Harry Potter One Shots

Revolt

All rights belong to the author, attackfishscales

The awning shielded James from the sun and threw his face into shade. Leaves from a few scrawny trees planters along the sidewalks spun and fluttered in the late October wind. The clear air was icy, and he hunched further into his Muggle jacket. Off in the distance, he thought he could see a Dementor, black cloak stark against a puffy white cloud, but if it was a Dementor, it was too far away to be causing the chilly weather.

He had heard the Dementors had been set loose to roam Muggle streets and towns since the conquest, but it wasn't like he had been able to get away from Hogwarts and Godric's Hollow long enough to see it for himself.

Muggles rushed past him, into and out of the stores that lined the street, hurrying to get back to their own homes, full of the old magics and protections that they had never been aware of before. All they knew now was that when they were home, the dark clouds lifted a little, and they could smile and feel safe. They knew that they hated gathering into groups anymore, but they didn't know it was because crowds drew the Dementors like ants to a sugar bowl. James vaguely contemplated which was worse, knowing that Voldemort had conquered the island, being enslaved, watching people die, or not knowing, not knowing why there didn't seem to be any happiness left, or why so many people were disappearing and the government couldn't do anything, why there were so many freak storms and buildings and bridges falling down, why people turned up shambling around, empty, victims of the Dementor's Kiss. When he realized what he was doing, he flinched back, yanking his mind away from that line of reasoning like a parent with an errant child.

He fiddled with the brim of his hat, stopped himself, and took another sip of his pumpkin juice, hidden in a thermos. There was no reason to be nervous, he insisted to himself. He was early, and it wasn't like the man was ever on time. He was always late. There was no reason to be nervous.

It was just that it had been years.

A teenaged girl paused long enough to eye him dubiously. People just didn't sit outside in front of cafes anymore, and she was probably too young to remember a time when they did. He leveled her with a steady, challenging look. She glared at him back as she hustled away.

He heard the cafe door open behind him and the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. "All right," the man who had walked through that door barked. "What information do you have that's so important I had to come see you myself?"

James lifted his head up and turned to face the man who had spoken. "Hey Sirius."

He could see the man's knees buckle. He stared at James, his mouth open, then slowly, the corners of his mouth spread and pulled up, until he was grinning at him, wide eyed and stunned. "James?" James stood up and Sirius wrapped his arms around him. "I thought you were dead! What-"

Sirius's hands tensed on James's shoulders when his eyes landed on the earring. "It's all right," James assured him, putting his hands on Sirius's arms. "I'm fine."

"Who?" Sirius gasped weakly. "That... thing isn't going to lead your owner to us?"

James shook his head. "You think I would?"

Sirius sat down heavily. "No, no of course not. Who..." And when James shrugged and looked down at himself with a rueful smile, Sirius looked down too, at James's clothes, old and out of date, faded black Muggle clothes, clothes he had already seen on someone else. "Oh," he said, putting it all together. "Wait, you belong to Sn-"

"Yeah," James interrupted repressively, before Sirius could say something he regretted, feeling out of place. That had always been Remus's job, reeling them in if they went too far.