#starbucks

(Unfinished - June 1, 2016)

James can’t sleep anymore.

He’s never been particularly restful, always fidgeting and stretching, even during sleep. His eagerness to move even follows him into his dreams. It hasn’t changed since the war. When it isn’t unbounded energy keeping him on the verge of waking up, it’s unease. 

Today, it is the latter. 

It has been three days since Voldemort disappeared, and James hasn’t slept since.

In the immediate aftermath, when the relief of finding their family alive had given way to wondering what exactly happened, Lily thought, briefly, that it had been a miracle. That the prophecy lingering over their heads had finally come to fruition, and their son had won. But James knew better. For the first time in his life, he was unwilling to trust in the goodness of the world. It didn’t take long to figure out why.

James cannot find rest in a world where Sirius Black isn’t alive. 

They had been asleep, of all things. Finally under the protection of the Fidelius, finally able to ease some of the heavy weight of the worry and fatigue from trying not to be found, they turned in early that night. They did not hear Sirius when he came to check on Harry, or his quiet refusals to move away from Harry’s cot. 

“Love magic,” is Dumbledore’s explanation when they ask. His tone sounds almost reverent, and for some reason, that makes James want to hit him. 

There is one fact they do know, from the information flooding from the other side. At some point, Regulus Black asked Voldemort to spare his brother’s life. Albus doesn’t have an answer for how an eighteen-year-old boy had risen high enough in the ranks to be able to make such a request of Lord Voldemort. Regulus is dead now, so it’s not as if they can ask him. 

All the same, Sirius was given a choice. Step aside and let his godson be taken, or suffer the consequences of standing in the way.

He had not hesitated.

Only the Order mourns. All along the wizarding world, celebrations are breaking out because of the Dark Lord’s fall. No one seems to care that it was at the cost of someone’s life. While fireworks light up the London sky in the daytime, James Potter lowers his best friend into the ground. 

Minerva McGonagall is crying. James’s mother is gone, and Walburga Black could care less, but Minerva McGonagall is crying and James cannot look at her without feeling as if he’s forced her son into the grave. 

He’s supposed to speak, of course. James is supposed to speak because he’s Sirius’s family, and everyone is looking at him for answers. And he tries.

“Sirius Black,” he says, hoarsely. His throat is too tight to continue, so he begins again. “Was—” is all James manages before he can’t find words.

Lily takes over then, in spite of the tears on her own face. She holds James’s hand in her own and their baby on her hip, and she’s so much stronger than him, because she can bring herself to use past tense. 

Exhaustion doesn’t make James any less aware, so it’s not hard to navigate people after the service, speaking when he’s supposed to and nodding when he’s not. 

If he were to choose to speak to anyone, it would be Remus, but neither of them can look each other in the eye. Lily, beautiful and unbending to their brokenness, hands Harry over to James and takes Remus into her arms. James looks away when his shoulders begin to shake.

Harry fists his hand in James’s shirt, and James looks down at him. He is smiling, because he does not know any better. There is a scar on his forehead from three days ago, still fresh. It had been Harry’s crying that woke them up moments before the explosion. 

His son’s life is a gift from Sirius which he will never be able to repay. 

Lily’s hand on his shoulder guides him away from the crowds eventually, and he’s grateful. They walk to Bathilda’s house, their temporary home. It isn’t far, because Sirius has been buried in Godric’s Hollow next to the parents who loved him. 

“He was supposed to come over today,” says James pointlessly. Lily knows this. She has been just as excited for it as he has. Still, he feels the need to fill the silence. The world is too quiet now. 

Lily nods, eyes downcast. “I was going to make him a cake.” 

Sirius Black will never be twenty-two, but they throw him a birthday party anyway.

How are you gonna say “blended” “italian ice” and “slushee” and then get surprised the drink i handed you is blended???

Just dont order off menu and we dont have this problem…

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