Disclaimer: No jewellers, passers-by, or made-up locations have in any way been demolished, blasted, pulverised or splattered with goo in the making of this chapter.
In this Chapter: James has a quest, Sirius has a lot of nicknames, but really wants to be a chef, Remus brings the wine, Peter shares his snacks, and a certain item is procured for a certain something. Someone. Yes.
This is for my favourite fic tester Shayde123, because she asked for some fluffy romance. I hope this sort of fits the bill. Thank you for helping me sort out story after hare-brained story even after all these years!
Love in Times of War
By
DracoNunquamDormiens
.
Chapter One: Christmas, 1978
.
"Sirius." James' tone holds a hint of a warning as he puts them both out.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Sirius sounds annoyed, only he isn't, because they just survived a duel against twelve Death Eaters, and he is still radiating that particular brand of adrenaline that's characterised him for years. In this state, Sirius is nothing short of ecstatic.
In this state, Sirius is also still too wand-happy for words, and James wonders if he shouldn't just hold off for a bit.
With the War keeping them so busy, though… he doubts he'll manage to make the trip to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne again so soon. His days off are for Lily, and he wants it to be a surprise.
It must be today.
"I mean it this time," he says redundantly.
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sirius protests, fiddling with the Invisibility settings on his motorbike as they soar noiselessly into the air, blending in with the overcast sky. "It's not like I went asking for it, did I?"
James knows Sirius isn't lying. He never goes just "asking for it" unless it's part of the job. He checks his vest pockets for the parchment, closes his red Auror robes when Sirius chooses to plunge them both into a cloud, his dark blue Hit Wizard robes sizzling as the icy droplets put them out.
Sirius circles the Magical Gold District once, twice, flying ever lower, and the argument is put on hold while they both scan their target warily, sharp senses trying to spot the slightest hint of magic — dark or otherwise — as they approach their destination.
"Clear," Sirius tells James.
"Clear," James confirms. This guarantees exactly nothing, of course. It's always clear until they're spotted. Then it's all rubble within a handful of minutes. Still, they land without a hitch, and James supposes, that's already better than the last three times.
"Just hold off until —" James puts down his helmet and dismounts from Sirius' massive motorbike.
"I'll try my best," Sirius promises.
"And try not to break anything."
"Yeah, because I just so happen to control the bloody Death Eaters' timing, don't I." Still, Sirius makes a show of putting his wand securely in his coat's inside pocket. "There," he says. James lets out a chuckle despite himself.
"Is that supposed to make me feel any better? You levelled the last three shops," James reminds him needlessly. "Anyone might think you don't want me to do this."
"No, I just enjoy freezing my bollocks off on your quest for love." Sirius grins obnoxiously. "To be honest, I don't understand why you just don't grab one of your family's old ones."
"Because I want this one to be unique," James argues. "A start of something new."
"Well you won't find it in there," says Sirius, nodding towards the gilded glass cases. "They mass-produce those things."
"I'm not looking for any of the ones on display. You'd know if you'd let me have five minutes of face time with the owners."
"I said I was sorry! It's a reflex, you know that!"
"Well, take your reflexes outside, Pads. Collins is supposed to be the best of the lot."
"Not in a million years. Your mum would kill me if I let you stroll into a trap all by yourself."
"Just. Don't. Break. Anything." James's tone is honestly warning now.
"I heard you the first time." He still ignores him, yanks open the door and strides inside before James can protest. He follows, thinking this time, he won't manage to get it done, either.
"Afternoon," Sirius' tenor is pleasing enough. It also sends a ripple of anxiety all over the jewelry parlour.
"Lord Black," Peredur Collins hurries towards him from behind the counter, gives him a very nervous, very low bow. Sirius smiles mirthlessly.
"I haven't been Lord Black for a long time, Peredur."
"Here, you will always—"
"Don't worry. I won't break your shop." Sirius's tone is wry. Collins swallows, turns towards James, a pleading look in his eye.
"Lord Potter." says Peredur Collins. "What can we do for you two today?"
"Just me," James says firmly, while Sirius scans their surroundings, fingers looking like he's playing the air piano to a tune only he can hear, turning on his heel while he surreptitiously tests the weave of protection spells in the jewellery store.
"There is something I want to talk to you about, Mr. Collins."
"Sure, follow me," says Collins, with an anxious glance at Sirius, who gives James a non-verbal all-clear, then pretends to be interested in a collection of glittering necklaces on display near the door.
James pulls out a battered piece of parchment from his pocket, spreads it out on the counter.
"There's something I want you to make for me."
James is on high alert, as are they all; only, poor Peredur Collins is worried about losing his entire stock today as well: Sirius's fame for demolishing every building he sets foot in precedes him wherever he goes. Whacking Black, that's what they called him in school, and the nickname still holds. James has heard a few new ones recently: Wrecking Black, and Sirius the Demolisher, and he'd be lying through his teeth if he didn't think them fitting.
However, this is a bit of an unfair fame, James thinks, as he watches Peredur place his specs on his nose and peruse the drawing. Sirius hasn't destroyed the Ministry yet, and he goes there every day. And Godric's Hollow is still standing, but maybe that's just because Sirius doesn't shit where he eats.
But then, the press has always loved giving Sirius nicknames. Ever since Fifth Year, one nickname has taken precedence over all others, where he's concerned. The Potters' Watchdog, they called him, and that's the one Sirius lives up to the most. No matter where James goes lately, trust Sirius to hound his every step.
For a moment, he wonders why he doesn't get cool nicknames like that. He has destroyed five more buildings than Sirius, and nobody calls him Bulldozer Potter. Which is, admittedly, a way groovier name than The Potters' Watchdog.
He glances at the entrance of the shop, where a young witch — probably a Third Year — is blushing furiously as she says hello to Sirius, who is leaning casually on the doorway. Some things never change, and Sirius smiles and makes the poor girl go all gooey-eyed and trip over her feet as she walks on.
Sirius turns around, gives him the OK sign and returns to his unobtrusive watch, which, to be fair, is anything but. Sirius is famous, always has been, always will be. And James has yet to meet one female who doesn't succumb to his charm, even when he isn't trying.
Or especially then.
James decides he'll leave his best friend and favourite brother to his watchdog thing, and make the most of whatever time he's got left with Peredur, before the inevitable occurs and he's once again, left with a good idea and empty hands.
"This is exquisite, Lord Potter," the old wizard says appreciatively, his apprehension momentarily forgotten. "I would be honoured to make this for you." And then it's all selecting the magical alloys, and a long discussion over how to cut the Fleamont Diamond just right to chip off the best corners, and James gets so into it, he forgets everything else for a moment.
Until there's a blast that makes them jump, and screaming coming from the street, and James whips around to find Sirius isn't even here anymore.
He doesn't have to wonder where he disappeared off to — an instant later, he is sailing through the air, yelling, "OPEN A TAB FOR ME, PEREDUR!"
"Shite," James mutters, drawing his wand. Next to him, Peredur shrinks behind his counter, lips moving in a silent prayer. "Will you do this?" he asks, as he hurries to the front of the shop— and gets pushed backwards by one of Sirius' Containment Spells.
"Yes, Lord Potter, sir! But please, don't break my—"
"WATCH OUT!" Sirius' bellowed warning gives James barely enough time to cast his strongest shield.
CRASH.
And there goes Collins' shop front. James watches glass and necklaces and rings and lockets and Sirius fly past him. He bounces off James's shield, though, flashes him a grin, and hurtles back outside.
"Shield yourself in and finish your shopping," he calls over his shoulder. "I got this — HEY EVERYONE! OPEN ME A TAB!"
Oh brother. Much as Sirius can't set foot anywhere without getting into a duel, he has always been very good about repairing what he breaks, and that shout has become famous in most of Wizarding Britain's shopping districts.
It's also always, always followed by…
BOOM.
James snorts helplessly, shakes his head as his shield absorbs most of the blast. He did as he was told, because this is important, too.
"All right, Peredur— when can I come pick this up?" he asks brightly. "Before Christmas, I hope."
.
.
"Breathe, Prongs, it's not as if she'll hex you," Sirius says, gesturing for James to lift his chin so he can adjust his cravat just right.
It is Christmas Day, and James is a bundle of nerves.
"What if she says no?" James asks, fingers the box in his pocket to make sure it's still there.
"She won't, don't be daft. Those are your nerves talking." In times such as this, Sirius is a very unusual sort of calm, one he reserves exclusively for the Wolf when he's annoyed, Peter when he's about to take an exam he fears he'll fail, and James when he's in over his head. "Who in their right minds would turn down this magnificent example of gallant wizardry?" Sirius gestures at all of James, taking a step back and surveying his handiwork: James' dress robes are immaculate, his silk cravat is perfect, and his face is pale and drawn. "Dude, could you look any more constipated?"
"That's easy for you to say, Pads. What if she says no?"
"James." Sirius looks into his eyes. "She's put up with you for over two years," he reminds him firmly. "Trust me, those weren't your best years, and she's still around. If you ask me, you two have been fire-tested enough. You'll be fine," he assures him. "Unless you dribble on your shirt in front of her. Come on." And he steers him downstairs.
Nina is already there, Peter is clattering around in the kitchen, and Remus is running a little late, but James doesn't mind. He blushes to the root of his hair when his Mum lets out a dreamy sigh at the sight of him, smiles uncertainly at his Dad, but when the fireplace flares up green and Lily steps out of the embers, James forgets everything and everyone.
She looks gorgeous in her turquoise evening gown, like a sprig of spring that can light up the coldest winter night.
Remus arrives at last, looking like he's missed a few square meals and a handful of nights, but he does bring a bottle of wine, which they drain while opening presents, catching up with a backdrop of carols and the smell of nutmeg and pine in the air.
Sirius, James notes a little later, goes missing for a bit.
"Where did he go?" James wants to know, trying to decide whether or not to drink his brother's wine — to bolster up his courage, as it were.
"Oh, he got a Floo call from work, sweetie," his Mum says. "He promised to be back in time for dinner."
"Didn't he get tonight off?" Remus asks, frowning.
"And tomorrow," Nina supplies, sighing. "But you know Shacklebolt. He doesn't give a care."
James' eyes narrow, but he can't sense any impending doom from Sirius, just the sarcastic mindset he reserves for out-of-hours jobs.
"He says he'll be back before we've even finished the wine," James tells them, shrugs it off, smiles at his friends and at Lily.
"Let's prove him wrong," Peter says brightly, emerging from the kitchen with platters laden with finger foods.
"I'll drink to that," Lily agrees, laughing and raising her glass. And is it him, or do the fairy lights cluster around her just right? It's making his gut give a funny flop and his nerves assert themselves once more.
James decides Sirius won't grudge him if he drinks his wine, after all.
They're well past their third bottle and getting rather tipsy with one of Dad's old drinking games, when they hear the tell-tale roar of Sirius' motorbike clattering up the drive. The thing sounds like the exhaust got dislodged again, and it seems to have lost its brakes, because Sirius seems to park it with a crash.
"Finally," Nina exclaims, hurries out — to welcome Sirius or tell him off, remains to be seen — and moments later, a familiar sort of laughter rings out from the entrance hall.
"No, no just one of those rush jobs, I've even gotten the entire week off, what will we do with all that time—" Sirius is saying, as the door closes.
Only then does James notice how much was missing from their celebration.
"I hope you didn't start dinner without me," Sirius' voice exclaims, as if they would, honestly. "Let me just get changed— better yet, why don't you give me a hand?"
He gives them all a grin and a wink, then disappears up the stairs with Nina, leaving a lingering trail of motor oil and smoke and adrenaline behind.
Christmas Dinner is excellent, a trademark Padfoot Special if there ever was one. All six courses are delicious, and James wonders where his battiest friend found the time to whip up a banquet at all — he loves to cook, but they've been insanely busy since the Yule.
"Padfoot, seriously. You should have your own restaurant," Peter says, loosening his belt and demanding seconds of everything.
"Wouldn't that be brilliant?" Sirius sounds dreamy. "When the War is over, maybe."
"If you've left anything standing by then," Lily points out, and they all laugh.
"Is that a challenge, Lils?" Sirius asks, exchanging a glance with Nina. "Do I hear one hundred Galleons?"
"Don't make a bet you can't win," Nina advises, much to their amusement.
James watches them, and his stomach gains a knot.
Dinner can't end fast enough, which is a bit selfish of him — they're all enjoying themselves as much as they can, after all, and it's not an everyday occurrence anymore. They're all trying to make the most of tonight — they haven't all come together in months, much less had anything to celebrate.
And he's insanely nervous.
Sirius gives him a long look, wiggles his eyebrows, even as their empty plates vanish into the kitchen and dessert floats onto the table.
Padfoot, I can't do this!
'Course you can, Sirius sounds every bit as confident as James isn't.
But what if she says no?
Look at her! She's on the wrong side of tipsy, there's no way she'll say no.
She's not drunk—
She so is. She's not even in focus.
You're the one who's drunk, Sirius.
And don't you wish you were? You can always offer her a drink at the same time, that way she'll say yes for sure.
James shakes his head, chuckling in defeat.
"There's something I'd like to say," he hears his voice rise above the animated conversation, which sort of dies too fast for his liking. James swallows, his hands suddenly sweaty. He's not used to being this nervous, over anything.
He looks at Lily's expectant face, which is mirrored almost universally in the house — even the portraits are curious. Everyone except for Sirius, who gives him an encouraging nod.
What if she—
Don't ask me! Ask her!
"Lily," he says aloud. Gods, he's going for it, he already started, and what if she says no and what if she says yes and Merlin's most saggy y-fronts, he can't think when she looks at him like that, and what if he drops the ring and —
Here's where you say, 'you've been in my life for years', Sirius' voice erupts in his head.
"You've been in my life for years," James hears himself say obediently.
Now take her hand, gently. Good. Now say…
"And the last few years have been the best of my life," James repeats after Sirius. "I love you, more than anything, and I can't imagine life without you—"
Now take out the ring…
It's in your other pocket, James. No, the other one.
Sirius sighs in his mind. How can he sigh with a thought? James wonders in a panic. Lily's eyes are on him, and gods he can't read that expression, what if she says no?
Left breast pocket, Prongs. Breathe. Sirius doesn't sound mocking. His voice in James' mind is gentle, firm, putting words in his mouth that mirror his exact feelings.
"I don't want to imagine life without you," James says next, fingers trembling as he pulls the small velvet box from his left breast pocket, acutely aware that he didn't put it there; it was in his trousers, not next to his heart.
Flip it open, don't just thrust it at her. There you go, Prongs, nicely done. Remember to kneel.
James gets down on one knee, holds Lily's hand in his.
"I want to imagine life with you," he says, while part of him wonders where Sirius comes up with this stuff. "The rest of mine, and yours, if you'll have me." He swallows, looks into her emerald eyes, and suddenly he doesn't need Sirius to play prompter anymore.
"I want to spend the rest of my days by your side, I want your face to be the last thing I see at night, the first thing I see when I wake, for ever. Will you do me this great honour and marry me?"
A moment later, his world erupts in a whirlwind of cheers and kisses and there's a lot of red hair in his immediate field of vision, and he only registers Lily has thrown herself into his arms with excitement and tears of joy when they're both on the floor and his face is tingling, not one inch spared from her lips.
It is the best Christmas of James' life.
Until Lily emerges from kissing him long enough to tell him they must visit her family for New Year's.
.
.
TBC.
See? I totes can write fluffy stuff. Sort of. I also hope I can keep it PG for once. Sort of. Let me know what you think?
Next Up: Meet the In-Laws. There's a war on, so of course, stuff happens. Stuff blows up. Sirius tries hard not to destroy a certain building, Regulus gets a cameo, Remus is cranky, the Death Eaters are evil, but despite all that, love is in the air!