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On a particularly scorching summer evening, where the leaves refused to stir an inch for lack of a breeze and the asphalt seemed to breathe out heat in wavering, almost visible currents, a wounded black cat appeared on the front lawn of the Potter Manor.
Effie was the first one to lay eyes on the little creature, her eyebrows creasing as she gripped the plastic bowl of leftover food she would place on the steps of their porch to feed the passerby animals, trying to discern whether she had seen the cat before. Like clockwork, a gaggle of street cats had gathered among the steps, awaiting the food the kinder woman would leave out for them, meowing and sidling up against her legs. But not the black cat, sprawled across the freshly cut lawn, its chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts, a thin trickle of wetness glistening beneath the soft porch light, a telltale sheen of red that had Effie hastily placing the bowl down before descending the steps in quick strides.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she had murmured, as she gently inspected his wound, a shallow cut, thankfully, running along the seam of his shoulder, the fur there parted and clumped dark where the blood had begun to dry. The cat had hissed when Effie placed a careful, probing hand toward his back to look more closely at it, relaxing only when she had cooed softly and ran a steady hand over his head, fingers smoothing through the warm, dust-touched fur in an attempt to calm him. “I am trying to help you, don’t you worry.”
The cat had meowed, a small, almost broken sound, before lowering his head back to the lawn, his chest still moving in uneven bursts. She had scooped him gently into her arms, one hand braced beneath his body and the other carefully avoiding the injured shoulder before she carried him inside.
She nursed him back to health with whatever she could manage. She had had a kneazle growing up, a gorgeous creature with long, silvery fur that had a habit of slipping out of the house to hunt small game and leave it on their steps. Her father had always said it was because she thought them incapable of fending for themselves, her own small way of taking care of her incompetent family, except that sometimes she would return with shallow scratches littering her paws, thin cuts from prickling thorns or the frantic struggle of her prey, and it had been Effie and her father who would patch her up before she would go and do it all over again.
It was with that experience she had patched him up, the cut suturing itself with a gentle murmur of a spell. But the poor thing still looked shaken, flinching whenever Effie’s wand lifted slightly to work the magic. It did not take much in the way of observation to realize the poor thing had been roughed up by cruel hands.
“It is alright, dear,” Effie would whisper as she caressed his fur, “you are safe here, no one will hurt you now.”
The cat would pick up on her kindness, maybe, or the soft touch of her hands, because the tremble of his shoulders would ease, only for a sharp sound, made by her reckless children, to flinch him back into his fear.
It took him a while to get used to the cackle of raucous laughter, or the sound of running thumping against the floorboards.
But when he did, he proved to be an amazing companion for Effie to have when she would crochet, pushing her ball of yarn whenever she needed a stretch of strand to elongate, or when she cooked, lingering close by on the counter to smell curiously at her vegetables. He had even helped Effie pick out a bad batch of eggs among the others, although that particular revelation had come with a quick bout of frustration when they crashed onto the floor from his push, before she realized they had gone rotten. He had looked fearful when her gaze had fixed on him, ready to jump off and hide in a quiet corner, before she had laughed and praised him with a gentle pat.
“Thank you, chefcito,” she had said, causing him to purr before closing his eyes to receive the pets.
He was also a great helper with Monty’s potions. It had taken him a bit longer to ease up to her husband, but Monty had never pushed. On a particularly challenging day, when he had cooped himself up in his study again, the cat had sidled up to his shelf of ingredients, sniffing around a sprig of knotgrass root curiously. Monty had sworn the cat must have been a potioneer in his past life, because he had managed to find the single ingredient missing from his new batch of experimental hair product.
From that point on, Monty would always wait deliberately by the door’s edge whenever he wanted to work on his potions, until her little chef would stretch across her lap before jumping off and following along her husband with small, bouncy steps. And when they had grown more comfortable with each other, Monty would simply scoop him up into his arms to carry him to the study, having made it a habit to retell the particular details of whatever he was working on in low mumbles to the cat. No matter how many times Sirius would remind his dad he was talking to a cat and not a little potioneer in fur, Monty would make no effort to get rid of his habit.
Which was another point of great distress to Sirius, because the cat seemed to absolutely despise him. He absolutely adored spending time in Effie and Monty’s presence, and had even, on one or two occasions, sidled up to James in hopes of a pat or two. But he not only steered clear of Sirius in general, but had made a habit of sneaking to his room to knock over his paint brushes and push them under the bed. Sometimes, Sirius would even find trails of paint coating the clothes he had strewn across the floor, or his bedsheets, the evidence of the crime found in the normally white tip of the cat’s tail, now stained in differing shades.
Which meant that, from that point on, the cat had become a curious new addition to their family. To Effie, he was chefcito, keeping her company and acting as her cute little helper. To Monty, he was his little potioneer; to James, little friend; and to Sirius, little shit.
He still lacked a unified name, but it did not bother the residents of Potter Manor. Their little companion was a smart thing, you see, and he would always look up knowingly at the plethora of nicknames thrown his way.
About two weeks in, he was a fixture in their lives. He always occupied the seat next to James during breakfast, blinking the sleep away from his eyes lazily, keeping them company. He was starting to get more comfortable around James as well, having made a habit of taking his afternoon naps on his bed, although he always woke up and jumped off the bed if James lay next to him. If James pouted because of the avoidance, he would give him a deadpan look before plopping down on the floor and licking his paws, and James would swear that was his way of rolling his eyes.
In the afternoons, if the summer rain was not plaguing the perfect weather, he would sit on the lawn chair next to Effie and watch the boys and their ragtag group of friends as they played a friendly game of Quidditch in the backyard. His muted green eyes would follow the quaffle, and Effie would even catch him spotting the snitch before any of the others did. On one occasion, they had even had the pleasure of the snitch making its way toward their lawn chair, and the cat had shimmied in place for a second before leaping into the air to catch it between his paws. From that point on, the cat had gained the new nickname of little seeker, as he had been scooped into Marlene’s arms and held up in the air like Simba while the others cheered for the winner.
On other days, he would be the brave fighter against the gnomes that bothered the plants of Potter Manor. Monty would watch, amused, as he fixed the soil around his sunflowers while the cat fought invisible creatures, hissing and rolling in the ground and slapping at the air. If he managed to emerge victorious, which he usually did, he would stop to nonchalantly lick at his paws in triumph. It was, however, admittedly funnier when he lost, because Monty would have the pleasure of watching a usually stoic-looking cat almost tremble with anger as he retreated to lick his wounds and make a strategic plan to get back at the gnomes.
All the while, the cat would continue to be Sirius’s bane of existence, which gave a great deal of amusement to the rest of them. Whether it be scratching at his door at odd hours of the night and making him wake to open it, only to scurry away, which the whole house would wake to after Sirius’s ensuing groans, or purposefully unraveling bits of Sirius’s clothing to play with the threads and no one else’s, or specifically sitting on Sirius’s usual seats during the day. If Sirius tried to be civil and offer food in hopes of earning his affection, he would sniff at it for a second before turning away, only to eat the same food from Effie’s hands a moment later. And if Sirius tried to be strategic in fighting the assaults, like leaving his door open at night to avoid the scratching, the cat would get the zoomies and jump at his face mid-run, jolting him awake.
“I swear, he can sense I am a dog,” Sirius would whisper to James, throwing a side-eye toward the menace in question as he sat unbothered and blinked at them lazily.
James would laugh and dismiss it in hopes of comforting his friend, but he would not be able to deny the fact that the cat seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.
It did not help that the cat was civil with most others, even if they were practically strangers to him. He was never overly friendly with their friends when they came to visit, but he would not avoid them like the plague either. He had even let Mary squeeze his face as she cooed on one occasion, before raising a single paw to press against her hand so she would stop. He only preferred cozying up with Effie, and only allowed himself to be held by Monty, but he would tolerate passing pets if they did not linger too long. He mostly preferred sitting next to people and watching them, always keeping a breath of distance.
On one such occasion, when Remus visited the manor to spend time with his boyfriend before they would apparate to the forest for the full moon that day, the cat sidled up closer to him on the couch, which was unusual. Too quickly, Remus noticed the cat’s eyes lingering on the book he was reading.
“I think he likes Buzzati,” he murmured, angling the book toward him for better access, even if it seemed a little silly in practice.
“He is a cat, Moony,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes as he plopped onto the couch, which caused the cat to jump down from it as if offended. “Ugh, he always does this. Jumps down when I sit somewhere. What, do I have the bloody plague, mate?”
“You insulted his feline intelligence,” Peter commented, causing James and Remus to snicker.
“I did not lie. He is the stupidest cat I have ever seen. Bloody annoying,” Sirius grumbled, and as if on cue, the cat jumped onto the mantle of the fireplace, right next to the glass of coke Sirius had left there.
“Oh, oh no,” Sirius said, perking up as he raised a warning finger and pointed at him. “Get down,” he said, wagging his finger.
The cat held perfect eye contact as he nudged the glass toward the edge of the mantle.
“No,” Sirius said, clearly aiming for something stern even as his voice came out desperate. “Don’t you dare push that!”
The cat nudged the glass closer to the edge, slowly, without blinking.
“Get down or I am telling Effie,” he resorted to as a last-ditch effort. That made the cat still for a second, drawing his paw back, and Sirius let out a relieved breath as the glass teetered right at the edge.
And then the cat knocked over the glass with a single push.
“Oh, you little shit!” Sirius yelled as the glass met the ground and shattered into shards, coke splashing everywhere. He ignored the laughter of his friends as he was left spelling away the mess.
“Dramatic git,” Remus mumbled, watching his boyfriend mutter the incantation while looking positively murderous, and then continue grumbling under his breath even after the Scourgify cleared the mess in three seconds. “You spend more effort complaining than cleaning.”
“It’s the principle of the thing!” Sirius grumbled, glaring daggers at the cat now licking his paws disinterestedly. “Little shit does it on purpose to annoy the living crap out of me.”
The cat gave a well-timed meow, as if in agreement.
That day, after the Marauders spent hours in each other’s presence, chatting and occasionally laughing at the literal cat-and-dog fights that occurred, they apparated to the forest.
Unaware that the cat they left behind paced restlessly by the front door, awaiting their return until the sun peeked over the horizon, they galloped across the Forbidden Forest in their animal forms.
It was a rough night for Moony, but no worse than the countless others he had suffered. In fact, this moon would be considered better than most in retrospect. Still, when they made their way back inside the welcoming walls of Potter Manor, Remus had been exhausted, his body aching from the shift in his bones. He had fallen asleep in his boyfriend’s bed, and for one night only, Sirius was able to have a full night’s sleep free from any disturbance.
On the morning following the full moon, when Remus was still recovering from the ache spreading through his body while sprawled on the couch, Sirius’s head on his lap, the cat approached them. To their immense shock, instead of attacking Sirius or hissing at him or annoying him, the cat jumped up onto the armrest of the sofa beside Remus and began purring softly. He did not do more than that, simply standing next to him and purring something low and steady, something almost calming. And to Remus’s further surprise, the gentle purring seemed to ease his pain, even if only slightly.
On the next moon, the cat demanded to go with them. He made this known by swatting insistently at James’s legs just as they were about to leave. Of course, the boys were completely clueless at first, James chalking it up to him being annoyed with him. But when they were about to step through the door, the cat let out the loudest sound he had ever made, before hissing. That made them stop and stare at him in shock, before the cat once again started pawing at James’s legs, now standing up on his hind legs as if wanting to be picked up.
This made James still, before he grew absolutely delighted by this new behavior. Their little friend had never once been this affectionate with him, always preferring his parents instead. He felt almost giddy as he picked him up, and the cat did not even try to get away like he usually did, only shifting in his arms to settle more comfortably.
“I think he wants to come with, you guys…” James cooed, his face softening as he looked pleadingly at the others.
“Absolutely not,” Sirius said immediately, shaking his head.
“Nope,” Peter said at the same time.
“It might not be safe, Prongs,” Remus muttered, wincing slightly, almost apologetically.
“Oh, come on, look at him,” James protested, angling the cat toward the others in an attempt to make them see his cute little eyes so they would feel compelled. “We became animagi because you don’t go berserk around animals, mate. It would be okay.”
That seemed convincing enough for Remus, who felt a fondness for the little black cat, but convincing Sirius and Peter was a different matter.
Sirius was not okay with the idea because he absolutely despised the cat, a mutual feeling, of course. Peter was not okay with the idea because, quote:
“I am a rat, mate! Do you know what cats do to rats? They eat them. They eat them!”
Which was definitely a stronger argument than Sirius’s petty, personal one.
James’s counterargument to that was simple. He called their little friend a domesticated house cat who never left to hunt anything, and stated that his instincts were probably dulled. The cat did not seem to like this statement, making it known by biting down on James’s arm rather harshly.
“You are not helping your case here, buddy,” James had hissed, and as if in understanding, the cat had gone slack before beginning to purr sweetly.
“We can protect you if he tries anything, Wormy. Don’t you worry,” he had said, to no avail. Which meant his only weapon in convincing their friends was through the simple, respectable art of begging.
“Please, please, please, pleaseee?” he had begged, looking at them with his best baby-deer eyes, and their friends, not so much because James was convincing but because they knew he would not let this go now that he had begun, had conceded.
This made for one of the most interesting full moons they had had in a long while.
James had put him down on the muddy ground, softened by that day’s summer rain, as the three of them had turned to their animal forms, and they watched curiously for his reaction to them. Peter had immediately climbed up James’s stag form, shivering slightly in fear, but his worries proved entirely unfounded, because the cat spared them only one disinterested glance before licking his paws.
When the moon fully peeked over the horizon, though, the cat watched curiously as Moony shifted into a majestic, giant grey wolf, his fur catching silver in the moonlight spilling through the trailing branches of the trees around them. Moony’s tufted tail swayed from side to side as his almost human-looking eyes found the new addition to his pack. He sniffed around him curiously, pacing slightly, and the animagi held their breaths to see what their friend would do. Thankfully, Moony did not become aggressive in his presence like he usually did around rabbits, and instead nudged him playfully with his snout. This, of course, earned him a sharp slap from the cat.
Moony and the cat began playfighting after that, and to the immense shock of everyone, the cat seemed to be, somehow, winning.
After about a half hour or so, the cat stopped fighting back and began outright ignoring Moony, which, of course, for a wolf that energetic, was absolutely unacceptable. Moony bounced on his feet and snapped his jaws at him playfully, and all the cat did was slap him rather harshly on the head before plopping down on the ground. James let out a huff at the sight, one his friends all knew to be as close to a laugh as he could manage as a stag.
The cat did not make a move to get up, though, seemingly done with the playfighting, so Sirius took up the task willingly, as Peter scurried by their feet and played his game of ‘avoid being crushed.’
James, meanwhile, decided to focus his attention on the cat. Their little friend seemed entirely too calm and collected in the presence of a giant wolf, a black dog, a rat, and a stag with antlers the size of large tree branches. James knew he was a smart little thing, and entirely too unbothered, even if he had come to their family a trembling, flinching, wounded creature. He was an interesting little specimen, James thought, as he approached him and nudged his small body lightly with his antlers.
The cat let out a low meow, and then hissed at James, as halfhearted as it sounded. James could not help himself; he huffed and nudged him again, harsher this time, and the cat just—rolled with the push. James huffed another laugh, watching the way his body turned like a ragdoll before he straightened and began licking his paws again.
It occurred to him, then, that the cat was playing along, and that alone delighted James. He spent a good while simply nudging him, watching him roll with each push. And then, because he could not help himself, he began to be silly about it, lessening the force of his nudges little by little, watching closely as the cat continued to roll even when the push barely had any weight behind it.
At some point, he had conditioned him so thoroughly that the cat began to roll the moment James lowered his antlers, before they even made contact.
When the cat realized what he had done, that he had rolled entirely on his own without James’s push, he straightened at once and began licking himself nonchalantly, as though nothing had happened. He looked almost… ashamed?
It was such a funny sight that James felt his stag form shake with the force of his huffs.
Thankfully for the cat, his embarrassment did not last long, as Moony grew bored of playfighting and decided he wanted to run among the trees. He began sprinting toward the forest canopy, and Pads and Wormy followed along. This meant James had to nudge the cat to get moving, but the cat did not follow. James stomped his hooves against the ground and jerked his head toward the others’ retreating forms, but the cat looked entirely unbothered as he blinked up at him slowly. This was one lazy cat.
James huffed, a little annoyed but mostly amused, as he lowered himself to the ground. He tilted his head slightly toward his back, and, surprisingly, the cat understood what he meant and jumped up onto him.
So that was how James found himself running among the trees with a little black cat clinging onto him, paws digging into his back as he let out startled, indignant meows against the rush of wind. James would have killed to see how exactly his little friend looked as they ran, but thankfully, that was what his friends were there for.
In the morning, when they were back to their human selves, Peter and Sirius would recount it in between their laughs: the cat sprawled flat against James’s back, belly pressed flush to his fur, all four limbs splayed out and gripping for dear life, claws hooked in, ears pinned back tight against his head as he held in through the speed.
James wished more than anything to have a Pensieve to watch the memory on, but from the way the cat had looked at them as they laughed, he thought it would not be very well received. He did not wish to anger their little friend and become the object of his aggression like Sirius.
Remus was feeling better than he had in a long time after that full moon, feeling well rejuvenated, with only a slight ache in his bones.
The moon changed a lot of things around the house. For starters, now that they knew the cat would not be frightened by their animal forms, they would take him down to the small lake a few meters from the manor, Sirius freely turning into a dog as he splashed and swam. The cat, predictably, hated even the mere sight of the water, but it was well and good, because James would simply turn into a stag and lie in the tall grass as the cat sprawled against his fur and slept while the warm rays of the sun settled over them.
Sirius turning into an animagus while the cat was present also meant that they witnessed an actual cat and dog fight most of the time, with Sirius snapping his jaws and barking at him as the cat slapped him across the face, the two of them rolling around in the grass in their scuffles. Sirius never actually used force, and James realized, with a delight, that the cat was never truly unsheathing his claws either, although his slaps still carried enough weight to look like they stung.
What was more interesting, though, was when James turned back into a human after growing too bothered by the heat to stay out of the lake, the cat would watch him curiously. On more than one occasion, Sirius and Remus caught the way the cat’s gaze lingered on James’s bare back, before he hastily turned away and began licking his paws as if in embarrassment.
And the cat would resolutely ignore any pets, nor would he even linger close after someone dipped in the lake and returned soaked, but if James came back and lay beside him, threading his fingers through his fur, the cat would simply bear it without protest, even as his coat grew slightly damp from the contact.
“We have a gay cat,” Sirius had said after a prolonged moment of watching the interaction, making everyone turn to him with amused looks. “And he has a bloody crush on James.”
This had set off a laughing fit so loud that the birds perched among the tree branches had taken off and scattered into the air with sharp caws.
It was a joke, of course, but neither of them could deny the fact that the cat seemed to feel more connected to James. He definitely liked him more than he had at the beginning, and he had started to feel much more comfortable around him. If before he retreated slightly when James entered the room, and only allowed pets from him if he was in a particularly charitable mood, now he actively sought to be closer to him. He no longer jumped down from James’s bed if he decided to lie next to him, and even allowed himself to be picked up sometimes, although that was still fairly rare and was met with claws against his skin most of the time.
James attributed this new change to the fact that the cat liked his stag form and could make the connection between human James and stag James. Sometimes James wished his parents knew they were animagi, so he could just turn into a stag around the house and freely cuddle with the cat.
But it was nice when he was human as well, and he could actually observe the way his little friend grew more comfortable around him in real time. James also picked up the habit of yapping his heart out to the cat, especially when Sirius and Remus were out on a date and he was left all by himself throughout the day with no one to talk to about every little thing that came to mind. His parents would listen, of course, but James did not particularly wish to recount every small bit of his life to them, especially when the topics he usually rambled about were either entirely detailed tangents about Quidditch that his parents were already tired of hearing, or other things he mostly did not want to disclose to a living soul besides his trusted friend.
On one such occasion, when the air was slightly breezy despite the warm July heat, James plopped down on his bed next to the sleeping form of his little friend.
The rays of the sun slipped in through the wide open windows, casting a soft glare against his glasses, and the gentle swish of the curtains in the breeze was the only sound filling the room before James launched into a yap session about his auditions for the Magpies.
“…And you know, I know I technically did well and all, but it just feels like— I don’t feel like it is enough. It’s like I have to put so much effort, and it pays off, really, it does pay off in all matters regarding the— the physical aspects and getting the job and stuff, but it just doesn’t feel like I am doing enough. Do you get that? Like— Like… I don’t know— I look at myself in the mirror and just feel like I am not achieving my full potential and I feel like a total idiot. I know I am capable of more.”
“Meow.”
“I know, I know. I should not be so hard on myself. Pads says the same. But who am I if I am not the best version of myself? If I am not the best James there could be?”
A hiss. And then a clawed slap against his arm that made James turn to look at his friend with a slightly offended expression. The cat looked almost angry, his little face scrunched up into an expression James had never seen on him before, and he almost laughed at the cute sight.
“You look like you are holding in a poop,” James mumbled, consequently receiving another harsh slap on his arm.
James could swear the cat understood him sometimes, even if he knew it was a silly thought.
The cat flicked his tail at him, making a soft, trilling sound before jumping up onto his chest. James let out a breathy groan at the sudden weight, the small paws digging into him in a way that surprisingly hurt for a cat that size. He then began making biscuits against James’s chest.
“Why are you making biscuits?” James groaned, as the paws felt like actual bullets against his skin with the pressure. “Moony already says we are overworking you. Animal labor is not a joke.”
The cat gave his joke a blank look, even if James snorted at it.
“Seriously, why are your paws so heavy?” James breathed, wincing slightly as the cat kept stepping up and down on the same spot of his chest. “Is this your way of disagreeing with what I said?”
“Meow.”
“Okay, okay,” James laughed, his eyes shining with amusement as his fingers carded through his fur. “I am enough as I am.”
To his surprise, his little friend slowly stopped at those words and settled down gently against his chest instead. He lowered his head into the crook of James’s neck, and they fell asleep soon after, the gentle breeze ruffling their hair softly.
From that point on, the cat became even more comfortable around him. In the two months that he had been living in the house, no member of the Potter family had ever seen him sleep with his belly upturned in their presence, but James had the pleasure of finding him like that one night, sprawled at the foot of his bed, little paws stretched over his head, lying on his back. The foot of James’s bed soon became his usual sleeping spot, and he would not stir even when James snickered through the Muggle magazine Sirius had recommended because it was so funny.
James caught himself talking to the cat more and more, sometimes mentioning his insecurities and lingering on heavier thoughts that sat uneasily in his chest, only to be strangely comforted by whatever small response his little friend offered, or sometimes just narrating whatever he was doing, recounting his day in a steady stream of words. More often than not, he would catch the cat listening, ears twitching, head tilting ever so slightly, almost as if he understood. Every member of the Potter family knew their little addition was a particularly intelligent cat, but James still found himself surprised by the sheer level of awareness he seemed to show.
Which, as the days passed, left James with a strange, lingering thought that he could not quite shake.
There was something… off about his little friend.
James could not quite put his finger on what it was, but he was not particularly bothered by it. He knew kneazles could understand human speech and were incredibly intelligent creatures, so perhaps their little friend simply possessed the same level of awareness as a magical breed of cat.
One day, some weeks after August had settled in and the humid air grew even heavier and more unbearable, Sirius dropped the glass of water he had been holding at the sight of the back page of the Daily Prophet Monty read every morning after breakfast. The sharp crack of glass against the floor made the cat, along with the rest of the occupants in the living room, jolt. But when their eyes followed Sirius’s gaze, they all understood. There, in bold print, sat a headline that made something in James’s chest go still, paired with the moving photograph of a boy he had not seen in a long while.
Regulus Black Missing
Orion and Walburga Black of the Noble House of Black have issued a formal statement regarding the disappearance of their son and heir, Regulus Black, on August 27th, 1979. According to the family, they initially believed his absence to be temporary and delayed contacting the Auror Office for several weeks. When he did not return, an official search was conducted, though it has since yielded no results.
With no confirmed sightings, and no indication of whether the boy is alive or deceased, the Black family has now released a public notice through the Daily Prophet. Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of Regulus Black is urged to come forward and contact the appropriate authorities… (More on page 5)
It was hard to focus on anything but holding his best friend through it after that. But if James had managed to look away, even for a moment, toward a small black shape, he might have seen that even the sweetest things held a trace of bitterness beneath them. He might have seen the faint sheen in his little friend’s eyes, and the way he had gone utterly still, pupils blown wide, as he watched Sirius’s slumped shoulders tremble with quiet sobs. But as it happened, no one saw him.
And then no one saw him at all after that.
Days passed unbearably slowly in the Potter manor following the issue of the Daily Prophet, and then even slower with the disappearance of their little friend. James lay awake at night, listening to the muffled sounds of Effie’s sobs, because she held too much love in her heart, for Sirius as she shared in his pain, and for their little cat who had slipped away one day and had not returned since. Monty was stricken as well, even as he tried to stand strong for Effie and reminded her that Chefcito could simply be out on a hunt, that he might have sensed their distress that day and decided to comfort them by bringing back some small game to lay at their feet. Effie, to her credit, held on, steadying herself as she held Sirius and stayed by his side.
James felt a little useless through it all. He tried to be there for Sirius, and perhaps that was enough, but it did not feel like it. His fingers itched to solve the problem, to go out there and look for Regulus and their little friend and make all of their pain go away. To make his own pain go away. Because Sirius and James were like two threads looped around each other; what Sirius felt, James felt, and at times it left him suffocated under the weight of it, Sirius’s grief layered over his own worry.
Sometimes, he caught himself lying on his bed and talking into the stillness of the room, only to realize, too late, that there was no small, black shape sprawled at the foot of it, no soft presence licking at its paws as it listened.
The days came and went.
Regulus Black was born on the night that bridged summer to fall. His cries had rung out among the last, stubborn chirping of cicadas, in air thick with lingering heat yet touched by the first winds of autumn. For all his life, his birthdays existed in that same in-between, a kind of purgatory suspended at the edge of endings and beginnings.
Sirius would spend them with him in those breezy evenings that had begun to turn too cool for summer, lighting a single match, wobbly atop a sugar-free cookie he would steal from the third cabinet beside the fridge, where Walburga kept them for guests. He would hold it there like a proper candle, watching as Reg gave him a small, crooked smile before leaning in to blow it out with a strange sort of reverence.
When Sirius was eight, and Regulus had just turned seven, he had made the mistake of voicing his wish aloud. Sirius had tried to stop him, insisting in hushed whispers that wishes were not meant to be spoken, that saying them out loud meant they would never come true. But what was done was done, and Regulus’s wish was out in the world, even as he had nodded like it made a difference.
Sirius thought of that wish sometimes, and wondered if the myth was really true. If wishes truly refused to come true once spoken to another soul.
He thought of his brother’s wish as he sat with his knees drawn to his chest on the porch steps on Regulus’s birthday. The breeze stirred his hair gently, cicadas humming somewhere in the distance, the willow tree in the backyard nothing more than a blurred shape through his tears. He wondered if his brother had finally gotten what he wanted, despite that childish mistake, if he was out there somewhere, maybe sitting beneath a willow tree like theirs, with those Muggle books he had once loved before Mother had thrown them out in a fit of fury.
He hoped he was thriving somewhere, with a view that stretched on forever, as far away from twelve Grimmauld Place as he could possibly be, laughing with new friends, sipping butterbeer through easy conversations. That whatever force in the universe listened to such things had understood his wish the right way, and not taken it apart and twisted it into something else entirely.
He really hoped his brother’s stupid wish had come true, in the best way imaginable.
I wish we didn’t have to go back inside.
There was a soft pattering against the wood that pulled Sirius’s attention. When he turned, he saw the little shit of a cat that had disappeared a few days ago, piling worry on top of everything else. If Sirius had been a lesser man, he might have yelled at the stupid thing, told it to get lost. And maybe he was a lesser man, one who would have done exactly that, if he had not been too tired.
“I really can’t deal with you annoying me today,” he muttered, wiping at his tears. “Go show your face to the others. They’d be happy to see you.”
The stupid cat blinked up at him, but did not move. Instead, he settled beside him, gaze drifting toward the stretch of the garden. But he did not annoy him like he usually did, he just sat there and existed quietly.
“Must be my lucky day,” Sirius scoffed, sarcastic.
His eyes lingered on the cat. Strangely enough, he looked tired as well. His fur had gotten a bit unruly, and his paws were streaked with dried, flaking dirt. He sat with his tail tucked neatly around him, ending close to his body, and Sirius’s eyes fixed on the way the white tip of his tail, along with the faint, almost not visible streaks of white fur scattered in between, resembled a constellation.
Leo, with Regulus shining bright and obvious.
Sirius felt like he heard a faint echo of gears coming to life, and puzzle pieces clicking into place with a soft sound. It seemed impossible, and yet all too possible, until he found himself voicing it before he could stop it, the words coming out quiet, almost broken.
“Reggie, is that you?”
The cat turned his muted green eyes to him, blinking up slowly, and Sirius felt foolish. He scoffed at himself and turned back toward the view.
But then he heard a small whoosh he was all too familiar with. And a deep, scratchy voice, edged with the slightest hint of a French accent.
“Finally, you idiot.”
In retrospect, the Potters really should have connected the dots. It was obvious, if one really sat down and thought about it all, but, well. Hindsight was twenty-twenty.
It turned out that cooking was far more enjoyable when two helping hands were present instead of paws, and laughter could be carried out and poured into the dishes. Discussing potions was much more useful when the recipient could actually answer with words instead of a twitch of the ears, and the life of a tired, old potioneer was made easier when menial labor could be passed on to a capable, smart human with limbs to carry it out.
Squabbling and playfighting were more enjoyable when one was met with sardonic responses, and it felt good to fight back and tug at hair when you knew it would not be mistaken for animal cruelty.
And, well. It was certainly much more rewarding when two figures lay side by side, tangled together, hands trailing soft patterns over skin instead of feeling the weight of paws, and comfort came in the form of gentle words and softer kisses.
Really, they could not have wished for more.