CHAPTER ONE:

WOE IS ME

April 3, 1980

"Women are the spawns of gargoyles." Sirius said for the fifth time.

James crumpled a sheet of parchment and discarded it onto the floor. "You can't mean all of them," he said sarcastically, "but you do have more experience with women than I do. Now, can you, please, sing a different song, Padfoot?"

Sirius picked up a crumpled sheet and threw it James. "You disagree," he said. "My mistake, I forgot you married one. No disrespect, mate, but I can remember not that long ago, Lily didn't think very highly of you. She'd rather turn you into pumpkin seed and spit you out." James nodded his agreement. He could remember when Lily hated him, but the problem had not been with her; instead, it was him, and the lack of maturity exhausted to win her affection. He also knew the same problem existed within Sirius. His best friend had a fortune in gold, the striking good looks of the Black family, a razor-sharp mind, and an aristocratic charm; Sirius Black had never suffered a female's rejection.

First, he sighed, then fingers tapped out a tune on a bottle of firewhiskey, followed by another sigh, and then more tapping. James glanced up from his sheet of parchment, his round eyeglasses sitting on the edge on his nose, and watched as Sirius started the pattern again. All afternoon he had been trying to narrow down a list of baby names, had hoped Sirius would help, considering he was to be the child's godfather, but Sirius' mind seemed preoccupied with other matters. There was a wretched expression on Sirius' face, and dark circles were beginning to develop under his eyes; a depressed look James knew all too well.

After circling the names Humphrey, Henry, and Harry, James slid the parchment aside, pushed his eyeglasses in place, and waved the feathery tip of the quill under his chin. "Here's a thought, Padfoot," he said, trying to provide a different point of view. "You'll meet another girl, you haven't lost that skill, besides, we both know muggle girls have bizarre ideas and strange moods."

"Not just muggle girls!" shouted Sirius. "That's bollocks, witches are ten-times worse. . .insanity oozing from every pore!"

James scratched his head and pushed-up his eyeglasses again. He knew immediately, from the look Sirius was giving him, that once again he would prove himself ignorant of the opposite sex; however, his friend was going through girlfriends like toilet paper, which in a sense meant neither he, nor Sirius, thoroughly understood females.

"Name one witch who was unfaithful to you?" said James as a challenge, then grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey next to Sirius, and took a large gulp. "What was her name?" said James, snapping his fingers to remember. "The witch you dumped because her teeth were too yellow, when the truth was you had already started dating her squib cousin. And, let's not forget that pretty witch you dated until it became necessary to have-off with a muggle girl from Little Norton. Who, by the way, after you placed a spell on her, now thinks you're someone named Stubby Boardman. A memory curse, I'm willing to beg." James pointed the quill at Sirius, and pretended to write across his face. "And, since we're on the subject, were you, or were you not, dating three girls at once when Cassandra dumped you? It's no wonder, Padfoot, you bring about these aches and pains on yourself. You're like a dog in heat."

A half smile curled at Sirius' lips as magnificent memories of past triumphs took shape. "My brain is too whiskey-soaked to compare notes and confirm any wrong-doing on my part," he admitted wryly, "but that's exactly my point, witches are insane."

"You're insane," said James, turning up the bottle of firewhiskey once more. "Witches love you, they practically throw themselves at your feet."

"Not possible, on both accounts, and if that's love they have a barmy way of showing it," said Sirius, tilting his chair back on two legs. "I can name a muggle girl, or three, I'd fancy making my wife."

James exploded into laughter. "That'll be the day, Sirius Black married," he said almost choking. "How many wives do you think you can have? Last time I checked, the Ministry of Magic allowed a wizard only one wife."

"Shame on them," responded Sirius half annoyed at James' cheekiness. "This is pointless, I should leave. I'm sure you want to get back to finding an acceptable name for your son or daughter. . .I told you Elvendor is a great name, it works for a boy or a girl. Never mind if Lily doesn't fancy the name. I think it's brilliant."

James wiped the tears of laughter from his cheeks, flicked of his wrist, and a book soared down from a shelf and hit Sirius on top of the head.

"Hey!" yelled Sirius. "What's that for?"

"You don't get it," said James angrily. "It's not all about you, Padfoot. A relationship between a man and a woman is not one person constantly giving and the other selfishly taking. When you love someone, what they think and how they feel is shared. I love my wife, and her feelings are important to me." James took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. "When are you going to grow-up, mate?" Sirius stared off at a picture of James and Lily; the picture showed the couple spinning happily in a waltz, stopping only to kiss before dancing out of sight.

James did not expect an answer, Sirius never did when his maturity was in question, and it must hurt a little to think James thought his friend not fully grown—emotionally damage—broken as it seemed. Yet, for as much as James found it necessary to hurt Sirius' feelings, he also found it essential to love him like a brother—if not more. From the day they met aboard the Hogwarts Express, at age eleven, they had been inseparable. And when Sirius was sixteen, one year shy of legal age, he ran-away from all the prejudices his parents tried to instill. But, it was James' parents who took him in with open arms, showered him with love, and proclaimed him their son; nevertheless, no one understood, Sirius Black better than James Potter.

James held the bottle of whiskey up, finding it empty he stood up from the table, he ran his fingers through his messy black hair. "Fancy a visit to the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked. "There's no more firewhiskey, mate, and if we're going to drown your sorrows right proper, we need the means to do so. How about it?"

There was still no response that was comprehensible from Sirius; the man was lost in self-pity. James pulled Sirius up from the chair, adjusted his friend's robe, and lead him out the front door. When they reached Sirius' motorcycle, there was a slight pause. James had driven the bike once, and that was a disaster; he was thrown backwards from the temperamental machine.

"Straighten-up, Padfoot," he said, shoving Sirius toward the bike, then quickly thought up a scheme to perk him up. "You might want tidy up. I heard Tom hired a new barmaid."

"Oh yeah!" Sirius piped up, grooming himself in one of the mirrors, and deviously grinned. "Wormtail mentioned her, and a scandalous low-cut magenta robe that I must see for myself."

Sirius tapped the bike's ignition with his wand, and it roared to life. "Her name's Kendall Westbrook," he added. "Medium height and build, curly brown hair, 36c chest, and half blood. I think her mum's a muggle, right?"

James shrugged. "No idea, mate," he said, chuckling. "I'm a married man, remember?"

Sirius balked out a laugh, reared the motorcycle on its rear wheel, and speed-off down the narrow street. "Hold on tight!" he shouted, launching upward into the sky.

The weather was favorable for an April evening. The crispness of the air dulled the whiskey's influence, and the two young wizards trailed a purplish tinted sky bound for London. James kept his eyes on the course Sirius flew; he did not want to travel in the opposite direction, or drawing attention from people below. When they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron's entrance, it was discernible the pub was not operating in its full capacity for a Saturday night. Much of the lanterns that flowed above rickety, old, tables were extinguished. The atmosphere felt ominously quiet as if awaiting something unpleasant. James and Sirius simultaneously touched the upper, inside, pocket of their robes, making sure a wand could be easily accessible. It was Sirius who spoke first.

"Perhaps we should go to the Three Broom Sticks," he said, then cut a glance in the direction of a portly wizard sitting in the center of the pub.

"Why?" James asked; his eyes scanning all the unoccupied tables, and the bar counter before resting them on the portly wizard dressed in a two-piece suit that was two sizes too small. He slightly nudged Sirius. "Are you two on bad terms, also?"

Sirius shook his head no, but there was an unconvincing, non-reassuring feel in that—no.

"Potter. . .Black," said the portly wizard, waving them over to where he sat, "come join me, if you please."

The two walked to the center of the room, nodding their greeting to those who looked as they passed-by. "Evening Mr. Bones," said James, pulling up a chair, "having a good one, I hope."

Edgar Bones' eyes were fixed on Sirius, but he answered in a stern voice. "Not as good as I'd like."

"Well, let's hope that changes soon" said James, sitting down across from the man.

James studied the wizard for moment, noticing the buttons on his jacket was stretched to their absolute limit, and smiled broadly because too often Edgar Bones' demeanor could be best described as petulance but his manner of dress made up for this shortcoming.

"Don't just stand there, Black," said Edgar, pulling up a chair that was closest to him. "Have a seat, you won't find any Death Eaters here tonight."

Sirius' delay in taking the seat was reminiscent of an animal uncomfortable with its surroundings; his acute instincts, unable to drop their guard, probed the intent behind Edgar's offer. Few people knew his animagus form, and Edgar Bones was not one of them, but James could see by the flaring of Sirius's nostrils that he was uneasy.

"You boys didn't happen to run into anymore muggle law-enforcers again, did you?"

Sirius sat down next to Edgar. "No, the streets are as dead as this pub," he said grimly.

"Still, you have to admit it's a great night for flying," said James. "Are you here alone, Mr. Bones?"

"Yes, I needed a moment to myself," said Edgar, bearishly slumped over his mug of mead. "Last week, four Death Eaters approached me, recruiting, no doubt. They're quite relentless in their pursuit of pure-bloods. . .big laugh on them, I'm muggle-born." He then slammed his large fist onto the table. "The bloody lunatic, calling himself Lord now. I'll join his ranks when we're all dead and dancing in Hell. He and his followers have some colossal balls, if you ask me, and I told him so to his face."

James cleared his throat, pushed his glasses back up, and tried to suppress laughing out loud. "I'm sorry to hear you're being troubled by Death Eaters," he said.

Edgar twisted his face into an ugly frown. "They can try to trouble me," he said, revealing a missing front tooth. "The whole lot can kiss my backside where I wipe. It's fortunate my wife is visiting relatives in Hartford, the tension at home was growing unbearable for her, but my Cassie didn't go with her mother, she stayed home, and she's the main source of my angst these days. Merlin should pity the man who raises a daughter."

The pub fell silent once more. James shifted his gaze from Edgar to Sirius back to Edgar then Sirius again as the awkwardness filled the room. Don't ask, James told himself. Sirius should be the one to make inquiries—it should be him, not me—Padfoot, ask what's wrong!

Sirius was unwilling to meet James' eyes; more willing to let the conversation dangling in limbo. Perhaps he was truly saddened by Cassandra's sudden lost of interest in him to offer up any concern into her well-being, or that of her family's safety. Had this not been just a game? Wasn't this the so very typical way of Sirius to fabricate love until someone new came along.

Cassandra Bones was one of many girls Sirius faked deep emotion for—or so, James thought.

"Sorry lads, don't mean to sour-up your fun," said Edgar, adding a more cheerful tone. "Barmaid, I think these young wizards came to drink, and no questions about it." Edgar said, then winked at James. "How about some aged Scottish brew, my treat," he added. "That'll get the night off to a good start."

James smiled his agreement and turned his attention to the two behind the bar; Tom and his new barmaid seem to be whispering amongst themselves, and James assumed the discussion was about the lack of customers. Shorty thereafter, Kendall Westbrook was walking toward them balancing a tray in midair; her bright pink robe swung side to side as she walked. "May I get you anything else, Mr. Bones?" she asked, placing three glasses and, a dusky, corked bottle on the table.

"No, thank you, my dear," replied Edgar.

She curtsied, James though the curtsey a little over the top, but what was more fascinating was that Sirius did not glance up at her. She was dressed somewhat revealing, yet she could have been stark nude, and no one would notice or care.

"Nice girl," announced Edgar when Kendall was far enough away. "She should take care not to lure a degenerate to her door. Isn't that right, Black?"

Sirius' face turned hard as stone, and he threw Edgar a filthy look before answering. "That depends on your definition of a degenerate," he said coldly.

"My definition is a man with no morals and no self-control," said Edgar. "She might find herself like my daughter, expecting a baby with no husband to claim responsibility for the predicament."

James felt his heart skip a beat, heard himself gasp, but did not dare himself to look at Sirius.

"Sounds like a waste of energy," said Sirius unsympathetic, "worrying over what some another man's daughter might attract, and it sounds to me like your daughter's doesn't want a husband, so let the responsibility fall where it can."

Edgar's face turned bright red. "You ill-bred son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted. Within a span of a second, before everyone could blink, Edgar seized Sirius by neck. James lugged across the table, knocking over a full glass, and pulled at Edgar's clasp on Sirius. The table fell over sideways, from James' weight, knocking Edgar and Sirius onto the floor. Edgar landed on top, his hands still firmly in place, and he slammed Sirius' head several times into the wooden surface.

James' eyeglasses hit the floor before he did, and were being shuffled between legs and arms. "WHAT BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING!" he yelled, able to see clearly, and was struck in the under the chin when he tried to pick-up his glasses. "LET HIM GO! WHAT HAS HE DONE?"

All eyes and ears were on the three men—a few witches and wizards had produced wands, bowled over by the sudden uproar. Some of the portraits on the wall looked on horrified while others screamed, "DO NOT PATRONIZE RIFFRAFF, TOM. PUT THOSE BRAWLERS OUT ON THE STREETS WHERE THEY BELONG!"

Edgar released Sirius before he him lost consciousness, and stumble to his feet. "Ask him," he said, and kicked Sirius in the left side. "Go on, ask the son-of-bitch, let see if he'll tell you."

James shook his head, his eyeglasses askew and bent, and pointed his wand directly at Edgar's heart. "Keep your hands and your feet off of him," he said nervously. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt me! I'd like to see you try, you little piece shit!"

James prepared himself to duel; Edgar was four-times his size and taller, but the size of a wizard never foretold the outcome of a duel—speed and skillful aim did. "What has Sirius done to make you want to kill him?"

Edgar, overexerted, overweight, and out of breath, took his time answering. His comb-over had fallen to one side of his head, revealing a large, round, bald spot. "That's right, take your friend's side," he snapped, breathing heavily, then repositioned hair back over the bald spot.

"We're like brothers," said James proudly, and owlishly stared at Edgar. "So yes, I'll take his side, and not standstill while someone tries to strangle him to dead."

"I just wanted to congratulate the son-of-a-bitch!" shouted Edgar.

James pointed his wand at Edgar's face. "He can't help who his mother is," he said coolly, "and being the son of Walburga Black doesn't give you any rights." James glanced down at Sirius. "No offense, mate."

Edgar snorted. "Impregnating my daughter with his bastard gives me the right to cut his head off," he said grimly. "I'll murder any man who sets his needs above the reputation of my daughters, and gladly go to Azkaban for the pleasure of ridding the world of his kind."

James felt his stomach tie in knots, but he stood firm, wand extended, and his facial expression unchanged by the shocking information: His brain slowly began to process what his ears had heard—Impregnating. . . .

James looked down at Sirius, outstretched, on the floor; he had not moved one inch. Even as Edgar torn at his throat, he made no effort to fight back. "I—I didn't—didn't quite," stammered James, "I don't think I heard you right—did you say—"

"You heard me!" shouted Edgar. "And I'll thank you to lower your wand before I make you eat it!"

Voices seemed to jabber from everywhere. Sirius stood up, reached inside his robe, and produced ten gold Galleons which he threw at Edgar's feet.

"The drinks are on me," he said hoarsely, then lifted his chair back into its rightful place. "No harm done, let's go," he added, and clapped James on the back, and with his head held high walked to the exit that led out into Diagon Alley; James stared behind him in total disbelief.