A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 60: A Bit of Warmth in the Cold

Messy and complicated and close. Too close.

He knew he was transparent. Knew Sirius probably saw every piece of him coming undone. Knew Remus was keeping count of all the silences James didn't fill.

But they didn't say it out loud.

And he didn't offer.

Sirius looked like he had one more joke lined up, probably about James being some lovesick idiot, but the way James hadn't even blinked—hadn't moved—made something shift in the room.

"Alright," he said, a bit slower now, tossing his wand onto his bed and sitting up straighter. "What actually happened?"

James didn't look up. Still facedown on his mattress. Still silent.

Remus, towelling off his face from the sink and leaning on the bathroom doorframe, gave Sirius a look, then crossed the room, planting himself at the edge of his own bed.

"It can't be that bad," Remus offered gently. "Whatever it is."

James lifted his head just enough to look at them. Hair in disarray, dark circles under his eyes, the unmistakable look of someone who'd slept but hadn't rested.

"Let's just say," he said slowly, "I've irredeemably and irrevocably embarrassed myself in a way that can never, ever be taken back."

Remus blinked. "So, just another day then?"

James let out a dry noise—half groan, half laugh—and dropped his face back into his pillow.

Sirius just cocked his head, grin still fixed in place. "What, you think he's dying of shame for no reason? I'd bet my wand he finally tried something. Laid all his cards out."

Remus gave Sirius a mild look. "Maybe lay off for a minute."

But James didn't move.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Merlin. You did, didn't you?"

No answer.

"Oh no." Sirius looked delighted. "Did Anastasia Gaunt finally reject the great James Potter?"

James sat up too fast. "She didn't—"

The air shifted.

Remus stiffened slightly, and Sirius's grin faltered. Just for a second.

"Oh," he said. Blinking. "Wait. You're serious."

James raked a hand through his hair, groaning again. "Can we not do this right now?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Sirius muttered, sitting up straighter. "You did, didn't you? You actually—" he laughed, sharp and incredulous. "You confessed. You told her."

"Not— not in so many words," James said into the pillow, voice muffled and bitter. "It just—happened."

"'Just happened,'" Sirius repeated, like the words offended him. "Brilliant."

"Sirius—" Remus warned quietly.

"No, I want to understand the logic here," Sirius snapped, pushing off the windowsill. "What, you thought maybe this would be the prime time to dump your feelings on her?"

James pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes narrowed. "It wasn't like that."

"No?" Sirius challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that. She's already got one psychopath trying to own her like property, and now you—what? Decided to throw yourself into the mix because your feelings got too loud to manage?"

"That's not fair," Remus cut in, voice low but firm. "You know that's not fair."

Sirius ignored him, eyes locked on James. "She doesn't need this right now." Sirius wasn't backing down. "You could've just been there for her. Quietly. Like you've been all year. But now you've gone and—what—made it real?"