No Better Thing

Author's Note: A HUGE thank you to my beta Gabe for guiding my rambling draft to a well-adjusted story and for putting up with my misuse of quotes, ellipses, and dashes. And my general neuroses.

The silence in the kitchen was palpable. The copper pots that rested on various shelves and hooks glowed from the light of the fire. An assortment of small knickknacks on the mantle seemed to dance in the firelight and shadow. James Potter's announcement, however, had silenced everyone in the room. Peter's watery blue eyes turned towards James; the potatoes he was peeling in mid-air to dropped to the floor.

"A baby," he whispered, as if questioning the existence of such a thing. A mixture of awe and wonder echoed the sentiment in his eyes.

"Well, Wormy," said Sirius, himself just able to maintain composure while kneading the dough on the counter with the rotation of his wand, "they would hardly be expecting a kitten."

The snorts of laughter broke the tension. The fire burned without foreboding. It was natural, after all, that a married couple would expect a child. Celery, onions, carrots, and the newly cleaned potatoes paraded in a comical procession to the pot on the stove and bread packed itself into a loaf pan and made its way into the oven. Remus retrieved a jar of homemade stock from the cellar for the soup, along with a bottle of elf-made wine to celebrate.

"To the future family of Potters," James called out, holding his wine glass aloft.

"Yes, to the first child of many," added Sirius, "the eldest, of course, christened Elvendork!"

A roar of laughter followed; Lupin coughed from inhaling his wine. "There is no way Lily would allow it!"

"It's unisex," shouted James. "She would adore it!"

"And may your first child," Wormy began, exaggerating his wheezy voice, "be a masculine child."

"With a name like Elvendork what could it be except--" started James, but he stopped mid-joke, eyeing a glowing glass bluebird on the mantle.

"What does that mean?" asked Sirius, worry furrowing his brow. He knew the Potters had an interesting method for signaling the arrival of visitors: a clay goose would quack to indicate another friendly wizard coming round the corner, a porcelain, begging dog would tip off the family to unfriendly visitors, and any tiny kettle with a picture of the Queen would warn of approaching family.

But, the glass bluebird...that was new.

"Lily needs me," James whispered, putting down his wine glass and then bolting up the stairs from the kitchen.

The tense silence crept in again. The other young men drank their wine nervously. Sirius could sense that no one wanted to say what they all were thinking - a war was not an ideal situation for starting and raising a family. Remus suggested they start setting the table; it was a welcome distraction, and by the time James came down the stairs, they had most of the plates and bowls on the table.

"Is the split tin ready yet," he asked picking up his glass, "she thinks she might keep be able to keep that down."

"Is it really that bad?" Lupin asked, as he crossed the room and checked the loaf baking in the oven. Wormtail continued to set cutlery on the table, neatly levitating each from a drawer to its proper place.

James merely shrugged as he took another sip of wine.

"I would think," Peter began, "having a baby - having any family - in a time like this -" A warning look from Sirius cut him off.

Lupin levitated the tawny loaf from the oven and set it on the counter. Everyone watched as the loaf was cooled and sliced by some quick and skillful wand movements.

"Butter?" asked Sirius hopefully, pointing his wand to a dish on the counter. James shook his head.

"Best not," replied James. "Just a slice or two plain. I'll see if she would care for some soup or tea."

He drained his glass and walked back up the stairs, a plate of fluffy white bread in hand.

"Do women really get that sick?" asked Wormtail after James had cleared the room.

"Yeah. My cousin 'Dromeda took ill for the first three months," said Sirius. "Could hardly look at a cup of tea without -"

The clay goose started to quack.

"Did you invite anyone?"

"I bet it's Cassie coming round to check on Lily."

Sirius strode over to the stove. "I'll get this ready to dish up; you two see who it is."

As Lupin and Peter ascended the stairs, Sirius lowered the heat on the pot and gave the soup a stir with his wand held just above the bubbling surface. He levitated a piece of chicken and deftly sliced it in mid-air using one of Remus' handy spells. It was ready and he started to search the drawers for the ladle - Lily had the habit of storing it where no Potter before her would ever have done.

He could hardly remember a time when he didn't know this kitchen. Long before he had run away from his own home, he would sneak over from his side of London to see his friend from school. Kreacher would always show up to fetch him or deliver a letter from his parents asking if the Potters could keep him for the whole summer. And always the elf would Apparate into the kitchen, with a loathing look for his future master whom he had to fetch from a blood-traitor house.

People always gravitated toward the kitchen when they came to the house. He had learned the delicate art of the pasty, as well as sneaking spells, from Mr Potter here. Mrs Potter had chided him and her own son for their antics while showing them spells for creating a proper split tin. He had learned so much in this kitchen, had learned to be proud to be a wizard, and that proper wizarding pride did not mean hexing every Muggle in sight. That some simple Charms and Transfigurations could yield the same results as a curse could.

The elder Potters had passed away, but their wealth of love lived on in James. The Potters really had more than one son, for Sirius was quite often called their "unofficially adopted son". Even Remus and Peter were heirs of the Potters for all the jolly holidays they had attended. Lily could claim a legacy as well since the Potters had taken her parents under their wing early on - much to Lily's annoyance in her younger years but to her delight later.

Now James and Lily were married.

Now Lily was pregnant.

Now the war had engulfed them. All of them, and all of their friends, were on the front lines. Sirius was even fighting his own brother, a deplorable little Death Eater.

He had seen too much death for his age, had cleaned up and comforted various friends in this very kitchen. He had heard of deaths and witnessed deaths, of those in the Order of the Phoenix and those outside it.

And yet he and James sported grins whenever they went on a mission and insisted on wearing matching shirts anytime they were out on "business" for the Order. It all seemed petty and immature behavior, reckless even, now that James was to be a father.

The birth of this child was not only miraculous ("How on earth did they even find the time?") but a jolt of reality. The first death he had heard of, the first death he had seen, stung him with a perpetual sharpness, like a stinger stuck in flesh. But he learned to live with it. He had not become numb to death, but now knew that it was a reality - the dead would not want you to linger, but to live and fight.

Sirius shook his head as though trying to shake this sharp, prickly thought from him.

There was more to this war than a couple of good duels and matching t-shirts. If the Dark Lord should triumph, the future would be bleak for his best friend's child - for him. For everyone.

"We shall prevail," he whispered with force, thinking of James nursing Lily upstairs, hearing Cassie's voice mingled with Remus and Peter's in the sitting room above. "But for now," he thought, "I need to find the place where Lily put the damn ladle!"

He swung his wand and arm in the air in a fluid motion and every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen came open in a gentle yet swift movement.

"Accio ladle!"

There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the silver ladle came out from what Sirius knew to be the spoon drawer.

"Ah, the old Summoning Charm to find the ladle, is it? All right Sirius," said Cassie, a smile on her face, her fluffy blond hair in no way tamed by her cap.

Sirius greeted her and then, in another swift movement, closed the drawers and cupboards. He put the ladle in the soup and James, retrieving a trivet, closely followed him. As Sirius levitated the soup to the table, James whispered, "You will be godfather, right?"

The soup tipped slightly.

"O-of course," he whispered back, smiling.

Even as he carefully ladled the soup into bowls, Sirius, despite the honour of just becoming a godfather, still had his mind whirling. He looked around the table as he sat to eat his soup. Peter and Cassie were chatting animatedly about the latest Quidditch match (Puddlemore United remained undefeated). James and Remus both tore up slices of bread to little pieces, plopping them into their soup. These people were his family, and it all became very real to him in that moment.

"There can be no better thing than this," he thought, spooning the soup and cooling it with his breath.

Final Note: Peter is trying to imitate that guy in the Godfather I who comes to Vito Corleone on his daughter's wedding day to offer congratulations and, I suppose, a blessing (what if her first child was a girl? Seriously.).