There's a sort of high that comes from not giving a shit. At least if you do it right. It's almost like a switch in Sirius's brain that he can just...flick. And then it's as if nothing matters—what people think, what they want from him. It's better than sex, honestly.
The come down's a bitch though.
He used to think he could control it—the switch. It wasn't until last year, until he told Snape about Remus, until he watched the horror wash over James's face, that he realized how stupid that was.
To this day he can't really remember that moment—the moment he decided to blow-up his whole life. It certainly hadn't occurred to him that that was what he was doing. It had all just seemed so pointless for a moment—the secrets, the fear—and then it had seemed funny. The idea of Snape face to face with a werewolf.
Not a werewolf.
His brain corrects itself.
Moony.
Remus.
The boy with the beautiful eyes and the shaggy hair and the smile that's afraid of itself.
That boy.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
He hadn't had any of those thoughts that night though. Hadn't felt any of that ache. He'd been alone for hours by that point, slowly growing more and more numb. Until he didn't mind so much that his uncle was dead. That it was probably his fault. It was so like his mother honestly, to kill someone just to get back at him. Just to punish him. He'd stayed alone until he could make himself not feel it anymore.
And then Snape had been there, making some crack about Remus being sick. About how frail he was. How pathetic. Sirius could remember laughing at that. Because it was funny, honestly, to have Severus Snape calling Remus Lupin weak. When at that very moment he was mere minutes away from turning into a full-fledged monster.
Not a monster.
Moony.
Remus.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
In that moment the only thing that had felt funnier than Snape not knowing what an ass he was making out of himself. Was him knowing exactly how much of an ass he was making out of himself. So he'd told him where to go, if he wanted to know why Remus was always so sick. And as he'd watched Snape walk away he'd felt that familiar high. Of doing the thing he wasn't supposed to do. Of not giving a shit.
The comedown really is a bitch.
It's early, too earlier, honestly. No one in their right mind would be up this early, but then, James has always been a little more nuts than people give him credit for. At least in Sirius's opinion.
He's sitting in the stands, watching the Gryffindor team finish their first practice since tryouts. They look alright, the holes left behind by Frank and Alice are big, but not insurmountable, and James has been able to find some good new talent. The Keeper in particular—a third year, Jeremy or Renly or something—is going to be an absolute star. Sirius can already see it.
He watches them land, watches them huddle around James on the ground. Mary's the easiest to pick out even from this distance—dark hair braided down her back, hip cocked, arms crossed. He can't help but wonder how that's going for James—getting her under control. Mary's a brilliant player, and honestly the funniest person Sirius knows, but she'll cause problems just for the hell of it. And she's certainly not afraid to push James around.
Sirius tears his eyes away from the ground, grabbing hold of his own broom and heading down to the pitch. Him and James are...honestly, he doesn't really know. They're friendly, he guesses. But even thinking the word makes him scrunch up his face like he's smelt something bad. Him and James have never been "friendly" before. They were strangers and then friends and then brothers. There was no intermediate stage of awkward polite small talk.
Sirius hates it.
He gets down to the field just as the team starts breaking up and heading towards the locker rooms. He stays in the shadows of the stands, watching James talk to one of the newer players. Sirius can't hear what he's saying, but he imagines it's some sort of pep talk. James looks fully in his element.
This is a big deal, James being Captain. It's one of those things he's always talked about, even back in first year. He had so many dreams—Sirius had never met anyone like that before. Someone who knew what they wanted and thought they could get it. He came from a family with very specific requirements. You had your life dictated to you and you coloured within those lines. The Black family didn't have dreams, they had expectations.
James claps the kid on the shoulder, and as the younger boy starts to pull away Sirius steps forward, trying to pretend he isn't nervous. Because he shouldn't be. Because he never used to be.
"Oi! Wanker with the bad hair," he calls out, causing James to swivel around, confusion soon replaced by a surprised grin.
"Nah, it can't be, look at you! All up and dressed and it's not even eight a.m yet. I've never been so proud," James wipes a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye.
"You're about as funny as the Bloody Baron you know that?"
"I happen to think the Baron is plenty funny, thank you very much."
"I love it when you prove my point."
James snorts, shoving Sirius's shoulder playfully before his eyes fall on the broom in his hands. He looks back at Sirius, brow arched in question.
He feels his nerves flare up again but quickly shuts them down. It's such a stupid feeling. Especially here. About this.
"I was wondering if you had any energy left for a quick fly?" his causal tone almost sounds convincing.
"Er..." James pauses, and Sirius feels his heart sink. There never would have been a question before, but he knows that now James is thinking about Remus. How Remus will feel when they walk into breakfast together, how quickly he'll excuse himself from the table.
"You know what, don't worry about it," Sirius tries to laugh it off. "Never mind, it's fine." He starts to turn away.
"Hey—no," James calls out, causing Sirius to pause, turning back to him. "Course I have energy for a fly," James shoots him a slightly strained smile as he picks up his own broom. "We've got—what? Half an hour?"
Sirius nods. "Yeah, yeah, about. You sure? Cause if you're—"
"Sirius," James gives him a pointed look, "don't be an idiot, get on the bloody broom." And with that James swings his leg over his own and kicks off, bringing the first genuine smile to Sirius's face.
It feels good—the minute he's off the ground—it feels real good. He didn't touch his broom all summer, couldn't quite bear it. Every time he looked at it it was just a reminder of another thing he'd lost. He isn't James, flying isn't his life, but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss it. That he isn't still gutted that after years of talking about what they were going to do when James made Captain he isn't even there to see it. To be a part of it.
They fly a few laps around the pitch, doing dives and flips. Sirius can do this one move that James has never mastered—where he swings down, hanging off his broom by his legs. Technically, it's against regulations (it's not, strictly speaking, safe) and when he tried it in a game McGonagall benched him (it was worth it honestly), but it drives James batty that he can't do it.
"I just don't understand how you get back up," James says as he circles around Sirius who is just settling back onto his broom. "Where does the momentum come from?"
"A magician never reveals his secrets."
James lets out an irritated scoff. "Prick."
"Twat"
They both smile, it feels good. It feels normal. Sort of. Almost.
"So," Sirius says, as they float lazily in the air, the early morning sky growing brighter around them. "How's the team?"
He sees James shift into captain mode, sees the serious look in his eyes, the straightening of his shoulders. That's his best mate right there. Fucking unstoppable.
"Really good actually, it's the most new players since our second year but so far they're meshing really well. I think we stand a chance."
"You better, if I have to watch Slytherin win again I swear I'm going to drown myself in the lake," he ignores the scratchy feeling in his chest when he talks about himself as a spectator. Just another member of the crowd.
"Merlin, me too," James runs a hand through his hair. "They have a solid team, but, I think our real competition is Ravenclaw. They have a chip on their shoulders after last year."
"Oh they have a chip?" Sirius asks coldly. "You're the one who had a Bludger lodged in your fucking skull. Tell your beaters to give them shit all game. I swear I'll get up here and do it myself if I have to. Cheating bastards."
James stops moving, looking at Sirius and arching his brow.
"What?" Sirius demands defensively.
"You're just sounding a bit bitter that's all."
"Please, bitter? Moi? Never. I'm sweet as honey," he smiles with all his teeth, causing James to laugh through his nose. "I just might have also meticulously planned the deaths of every single Ravenclaw player who was on the field that day."
James rolls his eyes. "You know it wasn't all of their faults right?"
Sirius shrugs, unconcerned by this fact. "Guilt by association."
"That's not how that works."
"We'll see."
James shakes his head, laughing dryly. "Thank Merlin you won't be playing against them," he freezes, realizing what he's just said, eyes growing wide. "I don't mean—obviously I want you to be—" he sighs. "I didn't mean that the way it came out."
Sirius nods stiffly. "Yeah, I got that. Don't worry about it. It's fine," which is not true but he doesn't want James's pity. It won't fix anything. It'll just make him feel like even more of a fuck up.
He hooks his feet under his footrests and lies back on his broom. James making a disapproving noise in the background that brings the smile back to Sirius's face.
"Don't know why you do that, it's bloody uncomfortable."
"Maybe you're just doing it wrong."
James flies over him sticking out his tongue before climbing higher in the sky. Sirius laughs, watching James do a few flips and barrel turns. He can hear birds somewhere—it sounds far away—and the noise of the lake gently brushing against the shore. Right now, Remus is probably showering, then he'll try to do some reading before going down to breakfast. He'll have eggs—over easy—on toast—lightly buttered—with some gross mixture of every juice available at the table.
"What?" he'd said once, when he caught Sirius making a face at his glass. "It's all just fruit anyway."
Of course, Sirius won't be there to see Remus's incredibly predictable morning routine or incredibly gross beverage habits. He doesn't sit with them at meals anymore. One look at Remus's face on their first day back was enough to tell him that he wasn't welcome. So he sits with the girls instead. It's what he did at the end of last year too.
"I just want you to know," James is slightly breathless from all the flying as he pulls himself back up to Sirius's side. "That if you fall asleep and roll off your broom I'm not going to catch you."
Sirius snorts, still staring up at the sky. "Some best mate you are."
"Hey man, I'm just being honest."
There's a beat of silence.
"Your boy doing alright then?" Sirius asks, cringing at the falsely cheery sound of his voice. Not because he isn't happy for James, but because he doesn't know how to talk about this.
More silence.
Sirius thinks it's probably good that his current reclined position prevents them from making eye contact.
"My boy?" James asks eventually.
"Oh I'm sorry, does he have a title?" Sirius asks dryly. "Boyfriend? Lover? James's bitch?"
James laughs. "Definitely that last one."
"I thought so," another pause, this has been a new thing with them recently, this stilted air to their conversations. Both of them hesitating too often, tiptoeing around one another. "But seriously—"
"Siriusly?"
Sirius glares, even though he's still not looking at James. "Potter, we've had this discussion. That pun belongs to me and me alone."
"Sorry, sorry," he hears the sound of him stifling a laugh. "Forgive me, I forgot. You were saying something?"
Sirius huffs. "Well now I'm feeling way less generous, but I was saying..." he clears his throat. "That, you know, whatever you want me to—to call him, or you, or this thing—whatever you want. Just...let me know okay?" They haven't really talked about it since James told him. Too much happened after that. Too much silence. Of course, James is a bit like that in general—loud and obnoxious about the things that don't matter and quiet about the things that do.
Finally, Sirius pulls himself upright again, getting a bit of a head rush as he sits properly on his broom. He look over at his best friend whose face is a knot of emotions Sirius can't seem to untie. He's about to change the subject again when James finally speaks.
"Honestly, I don't really have names for...any of it," he says, a bit nervously.
Sirius nods. "That's fair. Personally, I've never been a big fan of labels."
"Yeah," James rubs the back of his neck, looking distant.
"Do Effie and Fleamont know?"
James lets out a dry laugh. "Funny, that's the first thing he wanted to know too." And then he cringes, like he's just given too much away.
Sirius, who, quite honestly, was never going to like anyone James seriously dated because he's always been bad at sharing, definitely isn't a fan of this guy. Not a fan of the sneaking and lying and secrets. James has never kept anything from Sirius before—at least not that he knows of. And he hates this guy for putting that wedge between them.
"He know them?" Sirius asks. Because while, yes, he respects James's privacy, he is also desperate to figure out who this guy is.
James shrugs. "Knows "of" them more like."
Ah. That sounds like a pureblood then. Interesting. Certainly narrows it down.
"So?" he prods.
James blinks. "Sorry?"
Sirius rolls his eyes, exhaling dramatically. "Do they know?"
James continues to stare at him blankly before his brain catches up to him. "Oh—my parents? Merlin, I don't know," he runs a hand over his face. "Pretty sure my mum does, you know how she is."
Sirius nods, smiling a little. He does. She's brilliant.
"We haven't talked about it or anything, but, she says things sometimes...I don't know. She doesn't seem to care. My dad? Nah, not a clue. You saw him though, he's so busy these days."
Sirius likes Fleamont. He's a bit of nerd, but funny, and kind—and busy. He always has been, as long as Sirius has known him. James doesn't really talk about being bothered by it, but Sirius thinks sometimes he is.
"It—my parents, they've never, I don't know, they've never talked about marriage or heirs or any of that," James wrinkles his nose. "I know that stuff is, like, important. I know that the Potter name is important. But they've never made me feel like that was something that I had to carry on or plan my life around," he's looking at Sirius earnestly. "It was different for you?"
Sirius blinks, surprised by the question, and then he laughs. "Yeah, yeah it was different. It's—" he's not even sure where to start, memories flashing through his head he'd rather not see. "It's everything to them, the family name, you sort of—you sacrifice yourself to it. And I was—" He can feel it, the ghost of her fingers, on his shoulder, on the back of his neck, nails digging in. Reminding him that he was owned. She was always touching him like that. Possessively.
"Anyway," he shakes his head, eyes focusing again. "Anything that threatened the line was the root of all evil. That would have included..."
"Fancying boys?"
"Yeah," Sirius bites his lower lip, remembering how it had felt to press against Remus. To hold him properly. The way he hadn't realized he'd been craving. Hadn't let himself think about. "It would be a kind of corruption to them. Only a Black who was deficient in some way, weak or broken, would act against the interest of the family."
That sits between them, and Sirius swears they sink lower, like the words are an anchor, a weight dragging them down. He tries not to think about what came after that kiss. The way the shame and fear had felt so sharp—so real—like claws dragging through his chest, ripping him apart. He tries not to think about the look on Remus's face when he'd jumped back. When he'd left. Left him there. Alone.
It's all so much more complicated than people make it seem. I hate myself, he'd wanted to explain to Remus. I hate myself for doing it. For wanting it. But I don't hate you. I don't hate you for being there. I don't hate you for wanting it too.
James has gone pale and Sirius tries to smile, to shake it off. "But hey, it's not like I needed to snog blokes to be deficient in their eyes anyway right? I mostly ignored all that bullshit."
It's a blatant lie and he knows that James can tell. That he, more than anyone, knows all the insidious ways that Walburga has managed to stick to Sirius. The ways he hears her voice, and smells her breath, and feels her magic. They're so unimaginative, the insults she whispers in his ears on an almost daily basis:
Disappointment.
Worthless.
Embarrassment.
As though he wants to impress her. As though he wants to be something she's proud of. Of course, he knows that part of the reason his mother hates him so much is that she had been proud of him. She'd had a son, first try, provided an heir for the Noble House of Black, did her duty. Sirius was supposed to be her crowning achievement. And he had failed her at every turn.
"Padfoot?" James brings him back to the present, the sun now almost fully in the sky. He meets James's eyes—kind and warm, the polar opposite of his own. "It really is bullshit, all of it. You know that, right?"
Sirius struggles to swallow. "Yeah," he says, eyes trailing treacherously in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
"Remus told me," he finds himself saying suddenly, "that you know about—" he grits his teeth, a frustrated noise coming from the back of his throat. They're just words. When the fuck did he start being afraid of words? "Me and...him..."
"I do."
Sirius nods, still looking off into the distance. "You haven't said anything about it," he goes on eventually.
James lets out a dry laugh. "Well, to be fair, it kind of got dropped on me in the middle of...everything. But," he pauses for a moment, like he's trying to be careful about what he says next. "I sort of figured you deserved the chance to tell me yourself—or, you know, not tell me, if that's what you wanted."
Fucking James.
"You already knew though," he finally tears his eyes away from the scenery and back to the face of his best mate. "Right? That night you said—you said it was going to break his heart that it was me, out of all of us. You knew."
A complicated expression comes over James's face that Sirius can't quite work out.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I knew," he shrugs. "I saw the way you looked at him."
Sirius lets out a huff, strangling the pain that tries to rear its ugly head inside his chest. "See, that's what bothers me about this whole—whole thing with you."
James arches his brow so Sirius continues.
"I didn't notice. If you've been making heart-eyes at someone I haven't seen it."
"You knew I was seeing someone," but Sirius only shakes his head.
"Only cause you came back to the common room with your bloody shirt on inside out. Anyone would have noticed that, but I'm supposed to—I'm supposed to know you better. This big thing happened to you and somehow I missed it."
"To be fair, I was trying to hide it."
"Not the point."
"You're not a mindreader Sirius."
"But I'm supposed to be!" and despite the ridiculousness of the statement he says it earnestly. "That's us isn't it? We see each other."
There's a pause, James's gaze growing fond, and when he speaks Sirius can hear the affection in his voice. It makes him feel guilty. He doesn't deserve it.
"You do see me."
"I didn't see this," he throws his hands up in exasperation.
"Okay," James bites his lip, clearly trying to hold back a laugh, "honestly, Sirius, of all the things you have to worry about, this is not one of them."
Sirius lets out an aggravated sigh, scrubbing at his face before he's able to look at James again. "You thought that you couldn't tell me," he says weakly.
James's eyes get a little sad. "I didn't really."
"You did."
They float there, next to one another, wind gently knocking into them.
"It's less that I thought that I couldn't," James says eventually. "And more that—the stakes just felt so high."
"What do you mean?"
James blows the hair off his sweaty forehead. They'll have to go down soon, they're cutting it close now and James is still in full Quidditch gear.
"I thought you'd be okay with it, but I also knew that if I was wrong we would be—there'd be no coming back from that." James lets out a breath, "As much as I didn't think you'd react badly, as long as there was a chance—"
"There wasn't," Sirius cuts him off, face stern. "There was no chance."
A sort of sad half-smile pulls at James's mouth. "I mean, with people there's always a chance."
Sirius narrows his eyes, then reaches across the space between them and smacks James on the back of the head.
"Ow! What the hell?!"
"I'm the pessimist," Sirius points emphatically at his chest. "Me, my job. You don't say shit like that—you're James bloody Potter—you believe in people, all people, even the shitty ones. Example A," he gestures to himself.
James grumpily rubs at the back of his head. "It's not my job to be optimistic all the time."
"Uh—yeah, it is. It's like, literally your job."
James arches his brow. "Actually, it's very literally literally not my job."
"Well it certainly isn't metaphorically your job."
James blinks at him. "I can't tell if it's the head injury or this conversation that's making me feel dizzy."
"I barely touched you."
"I can feel a bump—look—feel it." James tries to move his broom closer but Sirius instantly backs up.
"Ew no, you're all sweaty and gross."
James glares at him. "You didn't mind a minute ago when you were brutalizing me."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "So dramatic—besides, I was filled with righteous indignation. Now I'm just wishing you washed your hair a little more. Jesus James, are you taking grooming tips from snivellus?"
James actually gasps. "You take that back!"
Sirius can't help it, he bursts out laughing.
"I mean it," James punches him in the arm, Sirius laughing too hard to dodge it, "take it back."
"Alright, alright," Sirius hiccups, trying to get himself together. "Your hair is nothing like Snape's."
"Damn right it isn't. Stop smiling!"
"I can't help it! You're so cute when you get all riled up about your hair."
James shakes his head, trying and failing to keep a straight face, the pair of them dissolving into a fit of snickering, no longer sure what they're even laughing at.
"Listen," Sirius says when he's able to be sincere again. "I just want you to know, you can talk to me about—about this. About him."
The childish joy fades from James's face and he shifts on his broom, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
"I told you, he doesn't—doesn't want anyone to know."
Sirius nods. "Understood, but I can still give excellent advice even if I don't know his name."
"Oh really?" James smirks. "Excellent advice huh?"
"Well, clearly you'll need guidance from someone more experienced."
"I don't think you have the kind of experience I need."
"Eh," Sirius shrugs. "Girl, boy, what's the difference really?"
James snorts. "You're not inspiring confidence here."
"The real question," Sirius smiles, leaning forward on his broom, "is, is the great James Potter still a virgin?"
James blushes, the colour deep and quickly spreading up his neck and over his cheeks.
"I'll take that as a yes. Jeez, you two are really taking your time huh? It's been like, what? A year?"
"Wow, you know what? I don't think I have ever wanted to have a conversation less than I want to have this one."
"Listen, if it's your game that needs work, I can help with that."
James glares. "My game is fine, thank you."
"I mean, apparently not."
"Well we can't all be Sirius Black."
Sirius beams despite the rather sarcastic tone of James's voice. "That's certainly true, but you can always try."
"So modest."
"One of my best qualities."
James laughs, shaking his head, cheeks still bright red. "Listen it's—we—I like where we are. Okay?"
There's something in his voice that gives Sirius pause. It's all...warm and gooey. James has a stupid smile on his face too, like maybe he means it, like maybe he's happy.
Sirius lets out a low whistle. "Well shit, you really like this guy huh?"
James blinks, like he hadn't realized what a stupid mooning expression he'd been making. "I—er—yeah. A bit."
Sirius nods, giving James a small smile. "I hope he deserves it."
"He does," James doesn't hesitate.
I doubt it, Sirius can't help but think. Few people deserve James.
"But he doesn't want you to talk to your friends about him?" Sirius asks.
James's grimaces. "It's...complicated."
"It always is."
"Sirius—"
But Sirius holds up his hands in surrender. "Look, I don't know him, so my opinion basically doesn't matter. Just, be careful, okay? You deserve someone who isn't afraid to love you back."
James sits there for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "How can you say that to me when you can't say it to yourself?" he asks, not unkindly.
Sirius shrugs. "Easier to care about other people I guess."
James looks sad about that but Sirius doesn't really feel like getting into it so he quickly adds; "We should probably head back."
James opens his mouth, like he might object, but then closes it again. After a few seconds he sighs. "Yeah, probably."
It's a quiet descent back to the ground.
They do walk into the Great Hall together, but stop a good ways away from where Peter and Remus are sitting. For a minute the pair of them just stand there staring.
"Well," Sirius manages eventually. "I'll see you later I guess," he tries to inject as much casual ease into his voice as he can while simultaneously drinking up the sight of Remus. Despite once again sharing a dorm room, he really doesn't see him much.
"You could, you know, sit with us?" though James barely manages to say it without grimacing.
"Nah mate," he ignores the ache in his chest. "You're alright, I'm gonna go sit with Evan's," he nods to the redhead a few spots away, who is, surprisingly, eating alone this morning.
"Right," James rubs the back of his neck. "Right okay, well, see you I guess." James takes a few steps towards their friends before turning back. "It was—nice, this morning."
Sirius smiles. "Second date you're paying. And if you take me somewhere fancy I might even put out."
James rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. "Oh, get fucked Sirius."
"That's the idea. Keep this up and you might actually lose—"
"YES OKAY THANK YOU," James is blushing again.
"Just trying to help," Sirius says in a sing-song voice, biting back a smirk.
James waves off his words, muttering curses at him under his breath as he turns around and keeps going this time. Sirius pretends that he doesn't feel it like a hook in his gut, the overwhelming sense of being left behind.
"Lily, darling, light of my life, how are you?" he's big and showy and obnoxious, sliding into the seat next to her. It's easier this way. To pretend to be this other person. To flick the switch.
She looks up from her coursework, a slightly bemused smile on her face. "You're in a good mood today."
"Pfft," he scoffs. "I'm always in a good mood." He reaches over and snags a piece of bacon off her plate.
"Oi—Sirius! Honestly, there's some right there," she points to the full platter in the centre of the table.
Sirius shrugs, smiling around his bacon. "Just doesn't taste the same when it's not stolen."
Lily rolls her eyes, very purposefully moving her plate further out of his reach.
"So," he asks, eyes lazily perusing the table in front of him, "where is everybody?"
"Mary and Marlene are napping before class, and Dorcas is doing some kind of extra credit thing with the owls for Magical Creatures."
Sirius arches his brow. "Extra credit? Jesus. And I thought you were the swot."
Lily elbows him in the ribs. "You know, some of us have interests outside of wreaking havoc and shagging every bird in sight."
"Do you?" Sirius asks, frowning. "How sad for you all."
"Somehow we manage."
Sirius snorts, picking disinterestedly at the food in front of him. He isn't hungry, rarely is these days, but that happens to him sometimes. His body will just...turn off. When he was younger one of his mother's favourite punishments was starving him. No dinner. Not until you sit up straight. Not until you apologize to your father. Not until you learn some manners. He often wonders if somewhere along the line it became the way he punishes himself too.
"Oh bullocks."
Sirius and Lily both look down the table to where James is currently standing up in his seat, water spilt all down the front of his white shirt.
Sirius snorts. "Idiot," he says fondly. "How long do you reckon it'll take before he remembers he has a wand and can just charm it dry?"
After a beat of silence he looks over at Lily, but her gaze is still very much focused on James.
"Evans? Yoo-hoo?" still nothing. That's when Sirius notices the slightly glazed look in her eyes.
No, he thinks, no way.
His gaze darts between her and his best mate—who is now being dried by Remus.
No way. No way. No way.
"Oi!" he snaps his fingers in front of Lily's face and she starts, nearly knocking over her pumpkin juice.
"Shit, sorry," flustered she runs a hand through her hair, speckled cheeks turning bright red.
"Enjoying the wet t-shirt contest?"
"What? No. What are you even—? I don't even know what you're talking about."
Sirius watches her grab the wrong end of her fork and enthusiastically attempt to start eating her eggs, like that will somehow convince him that nothing is going on. It's really a testament to her commitment that she doesn't give up after the first try, instead doing her best to make it look as though she meant to use her utensil handle first.
"Uh-huh," he says, barely holding back a laugh."The universe really is a bitch huh?"
He watches Lily grimace, eyes still trained on her eggs.
Sirius sighs, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice. "The gig is up Lily, I've seen you ogling him."
"I was not ogling!" she hisses.
Sirius gives her a pointed look, refusing to break until eventually she gives up attempting to eat her eggs with the handle of her fork and looks back at him.
"Sirius," she says solemnly.
He bites his lip. "Lily."
"You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone."
Sirius can't hold it back any longer, he laughs, shaking his head. "I feel like I've fallen into an alternate dimension or something. Like in what world does Lily Evans fancy James Potter?"
"Will you keep your voice down!" she kicks him under the table.
"Ow—shit, you have pointy toes Evans," he reaches down to rub his leg.
"Sirius, really, not a soul. Not even as a joke. Especially not Mary—Merlin, she'll never let me hear the end of it."
"And you think I will?"
She lets out a groan. "No, not really. But at least I can intimidate you."
Sirius scoffs. "You can't—Jesus, fuck, my poor legs. Are you wearing steel-toed boots or something?"
He feels the quickly swelling bump on the top of his shin.
"Not. A. Word." Lily emphasizes each word, stare unwavering.
"Yes, alright, alright," he straightens up, Lily watching him warily. There's a brief pause before Sirius can work up he courage to risk another kick. "Why haven't you said anything though, to him I mean?" he gestures to James with his chin.
Lily exhales, collapsing back in her seat. "God, I don't know. I've not really accepted it myself I guess. Plus," she grimaces, "over the summer he said he liked us better as friends."
Sirius takes in a sharp breath. "Ouch."
Lily nods. "Yeah, so, you know..." she wipes a hand over her face. "Anyway, I'm sure it'll pass." She looks at him as though expecting reassurance. Funny really, seeing as he's been telling himself the same thing for months.
"Er—yeah, probably. These things do don't they?"
Lily nods again, both of their eyes trailing back to the other end of the table, though Sirius suspects not to the same person.
The hours between classes and meals, which used to be Sirius's favourite, have now become a little awkward for him. He finds himself floating around not really sure where he's supposed to be. He can't hang out with the marauders, which also means that the common room and library are somewhat off limits. He could, and does, hang out with the girls, but honestly, he can't help but feel he's intruding sometimes. Not unwelcome exactly but just...not wanted.
Which more or less sums up his entire existence at this point. Unwanted.
Sure, Sirius has a great many acquaintances. Some a little more desperate to hang out with him than he'd like. But he can never relax in those settings, he always has to perform. It gets exhausting. Besides, he doesn't like any of them half as much as he likes James, Remus and Peter.
So that's how he finds himself wandering around the castle one evening. How he stumbles on his brother alone in one of Hogwarts's many courtyards, books and parchment surrounding him, nose practically pressed to the page in front of him.
Under normal circumstances Sirius would ignore him and keep going, but truth be told, he's bored. And lonely. And reckless. So instead of continuing down the hallway like he knows he ought to, he finds himself stepping outside.
"Well what do we have here?" he stops in front of his brother, hands in his pockets. It's after supper, the sky overcast and gloomy. The summer heat still lingers these days but it's starting to break. Sirius can just feel the start of a cold breeze, fall poking its head out.
Regulus looks up, eyes widening for a second before he pulls a blank expression over his face. They've always been opposites, him and Reg. His brother hides behind dead eyes, Sirius hides behind a smile.
"Can I help you with something?" Regulus asks flatly.
"I doubt it."
Regulus continues to stare at him for a few seconds before turning back to his coursework. "Alright then."
Regulus is one of those things that Sirius flips the switch on. One of those things it's easier not to give a shit about.
I mean, he's not a thing.
Technically.
Technically, he's a person.
But it's easier not to think about him that way—not to think about him as his actual brother. As the boy who used to crawl into his bed at night and look at Sirius like he could protect him from the monsters. Some days, Sirius thinks the only reason he got into Gryffindor at all is Regulus. It's always easier to brave for someone else.
Reg looks up again. "You're still here?"
"Sure am," Sirius grins, an empty expression. He knows Regulus can see it. Probably the only thing they know about each other anymore is how to spot their masks.
"Why?"
Complicated question that. Why.
"Something's been bugging me," he goes on casually. "Since that day on the platform."
It's small—the tensing of Regulus's jaw—but Sirius still catches it.
"Oh?" his little brother asks tersely.
"Wanted to make sure your arm was okay," he nods towards the body part in question.
There it is again. His teeth clenching.
"It's fine."
Sirius nods, still smiling. "Good, good, wouldn't want you to have to sit out your first Quidditch match or anything."
Regulus doesn't reply.
"So...let me see it."
"See what, my Quidditch match?"
If anything, Sirius's smile gets wider, more manic, sharpening at the corners.
"Your arm Reg. Let me see your arm."
His little brother holds his gaze before looking back down. "No."
None of this feels like anything. None of it matters. It's all one big fucking joke.
"Nah, come on Reggie, show me."
"I'd like you to leave now."
Sirius laughs, it's a high tinny noise, sounding foreign even to his own ears. "I'm sure you would. I mean, listen, I can fight you if you want. But I'd rather we be civil about this."
Regulus looks back up. "I don't have to show you anything."
Sirius could leave it alone, he knows he could. But he's never been very good at that.
He reaches out for Regulus's arm, his brother moving just fast enough to pull out of his reach, spilling his books onto the floor as he gets to his feet.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Regulus snarls, and Sirius has the sudden and unwelcome flashback to James saying those exact words. Covered in blood. An unconscious Snape thrown over his shoulder.
Flick the switch.
Flick the switch .
Flick the—
Regulus tries to make a grab for his wand, left behind on the bench—careless of him—but Sirius blocks his path.
"Come on Reg, it's just an arm."
But Regulus just stands there, breathing heavy, stone faced. Shaking. It's hard to see at first, but they're closer now, close enough that Sirius can see the tremors in his brother's hands. And for some reason that's the moment it really hits him. How afraid Regulus is.
"Holy shit," he'd been joking. Mostly. He'd thought he'd been joking. "You really did it didn't you? You really got it?"
Regulus barely flinches. "Go away Sirius."
He'd been suspicious—the way Regulus went down on the platform, something wasn't right. But he hadn't really let himself think about what it was he was suspicious of. What it would mean to be right.
Flick the switch.
Flick the switch.
Flick the switch.
"I can't believe—" he laughs coldly. "Actually, scratch that, this is just like you isn't it? Tell me, did you thank him after? Get down on the ground and kiss his fucking feet?"
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you right back," Sirius is shouting now, voice bouncing off the empty space around them and he can see Regulus's eyes dart to the door, making sure they're still alone.
"Shy?" he asks with a sneer. "You won't be able to keep that thing a secret forever you know."
Regulus doesn't reply.
"I bet she was so proud of you, her little Reggie. Such a good boy."
"Fuck. You."
He hates Regulus.
Really.
He does.
He hates that Regulus looks like him.
Hates how much of himself he can see in him.
Hates that he used to need him. That having him made that house bearable.
"Tell me Reg, how do you manage to stand without a spine?"
Regulus's eyes grow dark. "You have no idea—"
"I have no idea?" Sirius is shouting again. "I was there Regulus. I was the one she hated, I was the one who stood in front of you. I let her break me into pieces for years for you. And you never did anything! You can't even save your fucking self." He's shaking, a vaguely nauseous feeling drifting over him. By and large he likes to pretend not to remember anything that happened in Grimmauld Place. As though nothing that went on in that house exists in the outside world. He doesn't even talk about it with James really.
"If I could get out," Sirius is breathing heavy. "Then what the fuck is your excuse?"
"Don't you get it?" Regulus demands, apathy long ago done away with. He's all cracked open now. All bleeding eyes and desperate hands and a mouth that used to say:
I'm scared.
I'm so scared Sirius.
Flick the switch.
Isn't this funny?
Isn't all of this such a fucking joke?
"You got out because of me."
Sirius blinks, surprised enough to forget how angry he is.
"What?"
"They let you walk away because they had me—you really think that if she didn't have a spare you would have got off that easy? I paid for your freedom. Me. Your life for mine."
Sirius shakes his head, swaying slightly, like he's just been hit. "No—no that's not right. They let me go because of the Potters, it had nothing to do with you."
"You really think the Potter's could have stopped her? You really think they have the power anymore?" when Sirius just stares back at him, lost, Regulus laughs. "You really don't have a clue what it's like out there do you?"
He does.
At least, he thought he did.
"There's no walking away for me," Regulus goes on coldly. "They're not letting me out of there, not alive."
Everything feels suddenly very far away, like Sirius is watching this conversation unfold from somewhere outside his body.
"Better to die than to let them have you," he says. And even though he means it, and he does, he instantly regrets it.
Regulus looks back at him like he's just been slapped. "Well," he manages eventually, and Sirius can't help but notice the gravel in his voice. "Must be nice not to be the one who has to make that choice."
He steps around Sirius who makes no attempt to stop him, frozen to the spot, mind moving simultaneously too fast and too slow. Regulus waves his wand, gathering his books and papers into his arms.
"Reg—" Sirius finally manages to get out.
He's surprised when Regulus actually stops, looking back at him over his shoulder.
"I didn't want this," he isn't sure what else to say.
Regulus nods, eyes empty. "Sure you did. You're the hero Sirius. Congratulations."
That takes the wind out of him. Sirius staggers backwards, collapsing onto the bench as he watches his little brother disappear inside.
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to breathe. He always thought Regulus was going to be the good one. Thought he could shield him from everything that he'd been through. Everything that had made him selfish and callous and cruel. He remembers so vividly, watching Regulus get up in front of the whole school, watching the hat drop onto his head, barely there for a second before it announced Slytherin to the entirety of the Great Hall. And all he could feel, at twelve years old, was betrayal. That Regulus had chosen them—after everything Sirius had done—he'd still chosen them. And he'd never stopped. From that day on every time he'd had a choice, Regulus chose them.
I'm scared.
But maybe that wasn't right. Maybe that wasn't what happened at all. Maybe Sirius was the one who gave up first. Because he honestly can't remember the last time he chose Regulus. The last time he stood in front of him. The last time he told him he loved him.
I'm so scared Sirius.
"Fuck," the word is choked when it comes out of him. He brings his head between his knees and tries to breathe. Tries not to throw-up.
He starts going over every interaction he's had with Regulus in the last five years. Tries to piece it all together, convince himself that he knows what really happened. But things are blurry. He's never been very good at telling apart what's real and what's not. Spent too much time imagining parts of his life away he suspects.
"Sirius?"
He hears his name but doesn't look up. Doesn't want to. Whoever it is can fuck off. Can't they see he's in the middle of a mental breakdown here?
"Hey—hey Padfoot are you alright? Pads?"
It takes a minute for the voice to cut through all the noise in his head. He Blinks up at the uncertain figure in front of him.
"Remus?" he croaks.
Remus, because it absolutely is Remus, looks thoroughly uncomfortable. "Hi."
Sirius lets out a choked laugh, leaning back and trying to scrub the emotion out of his face.
"Hi."
That's it. That's all they have to say to one another. Sirius is too much of a mess to process any of this and Remus looks like he's desperately fighting the urge to run away.
"You don't have to do this Remus."
"I know that," Remus snaps defensively. And then, after another short pause; "You okay?"
Sirius laughs again, though it's a bit all over the place, messy and wet and aching. "Always."
"Always," Remus repeats, and Sirius can't read his tone.
There's more awkward silence, Sirius gradually pulling himself back together. It's easier with Remus here. Easier to tell what's real. Easier to ground himself.
Remus clears his throat. "Well, in that case I guess I'll...go."
Sirius feels his heart jolt, like someone's reached into his chest and tried to pull it out. "Okay," is all he manages.
Remus nods stiffly, making it all the way to the edge of the courtyard before he stops. Sirius watches his shoulders rise and fall, watches him pause just a moment too long, always one to think things through. Never just moving—not like Sirius—every step Remus takes is intentional. Makes it mean more.
Sirius arches his brow as the other boy turns around and comes to sit next to him on the bench. A safe distance between them, of course.
After a moment Remus sighs; "I can't just walk away."
Leave it to Remus to sum up everything Sirius wants to hear in one sentence. Sirius just looks at him. They haven't spoken since the day in the broom cupboard and Sirius feels his skin itch with the closeness. With the sound of his voice. Sirius would speak—it's usually his specialty. Except he doesn't want to do something—anything—that will make Remus go away again.
Eventually the other boy looks at him. "You going to tell me what's happened?"
Remus is looking at him and Sirius realizes how spoiled he used to be, when he would get this all the time.
"Sirius?"
He blinks, waking up. "Sorry," he scrubs at his face. "Um—fuck, it was—it was Reg."
There's a pause.
"Regulus?"
"Yeah," he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together. "Remus did I—" his voice cuts out. He grits his teeth and tries again. "Should I have stayed?"
"Stayed?"
"At Grimmauld."
"No."
The answer comes so quickly that it makes Sirius laugh, even if it's a dried up version of what it usual is.
"Did Regulus say that—that you should have stayed?"
Something warm curls in Sirius's stomach at the indignation in Remus's voice. "No," he shakes his head. "No, he said that I—" Sirius tries to hold the memory still, but it shakes in his head just like it shook in real life, "that he paid for my freedom."
Sirius makes himself look at Remus again, his eyes are fierce, they burn so bright, boring into Sirius. Hard to hold. Impossible to let go of.
"I left him there."
Remus shakes his head. "You had to get out Sirius."
"I should have taken him with me."
"It wasn't exactly planned from what I've heard."
No. That's certainly true. See, you had to agree to get the mark, that really pissed Walburga off. She'd been assuming that she could just hold him down and carve it into his skin. Then he'd have no choice. He'd have to behave. Have to fall inline. But it turns out that's not how it works.
"I never went back though."
"You couldn't."
"I was angry at him."
"You had a right to be."
Sirius wipes a hand over his face, thinking about the look in Reg's eyes—he'd never seen him like that before. At least not since they were kids.
"Did I?"
Remus makes a frustrated sound. "Sirius, listen, I—you've done a lot of shitty things in your life. But leaving that house was not one of them. Saving yourself isn't selfish. Sometimes it's all you can do. And Regulus," there's something resigned about his tone. "I think Regulus is very good at rationalizing things to himself, but you never asked him to be a marauder for you. If that's the role he wants to play than that's on him."
The night Sirius left, he'd been passed out. He was thrown around and sliced open and crucio-ed and eventually, he passed out. Regulus had been there for all of it. He always was. Pale and wide-eyed. He hadn't told them to stop, hadn't come forward when Sirius was too weak to get back up. Sirius hadn't expected him to, but somehow it still hurt when he was proved right.
He regained consciousness alone on the dinning room table. There were voices in the kitchen. He hadn't paused to think, to come up with a plan. He'd grabbed his wand and left. Bare feet and all.
He hadn't thought about Regulus as he cut across the lawn, as he'd hobbled down the pavement. Maybe he should have. He doesn't know.
Eventually Sirius sighs. "It's so fucking hard for me to talk to him," he says finally, sitting back. "Every time I tell myself I'm going to do it different. That I'm going to handle things better, but then he opens his mouth and I just feel all this...anger. It's like I..." he struggles to sort out his thoughts. Eventually he laughs, rubbing his eyes. "It's like I love him so much I hate him."
"I mean," Remus says slowly, "he is your little brother."
Sirius snorts. "Yeah, I guess. I just wish that—I just wish that life didn't feel so messy, you know? I always end up losing the thing that matters. I always get caught up in everything else."
After a while Remus nods. "Yeah."
They're just watching one another again. The world disappears with Remus. He always takes up so much space. In Sirius's head. His chest.
"You've been avoiding me," the other boy says eventually.
Neither of them look away.
Sirius shrugs. "I thought that's what you wanted?"
"It is," Remus pulls at the sleeves of his jumper. "It is what I want."
"Okay."
But Remus's face is all screwed-up. Like he isn't happy with that. Like it's not quite right. Eventually he lets out a big breath, tearing his eyes away from Sirius and sinking down low, legs sprawling out in front of him, head resting on the back of the bench.
"So do we just do this forever now? Just...orbit around each other?"
"I think that's kind of up to you."
An irritated noise comes out of Remus's mouth. "Well that's bullshit. This isn't my fault. I didn't do it. I don't know why I have to be the one to figure out how to fix it."
Sirius feels his chest squeeze. "But you want to?"
"What?" Remus turns his head towards him, eyes big and bright. Those eyes will save me, Sirius thinks, those eyes will carry me home.
He coughs, clearing his throat. "You want to fix this? Us?"
Remus looks surprised, like he's only just realizing what he said. "I—" he licks his lips. "I mean, it's just too hard."
"Fixing it?"
Remus laughs dryly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No—being...angry at each other. I feel like I can't breathe most of the time."
There are so many things Sirius wants to say. But then, there always are when it comes to Remus.
"Yeah," is what he goes with in the end, "me too."
Remus drops his hand, looking about as exhausted at Sirius feels.
"What do you need Moony?" he's practically whispering. "Just tell me what you need me to do."
They're so close—so close to maybe, possibly, getting passed this. Sirius can feel it. For the first time in months no one's crying or yelling. They're not fighting. He just needs Remus to tell him how to pull them all the way over, because he'll do it. He'll do anything.
Remus is watching him, a careful look in his eyes. Approach with caution, that's what those eyes say.
"Why did you kiss me Sirius?" he's whispering now too.
It feels as though someone's just slammed Sirius into a wall. His whole body tenses, pulse skyrocketing. He tries not to, but he can't help it—his eyes quickly run the boundaries of the courtyard, making sure they're still alone. He knows Remus sees. It's clear in the disappointment that starts clouding his face.
You deserve someone who isn't afraid to love you back.
He'd said that.
He'd meant it too.
Looking at Remus, glowing in the dim light of the setting sun, all he can think is; beautiful. Remus is always beautiful. Sirius was eleven the first time he thought it. It scared the shit out of him, honestly. The two of them had been lying on Remus's bed, windows open, shirt sleeves half-rolled up, ties torn off. He'd looked over at Remus and before he could help himself he'd just thought: beautiful.
"Sirius?"
He swallows back the ache that crawls up his throat.
He told James that he hadn't listened to his family's bullshit. But he's a liar.
Among other things.
"I don't know," the same answer he's been giving Remus for almost a year. Sirius's voice sounds bruised. "I don't know why I did it."
There's a beat of stillness and then Remus sighs, pulling himself upright. "Okay."
"Remus—"
But the other boy cuts him off with the wave of his hand. Getting back to his feet and straightening out his robes.
"It's fine Sirius. I don't know what I was expecting."
Sirius flinches.
"Look, you can—um," he runs a hand through his blond hair, making it stick out in little puffs, "you can sit with us."
Sirius's eyes widen. "In the Great Hall?"
"And classes," Remus shrugs. "It's fine, okay? I'm tired of trying to pretend I don't see you," he actually smiles a little then, though it's a sad thing. "It never works anyway."
Sirius swallows. "You're sure?"
"Yeah Pads, I'm sure."
He doesn't know what to say to that, something in his chest starting to swell, to press against his ribs at the idea of being let back in. Even slowly. Even just sitting next to him again.
"Thank you," his voice sounds rougher than he's expecting.
Remus just nods. "I'm heading back to the common room, you coming?"
"I think I—" he swallows. "I think I'm gonna stay out here for a bit."
"Sure," Sirius can see the flash of concern in Remus's eyes but he doesn't say anything.
"Remus?" for the second time Remus stops at the edge of the courtyard, turning back to him. "Are we—are we okay now?"
Something sad flutters across Remus's face. "No," he says simply, an ice pick to Sirius's heart. "We're just not fighting."
And then he's gone.