Chapter Text
Godric’s Hollow, Northumberland
“Teddy! It’s Sirius time!”
Teddy gasped excitedly at the sound of his mummy’s voice ringing over the intercom, and his eyes snapped up to the wooden clock hanging on his bedroom wall. It was in the shape of a brown fox with a long, bushy tail that swung back and forth with each second.
Sure enough, the clock’s little hand was almost to the eight. Teddy had been writing a letter to Father Christmas, but he quickly dropped his crayon into the big coloring bucket. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted for Christmas, but he’d think about that later. Instead, he scooted off his beanbag chair and crawled over to a small, round wooden door that looked a bit like a big mouse hole. He lifted a metal hook and watched the door swing open. Then, he climbed inside, feet first, and pressed a button on the wall.
“Incoming!” Teddy cried into the intercom.
“Roger that!” his mummy answered. “Ready for landing!”
“Three, two, one!” Teddy said, and pushed off, slipping fast down a clear plastic tube slide, his hair fluttering as he flew. He looked up in time to see a perfect banana-shaped moon shining against the dark sky outside. Bananas! Maybe Sirius would make something with bananas tonight!
But he didn’t have long to wonder about it. Because the next second, Teddy had shot out the other end of the slide, landing on a fat, wide pillow on the living room floor. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to the couch, where his maman and daddy were already waiting for him in the warm light of the fire that popped and crackled in the hearth.
His daddy lifted his arm with a smile. It was an invitation to cuddle, which Teddy happily accepted. He scrambled onto the couch and scooched against the warmth of his daddy’s woolen jumper, resting his head against his chest. His maman leaned over to kiss Teddy on the forehead, just as the familiar electric guitar music started playing over the opening credits and Sirius’s signature logo—a black star with two silver whisks crossed over the middle—flashed across the telly.
“Mummy!” Teddy said. “You’re missing the beginning!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Teddy’s mummy said as she hurried into the living room carrying a big wooden bowl. “I was adding a new topping to the popcorn. Salted caramel this week!”
She, too, kissed Teddy on the forehead, then plopped onto the couch next to Teddy’s maman and passed the bowl around.
“I hope he makes something for Christmas,” Teddy said through a mouthful of popcorn. It was salty and sweet and crunched between his teeth. Then he tasted a surprise. Chocolate chips! Even better.
Finally, Teddy’s favorite TV show, “Sirius Eats,” began.
There, on the screen, was the man himself, Sirius Black, with his shiny black hair that tumbled over his shoulders like a shampoo advert, bright, blue-gray eyes, and straight white teeth. He wore a tight white t-shirt, a black apron, and had tattoos inked down both arms. He stood behind a marble counter in the small kitchen of his cozy London flat and leaned forward, propping his chin onto the heel of his hand to have a little chat.
“I don’t know about you, but I am such a procrastinator,” Sirius said, staring straight into the camera—straight at Teddy!—with a smile that looked a little bit fun, a little bit naughty, and a lot smart, all at the same time.
“What’s a procra… procra… that word?” Teddy whispered to his daddy.
“It means you wait until the last minute to do things,” Daddy whispered back.
“And it somehow gets even worse around Christmas,” Sirius continued. “I’ll think I have plenty of time to do everything, and then suddenly the morning of a party will arrive, and I’ll have to scramble to put together a last-minute dessert. So I came up with an idea that uses procrastination to my advantage: a gingerbread decorating party. I’ll make the gingerbread people and icing in advance, and let my guests take care of the rest. Come on, I’ll show you how I make them.”
Teddy grabbed another handful of popcorn and snuggled closer to his daddy’s side to watch Sirius Black make the most beautiful, chestnut-brown gingerbread dough that Teddy had ever seen. He made it look so easy and fun and told funny stories as he measured and whisked. He added lots of molasses, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves to give them a “spicy, biting warmth” and even added an egg yolk so they’d be a little soft when you bit into them (“You don’t want to break anyone’s teeth at Christmas!” Sirius said with a cheeky wink). Then, he covered the dough in cling film and popped it into the fridge.
“Right. While that chills, I’ve got to pick up a few things before the party,” Sirius said, taking off his black apron and pulling on a black leather jacket instead. Seconds later, he was zooming through the streets of London on his motorbike, taking Teddy on a ride all through his neighborhood. They visited the butcher, the cheese shop, the wine store, and even the toy store to pick up a gift for his godson, Harry.
“I think he’ll like this wooden train, don’t you?” Sirius asked, holding up the shiny red train to show the camera.
“Yeah!!” Teddy replied to the telly.
When Sirius got back to his flat, he sprinkled plenty of flour across the counter and onto his rolling pin. He used a ruler to make sure the dough was exactly ¼ inch thick before pressing a biscuit cutter into it to make little people. He picked up each little dough figure in his tattooed hands (which also had black nail varnish and fancy silver rings on them) and placed them carefully onto baking sheets. Then he mixed up a batch of cocktails—a “festive French 75,” whatever that was; Teddy didn’t really care about the cocktail part—while the gingerbread men baked and he made the royal icing.
Finally, came Teddy’s favorite bit. The end of the show when a bunch of Sirius’s friends came over for a party, including Harry! Harry was the same age as Teddy and had messy black hair, round glasses, and two missing front teeth. He jumped into Sirius’s arms, where he was spun in a happy circle, before decorating the gingerbread with colored icing, sugary baubles, sparkly gold sprinkles, and spicy cinnamon candies. Harry made a cheerful mess and licked the spoon, and Sirius didn’t care one bit! He just said, “Great job, mate!” and ruffled Harry’s hair. Sometimes Daddy let Teddy lick the spoon, too, but only when they were baking for themselves. If they were baking for the inn, Daddy said Teddy needed to “keep his tongue in his mouth.”
“Daddy, can we make gingerbread men tomorrow, too?” Teddy asked through a yawn. His eyelids were starting to feel heavy.
“Yeah,” Daddy replied and pulled a blanket over Teddy’s shoulders. “We can do that.”
“Can we serve them at the inn at teatime?” Teddy asked.
“That’s a great idea, buddy,” Daddy whispered, and kissed the top of Teddy’s head. Teddy yawned again.
“Sleepy, sweetheart?” Daddy asked.
“No,” Teddy murmured. He wasn’t. Only his eyes were a little tired. So he let them fall shut. Just for a minute. He heard Sirius’s voice, but it sounded quieter and softer, like it was floating away.
“Have you ever seen a more perfect looking gingerbread man…”
Teddy must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he heard was a different TV show and his mummy’s voice. He kept his eyes squeezed tight shut, though. If he opened them, his parents would make him go to bed.
“He was just outed, you know,” Mummy said.
“Who was outed?” Maman asked.
“Sirius Black,” Mummy replied.
“What? Really?” Maman asked.
“It’s not that surprising,” Mummy said. “There’ve been rumors for years.”
“But I thought he was dating zat actress now. From ze spy films. Marlene something.”
“Apparently she was just a beard. Pretty arm candy for red carpets to get people to stop asking questions.”
“How on earth do you two know all this?” Daddy asked.
“I take it you’re not on the celebrity gossip side of TikTok,” Mummy laughed.
“I’m not on any side of TikTok,” Daddy replied.
“It’s unbelievable people still do zat. It’s 2024!” Maman said.
“Come on, Fleur, it’s not like homophobia has magically vanished from the world,” Mummy said. “It must be extra hard for celebrities. All those eyes on them all the time? Cameras following them around? Every move they make being scrutinized? And for someone like Sirius Black, whose career is built on being a sexy chef? Women want him, men want to be him. He could lose half his audience if he came out.”
“But it’s setting a bad example for ze children! By not being… authentique!” Maman said, then let out a torrent of annoyed French under her breath.
“I think you’re being too hard on him,” Mummy said.
“Pfft,” Maman scoffed.
“Anyhow, now’s your chance, eh, Rem?” Mummy said.
“Oh, shut it, Tonks,” Daddy said, and a bubbling laugh burst from Mummy’s chest. Her laugh was so loud that people sometimes turned around in shops to see where it was coming from. Teddy loved it.
“You’ve always fancied him, and now you know he plays for your team!” Mummy said.
“Yes, right, I’ll get on the next train to London and let him know I’m single,” Daddy said, and Teddy could picture him rolling his eyes.
“You should put him on your Christmas list,” Mummy said in a teasing voice. “Or at least add him to your wank bank.”
“Tonks!” Daddy hissed. “Shhh!”
“Come on! He’s sleeping!” Mummy said.
“No, he’s not,” Maman said. A second later, Teddy felt his Maman’s manicured fingernails tickling under his chin, and he exploded into giggles. “See? You faker!”
“I don’t want to go to bed yet!” Teddy whined, but it was no use. It never was. It was three against one.
A few minutes later, after Teddy had brushed his teeth and put on his pyjamas, Daddy was just tucking him into bed when he remembered something he’d heard earlier.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s outed mean?”
“Hmm?” Daddy asked. He sat at the edge of Teddy’s bed and tilted his head to one side with a confused expression.
“Outed. Like what Mummy said about Sirius?”
“Oh,” Daddy said, and his voice sounded a bit quieter all of a sudden. “Well, that’s when people learn that someone is gay. But the person hadn’t told anyone. So someone else told their secret.”
Teddy thought about this for a moment.
“That means Sirius Black is gay?”
“According to celebrity TikTok, apparently.”
“Why did he want to keep it a secret?” Teddy asked.
“Well, sometimes it’s hard to be gay. Not everyone is nice to you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” Daddy said, and his voice wasn’t just quiet. It sounded a little sad now, too. Teddy didn’t know why. Everyone was nice to his parents. Teddy was quiet again while he considered this turn of events.
“So does that mean Sirius Black needs a husband?” Teddy asked.
“I don’t know,” Daddy laughed. “Maybe.”
“You need a husband, too.”
“I don’t need a husband,” Daddy said.
“Yes, you do! And it could be Sirius Black!”
“But, sweetheart, we don’t know Sirius Black.”
“Maybe we could go meet him! We could get on the train to London, like you said, and—“
“It’s time for sleep now, Teddy.”
“But—”
“It’s time for sleep,” Daddy said again, more firmly this time. He gave Teddy one more kiss, said goodnight, and slipped out of Teddy’s bedroom, clicking the door shut behind him.
But Teddy did not go to sleep. He finally knew what to put on his Christmas list.
He pulled his camping torch out of the drawer in his bedside table, tiptoed over to his beanbag chair, retrieved the letter he’d been working on, along with a clipboard, and rushed back to bed. He pulled the covers over his head, propped up his torch on the edge of his pillow, and started writing.
Dear Father Christmas,
It’s Edward Remus Delacour Lupin. But you can call me Teddy.
I know it is not nice to be greedy because I already have 2 mummies. But I would also like 2 daddies. I would like my other daddy to be Sirius Black, please. He would be a great daddy for me. I already love him a lot. He is nice and funny and very smart. I am also a good chef just like him and we could all be chefs together. I think he would love my daddy too. My daddy is very handsome. And very nice. He makes funny jokes and he bakes the best croissants ever. He also gives the best hugs and can fix anything. He would make the best husband for Sirius now that Sirius is outed.
I love you!
Love,
Teddy
Teddy decorated the letter as beautifully as he could, drawing Christmas trees and presents and pictures of him, Daddy, Mummy, Maman, and their cat, Moony, just so Father Christmas would know what a lovely family Sirius Black would be getting if he joined theirs. He drew their houses and the inn and all the gardens and greenhouses. Then, just to be safe, Teddy wrote another letter, too. Because maybe Father Christmas couldn’t deliver people.
Dear Mr. Black…
London
Sirius Black rounded the corner of the dingy side street and groaned. There, in front of the building, was an eager knot of photographers, looking like vultures circling a dying animal, waiting for it to take its last breath.
Except the animal in question was him.
A part of him wanted to say “fuck it” and just keep driving, to not stop until he reached James’s house. Another part of him wanted to drive his motorbike straight through the photographers, making them scatter like the vermin they were.
But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he parked his motorbike and wordlessly elbowed his way through the scrum, leaving his helmet on so they at least wouldn’t get a decent picture of his face.
“Sirius! Sirius!” they called as he climbed the stone stairs. The flashbulbs clicked and burst all around him as he pushed past.
“Do you feel betrayed?”
“What would you tell Evan if you knew he was listening?”
“Why won’t you take off your helmet? Are you ashamed of your sexuality?”
Sirius ignored them, walking through the heavy wooden door as the doorman opened it.
“Thanks, Clive,” Sirius nodded.
“Anytime, Sirius,” Clive replied, shutting the door behind them. “Sorry ‘bout them arseholes.”
“Eh, part of the deal, right?”
“Maybe. Shouldn't have to be, though.”
“Appreciate that,” Sirius said, clapping Clive on the shoulder and striding down the hallway toward the conference room. Only when he was safely inside did he take off his helmet. But the sight that greeted him there wasn’t much better than the one outside.
Sirius’s body stiffened as he looked around at the dozen or so people in suits whose conversation he’d clearly interrupted.The long conference table was littered with papers and half-drunk cups of tea and coffee. There was even a PowerPoint slide on a large screen at the end of the room with the heading, “Damage Control.” The meeting was supposed to be about Sirius’s desire to move away from regularly appearing on television and focus more on writing cookbooks. But he had a feeling that the agenda had shifted drastically.
“Started without me, I see?” he asked coldly.
Sirius’s gaze found his manager, Caradoc Dearborn, who at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught so blatantly discussing Sirius behind his back. Dearborn stood up and rushed to meet Sirius by the door, putting a placating hand on his arm.
“We wanted to get a few housekeeping items out of the way before you arrived, mate. Nothing important,” Dearborn said, giving Sirius that charming, slightly smarmy smile of his.
“How thoughtful,” Sirius deadpanned.
Dearborn was a 37-year-old, baby-faced wunderkind with an uncanny ability to negotiate savage business deals while keeping everyone convinced that he was just a “regular bloke,” thanks to his working class background, rough-around-the-edges accent, and insistence on wearing black hoodies and jeans all the time, even in meetings with powerful executives.
These traits were the very things that Sirius liked so much about Dearborn when they first met a decade ago. Dearborn seemed like a breath of fresh air. Genuine. Authentic. So different from the buttoned-up establishment Sirius had been brought up with. But now, Dearborn’s jeans and hoodies seemed less authentic and more like a costume, especially in moments like this, when Dearborn was leading a meeting apparently centered around “damage control.”
Sirius took a seat at the empty end of the conference table and faced the roomful of people who’d suddenly gone quiet.
“OK, then,” Sirius said, dropping his helmet onto the table with a thud. “Catch me up.”
“I told you. It’s just housekeeping,” Dearborn shrugged.
“Bullshit. I can fucking read,” Sirius spat, pointing at the PowerPoint. He looked around at everyone, but they only shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “Well?”
There was a moment of silence until someone finally spoke up.
“We were discussing your statement to the press,” said Pandora Lovegood, a terse, no-nonsense publicist whose entire closet seemed to be filled with shoulder-padded pantsuits with enormous gold buttons.
“What statement?” Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow defiantly. “I have nothing to say.”
Pandora opened her mouth to reply, but Dearborn spoke first.
“Sirius, just listen—”
“No, Doc, I already told you how I feel!” Sirius said. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation for how I live my private life.”
“You were publicly outed, Sirius,” Dearborn said. “People have questions.”
“No! Sirius Black Incorporated was outed! But me? This person right here?” Sirius cried, jabbing his index finger into his chest, his heart pounding angrily. “I’ve always been who I am. It was you lot who shoved me into the closet.”
“If you don’t address this, the press is going to let Evan say whatever he wants to say!” Lovegood said. “You can’t let a vindictive ex control the narrative. The public—”
“I don’t give a shit about the public!” Sirius exclaimed.
But then another voice cut in, one that was as clipped and rigid as the man to whom it belonged.
“You better give a shit about the public, young man.”
Sirius’s stomach tightened. Barty Crouch Sr., his network’s vice president of programming, was glaring at him through his round wire spectacles from the other end of the long table.
“Because that’s who keeps you employed,” Crouch continued, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Middle-aged housewives want to fantasize about you in their kitchen. They don’t want to picture your goddamn boyfriend, too.”
“I think you’ve met the wrong housewives,” Sirius snorted, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.
“You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Mr. Black?” Crouch said in a low voice.
“I have my moments, yeah,” Sirius shrugged.
“Did you ever stop and consider, then, that hundreds of jobs are riding on the image of Sirius Black?” Crouch asked.
“The image of Sirius Black?” Sirius repeated slowly. “What am I, a corporate invention?”
“For the purposes of this meeting, Mr. Black, yes, you surely fucking are,” Crouch shot back.
“No. I’m surely fucking not,” Sirius replied, his voice shaking with anger. “I’m a real person. With a real life. And I have had enough of pretending otherwise.”
Sirius grabbed his helmet and pushed his chair back roughly from the table.
“Where are you going?” Dearborn’s frightened voice said.
“What does it matter where I’m going?” Sirius snapped. “If Sirius Black is just an image, then you don’t actually need me at all.”
Sirius turned to walk out of the conference room, but once again, Dearborn rushed toward him and grabbed him by the arm.
“Sirius, no,” he hissed, standing between Sirius and the door.
“Why the fuck should I stay?” Sirius demanded. “You don’t care about me. You care about the brand.”
“That is not true,” Dearborn said, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Then let me ignore all of this,” Sirius replied. “It’ll blow over.”
Dearborn sighed and shook his head.
“You know we can’t do that, Sirius. The press is already having a field day, and we have advertisers to answer to. And the network, brand deals, appearances. Not to mention people’s jobs. There’s a lot riding on this.”
“Fine. Do whatever you want,” Sirius said. “But don’t expect me to be a part of it.”
And with that, Sirius pushed past Dearborn and walked out the door.
“Done already?” Clive asked, as Sirius rushed by.
“Done enough,” Sirius muttered without slowing down. He opened the door before Clive had a chance to do it for him, but was immediately met by a crush of paparazzi. They crowded around him, pressing in on all sides, shouting questions, pointing cameras in his face, blocking his path down the stairs. All he could see were aggressive elbows, camera lenses, clicking flashbulbs, and screaming mouths that wanted to eat him alive.
“What’ll you tell little Harry when he finds out his godfather is a cocksucker?” a voice yelled above the din, and something in Sirius snapped.
“If you don’t shut your goddamn mouth, I will shut it for you!” Sirius snarled.
“Is that a confirmation?” another pap shouted, and before he even realized what he was doing, Sirius had wheeled around, lunged forward, and took a swing at one of their cameras. The paparazzo dodged Sirius’s fist and stumbled backwards, but still managed to keep taking photos, the bastard.
Sirius fought his way to his motorbike, climbed on, and revved the engine, skidding away as the photographers jumped back. They gave chase on foot until Sirius turned the corner and disappeared into London traffic.
“So,” James said 30 minutes later, opening the door before Sirius even knocked. “You’re straight and you punched a photographer, huh?”
“What?”
“Twitter.”
“Wow, they can’t get anything right. I’m gay as hell and he ducked.”
James stepped aside to let Sirius into the house just as Sirius’s dog, Padfoot, came bounding to greet him. Sirius crouched down and scratched the great black mutt behind his ears, thankful for the dog’s uncomplicated love and affection.
“Hiya, mate,” Sirius said softly. “Having fun visiting Harry for a few days? You miss me?”
Padfoot whined happily and flopped onto his side, his tail thumping madly against the tile floor of James’s front entryway. Thank god for having a best friend who lives in a gated estate, Sirius thought.
“Sirius!” another voice said, and Sirius looked up to see James’s wife, Lily, whose face was creased with worry. Her long red ponytail swung behind her as she hurried to join them. “Are you alright? I just read that you punched a photographer!”
“Attempted,” Sirius corrected. “Attempted to punch a photographer.”
“What the hell happened?” James asked.
It didn’t take long for Sirius to explain the whole terrible fuckery of it all to Lily and James. They made him a plate of leftover steak and kidney pie, which he balanced on his knee as he ate in front of the fire in their cozy little sitting room. Padfoot was laying on the rug with his head on top of Sirius’s combat-booted foot, while Harry built a Lego tower on the coffee table.
“We didn’t even talk about cookbooks or anything,” Sirius said bitterly.
He looked down at his phone and reread “his” statement to the press, which had apparently been issued minutes after he walked out of the meeting: “If I were gay, I would tell people. Evan Rosier is a former friend whom I thought I knew. I was clearly wrong. I wish him and his family all the best.”
“It’s not technically a lie,” James said.
“No, but it’s not exactly the truth either, is it?” Sirius said.
“I hate that Evan did this to you,” Lily said. Blotchy purplish-red hives were blooming across her neck, which always happened when she got ripping angry. “I still don’t know why you didn’t let me slash his tires.”
“Because I can’t let you get arrested over that stupid knob,” Sirius replied.
“Would’ve been worth it,” Lily grumbled.
But Sirius didn’t answer. Even here, in the relative safety of James and Lily’s house, Sirius felt the walls closing in on him. He felt hounded, pursued, like there were eyes and ears everywhere, lurking around every corner, hiding behind every door. He put his empty plate onto the coffee table and stood up abruptly, making Padfoot jump in surprise.
“I just… I need to get the hell out of here,” Sirius said with a manic laugh, running a hand through his long black hair. He paced back and forth in front of the fire. He wanted to jump out of his own skin. “I need to get away for a while.”
“So go,” James said, his voice a calm breeze in the raging hurricane of Sirius’s mind.
“Like it’s that easy,” Sirius scoffed, not slowing his relentless pacing. Padfoot watched him, his head swiveling back and forth with each of Sirius’s steps.
“You’re done filming for the year,” James reasoned. “You’ve got the whole season in the can. You have nothing until the live special on Christmas Eve.”
“I’ve got meetings. With lawyers, reporters, executives.”
“So cancel them!” James said. “You’re rich and famous, and your TV show pays all their bills. Act like a diva once in a while.”
Sirius stopped in front of the hearth, the fire warm against his back. He looked at James, his brother, his best friend on earth; James, who’d rescued him more times and in more ways than Sirius could count; James, who’d never steered him wrong.
“Yeah?” Sirius asked, searching James’s face.
“Yeah!” James replied easily. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, then looked at Sirius expectantly. “Where do you want to go?”
“I want…” Sirius started, but hesitated. He hadn’t taken a real holiday in, well… he’d never taken one. He’d been working nonstop his entire life. Where did he want to go? He closed his eyes for a second and imagined. He wanted privacy. He wanted nature. He wanted peace and quiet. He wanted to see the stars and hear the wind, to hear his own heartbeat.
“I want to get out of the city,” Sirius said before the thought even had time to fully register in his mind.
“OK,” James nodded. “What else?”
What else? Was this real? Was he really doing this?
Sirius took a deep breath. He looked down at Padfoot who was watching him expectantly.
“I want… I want someplace…honest. Authentic. Someplace where I can feel connected to something.”
“Think you could come up with something a little less abstract?” James asked. “I can’t exactly put that into Expedia.”
“OK, umm, how about… dog friendly,” Sirius said. “With decent food. Where I can stay for two weeks.”
“Make it three weeks,” Lily said.
“Fine, three weeks, Sirius agreed quickly. “And I want it to be far the fuck away from London.”
“OK, let’s see what we can find,” James said, typing fast into his phone. “Right, here’s a place. They say it has ‘rustic charm.’ Let’s see the reviews.”
James clicked a few more times, and his eyebrows shot up.
“OK, that is a hypodermic needle in the bed,” James said. “We will keep looking.”
James shook his head as he swiped through the options and talked to himself.
“No…. no… definitely not. Alright, this one looks like a straight-up crack den…”
“What the hell website are you on?” Lily asked, snatching James’s phone away and commandeering the search herself. She typed furiously for a few seconds, then sat back against the couch with an amazed smile.
“Oh, wow,” she said, her eyes scanning the phone and widening excitedly. “Wow! How about this? Silver Moon Bed and Breakfast. It’s in Northumberland. Located on 1,100 acres of conservation land. Serves fresh, farm-to-table food. It’s off the grid, they use all renewable energy sources and composting toilets.”
“Gross,” James muttered.
“Pets welcome. Queer-owned and operated. And there’s one cottage available,” Lily said. “It says they ‘value honest, authentic experiences that connect guests to the land and their food.’”
Lily looked up at Sirius.
“Did you write this?” she asked with a disbelieving little laugh.
Sirius stared at her, stunned.
“Does it really say all that?” he asked.
“It really does,” Lily told him. He walked slowly across the room, sat down next to her on the couch, and she handed him the phone. There, on the little screen, was a beautiful country inn, surrounded by soft foliage, rolling meadows, and gently undulating streams. It looked like it was plucked from a storybook—idyllic, perfect—and something in Sirius’s heart settled at the sight of it.
“It’s beautiful,” Sirius murmured, his eyes raking over the image. He saw greenhouses and gardens. Walking paths, stone walls and little white fences.
Three weeks.
“You can come back to London December 23,” Lily said, as though reading Sirius’s thoughts. “The day before you film the live show.”
Sirius looked up at Lily, then at James, seeking one more bit of reassurance.
“Am I just running away?” Sirius asked suddenly. His throat felt thick, his lungs heavy. “Again?”
“No. And you didn’t run away then, either,” James told him quietly. “You saved yourself.”
“You’d tell me, right?” Sirius asked.
James gave him a soft smile and nodded.
“Of course,” James said.
“Do you really think I should do this? Cancel my whole life for a month?”
“It’s not a month. It’s three weeks. It’s barely a proper holiday,” James said.
“Go, Sirius,” Lily agreed. “You need it. Everything will still be here when you get back.”
Yeah, Sirius thought. That’s what he was afraid of. All his problems just festering while he was gone. Oh, to leave them behind forever.
“Alright, then,” Sirius nodded nervously. “Three weeks.”
“Shall we book it?” Lily asked, sounding a bit surprised but happy.
Sirius nodded, then looked down at the picture once more. Silver Moon Bed and Breakfast. Three weeks. Would he be bored out of his mind? Or would he finally be able to take a breath?
“Yeah,” Sirius said, handing the phone back to Lily before he could change his mind. “Book it.”