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Growing up with magic had given James a rounded view of its limitations. He’d seen his grandfather surrounded by longevity elixir, sighed as his mother rubbed whatever the tabloid cosmetologist wizards told her would rejuvenate her skin, he watched his father guzzle down potion after potion to give him back his former body-but it was all garbage. His grandfather died, his mother looked as she always had and his father still had his belly.
He pitied the muggle born first years he saw every year, so full of wonder and excitement, because magic wasn’t everything.
Wizards died. Illness couldn’t always be stopped. There were floors at St. Mungo’s devoted to those so broken by magic that they couldn’t be fixed. You can’t stop hunger. Violence still happened, crimes sometimes were unsolvable. You can’t make someone love you.
Yes, there were potions and brews to mimic the feeling, but it wasn’t real.
James nursed a glass Firewhiskey while he contemplated this, dead to the party around him.
Severus didn’t like crowds. Too much noise, too many unfamiliar people, too much touching (accidental and not), too many risks. He liked his current environment, just a group of people he knew in a living room he knew. There was space if he needed it, plenty of liquor if he wanted it, people he felt okay with.
Regulus was telling him a rumor about some girl from school while he fixed them two cups of sweet vodka, flushed from the last round. Severus accepted the cup and welcomed the diluted state of mind it encompassed. He felt loose and happy as the room began chanting the countdown.
As the room erupted into cheers Severus laughed as Regulus pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Snug in his friend’s arms he wondered if there was ever going to be more.
James made a wish as the New Year was ushered in. Just a simple wish, no begging, not all that much hope if he was honest. He swallowed the last of his drink, smiling at the thought.
For Severus to love him.