Over My Head, 1/1
The sound of rapid, incessant knocking echoed throughout the small, dimly-lit hallway. Standing outside the door that opened into Sirius’s flat, James Potter ran a frustrated hand through his ever-messy hair.
“Padfoot,” he tried, “c’mon, mate; let me in.”
But there was no reply from the wizard inside, and had been no contact from him for nearly five days - a worrying prospect these days.
Or, at least, it would be, had they not attended a private meeting with Dumbledore earlier that week, in which he told them of the prophecy and stated what few options they now had. Sirius had reacted almost violently to the news of Voldemort’s latest endeavor, and had stormed out of the Headmaster’s office. Lily had explained that it was Sirius’s way of dealing with the pain and they should just let him be, but James, who knew Sirius better than he knew anyone else in the world (though he would never, ever admit this to his wife), was not content to let him simply fester in his own pain and emotional anguish.
He owed him more than that.
“Sirius,” James called through the door, the slightest hint of a whine in his voice, a callback to days in the dormitory when Sirius would inexplicably lock himself in the bathroom for hours moments before James had planned on showering. “You can’t ignore me forever, y’know.”
There was a beat.
Then, “Can too.”
James smiled and rolled his eyes. “Let me in now, Padfoot? Please?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the door creaked open, and James, happy he was making progress before he had even seen his best mate, walked into the tiny flat with a chipper step.
Until it vanished the moment he set eyes on the room.
“Bloody hell, Sirius…”
Empty fifths of firewhiskey and half-drunken bottles of Muggle beer littered the wooden floor; the heavy curtains were pulled closed across the large picture window, except for the tiny sliver of space in the middle, letting a beam of light shine across the room; clothes, dirty dishes, and odd bits of paper crowded the cluttered furniture. But the most disturbing sight was of his best friend of nine-and-a-half wonderful years sunk into a battered, oversized armchair, reeking of desolation and despair, a burning cigarette dangling from his fingers.
“And Lily said we should leave you be,” James muttered. “What was she thinking?”
Sirius just blinked at him with heavy-lidded eyes; those eyes, which had so often made women swoon and men jealous - those clear grey eyes, which lit up in excitement during a prank and grew dark and cold every time they read the Daily Prophet - were simply empty: dull and lifeless, hazy like dirty glass.
“All right, mate?” he asked rhetorically, picking up a stray bottle and tossing it in the trash.
“Bloody brill’nt,” Sirius slurred as James collapsed on the couch opposite him, his body language suggesting he were simply bored, instead of intensely worried.
“I can tell.”
“I’ll clean it up later.”
James smiled, though the smile failed to reach his eyes, and nodded towards the cigarette hanging limply between his best friend’s fingers. “Lily’ll kill you if she finds out you’re doing that again, y’know.”
This is how James deals with emotional pressure. He hides behind small talk and misdirection; though he has loved Lily nearly since he set eyes on her, he was unable to say so until after they had graduated from Hogwarts. This is also how Sirius copes, and it is one of the reasons they get along so well; they can have a serious conversation without saying anything of real value. Remus has always been unable to understand it, as he is too emotionally “wordy”, as Sirius once put it. But James understands.
Because Sirius is reacting exactly how James wishes he himself could, hiding behind intoxication and shade-drawn windows, pretending to be oblivious to the outside world, hoping that maybe if he can just ignore it for awhile, it will go away: Voldemort, the war, the prophecy, everything. Just disappear in a puff of smoke, and then everything will be right again.
But James isn’t the dashing Marauder he used to be at Hogwarts; no, he’s a man now, with a job and a family and little white picket fence. He has responsibilities now, and his responsibility is to his family, to protect them, to fight for them. He doesn’t have the luxury of hiding.
It was ironic, though, that hiding was exactly what he, Lily, and little Harry were about to do. But they would not have the luxury of pretending the world would not exist; it was because of the world they would be forced into hiding, because of Voldemort and the damn prophecy which linked Harry - his precious one-year-old boy - to the Dark Lord’s downfall. He didn’t like it, being forced into submission while the world around him would continue to fight for their lives, for his life, and the lives of his friends. James was a man of action, but this was something he knew he had to do.
For Harry.
And that was more important than anything else.
For Sirius, however, James and his family were his own family. James was his best friend and Harry was his godson, and James knew that Sirius was scared to death of losing him. James had kept him grounded at Hogwarts when the sneers of his family members in Slytherin and the annual Howler from his mother made being Sirius Black too much. He’d taken him in when the young Marauder had ran away from all the pureblood rubbish he’d been forced to swallow for years; they’d spent years planning pranks together and learning how to become Animagi. When James had discovered Remus’s secret, Sirius had been the first one he’d told.
They were brothers in everything but blood.
“Look, Padfoot,” he began, not really knowing where he was going but feeling the need to say something of significance, “what Dumbledore - “
“I don’t want to talk about it,” his best mate interrupted quickly.
James shrugged, surveying the room. Fine. He didn’t want to talk about it either. He went about cleaning up silently without magic, allowing the mind-numbing task to fill the void between them. But still the urge to speak annoyingly lingered, and James, who had always been one to act before thinking, opened his mouth.
“It’s the only option we have, you know.”
Immediately, he regretted the words. Of course Sirius knew that; he had been at the same meeting, sitting across the table from James, his grey eyes steely cold and furious.
A snort. “Yeah.”
“We’ll be all right.” At one time in his life, he would’ve promised such a statement, but so much was uncertain these days.
Sirius swore. “You don’t bloody get it, d’you? You’re marked for death! You’re on Voldemort’s Top Ten Must Die List.”
James, slightly taken aback, muttered “We’re all on that list.”
But Sirius shook his head vigorously, rising from the chair. “No, we’re not.” He swore again, louder, and ran a hand through his dark hair frustration. “Voldemort believes every single word of that goddamn prophecy, and he’s going to make sure it never comes true.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Sirius remarked sarcastically.
James frowned at the insult to his intelligence.
“Because I don’t think you do, mate,” Sirius continued, now in a rant. “He’ll never stop. No matter how long it bloody takes, he won’t stop looking for you. How long do you plan to stay hidden, Prongs? Months? Years? How long are you going to keep Harry locked up?” James shifted uneasily. “What about when it’s time to go to Hogwarts?”
“The war will be over by then.”
“Are you sure? It’s been years already, how do you know it won’t be another ten?” Suddenly, James was uncomfortably aware about how little he had thought this through. But he didn’t have a choice; hiding was their only option - Harry’s only chance.
He told Sirius as much.
But that was not the answer he had wanted to hear; he shoved James, hard, sending him stumbling backwards into the sofa. “Don’t you get it?” he shouted angrily. “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”
He was silent, letting the words wash over him. He knew it; somewhere in the back of his mind he had known as soon as Dumbledore had spoken that there was a very slim possibility that he would be able to walk freely out the door ever again, but only by hearing the words now, from the mouth his best friend, did their meaning truly sink in.
James Potter was going to die.
He only hoped that perhaps his death would spare the lives of Lily and Harry. Otherwise, it would all be for naught.
So quietly, eyeing his friend sadly, he asked “Will you be our Secret-Keeper?”
And Sirius, who had sunk back into his chair, sighed. “Yeah.”
“Padfoot,” he tried, “c’mon, mate; let me in.”
But there was no reply from the wizard inside, and had been no contact from him for nearly five days - a worrying prospect these days.
Or, at least, it would be, had they not attended a private meeting with Dumbledore earlier that week, in which he told them of the prophecy and stated what few options they now had. Sirius had reacted almost violently to the news of Voldemort’s latest endeavor, and had stormed out of the Headmaster’s office. Lily had explained that it was Sirius’s way of dealing with the pain and they should just let him be, but James, who knew Sirius better than he knew anyone else in the world (though he would never, ever admit this to his wife), was not content to let him simply fester in his own pain and emotional anguish.
He owed him more than that.
“Sirius,” James called through the door, the slightest hint of a whine in his voice, a callback to days in the dormitory when Sirius would inexplicably lock himself in the bathroom for hours moments before James had planned on showering. “You can’t ignore me forever, y’know.”
There was a beat.
Then, “Can too.”
James smiled and rolled his eyes. “Let me in now, Padfoot? Please?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the door creaked open, and James, happy he was making progress before he had even seen his best mate, walked into the tiny flat with a chipper step.
Until it vanished the moment he set eyes on the room.
“Bloody hell, Sirius…”
Empty fifths of firewhiskey and half-drunken bottles of Muggle beer littered the wooden floor; the heavy curtains were pulled closed across the large picture window, except for the tiny sliver of space in the middle, letting a beam of light shine across the room; clothes, dirty dishes, and odd bits of paper crowded the cluttered furniture. But the most disturbing sight was of his best friend of nine-and-a-half wonderful years sunk into a battered, oversized armchair, reeking of desolation and despair, a burning cigarette dangling from his fingers.
“And Lily said we should leave you be,” James muttered. “What was she thinking?”
Sirius just blinked at him with heavy-lidded eyes; those eyes, which had so often made women swoon and men jealous - those clear grey eyes, which lit up in excitement during a prank and grew dark and cold every time they read the Daily Prophet - were simply empty: dull and lifeless, hazy like dirty glass.
“All right, mate?” he asked rhetorically, picking up a stray bottle and tossing it in the trash.
“Bloody brill’nt,” Sirius slurred as James collapsed on the couch opposite him, his body language suggesting he were simply bored, instead of intensely worried.
“I can tell.”
“I’ll clean it up later.”
James smiled, though the smile failed to reach his eyes, and nodded towards the cigarette hanging limply between his best friend’s fingers. “Lily’ll kill you if she finds out you’re doing that again, y’know.”
This is how James deals with emotional pressure. He hides behind small talk and misdirection; though he has loved Lily nearly since he set eyes on her, he was unable to say so until after they had graduated from Hogwarts. This is also how Sirius copes, and it is one of the reasons they get along so well; they can have a serious conversation without saying anything of real value. Remus has always been unable to understand it, as he is too emotionally “wordy”, as Sirius once put it. But James understands.
Because Sirius is reacting exactly how James wishes he himself could, hiding behind intoxication and shade-drawn windows, pretending to be oblivious to the outside world, hoping that maybe if he can just ignore it for awhile, it will go away: Voldemort, the war, the prophecy, everything. Just disappear in a puff of smoke, and then everything will be right again.
But James isn’t the dashing Marauder he used to be at Hogwarts; no, he’s a man now, with a job and a family and little white picket fence. He has responsibilities now, and his responsibility is to his family, to protect them, to fight for them. He doesn’t have the luxury of hiding.
It was ironic, though, that hiding was exactly what he, Lily, and little Harry were about to do. But they would not have the luxury of pretending the world would not exist; it was because of the world they would be forced into hiding, because of Voldemort and the damn prophecy which linked Harry - his precious one-year-old boy - to the Dark Lord’s downfall. He didn’t like it, being forced into submission while the world around him would continue to fight for their lives, for his life, and the lives of his friends. James was a man of action, but this was something he knew he had to do.
For Harry.
And that was more important than anything else.
For Sirius, however, James and his family were his own family. James was his best friend and Harry was his godson, and James knew that Sirius was scared to death of losing him. James had kept him grounded at Hogwarts when the sneers of his family members in Slytherin and the annual Howler from his mother made being Sirius Black too much. He’d taken him in when the young Marauder had ran away from all the pureblood rubbish he’d been forced to swallow for years; they’d spent years planning pranks together and learning how to become Animagi. When James had discovered Remus’s secret, Sirius had been the first one he’d told.
They were brothers in everything but blood.
“Look, Padfoot,” he began, not really knowing where he was going but feeling the need to say something of significance, “what Dumbledore - “
“I don’t want to talk about it,” his best mate interrupted quickly.
James shrugged, surveying the room. Fine. He didn’t want to talk about it either. He went about cleaning up silently without magic, allowing the mind-numbing task to fill the void between them. But still the urge to speak annoyingly lingered, and James, who had always been one to act before thinking, opened his mouth.
“It’s the only option we have, you know.”
Immediately, he regretted the words. Of course Sirius knew that; he had been at the same meeting, sitting across the table from James, his grey eyes steely cold and furious.
A snort. “Yeah.”
“We’ll be all right.” At one time in his life, he would’ve promised such a statement, but so much was uncertain these days.
Sirius swore. “You don’t bloody get it, d’you? You’re marked for death! You’re on Voldemort’s Top Ten Must Die List.”
James, slightly taken aback, muttered “We’re all on that list.”
But Sirius shook his head vigorously, rising from the chair. “No, we’re not.” He swore again, louder, and ran a hand through his dark hair frustration. “Voldemort believes every single word of that goddamn prophecy, and he’s going to make sure it never comes true.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Sirius remarked sarcastically.
James frowned at the insult to his intelligence.
“Because I don’t think you do, mate,” Sirius continued, now in a rant. “He’ll never stop. No matter how long it bloody takes, he won’t stop looking for you. How long do you plan to stay hidden, Prongs? Months? Years? How long are you going to keep Harry locked up?” James shifted uneasily. “What about when it’s time to go to Hogwarts?”
“The war will be over by then.”
“Are you sure? It’s been years already, how do you know it won’t be another ten?” Suddenly, James was uncomfortably aware about how little he had thought this through. But he didn’t have a choice; hiding was their only option - Harry’s only chance.
He told Sirius as much.
But that was not the answer he had wanted to hear; he shoved James, hard, sending him stumbling backwards into the sofa. “Don’t you get it?” he shouted angrily. “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”
He was silent, letting the words wash over him. He knew it; somewhere in the back of his mind he had known as soon as Dumbledore had spoken that there was a very slim possibility that he would be able to walk freely out the door ever again, but only by hearing the words now, from the mouth his best friend, did their meaning truly sink in.
James Potter was going to die.
He only hoped that perhaps his death would spare the lives of Lily and Harry. Otherwise, it would all be for naught.
So quietly, eyeing his friend sadly, he asked “Will you be our Secret-Keeper?”
And Sirius, who had sunk back into his chair, sighed. “Yeah.”