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on the subject of home

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Wow, James thinks, this feels like home.

He knows he is an extraordinarily lucky child, to have always had some place that felt like home. Sometimes, he despairs of the fact that he's torn between two countries, and he's sure he's allowed that, but he has always had a home, and that is more than some children ever get. He is keenly aware that he is even more lucky that his parents were always there and attentive and loving, and knows that luck, already monumental, increased exponentially thanks to the fact that his family had money enough to keep him in clothes that fit and well fed and then some.

He knows he is immeasurably lucky to have even one home, but here he is, finding another.

Sirius is splayed out on the dormitory floor, making his crude attempt at starfishhood look elegant, while lecturing Peter, who’s curled up in a little ball at the foot of his bed, looking twitchy and dissatisfied. Remus, never one to throw himself into the fray, is watching them from his seat on the windowsill, a lazy, contented smile on his face. James plops down next to Peter, throws an arm around his shoulders, and edges into what Sirius is calling their “debate”, even though it seems awfully one sided to him.

“Yeah”, he says, “maybe Petey can’t beat you in a foot race, but he’s a loads better friend than you are.”

Peter brightens up as Sirius frowns melodramatically, and James grins, ruffling Peter’s hair.

Yeah, he thinks, this does feel like home.