- Chapter 49 -

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THE POTTERS, Sirius' POV♫ Bros - Wolf Alice ♫———"Look, I don't think you should worry about it," "It's

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THE POTTERS,
Sirius' POV
♫ Bros - Wolf Alice ♫
———
"Look, I don't think you should worry about it,"
"It's...abstract." I said.

"It's shit." James sighed frustratingly. Holding (another, it was becoming a surprising habit or hobby) detention painting. One he had painted for his parents for Christmas, of our farm. Which unfortunately he sat on for the entire train journey...with a chocolate frog in his pocket.

I shook my head.

"Mate, don't be so harsh. It's the thought."

Suddenly James let out a laugh, but not amused.

"Feck sake." He stomped his feet, stopping in his tracks. I always laughed whenever he said 'fuck'. He could say it without a strong accent, but the moment he was saying it to be funny or honestly, there was no doubt he was born and raised Irish.
"It looks like I've shat myself too."

And then he turned, finally making me crack up.

"It's not funny. I liked these as well." He said as if he couldn't wash them, or even use a spell in the moment. Completely defeated and stroppy. The back of his trousers, specifically his backside, covered in the same chocolate that added a little something special to his painting.

"Anyway," I attempted to de-escalate.
"Where did mum say she was meeting us?"

James shoved the painting back in his bag. Mumbling something under his breath, still mad. Quickly though his focus was back on getting completely out of the station that we had very slowly been moving through.

"Outside. You know how she hates the crowds." He nodded, sounding a little brighter.

James was a mummy's boy. He loves his Mum. It was something I didn't understand at first. He spoke about her as if she was his friend. Or at least, more than my mother felt to me.

I didn't understand until I found myself at their front door.

I had met both Euphemia and Fleamont a handful of times, before moving in. The first time being casual.

James invited me round in the October half term, second year. I stayed round for two days and slept for the night. Ironically, swearing I'd never sleep round again afterwards. Due to the fact that James' parents (naively) thought he would use his brain and offer me the camp bed they had. Perhaps, at least, a blanket.

As great as the home cooked meal was, it didn't quite warm me during the cold October night, with merely Jame's winter coat as a blanket over me and his spare (depressingly flat) pillow under my head...on his bedroom floor. It felt like fending for myself in the wild, a camping trip despite the fact I was under a roof.

I remember James had the cheek to ask me how I slept the next morning, even saying 'why didn't you grab a blanket?' As if I knew where they were and as if he hadn't fallen asleep already when I came back from brushing my teeth.

FALLEN FROM GRACE ⍋ Regulus & Sirius BlackWhere stories live. Discover now