All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Seventh Year : Christmas ( Part 3 )

Monday 2nd January 1978

Mrs. Potter did not return home until the day after the attack. She came back with deep bags under her eyes, pallid skin, and sagging shoulders, clinging to James and her husband as if they were the only thing keeping her standing.

“About fifty dead, so I’ve heard.” She reported. “I was mostly triage, though. Hundreds wounded.”

“Any…any of us?” Mr. Potter asked, forcing the words out as if he didn’t want to say them. When Sirius had snuck from James’s room into Remus’s that night—morning, whatever—there had still been light coming from beneath his office door.

Euphemia pressed her eyes shut and nodded, once.

“Later,” she mumbled, eyes darting over to the boys. James clenched his fists.

“We can hear it,” he protested, “We’re all of age, and we were there when it happened!”

“Yes, I know you were!” Mrs. Potter snapped, voice rising suddenly. James fell silent, looking abashedly down at his feet. His mother stood. “I’m going for a lie down.”

She stalked out of the room, leaving only tense silence behind.

“Sorry, dad.” James said quietly, still staring down at the floor.

“It’s all right.” Mr. Potter sighed, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’re all upset. Your mother and I need you boys to listen, and do as you’re told until it’s time to go back to school, do you understand?”

Sirius stiffened, clenching his jaw. He understood that everyone was upset, but that didn’t mean James was wrong—they were old enough to hear what was going on, old enough to have all the adults stop tip-toeing around them and treating them like children. It’s our fight, too, he wanted to say.

But he didn’t. Instead, he kept silent, listening as Mr. Potter went on,

“Now, this house is going to be very busy for the next few days, and you’re going to see a lot of very important people doing very important work. Do not ask too many questions, and do not make nuisances of yourselves.”

“Can’t we help?” James asked, looking up.

“Yes.” Fleamont said, sternly, “By being gracious hosts and minding your mother.”

“Yes, dad.” James mumbled, shoulders slumping.

“James…” Fleamont spoke quietly, reaching out to place a hand on his son’s arm.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance and quickly stood, giving James and his dad some privacy. They moved to the kitchen, where they began to unenthusiastically assist Gully with the dishes.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about.” Sirius muttered, scrubbing at a sudsy plate, “If they knew half of the things we were capable of – we can actually help.”

“We’ll have our chance,” Remus said, absentmindedly, gazing out the window with a dishcloth in his hands. Sirius frowned, feeling tense and anxious and like he should be doing something—something more important than washing the Potters’ china.