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Sirius Black’s Main Squeeze


Saturday morning was a bit overcast, but that didn’t stop James from humming Kokomo by the Beach Boys as he pulled the price ticket off his brand new pair of bright red swim shorts, which had a yellow waistband and a blue drawstring. He shaved under his chin and along his jawbone and ran his hands through his hair, making the strands look wind-blown and winked at himself in the mirror as he gave himself the thumbs-up, grinning in a playboy manner. Downstairs, Dora gave him a two thick-layered bacon sandwiches and a bag of crisps to put in his bag to eat on the ride to the sea and she made him swear to use sun potion to keep from burning. “Mum, it’s cloudy out,” James groaned as she shoved the potion into his hands, “What do you think I’m going to get? A cloud burn?”

Dora said, “Just wear it! Last thing we need is you coming home looking like you’ve been in a fight with a blast ended skrewt.”

“Listen to your mother James,” Charlus said, and he coughed rather violently as though to punctuate the sentence, but waved it away when Dora hurriedly poured a bit of his dousing potion to quelm the smoke rising up from his lungs. Charlus let out the smoke like James would’ve done with a cigarette, his eyes watering, and James looked away, feeling like he was witnessing something he ought not to.

Part of him felt guilty going. He’d fought with himself half the night about it, honestly. He was worried about Charlus and what might happen while he was away - even if it was for only a day. He’d come home from Hogwarts to find his father far worse than he’d expected. Charlus Potter had scales in great patches over his cheek and on his lips and though he wore long sleeves, even in the horrid heat, James could see there were some on the backs of his hands, trailing away beneath the cuffs of his shirt.

”Not to worry, not to worry, my boy,” Charlus had said when he’d seen James looking at them warily, “They can scrape them off at St. Mungo’s. Takes a bit of work, but they come up… only minor scarring…” But the teal scales multiplied at an alarming rate and it seemed that they’d nearly doubled just since James had been home from school. And Charlus Potter was no longer able to hide the smoke when he coughed. Windows were open all over the Potter house to allow the smoke to escape, but there was a very distinct, woody scent to the air now everywhere in the house, a scent that would not go away, no matter how many cleansing spells Dora cast about…

James slid the bottle of sun potion, two sandwiches, and the crisps into his bag quietly. He licked his lips, “Are you lot sure you don’t need me? To go to Mungo’s?”

“Yes,” Dora said too quickly.

James looked at Charlus.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is coming by to assist us,” Charlus said. “We are in good hands.”

James nodded.

“And it’s just routine scale removal they’re doing, yeah? Nothing… nothing I should be there for?” James asked warily.

“Routine as could be, my boy,” Charlus assured him. He smiled, but James could tell he was repressing another cough, holding it back, the fire burning against his lungs. He coughed lowly and the smoke streamed from his nostrils.

James hesitated, “You’ll send an owl if you do need me, yeah?”

Charlus crossed his heart with his fingers and winked at James as he raised his handkerchief and Dora insistently waved his dousing potion before him. Charlus took the bottle and uncorked it, taking a swig of the potion without measuring it out.

Whatever Charlus said, however, James found himself thinking about it the entire time he was on the Knight bus, where, rather than riding about on the bean bag chair as he would’ve done usually, he pressed himself into the corner and held on, trying to stay as steady as possible as he thought, telling himself that dragon pox was one of those terrible diseases that always look worse than they oftentimes are. The scales are just alarming, they aren’t an indication of the severity of it. My dad’s strong - the strongest I know; he’ll pull through it. If anyone could beat dragon pox, it’ll be Fleamont Charlus Potter, for sure..




Far far away, across the ocean in a city called Boston there was a T-stop which none of the muggles bothered going into. Shut down for years, the platform below was blocked off by a thick iron gate. The Berthilde Roche Research and Healing Clinic for Magical Maladies and Disease was located there, if you were magic and knew the trick to it. A stamp on the right step, a tap with the wand upon the gate, and it would creak open and permit you to walk inside, turn left, and find the entrance doors to the underground wizarding facility.

Thirteen levels below the T-stop entrance level was the ward for incurable diseases, where the dying witches and wizards were kept to be cared for until their times had come. It was illegal under MACUSA’s law to end a life - no matter how poor the prognosis, no matter how merciful the death might be. More than once the halls of that ward had rung with the prayers of witches and wizards begging the gods to relieve their loved one of the suffering.

A twenty-two year old boy with auburn hair and a narrow nose and rather large front teeth, a near duplicate of his father, lay in one of the beds of that ward, eyes closed, breath but a whisper. A mediwitch walked by, pushing a cart, not even glancing at the boy as his eyes flickered open just enough to see her shadow pass.

Tina Scamander brought a cool cloth to the boy’s head, and swept it gently over his temple. He turned his eyes to look up at her, a hint of adoration in the irises. Tina bent low and kissed her son’s forehead. “Lysander,” she whispered, running her fingers over the soft curls over his ear, “Mummy’s here.”

“Where’s father?” Lysander breathed.

“In the briefcase - just here, just right here…” she motioned to the chair next to her, “He isn’t far, love… Daddy’s not far. He’s just taking care of the creatures.”

Lysander’s lip shook, voice barely a crackle of sound... “Of course he is.”

When wasn’t Newt Scamander taking care of his creatures might have been a better question, Lysander thought bitterly and his eyes moved away from his mother’s as they dampened.

“He loves you so very much, Lysander,” she whispered, and her fingers stroked his hair again. “He’s just so scared…”

“He’s scared, mum?” whispered Lysander, “What of me?”

Tina took her son’s hand in her own, “You know your father doesn’t handle… emotions... very well. Especially his emotions about people.”

“I’m dying,” Lysander whispered, “And all he can do is play about with his bloody niffler.”

Tina’s eyes filled with tears. She wanted to say that it wasn’t true, any of what Lysander had said, but it was. He was dying. And Newt had withdrawn, shut down, refused to speak of Lysander’s condition. Especially since they’d moved Lysander to the thirteenth level. Incurables, a term that had twisted Tina’s stomach had destroyed her husband’s heart.

Tina held Lysander’s hand to her cheek and closed her eyes.




Sirius and Lily had rode the bikes down the road from the cottage to the place where James was to arrive by Knight Bus, by an old playground, and now they sat on the swings and Lily was trying to teach Sirius how to do with without using magic. “It seems an awful lot of exercise and work just to play at flying,” Sirius commented.

“But it’s quite fun, really,” Lily argued. “See, look. You pump your legs…”

“These legs were not made for pumping,” Sirius replied. And he waved his wand and set the swing to rocking without any physical exertion on his part.

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re quite lazy.”

“Yes,” he said, “Finding new and exciting ways to be lazy is my life’s work.”

“You’re quite lucky you’re magic, else you’d be in a good deal of trouble,” Lily laughed.

Sirius smirked. “I’m already in a great deal of trouble,” Sirius said, “Ironically, for being magic.”

Lily looked over, “I’m glad it was Gideon Prewett that came and not one of the scary aurors.”

“I’ll bet Giddy went home and told Fabian what a hoot it was,” Sirius said.

“We’re lucky it was only a warning,” Lily said.

“Oi c’mon it would’ve been a load of tosh if they did anything else about it!!” Sirius argued, “S’not like we are the ones that told him! Your blasted sister did herself in with her own big mouth and that’s what she gets for whaling on you like that, avoiding answering what her and that great walrus were doing under the boardwalk. I’ll tell you what they were doing - they were fucking, that’s what. Or about to be, if I hadn’t fallen in on them like I did! The fat hypocrite, threatening to tell your mum on us for cuddling as friends when he’s out boinking your sister in the sand. I hope they try it again and I hope a great crab comes up from the sand and,” Sirius motioned a crab claw snapping, “Right in his balls, if he’s got any.”

Lily choked. “Sirius Orion Black!”

Sirius grinned and giggled, “Lilian Porsche Evans!”

“That’s not my name,” she said.

Sirius’s eyes twinkled.

Suddenly there was a great crack and before them stood the violently purple Knight Bus and there came Ernie, the conductor, stepping off the step of the door, magicking it open as James Potter came trotting down the steps, carrying his bag and adjusting his glasses. “Thanks, Ern,” he said waving as he climbed back onto the bus and the door shut behind him. James hadn’t even taken three steps away from the bus before CRACK - and it was gone.

Sirius leaped from his swing and ran across the wood-chip covered playground to where James Potter was shrugging his bag ‘round his neck and adjusting the strap. “PROOOOOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSS!” Sirius bellowed - it was the only warning James got before Sirius had leaped through the air and toppled him over so that both boys ended up on the ground in a great heap.

Lily laughed, rolling her eyes, and walked over to where they were scrambling about, wrestling, James crying, “You tosser, knocking me down like that!” and Sirius was shouting, “You bastard! You’re finally here!” and they both were getting all covered with dirt. She stood over them, watching in silence, her eyebrows raised.

Boys are absolute idiots, she thought.

Finally, Sirius harangued James into a choke hold, his arm ‘round James’s head, James’s legs ‘round Sirius’s waist, and they tumbled onto their backs so that James was staring up at Lily and he smiled sheepishly at her. “Hullo Evans,” he said, panting, barely able to breathe because of the angle Sirius held his neck at.

“Hullo Potter,” she replied.

Sirius grinned evilly and let go of his head, releasing James, satisfied that he’d won the wrestling match.

James hastened to jump up to his feet and dust off, his swim shorts already on and over them he wore a plain dark blue t-shirt that fitted his muscles quite nicely. Sirius scrambled up behind him and he caught Lily’s eyes as they brushed over James Potter’s biceps. Sirius smirked and leaned against James from behind, putting his chin on James’s shoulder and running his hands over those very biceps that Lily was looking at. “They’re rather nice, aren’t they?”

“What? What’re you talking about?” Lily demanded sourly, but her face turned rather scarlet.

Sirius smirked, “You know damned well what, Evans.”

“I wasn’t -- stop that.” She turned and walked hastily away.

James looked at Sirius.

Sirius grinned.

“Stop it, it isn’t a Tuesday or a Bank Holiday,” James said.

Sirius guffawed loudly. Then, “James, you’re my one and only now. You don’t have to share me. I can be yours even on non-bank holidays!”

James smiled, but he was staring after Lily Evans whose shorts were just so short…

“Since you’re my main squeeze now, I feel I must confess something to you.” Sirius whispered, “I had my face in Lily Evans’s breasts the other day.”

James turned about to stare at him.

Sirius grinned evilly and proceeded to tell him the whole story in a low whisper.