Sprog of Prongs

James Potter is a man on a mission. He has Important News and there are only three people in this world he wants to tell, and he will be damned if anyone gets in his way. Not that anybody actually does get in his way, but he tells himself that if they do, he will not hesitate to hex them into a pig. Even if it's Moody, he thinks, and grins. Especially if it's Moody.

Peter, he discovers, is gone. It doesn't surprise him really- Peter is gone a lot. He and Lily have speculated, snickering, that he may be having an affair with Luella Pendleton, a crabby old witch he spends a lot of time talking to at Order meetings who looks a bit like Peter's mother. All the same, he can't help but feel a little miffed. He tells himself it's only because he's so impatient to share his news with everyone, and not that he misses Peter tagging after him like a perpetually bewildered echo. A small part of him- the part he has stamped out, or tries to- is relieved. He knows he's only gone to tell Peter first so he can tell Remus and Sirius last and stay the evening with them, and now he's free to do so with a clear conscience.

So he joyfully kisses Lily on the nose, says, "Be back a bit late, love," throws some Floo Powder in the fireplace, and calls out exultantly, "16 Ponsonby Court."

The flat is silent when he picks himself up from the fireplace, and he wonders if Sirius and Remus are home. But no- they know better than to leave their Floo open, even to members of the Order, if nobody's home. Besides, Moody likes to test them all out occasionally, to see that constant vigilance is maintained. Easier to escape the wrath of a Death Eater than Moody, James thinks, only half-joking.

So Remus is probably home, although he doubts Sirius is. For one thing, there would be no silence if there were a Padfoot in the flat, and for another, Sirius's job at the Ministry is long and arduous and a right pain in the arse- James has heard the complaints often enough that he can almost recite them along with him.

He looks around. It's a rather small flat really, but cozy. Bookshelves line all the walls, of course, piles upon piles of books. Not only Remus's either- Sirius likes to read as well, although his taste runs more toward bloodthirsty tales of revenge, and those Muggle spy novels he thinks he's kept secret from everyone. There's the odd bit here or there that indicates the decorating habits of one man or the other- the set of swords on the wall that is definitely Sirius's, because he remembers Sirius once wanted to learn how to fence and abandoned it when he realized one rarely actually got to stab one's opponents; the glowing orbs that float and rotate and spin an inch or two from the ceiling and are, he realizes, the model of the solar system that Remus brought back from some Order trip. He's only been in this flat once, to use the bog after a particularly raucous birthday celebration for somebody- he can't remember who, now. He does remember an unusually pissed Moony preventing him from Disapparating by throwing Floo Powder enthusiastically all over the place and pushing him into the grate. Lily had laughed uproariously when he stumbled into the bathroom and promptly threw up. "Serve you right, you great pillock," she said.

No finer feelings for a sick husband, he thinks fondly, and thrills afresh at his wonderful news.

He calls out, "Moony? Padfoot?" and wanders over to the big, overstuffed sofa that faces away from him. There's Moony, asleep on his back, his book on his face and his arms thrown wide above his head. Ah, poor Moony, he thinks. He hadn't made it for last night's full moon because Lily told him she had some news. Clearly Moony is still tired, but he has no fresh wounds that James can see, which means Padfoot was there. Has Padfoot ever missed a full moon, other than the ones during summer holidays and the few after that messy incident with Snape Sixth Year? Probably not- Sirius thinks them as much fun as James always has, even though they can't run about as they used to.

"Moony", he croons. "Moony Moony Moony Moooooony."

He waggles one of Remus's sock-shod feet, and finally hears a long, snuffling sigh from under the book, which is batted off his face by a flailing hand. "Sirius, c'mere," Remus murmurs in the thick, grumpy tones of someone who is still mostly asleep. "We've no more tea 'n th' pantry."

James grins at the sudden image he has of looming over Remus's face to scare him half to death when he opens his eyes, but bins the thought because he doesn't relish the idea of a scared-witless werewolf attacking him- make no mistake, the skinny bastard is heavy. Instead, he merely pokes him, hissing, "Remus, wake up."

Finally Remus opens his eyes, and when he realizes James is there he smiles beatifically. "Hallo, Prongs," he says. Then, becoming more alert, "Bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Wanted to visit the bachelor flat," he waves his hand to encompass the room. "Y'know, partake of the scantily clad women you lot sneak in here."

Remus snorts, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "You've been reading that Muggle magazine again, haven't you. We're not that glamorous, bachelors."

"No, really. I have some news. Where's Padfoot?" he asks, jiggling his hand against the arm of the sofa impatiently.

"He should be home in about twenty minutes," Remus swings his feet off the couch and, in his pyjama bottoms and what looks to be Sirius's faded Wimbourne Wasps t-shirt from when they were at Hogwarts, staggers into the tiny kitchen. "Tea, must have tea...want some, James?"

James flops into the warm vacancy on the sofa. "Nah. How goes the life of the single werewolf, anyway?"

"Oh, not bad. Doing some research for Dumbledore on some things," comes Remus's disembodied voice. He is half in the cupboard. "Accio bloody tea...honestly, Sirius puts it so far back I can't reach it half the time...anyway I've been doing some research on the side for Gringotts, too, about a place in Hungary. The goblins don't mind about the werewolf thing so much, you know."

James nods. It is a generally acknowledged thing among them that they don't ever talk to Remus about employment, which is scattered at best, or money, which he hasn't a lot of. He gets by, does Moony, and although James would offer him half his inheritance if he thought Moony would take it, he knows Moony would get all stiff and courteous like he does when he's very offended. Odd duck, that Moony.

Remus's tea is ready, and he sits back down on the other side of the sofa, curling his long legs under him with a grimace. After a long sip, he says, "Is this good news, then?"

James wants to jump up in the air and dance a mad jig around the room, but all he says is, "Very good."

"Ah," Remus replies, raising an eyebrow and giving a wry smile. "Ten more minutes and Sirius will be home."

But suddenly there's a faint pop in the hall, and he hears Sirius's familiar bellow, "Oi, Moony!"

Remus calls out, "Sirius, James is here." To James's surprise, Moony's voice carries a faintly warning tone. But he forgets that as Sirius stalks into the room in his Muggle clothes, yanks James to his feet, and hugs him so hard he gags.

"Ickle Prongsy, what's the occasion?" he asks, flopping down next to Moony, windblown and flushed. He must have ridden the bike home.

"Got news," he replies, trying to push down his excitement as he polishes his glasses, which have been smushed against his forehead. "I- we're. Lily's- Lily and I are having- a- a baby." Almost twenty-four hours it's been since Lily told him, and it's still hard to get the word out, he's so delighted and delirious and terrified. A baby, a little girl with hair like Lily's, or a little boy with Lily's eyes.

Remus and Sirius are gaping at him, identical expressions of gob-smackedness on their faces. He laughs hard, forcibly reminded of his father's reaction when he was made Head Boy his Seventh Year.

"A baby?" Sirius whispers, sounding aghast.

"C-congratulations," Moony sputters, polite even when utterly flabbergasted.

They are silent again for a moment. "Is that even legal?" Sirius finally asks. "To give the care of an innocent life form to you, James Potter, the only student at Hogwarts who was ever hexed by a teacher?"

"Yes, perfectly legal. Lily checked," he can't stop smiling, even though his face is beginning to hurt. "I'm going to be a dad in July."

Remus stands abruptly and says, "I think this calls for something stronger than tea."

"Yes. Firewhisky, please," Sirius calls after him weakly. "You. James Potter. A dad. Dear Lord, a baby James Potter."

"Well, you never know. Might turn out like Lily," he says doubtfully. He has a lot of faith in the Potter genes, the thought of which gives him a painful turn in his heart. It bowls him over, how much he wishes he could be telling his father right now- or last night even, this is news that a mum and dad would want to know immediately. He has gotten most of this out with Lily already, but he supposes it will always hurt, realizing his parents will never be able to see this- any of this.

"Good God, a baby Lily," Sirius breathes, and James pushes aside the deep, abiding ache to focus on the joy of right now. "Set you on fire the first time you don't feed it fast enough."

"I know!" he cries delightedly, unable to be still any longer. He twirls madly around the room and falls into the chair across from the sofa. "It's going to be brilliant."

Remus is back with the firewhisky and three glasses, and Sirius drains his immediately. "Potter sprog. Prongs's sprog. Sprog of Prongs. This is not right, Moony."

But Moony only refills Sirius's glass and raises his own. "To the Sprog of Prongs, who I sure as hell hope has an even thicker hide than James does, as he is going to be dropped a lot."

They drink, and suddenly Sirius stands and pulls James into a hug, then grabs a startled Moony and draws him in too, so they're jumbled in tightly. He pounds James's back for a moment, then releases him, and they all sit down again.

"So," Sirius begins, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa. "How did this happen?"

Remus leans toward him a bit and snickers. "Well, Sirius, when an ungulate and a Prefect love each other very, very much"-

Sirius is snickering too, his head close to Moony's. "- and the ungulate gets the Prefect very very woozy on champagne"-

"Ha bloody ha," James interrupts, trying not to smile. Then, sheepishly, "I...erm...think it was Halloween, actually."

This turns the snickers into full-fledged laughter. Halloween of the previous year had been a night to remember- or not remember, actually, as it turns out. They had all gone to a party that evening, gotten riotously drunk on their rare night off, and woken the next morning huddled together under a bridge just outside Muggle London. "How did you"- Sirius gasps.

"You were- you fell into the river," Moony manages breathlessly, just as they've started to calm down, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "And almost got arrested by that nice young policeman when you- called- him- a- knob"-

That sets them both off again, and he tries for a dignified tone, clearing his throat to speak over their howling, "I'll have you know that I- don't actually remember- the incident in question, but I'm assured that it was quite, er, good. And I did not, in fact, get arrested."

Sirius is leaning against Remus, recovering. "Oh, that's priceless James. That's a story you'll have to tell the Sprog every year, how you woke up with confetti in your pants"-

Remus's pallid face is flushed from laughing so hard. "- and you had your arms wrapped around Peter."

He flips up two fingers. "Thanks, lads. I'm off to the bog, hopefully you'll be done mocking the fruit of my loins when I come back."

He is only slightly tipsy from the firewhisky as he reaches the bathroom door, and as his fingers slide over the doorknob he realizes the door to the bedroom is open to his right. The only bedroom. In the flat. He's never noticed that before. There must be two beds, he thinks hastily. Stupid. Of course there would be. But his hand moves to push the door open, seemingly of its own volition. It's a small room, like everything in the flat is small- small oak bureau, covered in the day-to-day bric-a-brac that collects on such surfaces, cufflinks and half-melted candles and buttons and Padfoot's collar; small mirror (for Sirius of course- he doubts Remus does more than run his fingers through his hair most of the time); small clothes hamper; small nightstand.

Enormous bed.

His heart is pounding a furious beat against his chest, and he feels as though he's looking through a stranger's diary as his traitorous hand reaches out to close around Padfoot's collar, which Sirius usually wears even when he's not in the shape of a big black dog. He even wears it under his clothes at the Ministry, James knows, and wonders why he hasn't got it on today. Then he sees that the clasp is broken. Sirius must have put this down to fix it later. It's brown leather, soft and faded and worn because he's had it since they were fifteen. There is a small round gold name-tag attached in the center. James has never noticed what is written on the side that touches Sirius's neck, has only seen that the one side says, "I BELONG TO". He has always assumed that it says nothing on the other side, that it was just a standard name-tag that came along with the collar. But when he flips it over, he reads the engraving in Sirius's sprawling, elegant hand, "Moony."

He drops it as if it has scalded his hand and stumbles out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process before he can get into the bathroom. His first thought is I don't believe this and his second thought is Yes I do. I understand now. James Potter is not, perhaps, the most outstandingly aware man on the planet, but he is very, very intelligent, and suddenly things are falling into place with a neat click inside his brain. A hundred small things that have gone unexplained over the years surface, make their presence known, and link to the others in a long chain of memory. Sirius, not letting anyone else near Moony when he was transforming from boy to wolf; Sirius, admonishing Peter sharply when they had to dress the unconscious Moony after the first full moon they went through together, "Don't look at him like that, Wormtail. He'd hate it"; Sirius bringing Moony fun things from Hogsmeade when he was too sick to go; Sirius in the months after the Prank, his frantic, ferocious, brittle energy belying the misery in his eyes; Sirius, a bit panicked at being propositioned by a friend of Lily's sister's at their wedding reception, and the way Remus laughed at him. Hundreds of things, and he has been so blind.

He finds himself staring at his reflection, large-pupiled and dazed, in the mirror over the sink. He has been raised in an atmosphere of complete and utter tolerance, although nobody talked about blokes who preferred blokes, did they? Nobody ever did, and when he was in school they laughed over it in whispers like all boys do, the worst insult in the world at thirteen was to be called a poof, and what the hell do Moony and Padfoot want to be doing that for anyway? His nostrils flare and a part of him- the same part that would sometimes like to forget that he's friends with Peter- wants to rush out into the sitting room and demand of his two best mates how they can- euurgh. His mind races away from the thought and he closes his eyes. But suddenly he calms, because the part of him that has steadily overwhelmed the other these last few years, the part that he likes to think of as The Real James, whispers They're your mates, James. Just Moony and Padfoot, like always. Get a grip..

He tightens his lips, pushes away from the counter, and does his business. But he slides quietly against the wall of the hallway as he's going back to the sitting room, trying to hear what they're saying before he goes in.

"...should go to sleep, Moony. You're about to topple off the sofa," Sirius is murmuring, in the voice James has heard him use a thousand times talking to Remus without realizing the tenderness in it. He can see them just slightly from his position- Sirius's hands on Moony's neck, slowly rubbing the soreness away. Moony's head is hanging and he's sighing in pleasure.

"Sound like my mum, you daft bastard," Moony mumbles, but there is a wealth of affection there, and he leans into Sirius's hands.

"This is the only time you let me boss you," Sirius says softly, near Moony's ear, and they both grin. "I have to take advantage of it."

James deliberately hits his knuckles on the wall as he strolls into the room, and he sees them pull away from each other- not jerkily, no, they're far too good at this necessary deception to be so blatant. But his newly unveiled eyes see that they still sit too close to each other- have they always sat so close, and he never noticed?

"Welcome to the world, Prongs. We thought you'd escaped out the window to enjoy your last months of sanity alone," Sirius remarks, and they both smile up at him, so innocently, as if they weren't just touching. Remus looks a little drowsy, his long lashes that Sirius teases him about nearly fluttering closed.

"Got a question to ask you," he blurts out, his hands clenched in his robes. He has not meant to ask like this, but what he has just uncovered has rocked his carefully prepared speech out of his brain.

Remus tilts his head. "Mmm?"

"Was wondering," he begins, and closes his eyes. This is just Moony and Padfoot. "If you two would be the baby's godfathers."

There is absolute silence for a moment, forcing his eyes open. Remus looks stricken, and James wonders if the words came out correctly- did his mouth speak the things that are whirling in his mind? He sees a brief spasm of hurt and- what is that look there, shame?- before Moony's face goes blank. James knows that look well- they call it the Moony Moon-face, and the careful draining of all emotion is his reaction to insults, taunts, slurs, and any attempt to discuss Quidditch.

"Be right back, lads," he says a bit hoarsely, and gets up to walk down the hall on unsteady legs.

James turns to Sirius, questioningly. Sirius is grim and sad, his gray eyes dark with it. "He's not allowed. Not to be the guardian of a child. Bill passed last year."

Any anger or hurt James has been harboring the last quarter of an hour falls away, and he sits down with a huff. "Oh, bollocks. Is he going to be all right?"

"Yeah," Sirius waves a hand. "You know Moony. He goes into hiding, but he'll be back out in a mo'."

James grabs his glass and fills it again, then takes a swig. Grimacing, he says, "I wanted the two of you to be the baby's godfathers if something should happen to Lily or me, Sirius. Whether it's legal or not, I want him to know I consider him to be one anyway."

Sirius is silent, his eyes flicking toward the hallway. Then, quietly, "He'd be a much better godfather than I would. I can barely take care of myself."

"Too right," Remus agrees, re-entering the room. His face is composed as always. James sees how Sirius almost touches him, but draws back. Because I'm here, he thinks, and suddenly it doesn't matter anymore, echoey childish epithets, stupid insecure little-boy sayings. This is Remus and Sirius, the two people besides Lily- and Peter- whom he trusts most in the chaos. If together they have found anything like what he has with Lily, he can almost- almost- understand, and accept it, although he can't quite yet fit their round shapes into the square spaces in his head. Perhaps that will come later, he thinks, when he's had time to mull it over. Days. Weeks, possibly.

He stands to leave, looking keenly at them, seeing them finally as they are and not as he has wished them to be, finding, with great relief, that they are still beloved to him. "Just think it over, both of you- whether it's legal or not, Moony."

He's not quite ready to touch them yet- he is being very open-minded just now, but there are some things he cannot process and that is one of them- so he skitters away from clapping either of them on the shoulder before he throws powder into the fireplace. He can't help but grin over their congratulations, though, Remus's sleepy and Sirius's still a bit bewildered. Lily is going to be so proud of how he's handled this, he hasn't said a single word, hasn't even given Sirius the glare of I Know What You're Up To-

Moments later he's stepping onto his own hearth and jogging upstairs to the bedroom, shouting, "Oi! Lily! You'll never believe what I've figured out."