I don't own any of these characters. Duh. If you are kind, read and review. All thoughts are greatly appreciated, especially constructive criticism. There is a bit of Sirius/Remus in here, so if that bothers you, you are probably better off reading something else.
I. James
It was October, and just warm enough to be outside without cloaks. Sirius and James had decided to take advantage of the crisp autumn air, and were relaxing on the porch of Godric's Hollow. Sirius reclined on the railing, bent over with his head in his hands; staring pensively at nothing. James stood behind him, shivering a little and hugging himself, his eyes following a cluster of red leaves as they rolled along the path.
"What do you think it'll be like after the war?" Sirius asked abruptly. A piece of hair fell over his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at James.
James smiled wistfully. "I can't even imagine," he said.
"Come on," Sirius urged, "of course you can. What do you think it'll be like?"
James shrugged. "Lily and Harry and I won't have to hide anymore. That'll be nice. And I can go back to work. This probably sounds stupid, but I actually miss it."
Sirius bit his lip. "What's the first thing you're going to do after he's gone?"
James laughed. "I've actually thought about this one," he said. Sirius smiled bitterly. "I'm going to grab a case of Ogden's," he continued, "and I'll run over to see you, and we'll spend all day drinking. And then when it gets dark and we're drunk we'll set off crates of Fillibuster's, all night or until we pass out. And then we can get our brooms and take Harry out—we haven't done anything like that in a while, have we, Padfoot? Just me and you?"
"We haven't," Sirius acknowledged.
"Doesn't it sound great?"
"It sounds wonderful." Sirius smiled slightly, staring at his hands as James stared at him. Suddenly, he yelped and checked his watch. "Shit," he said, straightening up, "I'm already late for my meeting with Dumbledore. I'll see you later, I guess?"
James nodded. "Take care, Sirius," he said earnestly.
Sirius relaxed for a minute and embraced his friend tightly. "You too," he said. "Don't do anything stupid. Or brave."
James laughed and pulled away, leaving his hands to rest on Sirius's shoulders. "I should say the same to you," he said, but he didn't. He patted Sirius on the back and waved as he took off into the sky on his motorcycle.
xxxxx
When Sirius returned to Godric's Hollow two weeks later, it was to find a still smoldering ruin and the person he'd loved more than anything else in the world face down in the ashes with his eyes still open.
II. Harry
Two days before the next term started at Hogwarts, Sirius had retreated once again to his attic hideaway, feeding Buckbeak ferrets and eating nothing himself. But Harry sought him out and found him; of course he did.
When Harry first entered the room, Sirius, full of too much Firewhiskey and nothing else, was convinced it was James. It was the first time he was disappointed to see his godson.
"Are you alright, Sirius?" Harry asked apprehensively, approaching him slowly.
Sirius let out a bark of slightly drunken laughter. "'M fine," he said, patting Buckbeak on the head and lowering an empty bottle to the ground. "Jus' thinkin about things. Things are fun to think about, aren't they, Harry? You look just like James, you know. Jus'--jus' like him."
"I know," Harry said. He moved to sit beside his godfather, his knees tucked up to his chest. They were silent for a moment; a comfortable, friendly silence, until Harry broke it by asking, "What were you thinking about?"
"Things, you know?" Sirius said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "'Fore the war. It was good. Want some Firewhiskey?"
Harry shrugged and excepted the bottle Sirius proffered. He took a hesitant sip. "What was it like—before the war?" he asked, intensely curious.
"I don' remember," Sirius moaned, clutching his hair. "I can't rem-rem-member anything."
Harry stared at his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, and then, with more conviction, "They'll clear you. They have to. This'll all be over."
Sirius smiled. "Yeah? I hope so. Harry? What do you think it'll be like after the war?"
Harry threw another mouthful of Firewhiskey down his throat, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he answered, a half-smile tracing it's way across his face. "I'm not living with the Dursleys anymore, that's for sure," he said, "I think I'll move in with you."
Sirius let out a happy sigh. "What else?" he asked, begging for details of a happy future that neither of them could count on.
Harry shook his head. "I think you've had too much to drink," he said, as if he'd just noticed this and was rather surprised.
"I know," Sirius said. "Tell me."
Harry gave a shaky laugh. "We'll move into a house in the country. It'll be in the middle nowhere, and new and clean, and there'll be no neighbors for miles. And we'll be rich and we'll buy everything we want. And we'll play Quidditch with Ron and Hermione on the weekends and we'll stay up late. That's how it is in the books," he added solemnly, unused to alcohol and getting drunk himself. "It'll be how it was supposed to be."
Sirius shook his head. "was s'posed to be James still alive. He really liked being a dad. I thought it was funny." His eyes filled with tears as he gripped Harry's wrist. "I didn't mean to, you know," he said. "I would do anything—anything--"
Harry said nothing.
Sirius fell asleep twenty minutes later, his head aching with grief and alcohol and things he wished he'd said. Harry slipped away quietly, retreating to his bedroom to look at his photo-albums. Neither of them spoke of the conversation again.
xxxxx
Six months later Harry screamed with rage for dreams that would never be fulfilled and for the man who never had a chance to live.
III. Remus
May was cold that year, cold enough to give Sirius and Remus an excuse to start a fire and cuddle up on the couch. Sirius sat with his body entwined with his Remus's,soft arms encircling his torso and his face buried in Remus's neck.
"I'm so happy I still have you, Moony," he whispered softly, tracing the scars on Remus's arm with his chewed off fingernail. "I don't know what I would do without you."
Remus smiled and pressed his nose into Sirius's hair. "Me too," was all he said, but it was enough.
Sirius bit his lip and pulled the red flannel blanket closer around them, enjoying the feel of warm blanket on his feet and warm Remus on his chest.
"Do you think me and you will ever be together like other people?" he asks, bringing his head up to peer into Remus's eyes. It was a conversation they'd had before, but it was one Sirius loved repeating.
"Of course we will," Remus murmured comfortingly, stroking the back of his neck, "after the war. Everything will be better after the war."
"How will it be, Moony?" Sirius asked breathlessly, his gray eyes wide with anticipation.
"You and me will live together. And we'll be able to go outside whenever we want, and go wherever we want, and do whatever we want, because everyone will see what a good person you are. And we'll be together every night and every morning—because there won't be any silly missions to call us away. And we'll spend our days doing anything we want, whatever we want."
Sirius closed his eyes and burrowed his face into Remus' neck. "That sounds perfect," he said, his voice muffled. "Can Harry live with us?"
"Of course."
"Okay." There was silence for a while, broken only by the crackling of the fire. "Moony? Do you think that will ever really happen?"
"Of course."
"Okay." Remus smiled, and lowered his face to meet Sirius's lips with his own. Sirius smiled and wrapped his arms around Remus' neck. "I love you, Moony," he said seriously.
"I love you, too."
xxxxx
A month later, Remus was the only one living in the house, and Sirius's place beside him in bed was filled only by a jarring coldness.
IV. Sirius
Sirius rarely had dreams, but when he did they were so vivid that he can barely distinguish them from waking life. The last time he dreamt was on June 12th, 1996.
He dreamt that he was outside; nowhere in particular, just outside, with bright blue above his head and warm green beneath his feet. He could smell the fresh wet earth beneath his feet and he could taste summer on his tongue.
James was lounging beneath a giant willow tree, his legs propped up on a rock and his head resting on a root that was poking out of the ground. His mouth was open slightly and his eyes were closed; utterly relaxed.
"James!" Sirius's heart raced at the sight of his friend, exactly as he appeared twenty years ago.
James' eyes cracked open, squinting in the bright sun. "Padfoot," he said lazily, "You're old,"
"I know," Sirius said stopping dead in his tracks, "and you're not."
James shrugged as he stood up and sauntered over to Sirius, grabbing his friend by the hand and leading him back to the willow tree. "Getting old is overrated," James said, curling up beside the taller man.
Sirius bit his lip. "I'm so sorry," he whispered painfully, "I wish--"
James silenced him. "No," he said, "I don't want to talk about that. I don't mind. It's okay."
Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall to rest on his chest.
"Hey," James said, rubbing his hands, "It's okay. Don't think about that. What do you think life's going to be like after the war? Remember, we used to talk about that? Did any of it come true?"
Sirius shrugged and opened his eyes. "No," he said. "You're dead and I was in Azkaban and Peter got away."
"Maybe the war just isn't over yet."
"Maybe," Sirius agreed. He was silent for a minute, and then words began to flow out of his mouth. "But when it is over, James," he said, "When it is over, this time everything is going to work out perfectly—I'll make it work out. Remus and I are going to live together and we're going to take good care of Harry. We'll make very sure he's happy, we'll give him everything," he promised, "He deserves it, don't you think?"
"So do you."
Sirius allowed himself to smile. "I'll buy myself stuff, too, of course. And I'll buy a broomstick, and go riding with Harry, like we planned—Merlin knows the last time I was on a broomstick—and Harry can ride on his own now, he's very good. But it'll be nice. It'd be even better if you were there, James—I wish you were still here."
James opened his mouth to say something, but the dream was already fading away. And sleeping, Sirius did what he never did while awake, and wept. Because for James the war was over. For James the war was lost.
xxxxx
The next day he was dead.
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