Harry Potter and the Return of the Parents

Chapter 8: Murderers and Mirrors

Sirius sat at his desk, staring blankly at one of the many articles fastened to his bedroom wall. It was approaching twenty minutes since he had last moved, all his energy occupied in battling the urge to leave Grimmauld Place and run straight to Privet Drive. Arthur had told them what Dumbledore had found: that Harry had already received a letter telling him he had been expelled from Hogwarts. The kid must be going crazy.

He had written Harry a letter – a hurried, meaningless little note offering none of the emotion he wanted to put into words. None of the worry or anger, or the guilt that he had been holed up safely here whilst his godson had been fighting for his life – his soul – against dementors.

Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Sirius had not failed to grasp the irony of the instruction. That whilst he himself hated being confined to the house for his own safety, he was asking his godson to do the same thing. But a dementor attack. . . That was one hell of an extenuating circumstance.

He gave an involuntary shudder as memories of icy nights and scabby hands outside cell doors rose unbidden. Perhaps the creatures would never let him be. For twelve years they had tormented him with visions of his best friends' deaths, and now that he had finally had that family returned to him, they had tried to take his godson – the only person to have given his life purpose after Azkaban – from him instead.

Still. Tense and anxious as he may be, his concern for Harry couldn't quite subdue the warmth he had been basking in since being reunited with James and Lily. It was quite possible that nothing ever would.

He inhaled deeply. His brain had not yet truly come to terms with the impossibility he had just witnessed; that James and Lily were not only back, but had returned from the dead. The rational side of him had been unable to quite overcome the little voice whispering that it might be too good to be true. But his heart had accepted it without question, and just seeing them again, hearing them talk, had felt so right, it already felt as though they had never left.

There was a knock at the door. "It's open," he called, dragging his gaze from the photograph at which he had been staring.

He was greeted by a tangle of black hair, followed by James Potter's trademark casual grin, and the warmth in his belly blossomed into sunlight.

"Hey mate," James said, shutting the door carefully behind him and making his way into the centre of the room. There was silence for a moment as the two regarded each other, and Sirius almost snorted at how desperately he wanted to give his friend a poke, to check again that he was solid and not some sort of apparition.

"You okay?" he asked, more to break the nervous tension than anything. James nodded and shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, got a bit tired of waiting downstairs." Sirius understood. Like himself, James was never one for sitting around when something was happening; it was one reason they had decided to help Remus back in their school years. Both, however, knew that the best thing they could do for Harry right now was to be patient and let Dumbledore resolve the issue.

James walked around the room, admiring the many decorations Sirius had stuck upon the walls as a child. The decor could only be described as audacious. It appeared the young Gryffindor had done everything he could to antagonize his Slytherin family.

"Blimey, Padfoot," James said, running a hand along the scarlet and gold banner hanging above the bed, "you really do have a death wish. You've just gone out of your way to annoy your folks." Sirius hhhmed in agreement, and James flashed him a grin. "I'd expect nothing less, of course."