"You're sure they're okay with this?" Sirius asked anxiously, looking out the window as the Hogwarts Express slowed to a stop.
"Positive, Sirius," James said beside him. "I wrote to them about it weeks ago. There's no way I was letting you spend Christmas all alone in an empty castle."
"Or with a family that doesn't want you," Remus added. "You can always come stay at my place, too."
"Or mine," Peter added quickly.
Sirius gave the three of them a grateful look. They'd never pressed him for the gory details about his home life, but they understood that Sirius had his reasons for not wanting to go home. He'd never expected this, though, James offering to let him spend Christmas with his own family. Sirius would have been fine staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, but James had pestered him about it until he'd agreed. And now here he was, back at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, ready to go home with a witch and wizard he'd never met before.
"Let's go," James said, pulling down his trunk and grabbing his owl's cage. "Before the platform gets too crowded."
The boys pushed and shoved their way out of the train and onto the platform, the biting winter air turning their breaths into clouds. Peter and Remus said goodbye and headed off to find their own families; James took Sirius by the arm and led him in the opposite direction, right up to a tall, smiling couple.
They were older than Sirius would have expected, with lined faces and gray hair; they could almost be James's grandparents. But Sirius could see the resemblance easily—James had his father's hazel eyes and his mother's wide white smile.
Mrs. Potter knelt down and gave James a huge, tight hug, kissing his cheeks and caressing his head. "I missed you so much," she said, giving him another kiss. And then it was James's father's turn; his hug was just as big and long as his wife's.
Sirius stood awkwardly off to the side, feeling guilty for intruding on the Potters' reunion while at the same time feeling a pang of jealousy for how loved James clearly was. He imagined how his parents would have greeted him at the platform—even without taking the Gryffindor fiasco into account, he'd be lucky to get a simple pat on the back from them.
When James finally broke away from his parents, he turned immediately to Sirius. "Mum, Dad," he said, "this is Sirius Black." When Sirius hesitated, he grabbed his arm again and tugged him forward towards his parents.
"Hello, Sirius," said Mrs. Potter. And then, to his great surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her arms. Sirius went stiff at first, then relaxed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a hug, a real hug.
"Thank you for letting me stay with you for the holidays," Sirius said sincerely. He couldn't imagine many other parents taking in a loner boy wizard they didn't know for Christmas.
"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Potter with a smile.
"Your friend is quite polite, James," Mr. Potter observed. "Hopefully his good influence has rubbed off on you a bit, eh?" James gave Sirius a look that said Yeah, right.
"Well, let's get off of this platform," Mrs. Potter said as she was pushed backwards by a passerby. "We can catch up once we get home."
Sirius and the Potters used Floo powder to get back to the Potter residence, located in a small wizarding village near the coast of Lincolnshire called Lindsey Wolds. The house they were transported into was big and wide and open, with slanted sunlight streaming in through high windows.
"Let me give you a tour," James offered, gesturing for Sirius to follow him upstairs. The house was three stories tall, with beautiful paintings hanging from every wall and all the wood shining with fresh polish. But it wasn't stuffy and perfectly-preserved like Sirius's home of 12 Grimmauld Place—there were signs of life, too, in the form of childhood doodles etched into the windowsills and bowls of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans placed throughout. In the Potters' large backyard, there was a makeshift Quidditch pitch—no wonder James was so good on a broom.
If Sirius had been jealous of James before, now he was even more so. Clearly James had grown up as well-off as he had, but without all the pure-blood supremacy and distant, disapproving family members he'd had to deal with. There was only one thing missing.
"Where's your house-elf?" Sirius wondered.
James blinked. "Oh, we don't have one. My parents aren't a fan of them, and the whole enslavement thing."
Oh. Sirius had assumed all pure-blood wizarding families had house-elves, especially those as wealthy as James's. He thought of his own family's elf, the sniveling, brainwashed mess that was Kreacher—he supposed he wasn't a fan of elves, either.
"James!" called James's father from downstairs. "Your mum whipped you boys up some leftovers in case you're hungry!"
"Starving, thanks," James yelled back. He nodded to Sirius. "Come on. Let's eat before it gets cold."
Sirius hesitated for a minute. "I don't want to be taking your family's food, mate."
James rolled his eyes. "What were you expecting to do for food while you were here, hunt it down yourself? Eat Lexie's dead mice? Of course you're taking our food; don't be an idiot. Let's go."
Sirius followed James back downstairs and into the Potters' kitchen, where a table had already been set for the two of them. The boys took their seats next to each other, and Mrs. Potter came in with bread and warm plates of beans and roast chicken. "If you boys would like anything else, just tell me," she said.
Even though it had been reheated, the food was delicious, worthy of a Hogwarts feast. Kreacher cooked all the meals for the Black house, but they were never as good as Mrs. Potter's was.
"So, James," said Mr. Potter, sitting down to read the Daily Prophet across the table from the boys. "I noticed my Invisibility Cloak has gone missing from my office. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
Sirius tensed, expecting the conversation to quickly go south, but James blinked up at his father with innocent doe eyes. "That's horrible," he said. "Who would steal such a thing?"
Mr. Potter laughed. "Well, I suppose it is your birthright," he said. "I sure found plenty of uses for that cloak while I was in school. As long as you don't get into too much trouble."
"He already has," called Mrs. Potter from her place at the sink, cleaning dirty dishes with a few flicks of her wand. "Remember that letter we got from Minerva McGonagall about James hexing that Slytherin boy?"
"Snivellus deserved it," James protested, though he didn't sound all that defensive. "Sirius was in on it, too."
Mr. Potter turned to Sirius with a grin. "I take back the good influence comment, then." Sirius blushed. "Although I have to say, I'm impressed you boys have already learned enough magic to be hexing anyone."
"Oh, we're two of the best in our year," said James airily. "In most classes, anyway. We'd probably do a bit better in History of Magic if we managed to stay awake for more than ten minutes."
"Ah, History of Magic," Mr. Potter mused, nodding sympathetically. "Is it still taught by Professor Binns?"
"Unfortunately," muttered James. "He's not even alive anymore. You'd think ghosts would have something better to do than bore students with stories of vampire wars."
"Well, I liked History of Magic," claimed Mrs. Potter. "Professor Binns was still alive when I took it, though."
"Wow," James said. "How old are you, Mum?"
Mrs. Potter whisked by and gave her son a slap on the cheek—it was a teasing slap, though, not like the ones doled out by Walburga Black. "You're getting coal in your stocking for that," she said.
"Stocking?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah, like the ones you put Christmas presents in," James explained. "I know it's a Muggle thing, but it's still fun."
Sirius's family didn't really do Christmas presents, or Christmas at all, really—the whole holiday was too Muggle-y for them. But Sirius didn't want James to know that, so he nodded as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Don't be surprised if yours is filled with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion," James warned him. "My father invented the stuff, and he thinks it's the best thing in the world."
"Your friend doesn't need Sleekeazy's," said Mr. Potter. "His hair isn't nearly as unruly as a Potter's."
Sirius had frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth. "You're giving me a stocking?" he asked. "For presents?"
"Already bought one," Mr. Potter said, pointing to the fireplace they had clambered out of. Sure enough, there were four oversized socks hanging from its mantel, and Sirius could make out his name sewn into the blue one.
"You can't have Christmas with no presents, mate," James said. "And we didn't think your parents would be sending any over to us."
"Probably not," Sirius replied. He felt a lump forming in his throat, one he couldn't swallow down. The Potters were getting him Christmas presents, and he barely even knew them. Did normal parents do that kind of thing for people like him? Sirius had no idea—he supposed he'd never been around any normal parents until today.
"Th—thank you," he stammered, not knowing what else to say. James gave him a small smile, his eyes saying that he understood what Sirius meant, at least a little.
Sirius felt very, very glad he'd decided to sit next to James that first day on the Hogwarts Express.
