The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

One shot: Home

"Nice one, James!"

He gasps, eyes flying open. His lungs burn, like he's just been dragged up from the bottom of the black lake. His limbs are still, non moving. Then he finally reaches up and touches his chest.

The killing curse.

Straight to the heart.

"Harry," Sirius chokes, finally crawling to his knees. He's dead. He has to be dead. He winces from the bright light that surrounds him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the intensity but still burning from the sudden change. He blinks confusedly as he climbs to his feet unsteadily, searching the room.

The astronomy tower.

He was in the astronomy tower, though it was bathed in white, not the dark stone he remembered from his days at Hogwarts.

He touches his chest again, his mind screaming at him at what he feels. No heart beat. He's gone. He failed. His throat grows tight with unshed tears, grief filling him at the people he's left behind. The people he's disappointed.

"I see you."

Sirius freezes, his ears ringing from the soft words. He knew those words. He knew that voice. He whirls around, eyes disbelieving as he soaks in the sight of the woman in front of him.

It's her.

She's here.

"Phoebe," He breathes, his shoulders shaking harder at the way her lips quirk and her eyes twinkle.

Her eyes. His eyes. His brothers eyes. Grey like the mist that used to fall over the quidditch pitch on early spring mornings.

Phoebe Potter is here, standing in front of him and looking at him like nothing has changed. Her skin is smooth, smile easy, her face still the picture of youth.

Frozen in time at the ripe age of 21.

"Ma moitié," The Veela says happily, holding out her hand. He expects to not be able to touch her. To feel her. But then her palm is firm on his and he's tugging her to his chest before he can stop it. Before he can begin to try to understand what is happening, where he is, why his hands suddenly look less worn by time and free of the tattoos he collected in Azkaban.

"Phoebe," He repeats, silently weeping into her shoulder. She's real. She feels real. Cold, but that was never unusual for her. If anything it makes sense. It's the only thing that makes sense.

"Yes, that's my name. Don't wear it out."

He barks out a laugh, still disbelieving. Her wit hadn't faded either, the same wit he had taken an instant liking to all those years ago on the edge of the astronomy tower. The same intelligent being that said so kindly that she saw him. She was the first to truly see him. He hugs her tighter, clenching his eyes shut as he asks,

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

Sirius cherishes the feeling of her laugh against his chest. He hadn't felt her laugh, hadn't heard her voice in over a decade. Too long.

He'd been without his soulmate for too long.

"I hate that question," She teases, "It gets rather old. You should've heard Lily, chatting my fucking ear off with her millions of questions. Some things never change."

Sirius pulls back from her, watery eyes wide.

"Lily is here?"

Phoebe smiles like she knows something he doesn't and shakes her head, replying gently, "Not here." She pauses, quirking a brow as she wonders, "Where is here? Now that you mention it."