Chapter Text
“I thought you weren’t a gambler, Prongs.” Sirius grins, draping himself over James’ shoulder. He watches how he flicks his wand in precise fluid motions, how his shoulder shakes with restrained laughter. Sirius’ hair falls into James’ face, but his best friend doesn’t seem to mind or care, content to be used as a resting post. James taps his grandfather’s grimoire, archaic circles and symbols stretched on the yellowed pages.
They’re on the sixth floor, tucked away in the prefect’s bathroom because Sirius was chummy with Gideon Prewett and the boy never told him no. Sirius set up a silencing charm as James locked down the bathroom firmly so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Their things litter the floor after an impromptu wrestling match.
Sirius is a bit curious as to what they were doing since he already mentioned he knew a divination spell, but he feels pleased that gets to be a part of James’ magic. He knew the Potters kept a tight lid on their legacy, merely dark whispers and ghosts of things they’ve done sprinkled through time. Sirius watches as the circle rises from the page, shimmering lilac until it turns a rustic red and hovers over the map spread open before them. He makes a low noise of excitement, bracing on James’ thigh, and leans closer. James sends him a goofy grin, flicking his wand upward, and the circle stiffens.
“Alright, Pads. You’re up.”
Sirius whistles, “You’re gone for her, Jay.”
James sighs, “I know. I just want to see if there’s a chance, yeah?”
“I don’t think divination works this way.” Sirius hums, settling into James’ side. He studies the circle, awed by the Latin neatly scribbled amongst the intricate lines. Sirius didn’t know shit about alchemy, but he did know shit about runes. There are murmurs of future, past, and present, one glowing faintly as the other two dim, then another will glow. “This is so fucking cool.”
James sighs dreamily, “Isn’t it? Crazy that most people think we’re just a light house.”
Sirius huffs, “Because they’re stupid. Clearly, they’ve never seen you pissed.”
“I am an innocent.” James grins, sharp. “Just like my parents.”
“Uh huh.”
“Plus if we look at the theory, I should be able to bind-”
“Don’t say bind. How official.”
“Should be able to see if I have a chance.” James corrects smoothly.
Sirius taps the spot where Lily Evans is written, her shadowed feet pacing rapidly in front of Professor McGonagall’s office. He is a bit curious as to what she needed, but he’s learned not to ask Evans much because she would never answer him directly and seemed content to watch him squirm. Sirius procures his wand from the loopy bun he tied half of his hair up into, tapping the surface of the map. They often say that the map of the stars is the map of one’s destiny. James seems pleased that Sirius is entertaining his whims when they both knew Remus would be complaining by now, with Peter right behind him.
“I found this spell in my grandfather’s grimoire.” Sirius tells him, weaving his wand through the air. The end sparks red, then a ghostly blue. “Apparently, it was used for heads to reveal the future of their line.”
James blinks, awed. “He let you keep it?”
Sirius nods, throat tight, “Said hopefully it will give me more sense and clarity than it did his son.”
“Your Grampy is so weird.” James laughs. “I’m glad you have him on your side. Fuck your parents.”
“Yeah,” Sirius responds quietly. He wonders when he’d accept that his parents just hated him. “I tweaked it a bit.”
James sends him a speaking look, “I thought we agreed you’d stop tinkering around with that shit.”
Sirius scoffs, “It’s not my fault it’s fascinating. Dark as shit, but Pépé trusted me with it.”
James leers at him, “Does your mother know about this, Heir Black?”
Sirius huffs, chastised, “He told me to keep it from her. I’m not trying to be berated. She’s on my fucking case enough.” He glares at James, stabbing a finger at him, “You are just as bad.”
“Someone has to be. I have to take care of my dog,” James grins, loose and seedy, and Sirius punches him in the arm with a laugh. He continues with his work, weaving a twirl of vibrant mist between portion where the future glows hotly. Sirius watches as words appear for his own future, murky and terrible as they were before. The first time he looked at his future, he cried, had never felt more alone than ever did in that moment.
There were only fragments, not a clear picture that a seer might see, but it was enough for Sirius to know that his end was just as miserable as his beginning. He continues with his work, watching as the names on the map begin to weave into an eerie stretch of the constellation. He can see a spark appear before Lily Evan’s name, then another on someone else’s and another. Sirius frowns, watching the sparks turn murky red, and catches himself peering at his brother’s name. The spark above his is stark, unnervingly much like blood and Sirius finds himself nervous.
It wasn’t often that Sirius worried about Regulus Black, how often they felt so different than each other, but he was still his brother. Sirius knows that red typically means something bad will happen, though he is curious as to why there are different shades of it. James hooks an arm around his shoulder, smooshing the sides of their faces together, and his hazel eyes sparkle with awe.
Sirius frowns deeper, “Who is that?”
“Who is who?” James asks.
Sirius points to a name he’s never seen before. James was the only Potter that attended Hogwarts yet there was a Potter written here, a Potter that wasn’t James. Sirius tilts his head, a bit like a dog, curious. The Potters were slowly dying out with James currently being the youngest of the family but Sirius knows that Dorea Potter nee Black was trying for a baby with her husband. They hadn’t been successful yet. James dips closer, brow furrowing in confusion, “I don’t know a Harry.”
“There’s another name.” Sirius hums. “Granger? Must be a Muggleborn.”
More and more names begin to pop up on the map, names Sirius had never seen before and the previous sparks melt away until all that is left are new names and new footprints. Sirius hesitantly retracts his wand, a bit alarmed at how more and more names begin to appear. There is Weasley, a horde of them really, a Malfoy, but no signs of their friend’s family names to be seen anywhere. It makes Sirius confused because if this spell had worked, why is no one they know here? Maybe they sent their kids to a different school, he thinks, worrying his bottom lip. The map spasms and ripples in response, sparking with magic. Sirius jumps, spooked, and promptly says, “Mischief Managed.”
James pouts, “Why did you do that?”
“Something is clearly wrong.” Sirius mutters, massaging his temples. “We don’t know any of those people.”
“Well, it’s not like we know everyone.” James laughs. He quickly corrects himself when Sirius punches his arm once more, “Ok so we do or rather they know us. Oh, maybe it’s a legacy!”
“A what?”
“Think about it!” James gasps, eyes starry. “If your spell was right, we just saw the future. Maybe I have a kid!”
Sirius laughs, “You? With a child? Poor thing.”
“Aww, fuck off, yeah?” James squeezes him. “I’d be a great dad! You’d be their best dogfather. Only the best for my spawns.”
Sirius’ heart flips. Sometimes it felt so odd to have won a Potter’s favor. While he knows the Potters were a light family, they were close with their companions and loyal to their plans. This was the complete opposite of the Blacks, who were only loyal to family, as was in their creed. It felt turbulent at times, Sirius and James’ relationship, often butting heads like two fierce competitors, but they fell back together just as fast, like a puzzle piece slotting together. James’ easy friendship had felt like a trap at the beginning, but Sirius is slowly learning to believe that James wants him in his life.
“You’d likely end up with twins.” Sirius sniffs.
James looks weepy, “Oh, how precious. They’d have my hair and Lily’s eyes.”
Sirius grins, “What color hair would they have then, hm?”
“My beautiful Lily Flower’s radiant red,” James says dreamily.
Sirius rubs his face, exasperated, “They’d likely have dark hair. You know how genetics work.”
“I know you don’t know how genetics work.” James huffs, shuffling forward to the map. “Come on, aren’t you curious?”
“There were no Blacks on the map,” Sirius points out. “So I likely died a cool death without having any brats.”
James turns to him, expression thunderous. “Don’t say that shit again.”
“Yes, deer.” Sirius lifts his hand in surrender, pleased. “Guess I never give Marlene my sperm so she can have babies with Cas.”
James blinks, “You wouldn’t want your own kids.”
Sirius flutters his eyelashes at him, “I have yours, don’t I, Prongsie?”
James’ face goes hot, “Fuck off. Show me again.”
“Yes, deer.” Sirius hums, shifting to his knees. He points his wand at James, “Don’t touch shit. You know how Blacks do their magic.”
James salutes him. Sirius waves his wand over the map once more, muttering the incantation, but no names appear. He watches James deflate in disappointment and finds himself feeling bad he robbed him of more insight. Sirius moves to put a reassuring hand on James’ arm when the map itself pops loudly. It does it again and again until rays of light are spilling from it. Sirius attempts to close the map once more, but it refuses to cooperate, singing an eerie trill that causes his skin to break out into goosebumps. One of the beams of light hooks around his hand and pulls. James scrambles to his right, grasping him tightly. Sirius is dragged bodily forward, nails clawing at the floor as his arm is yanked into the map. He can feel anything as though his arm has been severed from him completely. James tries to pull him back but Sirius turns to him, panicked, “Something-”
The stillness grabs him back, jerking downwards, and Sirius’ skin crawls at the sudden sensation of numerous hands grasping him. He can feel their fingers, their skin, how it sloughs along the bone like rot. Sirius struggles to breathe, “I fucked up. Let me go.”
“I’m not doing that!” James shouts, hooking his hands underneath Sirius’ arms and pulls. Instead of going outward, another beam snatches the back of James’ throat and brings him down hard. Their heads knock together, sending Sirius’ mind scrambling with dizziness, and they’re pulled in together. He can feel himself unraveling and splitting, but still James holds him almost desperately. They’re falling and falling and-
Sirius jerks upright, suspended in an empty nothingness that spreads around him. He looks around frantically for James and finds himself alone. There is the low hum of a song, the quiet pluck of a harp, and then a coo, curious and enticing. The darkness shifts subtly, inky black sand spreading out like a hand. It caress his cheek, his chin, his face with a low trill before drawing back completely. A voice comes into his mind like a whisper, ancient and honeyed sweet, “Oh, Sirius Black, welcome. I am not often the recipient of Fate’s sense of humor.”
The voice swirls inside him, a soft sound like laughter echoing his mind as a cacophony of various pitches. It is higher, bright, and a deeper lull all at once and it fills Sirius with a strange fondness. Sirius blinks sluggishly, limbs weighed with lead, and the more his eyes move, the more he notices the beginning of something as it darts along the edges of his vision. He cannot breathe yet he feels no need to, cannot move yet, strangely, their is peace in such stillness. The voice laughs again, quiet and right inside his left temple and still so far away.
They coo. The nothingness swirls into a vast plume of vibrant purple that circles him before settling into an eerie shape. Its body is a swirling mass of luminous abyssal water, dripping like liquid amethyst as sparkles of celestial bodies dance across its form. Tendrils of sandy mist coil around it like living water, whispering and reaching towards him as the face bursts into a set of many eyes, all different colors and shapes, a band of radiant white and silver breaking through as though it was made of china. It whistles to him, twirling iridescent colors, “How curious that this is what you see magic as. How pure.”
Sirius inhales sharply, “Mother Magic?”
This earns another happy twirl, “Of course. Who else to greet a traveler but I? But what to do with you? With James Potter? It is not often wixen meddle with time. The Father must surely be upset, but… you are here. How curious. Perhaps my children meddle with human affairs. How delightful.”
“I don’t understand.” Sirius whispers, listening to the Mother laugh musically.
“I believe I know what to do with you.” Mother Magic hums. “Perhaps Fate has decided she didn’t enjoy the first try. Perhaps Death wishes for his little master. You don’t understand now, Sirius Black, but you will. While time flows both ways, you have always moved forward, haven’t you, little one? Yes. Yes, I shall allow it.”
Sirius feels a spark of panic, “James-”
“I shall allow you him.” Mother Magic says soothingly, caressing his face gently. “He shall heal what has been left behind and you will help me mend this future. Mm… When you arrive, Sirius Black, reach out your hand to those in need. When you arrive, your fate is sealed.”
Sirius inhales, “We can’t go home?”
It’s all my fault, he thinks wildly.
“Time waits for none.” The Mother purrs. “You move forward.”
Sirius has no time to respond, feeling a thrum of amusement and fondness flickering through the air as a sensation in his belly button ripples him upward then down, down, down, down and-
He crashes into solid ground with James curled tight on top of him. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, cold stone pressing through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. Sirius tries to breathe, heart pounding in his chest, and his ears ring with a strange hum, throat achy and hoarse as if he, too, had been screaming. James trembles atop of him, face tucked into the curve of his neck, hands fisted in Sirius’ shirt.
Sirius chokes on a hot swell of vomit, seizing beneath him, and James scrambles upward, dragging Sirius into his arms with frazzled movements. He claps Sirius hard on the back, dislodging something inside Sirius, who gags harshly, then promptly spills his breakfast all over the floor. He pants haggardly, listening to James’ slow, soothing words and sags into him. With a slump to the side, Sirius takes in their surroundings, catches a glimpse of a dusty portrait, a broken chandelier that appeared to be rotting, but his eyes linger on the harsh scuff in the right corner of the ceiling from where his mother had been so angry, she nearly blew the roof off. They were not in the library anymore but the sitting room on the lower level. How did we get here, Sirius thinks, breath catching in his throat. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
He was home.
But why does it look like this? So empty and filthy with grime. Desolate like the house itself was rotting from the inside out. The wallpaper is yellow and peeling at the corners. There’s debris littering the corner. The once grand table and chairs Walburga had decorated the sitting room with were sullen and old. Orion’s trinkets and statues are nowhere to be seen, neither is the family portrait of them together. Sirius feels his mouth tremble. Why is it like this? Grimmauld was Walburga’s pride and joy, always smelling of incense and delicate scents, but now it smells like rot. Is this our future, Sirius thinks, the words of Mother Magic smacking into him with startling clarity.
“Is this…” James starts, his breath hitching.
“My house.” Sirius whispers. There are several soft pops then footsteps and he stiffens, grasping James’ hand as he pulls himself up. It is not the stride of his father nor does it have the soft click of his mother’s heels, and a wild sense of nerves races through Sirius. James stands at his side, wand lifted, and places himself in front of Sirius with a hardened expression. The light overhead spills on and Sirius peers over his shoulder to see a strange man striding inside. He is filthy and unkempt, his bulbous nose sneering comically until he notices them. The man startles badly, dropping the ugly bag he was carrying. It spills onto the floor, revealing various silver trinkets and familiar, beautiful pieces of jewelry.
James and Sirius move as one, James flicking his wrist to disarm the man and Sirius darts forward, snatching the ugly sack from the floor, tosses it into the man’s face and decks him. There’s an ugly crunch as he stumbles away from Sirius and back into the hall, several startled shouts following as more and more lights come on. James is pressed to his side almost immediately, wand raised, and Sirius realizes he’s unarmed. He must’ve lost it on their way here. Stupid, stupid, he chastises furiously. Whatever. Sirius Black didn’t need a fucking wand. His left hook was just as good as his right.
“Mundungus, what happened?” A woman hurries to this decrepit man’s side, wielding a wand and a handkerchief for his bleeding nose.
James wordlessly disarms her, earning another shout of surprise, and Sirius gathers his mother’s jewelry and things into his arms. James passes the disarmed wand to Sirius, who raises it towards their visitors. His voice is impossibly cold when the woman turns to them in surprise, wrinkled with graying ginger hair, “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?”
“Yeah, I’d explain myself fast.” James says cheerfully.
Sirius sneers, “How the fuck did you get in here?”
The more he stares, the more he can see a Prewett in this woman. How her eyes curl slightly inward at the dip, how her nose is upturned, but she is plump, almost kindly looking unlike Lucretia’s husband. Sirius feels no need for such niceties towards being connected to such a family. They were in his house, after all. Uninvited. Prewett stammers, mouth opening and closing, and it’s almost as if she’s seen a ghost. She flinches when James fires off a warning shot and slumps in relief as heavy footsteps make their way towards them.
There is a set of red haired children and a man who must be a Weasley. Their wands are drawn, the younger ones’ faces tucked behind the thinning haired Weasley, who puts himself between Prewett and them. A Shacklebolt joins shortly after, his wand already aimed at James. He moves, just a split shift, and Sirius wordlessly disarms him. Shacklebolt’s surprise is plain on his face, scrambling backward like some startled fool as he takes them in. The Weasley speaks up first, his ginger hair sparkling in the light, hands raised in gentle placation like a man trying to prevent spooking an animal. He makes a show of tucking his wand away, “It’s alright. Let’s just calm down, yeah?”
Sirius sneers at him, “Why are you in my house?”
“How did they get through the wards?” James whispers. “Your mom has always been on her game.”
Sirius wonders the same fucking thing.
“Sirius. James.” Prewett breathes, placing a gentle hand on Weasley’s arm. Her face is a bit frightened, which good, eyes bright with furious caution.
James stiffens beside him.
Sirius bristles, outraged this woman addresses him in such a way, “I don’t know you. Where are my parents? How do you know my name?”
“What’s all this then?” A soft voice draws Sirius’ attention as more people enter the sitting room, more faces he doesn’t know beyond one. He feels a bit faint, staring at this older image of Remus Lupin before him, downtrodden and worn like an old rag. His tawny curls are streaked with gray, amber eyes widening at the sight of them.
“….Moony?” James breathes.
Sirius grits his teeth, “What fucking joke is this?”
His voice is high and panicked, cracking slightly as confusion weighs heavily on him. He can feel James pressed to his side, wand held firm even as this fake Remus raises his hands in a show of peace. A terrible silence falls over the group when Sirius spits a curse at the ground when fake Remus tries to move forward. The man stutters to speak, alarmed, when another man pushes through the group, silver eyes haunted and dark and Sirius slumps in relief at the sight of his father.
“Papa-” He starts.
No, Sirius thinks. Not my father. He takes in the leaner build of the man before him, how James’ wand begins to tremble and sway as he draws near. His hair is wild, unkempt, spilling past his collarbone in a messy heap… and it feels a bit like looking into one of those funhouse mirrors, where everything is terrible and confusing. The man stares at James, shocked, devastated, then his expression breaks completely when those silver eyes land on Sirius. He stares back with Sirius’ eyes, his face if it were worn, sallow, his face if every ounce of the world had finally crumbled down around him. Sirius’ breath hitches as does this man, who was clearly a Black, was clearly him.
“What the fuck…” The man says quietly, so quietly that Sirius doesn’t know if he actually said anything at all or if the words were simply his own.
James shakily lowers his wand, “Sirius?”
Sirius finds he cannot speak, thrown and wilted and terrified. Why does he look like this?
“Jay…” Black whispers.
Sirius can hear James swallow, how his voice trembles when he asks, “Are you okay?”
Black stares at them, almost unseeing, then shutters completely with a bitter grief. The group behind him shifts and his face cracks with fury, spinning around to where Mundungus is cowered behind Prewett, “What the fuck did you do?”
Mundungus flounders, shrinking back in fear, “I ain’t did nothin’!”
“Pads, let’s calm down-”
“Calm down?” Black spits furiously. “Do you see who is in my house? Is this a fucking joke?”
“I’ll send for Dumbledore.” Shacklebolt says quickly before hurrying away.
“Harry, what are- Wait!” A girl’s voice cries.
A tuft of wild hair pokes into the archway, round glasses shining in the low light, and Sirius nearly calls out for James before the glare finally gives way to striking green instead of hazel. He finds himself staring, staring at this Potter who isn’t James, how his jaw is a bit too angular, the thick scar bisecting the right side of his face like a dash of lighting. His eyelashes are slightly discolored from where the scar splits through his eyes and this boy stares back, shock rippling across his face.
“I…” James’ voice tapers off.
Sirius finally finds words, his heart racing wildly, and turns to his older self, “Who is this?”
Black scrubs his face roughly, shoulders shaking with restrained emotion, but when his hands fall away, his expression is carefully blank. He dismisses the group with a flick of his hand, Remus appearing outraged at being cast aside, and fully faces Sirius and James once more. His eyes are bloodshot and furious, “Come with me.”
Sirius hesitates, but James moves so he follows, trailing after him. He cast one final glance at Potter, then sends Mundungus a threatening look, “Keep your fucking hands off my family’s shit, asshole.”
Black snorts in amusement, heading further down the hall. James falls in line at Sirius’ shoulder, their hands brushing together as they move. The halls of Grimmauld had seen better days, wilted and blackened compared to the once opulent view they offered. Portraits have been removed, paintings torn, and Sirius finds his chest tight at such a sight. For how often he imagined burning this place to the ground, he never imagined seeing it so decrepit.
Black brings them to Orion’s office on the second floor, placing his hand over the lock and it clicks open with a startling noise. The door creaks slowly, revealing a tomb of a room. Orion’s ornate desk is still covered in his trinkets and the stunning globe made of wraithbone. His portrait with Regulus in his lap and Sirius on his side still stands tall over the fireplace mantle, those steely eyes watching them as they enter. Sirius peers around, trying to find any sight of his father despite the layers of dust on once sleek furniture.
He watches Black flick his hand, dusting off a couch for them to sit, and then turns to leave. James stops him, “Sirius.”
“I know it’s confusing right now,” Black says gently, looking over his shoulder. “I’m also confused, but you’ll be safe here. No one can get in but me.”
“Why is it like this?” Sirius finds himself asking. “Where is Maman? Papa? ….Regulus?”
Black’s face shutters once more. He gestures for them to sit, so they do. Black kneels before them, eyes roving over their faces with careful certainty, “Dead.”
James swallows audibly, “….your… James?”
Black’s expression hardens, “Dead.”