperate to close the distance between them too, to have all three of them close. But James remains in place, already missing Lily even though she’s merely a few steps back due to the added space he’s put between them.
It’s temporary, he reminds himself silently. Temporary.
James takes a moment to answer Sirius’ question. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because now he doesn’t have to fight the hope back now. This is his family, and with all traces of doubt gone, he starts to smile. “Before or after the two of you went on about my chess skills? I’m fairly certain you two were busy taking the piss out of me, Padfoot.”
His words startle a laugh out of her, but it comes out choked, and his hand is on her cheek, and— despite everything, the hundreds of ways she’s failed this man, she leans her cheek into his touch, just for a moment, just once. Sirius is pulling her away, and for a second she almost fights his pull, feeling certain that James will evaporate the moment she lets go, but Harry is here, and she’s already made enough stupid mistakes in her lifetime that pulled apart her family, she won’t do it again.
A twitch of her fingers has her wand flying back into her hand, and she steps back, quickly picking Harry up in her arms. Even that small shield around him makes her feels safer. She knows it’s James, she knows, but Sirius’ caution has brought doubt slinking back inside her, playing on the certainty she’s had for so long that her husband is dead. It can’t be hm, it can’t be—can it? Her fingers twist with Sirius’ painfully tight, but she can’t let go. Not until she can hold onto James again.
“What was Harry’s first accidental magic?” she asks, voice wavering. She wants this to be over, she wants their family together again, and safe, but surely this is too good to be true.
