Who: James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black Where: #27, James's place When: Monday evening What: Welcome to your life Rating/Status: High for what will likely be a lot of James swearing? / Incomplete
His eyes swept across the pages again. I know how this sounds, it sounds ridiculous.
.... twenty-one.
She knows.
grandpa.
James pulled his glasses off of his face, then used his thumb and middle finger to ease the bridge of his nose. That last one, that one could wait. Needed to wait. He was worried enough about accidentally saying something horrible to Harry. James knew himself well enough that when he got mad he was apt to say a slew of things he didn't mean-- best to subject his best friends to that sort of treatment, not.... sort-of-strangers. Even if they were relatives.
Fuck.
He was trying not to think about it, about any of it. Part of him still hoped that he and Sirius were passed out in the Common Room. That at any moment, he was going to come to, and announce that he'd had a vision, and that it was his destiny to marry Evans. Sure, he wondered a bit if there maybe wasn't some kind of message of forewarning. But there was a child. A man-child. Bursting into James's understanding, fully-formed. Well. It was better, he supposed, than having his offspring burst out of his head fully formed and whatnot.. It was just so much easier to focus on Harry.
And not Peter. He couldn't help balking. He just couldn't wrap his head around it. But if he could, and it was true, he couldn't fathom how it was that Peter might actually be here. He couldn't imagine that Sirius would actually let him live. For the most part, James was a little against casually killing people. And as a rule, he loathed Dark Magic. And most especially, he disliked the idea of Sirius getting caught up in either of them. But for this, James would make an exception. Every rule had one.
Even the rule that said Do Not Swipe Booze From Strangers' Kitchens. James was pretty sure that the only way his was going to make it through the night without seriously hurting someone was if he did enough damage to his hand-eye coordination. He didn't even bother getting a glass for the firewhiskey. Knocking back a swallow, or two, he tugged his tie a bit looser. When he heard the knock at the door, he left the bottle in the kitchen.
"It's open," he called, ignoring the way his voice sounded a bit rough as he pushed himself back through the living room, toward the door.