Chapter Text
Sirius Black was still in a dazed fog as he entered the first-year Gryffindor boys' room. In front of him, James Potter babbled about how excited he was about being at Hogwarts, about all the magic they would learn, about all the pranks they could pull. His other two dorm mates were silent, Pettigrew looked half asleep, and Lupin's eyes were darting about nervously. Sirius opened his dragon hide and dogwood trunk, the gleaming silver S.O.B., Black family crest, and green crushed velvet lining mocking him.
He was terrified; he had tried to argue for the hat to put him in Slytherin, but the hat had just laughed before saying, "I have sorted all the Blacks before you, many of whom could have gone into Gryffindor as their second or third option, but you, Sirius Black, are the first whose last option is Slytherin. To send you there would make you miserable. It would twist you up inside until there was nothing left of you. No, you truly belong in GRYFFINDOR!"
The whole hall around him was silent as he numbly made his way to the empty end of the house table. It wasn't long until James Potter took the seat next to him, babbling away next to him, drowning out all his fears and inner monologue with his cheery demeanor. James Potter was like the sun, bright, shiny, and all-consuming. It was hard to look away from him, so it wasn't until they got back to the dorm that Sirius fully realized what was happening.
He was a Gryffindor, the first born-Black Gryffindor. At any other time, it wouldn't have been a big deal, unusual and worthy of some gossip, but nothing to worry about. But this was the house of Black under the social leadership of Lady Walburga Black. His grandmother, Melania Black nee Macmillian, had gone into seclusion as her health had rapidly started to decline, and his Grandfather, who loved his wife deeply, had followed. This left the social calendar of the Blacks in the hands of his mother, and with his Grandfather grieving the oncoming loss, the political agenda was left to his father.
Grandmother would often look off into the distance, face wistful and full of sorrow when anyone mentioned Orion Black. For the longest time, Sirius hadn't understood. At some point before his birth, something happened to Orion Black. Uncle Alpharad spoke fondly of his cousin, but his story seemed out of character for the man Sirius knew. In his stories, Orion was passionate, opinionated, jaded, but still kind. It was so different from the shell of a man Sirius knew, someone who haunted Grimmauld Place like a ghost, aimless and emotionless. Sirius hadn't even met the man until he was five; before then, he was kept in the family nursery to be raised by elves by his mother's orders. Uncle Alpharad had once held Sirius to his chest, kissing Sirius's tear-stained cheeks, promising him that his father had wanted him with all his heart and loved him, but that he was just sick.
It wouldn't be until years later, when his mother had absentmindedly said there were ways of controlling a straying heir, that he understood. She had smirked slightly towards her husband, and all Orion Black had done was ball his fists and clench his jaw before leaving the room. The first words his father ever spoke to him were when Sirius was broken and bleeding on the parlor floor, whole body shaking with aftershock of the cursiatius curse, his near-silent, "the floo is open," as he left the room was damning. Sirius had tried to plead with his brother to come with him, but Regulus had just sadly smiled and pushed Sirius, who was still on the ground, through the floo. They both knew his mother wouldn't mind the loss of Sirius, but Regulus wouldn't be able to escape the same way. There was no department for child welfare, and even if there had been, they would never have been willing to go against Walburga Black. And if Walburga could find an ambiguous enough way to get rid of an underage heir without drawing suspicion, she would take it with no hesitation. So when he officially ran away, his mother was more than happy to blast him from the tapestry without having to deal with the hassle of a body. She didn't try to get him back. Sirius would never be able to understand his Grandfather's inaction and resented him for all the pain he and Regulus had gone through.
Sirius was sorted, and he knew there would be no help coming for him. Maybe it was this lack of faith in his family's ability to do anything that led him to turn the small travel altar he had planned into a full-sized one. Instead of putting his clothing into the provided wardrobe, he threw open the doors. He arranged his black-and-green ritual shroud into a canopy. Sirius didn't notice that his new dormmates were watching him work. He pulled out a ritual bowl and athame, slashing deep into the meat of his palm to let his blood consecrate the area. He then dipped his finger into the bowl of blood and etched runes into the wood. By the time it was all set, runes growing faintly emerald green, he was panting, his body heaving, as he kneeled and begged for protection.
It was not to the family gods he prayed, but to Loki, a cunning trickster God he had read about, sometimes called "the protector of children." If there was anything he needed right now, it was that. Maybe all the cunning he would need to survive would come through a God known for the trait above almost anything else. Because Sirius wanted to survive, he wouldn't give up; he couldn't. Who would take care of Regulus if he died? It was already hard enough having to leave his baby brother at the whims of their mother's not-so-tender mercy for a year. One of the driving forces for as long as he could remember was Regulus. Their childhood had been traumatizing, and they had only been able to rely on each other. Not even the elves could help at times due to mother's orders. It had made their relationship more than a little unhealthy, and since they had been left mainly to the elves for so long, they had become each other's world. And when Sirius, one year older, left the nursery to start his 'lessons', the first thing he decided was to do everything he could so Regulus would not fail like he had. So at the end of each day, no matter how sore or hungry he was, Sirius Black would teach his brother. By the time Regulus joined him, he was the perfect model of a pureblood heir. Sirius couldn't have been prouder. This led Regulus to be treated much better in some ways than Sirius. Walburga Black almost exclusively physically abused Sirius.
Sure, there was the occasional nasty comment about how he wasn't worthy of the Black name, but that was easy to ignore. Regulus, on the other hand, received the majority of their mother's attention. And even with her favored son, she was cruel. Where Sirius would be screamed at, knocked around, or spelled a few times when he messed up, Regulus would get hours-long lectures about how he wasn't living up to the Black name, how he would amount to nothing if he kept up his behavior. Walburga Black, above everything else, was a master in cruelty. She always knew just the right words to leave Regulus panicking and sobbing into his older brother's chest. And since Walburga claimed that this was how she showed her love, that he should be grateful she loved him despite all his mistakes, Regulus' ideas surrounding love grew twisted. It didn't help that the only examples of spouses were, at best, people who had learned to live with each other, but mostly of how their mother treated their father. The only truly loving and stable relationship Sirius and Regulus knew of was the one they shared with each other.
So when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, he didn't try to fight it after that first night. He quickly realized that this would make any 'mistake' Regulus made completely insignificant in their mother's eyes. And if he could partially gain favor with his patron God by joining in on James Potter's escapades, he gladly did it. And the more he prayed to Loki in front of the others, the more their interest grew. James Potter was quick to claim Loki was the coolest ever, adding an effigy of the God to his own small altar. Remus, after learning Loki was known for shapeshifting and granting his followers the ability to master such things with greater ease, added his own little hand-carved statue. Lastly was Peter, though he did it more as a way to appease them and never bothered setting up his own altar, since his family was one of those that didn't believe in all that nonsense.'
Their dedication to Loki only grew by the year. More than once, they had been about to pull a prank when the sudden feeling of being watched came over them, along with the distant feeling of amusement. Or when they were about to be caught by Filtch, the man would somehow overlook their hiding place. Even if their feet were sticking out underneath a tapestry. Sirius had always heard that Trickster Gods were powerful but finicky deities to please; it drove them to try harder to do just that. Once they had figured out Remus' hairy little problem, the boy had even admitted that since he began worshipping Loki, his transformations were growing increasingly easier. They were in no way a walk in the park, but now he was far less likely to wake covered in his own blood with new scars. There had even been a few nights of complete peace, when after the painful transformation, Moony would curl up in a ball, a phantom hand soothing his hackles whenever they started to rise.
This is all to say that the marauders were extremely devout.
They still worshiped their familial gods, but Loki had become their magic-bound patron. While Peter had chosen not to join, James, Sirius, and Remus, the night after James had finally turned 15 and they were old enough to make such choices, decided to perform a ritual. After how easy the animagus transformation came to them towards the end of the third year, they knew what they would do. They had been gathering all they needed for years now, small tokens of past pranks, trinkets they had found that seemed to resonate with the same power they felt, and their God's favored food and drink. But most importantly, their blood and a raven. They had debated the last one back and forth. After years of seeing Sirius use his athame and trying it themselves, the blood didn't matter despite how dark some would find it. But killing a living creature was a bigger step. It was James who finally convinced them. Though Sirius had only jokingly brought up the animal sacrifices his family partook in and wondered if Loki might appreciate it, it had caused something dark and pleased to momentarily fill the room. Peter had been terrified, hiding under his bed covers, but the other three had just looked over at their large shared altar with surprise. "Well, I guess that's decided then," Remus had shrugged, ready to move on to the following item on their list.
James had silently watched as Sirius squawked in surprise. "Remus, we can't, that's something my horrible family would do!"
Remus had just rolled his eyes, "Sirius, just because your family does something doesn't mean others shouldn't do it. After all, you even said that your mother prays to Mab daily, but that doesn't stop you from doing the same for Loki."
"But-" Sirius fumbled for words, hands flapping about. "But that's different! This is taking a life!" Over the years, Sirius had grown to despise everything his mother stood for even more. With her devotion to a rising dark lord, she was becoming a greater risk to Regulus. There had even been talk during a dinner party with their cousins about Regulus joining the cause. Their mother, of course, thought it would be an honor, and their father, like always, sat at the head of the table, eating mechanically with dead eyes. Sirius wanted to scream, but he had learned that it was best at times like these to hold his tongue. But the moment he was alone with his baby brother, he started ranting, looking around with fevered eyes for something that could save Regulus from that fate. His baby brother had grown more subdued over the year, cold and distant to those outside of his limited circle of trust. However, Sirius knew he was still just as kind as the little boy who tried to bring a bird with a broken wing into the house to heal. Their mother, of course, found out and forced Regulus to snap its neck, placed it at her altar, and then cracked it open to get at its heart. She made Regulus watch the whole time and reprimanded him when he cried. After that, she had forced him to be at her side whenever she prayed and had even forced him kill a few small animals with his bare hands on threat of harming Sirius if he didn't. All Sirius had been able to do was watch with hard eyes from the corner of the room, glaring at Walburga as if he could kill her with his mind alone. When their prayers were finally over, Sirius would herd Regulus to his room and hold him as his body was wracked by desperate sobs. The one time Walburga had tried to pull the same trick with Sirius, he had just grabbed the rabbit she held out by the ears and twisted as hard as he could, glaring at his mother through the whole thing before handing the body back. Sirius would never forget the pleased upturned of the corners of her mouth as she said, 'At least in this, you aren't a disappointment. I'm proud.' He had vomited while sobbing over his toilet. Regulus curled into his side and rubbed his back.
All this is to say, when Remus so casually brought up killing a raven, he nearly flipped his lid. When Remus continued to act nonplused and even confused at Sirius' outburst, he jumped forward, tackling Remus to his bed, gripping his shirt collar tight as he shook him. "Remus, we can't! I can't, and I won't let you!" His manic behavior had shocked Remus, who just lay there in confusion. Sirius was trembling above him, tears starting to build up on dark lashes, and his chin quivering.
Sirius would never know it, but it was that moment when Remus realized he was in love. "Siri, what's wrong?"
And Sirius just fell into him, falling to pieces under Remus' hands, James gently padding across the room to join them on the bed before drawing and silencing the curtains. It had taken a while for Sirius to steady enough to tell them the story, the emotions still as fresh as on the day it happened. It was a festering wound that had never been cleaned and given the chance to heal.
But somehow, just how horrified James and Remus were by the story eased that pain. He had never really spoken of the details of what his mother was like, and had made it clear in first-year after a howler that it was a topic that was completely off the table and to never ask again. They had respected that, hoping that with time, Sirius would come to trust them enough to share that part of himself. So when Sirius finally did, and they felt the same horror he had, the catharsis he felt almost sent him back to tears. He was so relieved that someone else saw what was wrong.
Sometimes, when his mind was exceedingly dark and desperate, he wondered if maybe this was all normal. That there was something wrong with him. That his mother was right to treat them as she did. After all, their family had seen how she behaved, sure, mostly only glimpses, but more than enough, and never did anything. Walburga would mention something she had done to them. Uncle Cygnus or Aunt Druella would nod understandingly and move on. As if it wasn't even worth asking why they were receiving such treatment. So it must've been clear to everyone who looked that he had deficiencies.
But James and Remus didn't think it was expected, normal, or okay. James had started tearing up, always the empath of the three. While Remus held them both as tight as he possibly could, the way his fingers curled and relaxed against Sirius' back let him know how lucky Walburga was in a room with Moony. After they had calmed down, now lying under the covers and in pajamas with Sirius in the middle, James finally spoke. His voice was low and hesitant, and he refused to look at either of them. "You know how there are rumors that my family is descended from the Peverells?"
"Yes?" Sirius was lost on what had brought this up.
"It's true," James whispered, glasses off as he looked up at the canopy.
Sirius was still too wrung out to understand what James was getting at, but Remus let out a little surprised 'oh'.
James nodded tightly.
Sirius looked back and forth between them.
Remus sighed, reaching out to lay a hand on James' chest, "Siri, what are the Peverells best known for?"
Sirius blinked, his reply coming with the practiced ease his mother had beaten into him. "The most ancient and noble house of Peverell rose to prominence due to their well-known ability with enchantments and the ability to create powerful artifacts. There were also always rumors that they were necro-" His words cut off. Sirius looked at James as if he had never seen him before, trying to slot this fact into place with the happy-go-lucky, mischievous, and sappily romantic boy he knew. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't see how the pieces fit together. "But... you're?"
James eyes screwed shut, his hand coming to hide his face as if he could stop them from looking at him. A single jerky nod was his only reply.
Sirius gapped, a tense silence falling over them.
"But?"
James turned; his eyes, which had only ever looked at Sirius with a fond softness, were suddenly as cold and hard as any of his mother's blades. Sirius' whole body jerked, not sure what to do with all the anxious energy suddenly building up within him. "Sirius Black, I love you, you're my best friend, but I can't change who I am or the magic that runs through my veins. There is a reason we have never confirmed or denied our connection to the Peveralls. Everyone tends to lean toward either it's just a rumor or the connection is so distant that all the family gifts were lost. There is a reason we have never taken up the Peverall seat despite how much it would help our standing or political goals. And that, that sudden fear you feel of me. That is why."
Shame suddenly rushed through him; now that he was looking for it, the hurt James was trying to hide was plain to see. After all, family magic was family magic; there was no changing or denying it. Bad things can happen to those who try to refuse their families' gifts. Even Sirius, who hated his family with a burning passion, would never try to deny the shadows that sometimes clung to him, the way his eyes were sometimes much darker than they should be, or when a tendril would wrap around his ankle under his trousers during class like a child looking for attention. And Sirius also knew just how much it meant that James was telling him this.
Family magic in general wasn't something spoken about with outsiders. Some families went so far as not to tell their spouses what the family magic was until a child was born from the union. There were, of course, always rumors, many accurate, but very few ever publicly confirmed. And James, who had more reason to hide it than many had, just trusted them with this, and Sirius' reaction had been fear and revulsion. For a moment, all he could see was his baby brother snapping the neck of that poor defenseless bird.
Sirius fumbled forward, wrapping James' still tense body up in his arms. And James, the boy who had helped a crying first-year find their missing toad, collapsed into him. The relief his friend felt was coming off him in almost palpable waves. "I'm sorry," Sirius tried to soothe, one hand tangled in James' messy hair and the other running up and down his back. Remus, who had been watching this silently, finally moved, curling around Sirius until they were spooning, wrapping his long arms around them.
"Just... I'd never make you... But..." James forced between breaths.
"You want to?" Sirius asked, doing his damndest to keep any inflection out of his voice.
"It's part of me. From the moment my accidental magic animated a frog to the moment I finally join my ancestors, it will always be there. Humming in my bones, and whispering messages through the veil. I'm sorry I've never..." James trailed off, pulling back to stare into Sirius' eyes. And suddenly there was something otherworldly about his friend. "She's sorry her weakness left you and Regulus unprotected. She tried to hold on for as long as she could, but she couldn't stay. It was her time. She is still sorry... And furious. She's so very furious. At the world. With Arcturius. But mostly with Walburga. So very furious and so very sad..." James trailed off, eyes going distant and body going unnaturally still.
He wasn't even breathing, and Sirius had almost panicked, but Remus stopped him. Whispering in his ear, "This is his magic, it won't hurt him."
So they watched and waited; it was the longest minute of their lives, but finally James was back, and continued his sentence as if nothing had happened. "Yes, I want to."
"You know you just..." Sirius was struggling to find words to explain what had just happened, forcing himself to focus on the now instead of the words from his dead grandmother.
James nods. "It's not usually so... Forceful. But because I've had to hide it during school, it can take over when I first let it loose again."
Remus was obviously worried by this, and there was something in his eyes and tone that spoke of both longing and fear, "You're okay though, right? They won't hurt you?"
"No, of course not, they understand why I ignore them most of the time, but they can get a little eager when I let go. Especially if one of them has a message. I'm sorry I didn't deliver it sooner..." James blinked a few times.
"You were scared?" Remus' tone was soft, as if not to spook their friend.
"Yes."
And Sirius had a hard time believing James could be scared of anything. He was always larger than life. But he could see how being in constant fear of what people would do if they found out he was a necromancer would make anything else seem insignificant.
"She's been waiting for years for me to speak to you. The moment I first sat down next to you, she started."
"She told you?" And Sirius didn't know how to feel about that. He was uncomfortable at the thought of James knowing everything that had happened since their first conversation. He wouldn't mind the James of now knowing. But he knew himself well enough that at eleven, being confronted about his shitty home life by another eleven-year-old would have been... not good.
"No!" James rushed. "No. It's hard- Well, they don't exactly speak persay when it's just this. It's more impressions and feelings. When I first met you, all I knew was that there was a woman who loved you and was very sad. The better I know who the message is for, the easier it is for them to get across what they are saying. And most of the time, it's just an ever-present hum in the background. There are so many of them that want to say so many things to so many people, mostly 'I miss yous' and such. It all fades unless I'm focusing. And even then, only the ones with 'important' things to say speak when it's like this. So with what we've been talking about, with me relaxing my control, and just how very much she feels and has to say, well, that when you get that kind of reaction."
"Oh."
"And after? When you..." Remus obviously wanted to know more; his interest was apparent, even though he was trying not to seem ghoulish.
"Ah. That." James rubbed his hand through his hair as he thought of what to say. "Well... I am a necromancer, but what just happened wasn't exactly necromancy."
"It wasn't?" Remus couldn't hide his interest anymore. And Sirius couldn't help but want to tease him. Still, at the same time, if James wanted to talk about this, Sirius wasn't going to make it any more complicated than it needed to be.
"Kind of, but at the same time not really." James huffed, trying his best to find the words to make them understand. And feeling a growing delight in being able to talk about this with someone other than his parents. It wasn't a topic you could bring up in everyday conversation like you could about the Potter family magic, which bent towards innovation. "A true necromancer, not some black wix proclaiming to be such, is a bridge. There is an equal give-and-take to everything. For every time they come through, I go through as well."
"You die?!" Sirius and Remus both scream in alarm, hands frantically running over James' body to check if he was okay.
James just chuckled and pushed their hands away. "Calm down, why don't you! I promise I'm fine, it's only sort of death. We Peveralls have been doing this for centuries; we know how to evade death."
"The cloak? The Cloak?!" Remus sat bolt upright, staring down at James in awe.
Once again, James was laughing, "Yes, that cloak."
"James Potter, tell me we did not stain a Deathly Hollow with butterbeer?!" Remus looked frantic.
"Don't worry, Moony, the cloak I use isn't that cloak. Though the cloak you're thinking of only sort of exists now." Remus relaxed, waiting for James to explain further, and Sirius just blinked in confusion and awe. "The cloak we use is a family artifact, an ancient one, it's just a copy of the mythic cloak. It still works partially because the story of the three brothers has some truth to it, and the items were remade with enough power for them to still work."
Remus motioned for him to continue.
"Nosy," He mock huffed, "Anyways, the Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus were already powerful necromancers in their own right. And the family magic was already bent more towards necromancy than anything else. So when they invented the three artifacts, they were imbued with family magic. And after decades of hard work to make the Hallows instead of keeping them, they used them in a ritual to bind themselves closer to their patron God, DEATH."
"Why and how did you say that in all capitals?" There was so much going on, and Sirius didn't even know what to focus on at this point.
"Ah, well, DEATH isn't like all the other deities. All gods or goddesses associated with death are actually one being, DEATH. Any being who rises into godhood and is considered a God of death by their worshipers is automatically consumed and subsumed. There is only one DEATH, and it takes all. There is no room for any other. So while someone might worship Hades and someone else Anubis, in truth, they are the same being. Like a many-sided diamond, you can look through it at many different angles and see different things. However, in the end, it is all still the same diamond."
"I wonder if other gods work like that." Remus hummed, fingers twitching as if looking for a notebook but knowing better than to write such things down.
"Not that I know of, and with how close my family magic aligns with such things, I would bet on DEATH being unique. Anyway, back to the three brothers. By sacrificing such powerful artifacts, steeped in their own and their family's magic, along with the sacrifice of years of study and hard work to make them. Well, DEATH was so impressed it gave them a boon. It is a combination of all their masterworks that was imprinted onto the very family magic. Every soul born who is Peverall by magic is a Necromancer, and they all have three special abilities granted by death. The ability to talk to the dead, the ability to control the dead, and the ability to evade death. Note that the last one is not DEATH but death. We still die, but we more or less get to choose when, within reason. "
Their minds were absolutely blown, but they couldn't help but want more. "So why weren't the Gaunts ever rumored to be necromancers?"
"Good question, the best we understand is that Ignotus had children after the ritual, while Cadmus had them before. Antioch died without children, leaving only one line. The family magic within Cadmus' children was already settled by the time the line was blessed. And while DEATH did take the three hallows and imprint them on our souls, it was kind enough to leave something behind. They paled in comparison to the original master work, but all these centuries later, they still work. The wand and stone are lost as far as we know, but the cloak has been handed down faithfully from parent to oldest child."
James had warmed significantly to the topic, the first time he could explain to someone just how amazing his family was and all they had learned. He knew he was probably saying too much, and his parents wouldn't be happy with him for doing this, but this was Sirius and Remus. They were his in a way he couldn't explain. He loved Peter, but it just wasn't the same. That was why, after the initial hesitation, he was more than happy to share. James would still get an unbreakable vow; he wasn't a complete idiot, but that could wait a bit.
"Now, where were we before we got sidetracked?"
"When you died for a moment there," It was of course Remus who answered, by this point Sirius was just lying back, arms behind his head as he took in all this information.
"Yes, that! Okay, since we are marked soul-deep, it doesn't matter if we leave our bodies for a little while. Nothing extreme, of course, but as long as nothing goes wrong, we could tank a killing curse or two." James mocked buffing his nails on his shirt.
'The absolute peacock,' Sirius couldn't help but think, when finally the words hit him.
"Fucking hell..." Remus trailed off.
"Fucking hell," Sirius stated, his tone absolutely done with James Potter and his shit.
"Well, that's in theory at least. There are records of it happening, but we don't go around testing it." James was once again looking sheepish. "One of the big things when worshiping DEATH is that you have to respect it and what it represents to humans. It is an end; it can be put off or stalled, but never cheated. All things die, and when they do, DEATH will be there. So while I do technically die, and it doesn't happen every time, just when someone is especially forceful, or I need to know more, I am still also alive. It's like the other being and I overlap for a moment. A bridge, if you will. They become a little alive, I become a little dead. Fair trade."
"So my grandmother killed you," Sirius deadpans.
"Only a little," James chuckled. "Look, in truth, while the type of necromancy my family is blessed with is rooted in DEATH, normal necromancy, the kind I perform when not relying on family magic, is more rooted in life magic than anything else.
"Huh, never thought of it that way," Remus cocked his head to the side, thinking about this new take on what seemed like such a dangerous form of magic. It made sense that the magic that helped bring things back was life magic. He didn't even want to think about the implications this brought up when it came to the spells used to make plants grow faster, which were also life-based.
"But that's also the problem. Like I said, DEATH can't be cheated. You can technically bring something back to life, but it will always be a pale imitation. With people, it's all their knowledge stripped from the parts that make them who they are. And those parts, the soul basically, really hate being split like that. It's why people think necromancy is so hard; not only are you trying to steal from DEATH, but you're also fighting the being you're bringing back. And even if you succeed, you pay a price. DEATH is not merciful; it just is. It's all a balance. You pay with your own life force to power necromancy. This is why necromancers are so rare. If you practice to get good enough to become well known, you're either hunted down or use so much of yourself that it kills you. And let me tell you, death is not kind to necromancers. All the souls that you were messing with. Well, now you're in their domain, and there is far more of them than of you." James shivered a little; he had seen what angry souls had done to necromancers before, and it wasn't pretty. Generally, souls were harmless, but when they weren't, it was terrifying.
"You said you perform necromancy outside of that of your family's blessing?" Remus was back to worrying; had their friend been shaving years off his life?
"I do, but the safe way. I never bring back anything sentient. So most animals are okay, and when I do, I don't try to control them. This means they are pulling on the magic of life around them while tethered to me, rather than using my life. That frog I talked about, all it did was spend a few moments hopping around. And it was just the skeleton, so it really wasn't that big a deal."
"Raising a frog from the dead at two, not a big deal, he says. I feel bad for your parents."
"Hey! My parents were thrilled! We even have a couple of photos in a scrapbook of it."
"Let me guess, under it, it says 'James' first reanimation.'" Sirius snarked, and when James didn't reply, Sirius finally sat up, looking his friend dead in the eye, as dead as that frog should have been, and said, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. James, please tell me there isn't a photo album with pictures of you and a bunch of zombies."
"First of all, they aren't zombies, and second, of course, they took photos. I was adorable." James huffed, crossing his arms and pouting at being teased.
"Wait, why did being a skeleton make a difference?" Remus saved James from any embarrassment for now. He was sure Sirius would continue to bring it up until he finally got the chance to see it for himself.
James took the distraction like a lifeline, "A fresh corpse and a skeleton are both technically dead, but for the purpose of necromancy, one is definitely more dead than the other. But you don't hear much about people animating skeletons; all necromancers do it at some point, but the people who were well known enough to be written about mainly used fresh bodies. Since it's mostly black-magic-tainted wix who become necromancers, outside a few blessed families, they are usually after the shock value. What's more horrific, a skeleton coming after you or the reanimated corpse of someone you love?"
"That's fucked up."
"Most necromancers are fucked up," James agrees easily. "Even some of my ancestors were, well, let's say less than pleasant. But on the plus side, since families with blessings like ours, because no matter how much I might joke about it our connection isn't unique, are extremely rare. Rare, yes. Unique, no. Well, such families are tied closely to DEATH, and if you're fucking around, you will absolutely find out."
James took a steady breath to shake off how light-hearted this had been, needing them to know just how serious he was, "You both know I trust and love you, but I'm going to need a vow."
"Of course, unbreakable?" Sirius asks, and James nods. "Okay, Moons get to binding."
It is easy to make the vows. They wouldn't have told without them, but with them, they are all assured the secret can't be forced out. There wasn't much more to say at that point. James was sure they would have questions later, and he would answer them gladly, but for now, he was just tired. So he lay down, pushing and kneeing Sirius until the boy was between himself and Moony and latched on like a kola. He can now explain to them why he was always so touchy-feely beyond just what he probably would be otherwise. Death magic was cold, and it was part of him, so no matter how warm his body actually was, there was always a creeping chill. No amount of clothes, blankets, or warm fires would ever keep it at bay. The only thing that soothed it was the warmth of life against his skin and beneath his fingertips. And Sirius, who was and still is touch starved, and Remus, who tended to be closer to Moony at night, no matter the moon phase, both welcome his platonic cuddling. Most nights, he would at some point wind up in one of their beds. He hardly ever stayed there all night, mostly just joining for a few minutes until he was warm enough to go back to sleep. But there were times like these where he gave in completely, wheedled until one or both of them was pressed close. He always slept like the dead when the living were near.
And now that they knew all that they did, James was sure they would completely understand and be willing to share their beds more often. They could ignore anything that happened below the waist in the morning. James would gladly put up with any amount of poking if it let him feel this good. There was a slight worry about when Remus and Sirius finally realized they loved each other. James knew they were both idiots when it came to emotions, and it would be years before they got their act together. James was betting on the sixth year's winter break. Peter had just studied the two when it came up, where Sirius was practically sitting in Remus' lap with neither of them seeming to notice, and said, "Don't think so, Prongs. I bet it won't happen until the end of our seventh year. You'll be so frustrated with them by then that you'll lock them in a closet together."
"Fuck. Pete, you're right," James sighed.
Now, James wondered if he could sneakily get them to agree to sharing a bed with him more while conventionally waking up before them every morning, leaving them to wake alone. He was sure that nature would take its course eventually; it just needed a little push. Maybe he could get them together by the end of this year. James was not looking forward to the confusion about sexuality and the jealousy that would come if they were left to their own devices and started trying to date other people.
Really, the cuddling was for their own good.