SHE'S ALL THAT ➭ SIRIUS BLACK ❨2❩ ✔︎

ACT THREE, SCENE FORTY EIGHT

HALLOWEEN, 1981

Sage stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom, smoothing down the green hooded cloak that she'd strategically placed over a simple sweater and pair of jeans, so she could take Harry around Godric's Hollow and hide her identity at the same time.

Sirius was set to arrive any minute, and as she waited, Anna-Lee knocked on the open door.

"Mads wanted to say bye to you before you left for the night." The American said softly, smiling kindly while her daughter toddled past her.

Madeleine was dressed in what looked like hand-stitched Slytherin robes, Sage's old Prefect pin attached to the little lapel.

Sage laughed. "Merlin, Yankee. She looks just like you, if you'd gone to Hogwarts."

Madeleine had the same sandy blonde hair as her mother, and she shared her blue-green eyes with her father. And with a hybrid accent of southern and British, depending on who she babbled to, well, she seemed to have gotten an even mix of her parent's traits.

Madeleine went running for her aunt, stumbling just as she reached her.

"Come here, you little sorcière." Sage murmured, scooping up the little girl.

Anna-Lee leaned against the door frame. "You coming back tonight?" She asked.

Shaking her head, Sage replied, "Doubt it. I'll probably end up spending the night at Lily's or at Sirius's."

"Okay, well..." Anna-Lee crossed the room quickly and reclaimed her daughter from Sage. "Be safe. And happy birthday, English."

☾

When Sage and Sirius Apparated in front of the Potter's house, something felt... amiss. The porch lights, which were always on when James and Lily were expecting guests, were off, and the front door was ajar.

Sage looked to her boyfriend with raised eyebrows. He returned her grim and suspicious look.

As the two of them walked up the path towards the house, the uneasy feeling in Sage's stomach grew, and she spun her wand around her fingers while the nerves, rare and seldom for her, gnawed at her.

The first sign that something was truly, horribly wrong, was that the Potter's cat, Crookshanks, was nowhere to be found. Usually, whenever Sage came over, Crookshanks was all over her, shedding his orange fur onto every single inch of her clothing.

The second sign was that neither James nor Lily were there to greet them.

"Lily?" Sage called, peeking further into the house. "James?"

Sirius was the one to go in first, entering as if he owned the place. Sage, however, stayed at the door, bile rising in her throat.

"No. Oh, god. No." Sirius was suddenly yelling, and she heard him collapse.

She was at his side in an instant, and she wished that she had stayed home that day.

James Fleamont Potter, pale and cold, was splayed out on the stairs, looking as if he'd simply slipped and fallen. But there was no visible injury, and by the way he stared emptily at the ceiling, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, it was apparent that he was dead.

No visible injuries, no blood, bruising, or wounds. The work of the killing curse was obvious.

Sage's stomach turned, and she fought the urge to vomit as she stumbled up the stairs, screaming for her best friend.