Chapter One

Things That Go Bump in the Night

It's July thirty-first, and it's raining like someone is angry at England. James is glaring out the window and thinking unhappily about the fact that even though he could magic some kind of shield to keep the rain off him, the ground would still be wet and muddy and rather un-fun anyway. Remus would tell me I should read a book or do homework, he thinks, half a smile quirking on his lips.

Remus is in Ireland this summer, the reason why depending on who you are. He's telling most people that it's just a family vacation because his mother is having separation anxiety regarding his approaching graduation, chuckling all the while. He told James, Peter and Sirius the truth, that he's taking part in a trial for a new potion that is supposed to ease his monthly transformations. James and Sirius are telling everyone that Remus is campaigning for the legalization of marriage between wizards and books after being let loose in the Trinity College Dublin library.

We should get one of those telly things, James thinks, staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for himself that he's so utterly bored. He saw the tellies when he and his parents were in London last week. He was so taken with them he stopped in the middle of the street and was nearly run over by angry pedestrians, grumbling about kids these days and rude little berks.

He moved closer, trying to figure out if it was an enchantment of some sort, if the muggles had learned some kind of primitive magic. They were like wizard pictures or paintings, only different because the backgrounds kept changing and the screens flickered from one image to another, jumping around in a way that pictures just didn't. He went in the store despite his mother's protests that the milk would spoil and stared at the thing for the longest time, daring once to touch it and then jumping back in surprise at his boldness.

"We've got real cheap ones, maybe you want one for your room at uni? Make you right popular with the ladies, mate. Not that you need it," the salesman flattered him, slithering over from some corner of the store. James smiled weakly and fought the instinct to smooth his hair. It was a bad nervous habit and he had decided that summer that it was about time he broke it.

"No, it's all right, thanks. I actually better get going." He laughed and let the store, face flushed. The things made noise. You could hear people talking, like they were right there with you. They must use some kind of camera, he ventured tentatively. He ought to see if he could get one, Sirius would be in fits over it.

Yes, he thinks now. He should have convinced his parents to get one of those telly things. It would be terribly useful right now when he has so little to do. He pokes at the carpet with his foot when there's a loud bang from outside and frantic knocking at his door. He blinks, then gets up to answer, hoping that it's not just one of the owls being stupid.

He opens the door and it is most certainly not an owl standing before him. It's Sirius Black, drenched from head to toe and hugging a pack they way small children hold a beloved stuffed animal. His face is pale and his jeans are threatening to fall right off his slender hips. He sniffs and it's almost delicate.

"I haven't been crying, it's just wet out here," he says defensively. James just nods and opens the door wider. Sirius is hesitant entering, and James notices he's walking with a slight limp and that there's blood puddling on the carpet. He gapes and Sirius growls lowly. "I know I'm attractive, Jim, but perhaps you could get me dried off before I contract hypothermia?" he snaps.

"Don't be a prat," James replies, but he mutters a spell and the water evaporates off Sirius' body. He blinks several times as though it hadn't occurred to him to do that, and James tries to convince himself that everything is absolutely fine.

"Thanks," Sirius says gruffly. He heads towards the kitchen, and James follows after him, noting the trail of blood that Sirius leaves behind. As they get to the kitchen James' parents are getting up, looking between the two boys worriedly.

"Sirius, we weren't expecting you," Sarah Potter says. "Let me see what we have, and I'll put some tea on. You must be freezing." She hurries across the kitchen, her bare feet making no noise. Abraham Potter nods and closes his copy of The Daily Prophet.

"You're injured," he says, causing Sarah to nearly drop her tea cups. Somehow Sirius manages to pale even more and he glances down at his leg, his eyes following the bloody trail back towards the front door.

"It would appear that I am," he mused. "Sorry about that." He pulls out his wand for a cleaning spell and Potters exchange looks of concern at the way his hands are shaking. Abraham beats Sirius to the spell and then gently puts his hand over Sirius', pressing his wand down. Sirius blinks and tears fall down his face as Abraham leads him over to the kitchen table, an arm around his shoulders.

"Honey, can you make a nice pie for us? With the berries and the peaches?" Sarah says to their house-elf. Honey nods and begins gathering the ingredients, a brown-skinned and pink-pillowcased blur. Sarah and James sit down at the kitchen table, silent as they watch Abraham and Sirius.

"I'm not crying. It's just that it was raining outside," Sirius mutters as the tears keep falling down his face. Abraham nods. He takes Sirius' leg and rolls up his jeans, revealing a deep gash on his shin. James feels a little sick looking at it; he can see Sirius' muscles and even the blinding white of his bones.

"What the hell happened?" he bursts out, ignoring the look his mother shoots him. Sirius twiddles his thumbs as Abraham begins muttering spells. The flesh begins to knit itself back together and James thinks that it's an awfully good thing that he's lucky enough to have a father who spent his working years as a healer at St. Mungo's.

"I got in a fight with Regulus," Sirius says. He looks up at the ceiling and James snorts to show exactly how much credit he gives that version of events. "What?"
"Sorry, I wanted to know what actually happened, not one of your stories," he sneers. "I've seen Regulus at school, I know he didn't do that."

"I – " Sirius swallows his words and bites his lip. He reaches into his pocket (his hands are still shaking) and angrily tosses as crumbled letter at James, knocking his glasses askew. He gives a small laugh at the image and the tears fall a little harder. James rolls his eyes and opens the letter, reading it out loud as Sirius slumps in his chair.

Dear Mr. Sirius Black II,

This letter is being sent from Gringots Wizarding Bank of Diagon Alley to notify you of you recent inheritance from one Alphard Black. We request your presence at your soonest possible convenient to transfer the vault into your name and to collect your key.

- Gringots Wizarding Bank

"Oh," James mutters, putting the letter down. "I'm sorry, mate. That's awful news," he says, folding the letter into a neat square. Sirius shrugs and James is still wondering about his leg, but now he's afraid to ask because he doesn't want to hear that Sirius did it to himself, and he's terrified of that. He knows Sirius thinks no one knows, but James has seen the occasional hot red lines, the greying bruises and blistered burns that are known to dot Sirius' body. He never asks, and he was only really worried about the whole Snape Thing last year, when he woke up to Sirius screaming and the bathroom twisted into some kind of torture chamber.

He didn't say anything then as blood fell from Sirius' wrists and a knife glinted in the light of the candles. The door creaked and Remus appeared next to him, his eyes wide and his latest injuries shiny and fresh. Sirius stared at them, looking like some kind of strange portrait of a fallen angel. He was only wearing his pants, his chest bare and legs bare and long hair hiding his face but not the (nonexistent, dammit) tears.

"You're an idiot," Remus said as James finally leaned over the trashcan and vomited. Sirius moaned softly and James could hear Remus muttering spells and words of comfort. He watched dazedly as Remus climbed into the bathtub with Sirius, pulling him into some kind of awkward hug as his fingers tangled in his hair.

There was a muffled keening noise and James was aware that was Remus was crying as Sirius kept saying "I'm sorry," over and over again. His voice was creaky and off, like he wasn't breathing right (and then maybe he wasn't with Remus pressing on his like that). Remus tenderly attended Sirius' injuries, ignoring the way blood seeped onto his own skin and clothes.

"You're a bloody arse, Sirius," Remus said, stilling sitting in his lap and staring. He seemed unable to decide what he felt as he cried and clenched and unclenched his fists. Sirius sniffed.

"I know," he whispered, and Remus kissed his forehead like he was blessing him and they both shook.

"Don't ever do that again. You can't – " Remus' breath hitched and it took a minute for him to recollect himself. "Don't do something awful to yourself like that. I miss enough sleep as it is, and clearly James can't hold his dinner long enough to attend to you." There was a small, strangled laugh and then they were laughing and crying and James couldn't say why, but he was suddenly embarrassed to be there. There was something too tender about the moment, too hot and close and his presence didn't feel right. He couldn't say why – they were his best mates – so he ignored it and made a noise of protest at Remus' insult.

"Well, he's not wrong," Sirius said with was shrug. So James dumped water on his head and they laughed and went back to bed like Sirius hadn't maybe just cried to kill himself.

James watched him after that, but either Sirius got sneaky or he stopped because James didn't see anymore injuries on him for a long time after that. Now, however, he wonders if maybe he didn't do enough because he doesn't like the look of Sirius' leg at all.

"This looks magically inflicted," Abraham comments tentatively. Sirius sighs and his shoulders hunch up, molding around his chest like he could wall himself off and not have to contend with any of these things.

"Mum blasted me off the family tree. I've been disowned." His voice is dead, like he's reporting something that happened to some other person. "I wasn't supposed to be talking with Uncle Alphard. Just another instance of Sirius failing the Noble House of Black." He laughs bitterly and the sound makes James shiver. "I think she was aiming for my head, but I suppose I was a bit quick for her. Ah, well," he muses, staring down at the pinkish flesh that was so bloody minutes before.

"Did that happen – often?" Sarah asks. Sirius thinks about it.

"Not terribly. Blacks don't lower themselves that way," he imitates. "But, ah, I was hoping perhaps I could stay a couple of days? Just enough I can get to Gringots and get a flat, I'm terribly sorry about all this," Sirius says. Sarah makes a noise of disagreement.

"Sirius Black, I never want to hear a question like that again. You are always welcome in this house. You most certainly will not be going out and getting a flat, you have school starting soon and you would hardly have secured it before you would have to go, and that would be a waste of Galleons. You will stay right here for as long as you want. Besides, Honey is making pie and I have a recipe contest coming up and James will get sick trying to eat it all. Don't worry about a thing,"

Sarah clucks motherly, coming over to smooth Sirius' hair. "We'll take you boys to Diagon Alley in a bit and get your books and whatever you need, and I don't want to hear a word about it." She gives Sirius such a look that he can only close his mouth and nod in response.

"Thank you," he says, voice barely above a whisper. Sarah nods and Sirius slowly stands up, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Let me show you a room. You look knackered," James says, the words entering his mind like flashcards of his mother's lessons on Being a Good Host.

"All right." Sirius follows James upstairs and they go to a red and gold room across from James'. There's a large window showing off the gardens, with a king-size bed and gold-tinged furniture. The walls are wallpapered with some red floral pattern, and while it's probably a little girly for Sirius, James figures it's best to keep his close by and that perhaps the Gryffindor colors will give him a little comfort.

"She's quite serious, you know. Don't go running off on us in the middle of the night," James says, watching as Sirius cautiously puts down his pack. He's never seen his friend like this, so subdued and childlike. Better owl Remus, he thinks. Remus always knows what to do. Remus is the one who can handle Sirius, who knows how to contain that dark thing in him that comes out when he's angry or jealous or hurt.

"Course not. There's pie baking," Sirius says, flashing James his million-Galleon smile. James considers probing further, telling Sirius to be serious but that would just get more jokes and it's probably too late at night for that kind of conversation anyway. Besides, he figures he's got a couple of days before he really needs to start worrying and by then Remus should have answered.