The Marauders: Year Two | #Wattys2016

Christmas at the Potters

Sirius smiled, thinking of Christmases long past when he'd looked forward to presents the way James was now. Walburga and Orion had once loved him the way James's parents loved James, hadn't they? Sirius could scarcely remember those days, they seemed so distant a memory.

"Speaking of presents," James suddenly flipped over onto his stomach on the mattress so that he hung over the side doubled over, and reached under the bed. He came back up a moment later, his hair a wild tangle, and righted his glasses with a shove of his index finger. "I didn't get a chance to wrap it, but I reckon you'll - er - dig it," James said, handing Sirius a record.

The Beatles.

"That muggle, John Lennon, the one who sings that song you like - the one about peace and the world and all that - this is his band," James explained, pointing to the picture of him on the sleeve.

Sirius grinned as he flipped the record over and looked down the list of songs - all songs he'd never heard before. He hugged the record to his chest, "Thank you James," he said, his heart nearly busting, he was so thankful. Then a terrible thought occurred to him, "I haven't got anything to give you," he said.

"It's alright, mate," James said, "I'm just glad you're here. That's gift enough for me. I've been hoping you'd come sometime, ever since I sent you that ticket last holiday! And you sounded miserable in your owls," he added.

"I was."

"Well you not being miserable is enough for me," James said, smiling. He returned to his relaxed position, sprawled across the bed once more.

Sirius grabbed the pillow he'd been using and leaned against the foot end of the bed, his feet up by James's elbow, the record laying across his chest. "I like it here, James."

"Good, then stay." James replied. He took a deep breath and snuggled lower down so that he was on his back. Silhouettes of the trees outside of James's bedroom window streaked the ceiling. Bubo was sitting in the branches and his form was there on the ceiling, too, as he fluttered his feathers, guarding the window. James closed his eyes.

"James?" Sirius asked.

"Hmm?"

"You reckon bad wizards were good once?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" James questioned, not opening his eyes.

Sirius shrugged, Well, I mean... Voldemort, he was a kid once, right? He probably went to Hogwarts once. Probably had good mates, probably got bored in History of Magic, same as us... Do you reckon he was ever good? Do you reckon that bad wizards start out good and... you know... get lost some place along the way?"

James said, "I doubt Voldemort was ever good."

"But some wizards were probably good once, yeah?"

James opened one eye.

"Like my Mother and Father," Sirius said. "I didn't think they were bad wizards when I was little. Do you reckon they were good then and... and something changed?"

"Perhaps it's you that's changed," James said.

Sirius nodded. "Perhaps." He looked sad at the thought.

James nudged his shoulder with his stocking foot. "You alright?"

"It's hard," Sirius said, "Not having a family."

"I'm your family," James said firmly.

"Yeah, but... blood family."

"Blood? You're worried about blood?"