Lily trying to explain to James that no she isn’t going to go out with him — because he’s been dating Sirius since first year, you’re both just too dense to realise it.
((Read below or on AO3))
James Potter is many things—Head Boy, Quidditch star, master prankster—but today, above all, he’s a man on a mission.
He stands in front of the mirror in the seventh-year boys’ bathroom, even though he has his own Head Boy room now, because it’s simply more fun getting ready with his friends close by. The lighting is nicer here anyway, with the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the large windows, and there’s something comforting in the familiar scent of cologne and soap and whatever absurd hair products Sirius insists on using.
James tries to adjust his curls but gives up, letting them fall into their normal disarrayed state. In the room behind him, Remus lounges on the windowsill with a book he’s long since stopped pretending to read, while Peter perches on the edge of his bed, legs swinging as he works his way through a Chocolate Frog.
“She’s going to say yes,” James declares, turning his head to examine his side profile. “Why wouldn’t she? I’m a catch. Funny. Smart. Devastatingly handsome.”
Peter snorts. “And humble.”
“I mean it,” James says, spinning around, hands outstretched. “Lily and I—we’re good now. We work together, I make her laugh, and she even made me tea last week.”
“She made everyone tea,” Remus mutters.
“Still, she asked you all how you took your tea but didn’t ask me, which means she noticed how I like it and remembered. Surely that means something.”
Peter hums noncommittally. “Maybe that just means she spends a lot of her time around you now that you have to work together?”
Before James can respond, the door swings open as Sirius returns from a quick run to the kitchens, his tie loose around his neck and arms full of snacks. He pauses when he sees James, eyes skimming over him slowly, top to bottom and then back up again.
“Well, look at you,” he says, whistling low. “Someone’s trying to charm the knickers off our Head Girl.”
James tosses him a wink. “That’s the idea.”
Sirius drops the snacks onto his bed, strolls up behind him, takes one long look at James’ reflection, and then, without preamble, squeezes his arse.
“Lily would have to be an absolute fool not to want a piece of this,” he says, grinning.
Peter makes a strangled sound. “Merlin.”
Remus summons a pillow and aims it at them with startling precision. Sirius ducks. James just laughs.
“Honestly, if Lily rejects me, at least I’ll have you,” he says, leaning into Sirius’ side with easy familiarity.
“You always will,” Sirius murmurs, eyes bright.
James hesitates. “You don’t think she’ll reject me?”
Sirius tilts his head, studying him for a moment—just a second too long—and says, “Nah. No one would say no to you.”
That’s good enough for James.
~~~
The meeting with Dumbledore and McGonagall unfolds in the usual fashion—patrol schedules, a few mentions of student drama, and discussions about the holidays. It’s uneventful in the grand scheme, but James finds himself hyperaware of Lily beside him: the small quirk of her lips when Dumbledore goes off-topic, the way she taps her quill when she’s thinking. He’s watching her and thinking, I could really do this—us. Properly.
They walk out of the office together, their shoulders brushing. Lily is saying something about the next Hogsmeade weekend but James isn’t listening. His heart is hammering in his chest.
“Lily?”
She pauses mid-sentence. “Yeah?”
“We’re good friends, right?”
Her eyes narrow in mock suspicion. “Where is this going?”
“I just mean, we get along. We work well together. We like spending time with each other.”
She stops walking, and so does he. They’re alone in the corridor, the torches flickering low.
“Yes,” she says slowly, eyes searching his. “We do.”
“So would you maybe… I don’t know, consider going out with me? Like, on a date?”
There’s a moment of stillness, like the air around them is waiting too.
Then—
“James,” Lily says softly, with the kind of gentle patience usually reserved for a young child. “I love you, truly. But I can’t date you.”
He blinks. “Why not? We get along so well—”
“Yes,” she says, cutting in kindly. “But you’re in love with Sirius.”
James stares, bewildered at the shift in their conversation. “I am?”
Lily gives him a look—a fond, tired, I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-do-this look.
“Darling,” she says. “You scan every room you enter until you find him. You literally light up when he talks to you. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s the only person you want to be with.”
James opens his mouth to protest. She lifts a finger.
“You need to be around him. You’re never apart for long. Every girl you’ve tried dating—things unravel the moment they start pulling your attention away from him. And you’re okay with that, because you’d rather be with Sirius than anyone else.”
“I like being with you, too,” James insists, a little defensively.
She nods. “But it’s not the same. You and Sirius… you orbit each other. You hold hands without thinking. You fall asleep tangled together. You kissed him in front of everyone just last week.”
“That was for a dare!”
“You kiss him even without anyone daring you,” Lily says flatly.
“That was—okay, fine,” James mutters.
“You’re basically dating already,” she continues, smiling. “You just haven’t caught up to it yet.”
They walk in silence after that, James’s mind running faster than his feet. Every moment, every shared glance, every late-night talk—it all replays with startling clarity, sharp as a spell.
They walk the rest of the way in silence. James’ head is spinning. He replays the last six years in his mind like a montage.
Sirius laughing beside him on the train, loose strands of hair escaping his bun.
Sirius with chocolate smudged on his face, complaining about unfair exams.
Sirius asleep in the common room with his head on James’ shoulder.
Sirius reading aloud to him when he was sick, running gentle fingers through his hair.
Sirius pressing a hand to his knee under the table, linking their pinkies together.
Sirius drunk on firewhisky, grinning at him like he hung the stars.
James stops dead in his tracks just outside the portrait hole.
“I think,” he begins, voice quiet. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Lily grins, triumphant. “You don’t say.”
“I have to tell him.”
“Wait, now?” she asks, alarmed. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, plan what you’re going to do?”
James glances at her, already taking a step into the Gryffindor tower. “My sweet Lils, when have I ever planned first and acted second?”
And with that, he’s gone.
~~~
The common room is warm and golden with firelight and the noise of students talking amongst themselves after dinner. James barely registers the chatter. His eyes immediately find Sirius, as they always do, who’s draped dramatically across an armchair, legs over one arm, head tilted back mid-laugh at something Marlene’s just said. The light catches the curve of his cheekbone, the slant of his smile. James’ heart does something strange in his chest.
How had he not noticed? How had he ever missed that Sirius Black is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen?
And more than that—Sirius is home. The one constant in a world that sometimes goes too fast.
James crosses the room quickly, pulse racing.
“Sirius,” he says, voice steady despite himself.
Sirius looks up, opens his mouth to greet him, but James doesn’t waste any time. He reaches out, grabs the front of Sirius’ jumper, and pulls him upright.
And then he kisses him.
Gasps ripple through the room, but James hears nothing past the rush in his ears. Sirius is still, and then he’s kissing him back, hands sliding to his waist like they’ve done it a thousand times. When they break apart, Sirius is blinking fast.
“What in Merlin’s name happened with Lily?” he asks, dazed and a little breathless.
“I just realised that I love you,” James says, voice rough. “Not in the casual best mate kind of way. Not like a brother. I’m in love with you. I want to grow old with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and complain about how you steal the blankets. I think I want to marry you someday.”
Sirius’ eyes are wide and dark. “You—you figured out that you love me, what, five minutes ago? And you immediately needed to tell me?”
James shrugs. “I think some part of me always knew, it just took me time to really figure it out.”
Sirius’ lips part. “Oh,” he says softly.
James is about to say more, but Sirius doesn’t let him.
He tugs James forward and kisses him again, hard and certain, before grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the staircase.
They don’t make it more than three steps before Sirius stops, cups James’ face with both hands, and kisses him again. And again. Slower this time, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of the moment.
“You mean it?” he whispers against James’ lips.
James nods. “You know I do.”
And Sirius—wild, wonderful, perfect Sirius—laughs, giddy, and pulls him the rest of the way upstairs.
hi! How are you? I really hope that I apologize in advance because english is not my first language and I often get confused, and also I do not know if you accept orders. So I apologize for that.
btw, I can request a coffee shop au where james runs a coffee shop and always tries to flirt with sirius, who works at a tattoo shop across the street from his shop. And they both flirt with each other (until remus or someone begs them to come out) sorry if it's long or you have something like that:(
((Note: Read below or on AO3))
The back room of Snuffles & Co. smelled like ink and sandalwood and the faint metallic tang of disinfectant, the way it always did right before the shop went quiet in the lull between morning appointments and evening walk-ins. Sirius had the couch to himself, sketchpad balanced on one thigh, pencil idle in his hand. The couch was still cracked in the same place it had been when Sirius first joined the shop three years ago, back when he was the new artist and still answered to someone else. Now the place was his, but he’d kept the worn couch anyway.
Regulus sat cross-legged on the floor, eating apple slices out of a plastic container and pretending not to watch him.
“I had a dream,” Regulus announced.
Sirius sighed. “No.” He shifted to prop his legs onto a bin labeled NEEDLES – sterile don’t touch dumbass. He wasn’t drawing anything useful. Mostly lines. A tangle of vines that had started curving into something suspiciously like curls.
“You were a dog.”
“I’m begging you to get a hobby.”
“This is my hobby.”
Sirius didn’t look up. “And what was it like, being a dog?”
“You were huge with wild fur and eyes that could look into your soul. You were best friends with a stag and a wolf.” He paused, then continued, voice quieter. “You were laughing, though. You don’t do that much anymore.”
Sirius flipped the page.
The next sketch wasn’t better. Same vines. More warmth. The suggestion of shoulders, of strong hands holding a coffee cup.
Regulus tapped his pencil against the floor thoughtfully. “You’ve been doing those weird trees again.”
“They’re not weird.”
“They have dimples.”
Sirius glared at him. “They have texture.”
“And the vines keep forming smiles. You're drawing plants that flirt with you.”
Sirius shut the sketchbook like it had misbehaved.
Outside, pale light shifted through the front window of the shop. Across the street, the new café replacing the old crystal shop was finally showing signs of life. Mint-green paint. String lights. A sandwich board that still had chalk smudges but no words.
Sirius had caught glimpses of the man setting it all up—shoulders broad beneath an oversized cardigan, thick-rimmed glasses always slipping down his nose, curls tied back messily like he’d run out of patience in trying to tame them. And a toddler, always nearby, sticky and smiling and in possession of at least two different stuffed animals.
They hadn’t spoken. Sirius wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Regulus set down his pencil. “Remus says that’s his best friend from college. James. Moved here with his kid after graduating culinary school and the cooking show he starred in ended.”
Regulus gave him a look. “Don’t sound too excited,” he said dryly.
The sound of a sink shutting off and soft metal trays clattering filtered in from the hallway. A few seconds later, Marlene stepped into the room, throwing away her gloves from her last appointment.
“I saw the little boy try to bite a windchime,” she said casually, dropping into the armchair across from Sirius with her sandwich. “Then the café guy came out after him, talking to him like they were best friends.”
Sirius’ pulse did something inconvenient.
Marlene’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “He’s cute. You’ll hate him.”
“I don’t hate cute people.”
“You hate people who make you feel things.”
Regulus folded his arms. “He hasn’t stopped sketching weird trees for three days.”
“Maybe I just like trees,” Sirius muttered.
But even as he said it, he knew the sketch was already changing again—curving into something softer, something warmer. Not vines this time, but a line of a shoulder. A sloping jaw. Something that looked a little too much like arms, strong and sun-kissed.
He shut the page quickly, like it had said too much.
And then, as if summoned by the quiet, the bell at the front of the shop jingled, followed by the sound of small feet. A toddler rounded the corner, grinning like a maniac and sticky with jam. He wore a shirt that said I RUN THIS TOWN and carried a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and half a biscuit in the other.
“Hi!” he chirped.
“Hi?” Sirius said, baffled.
Behind him, a voice called, “Harry! You can’t just wander by yourself into stores—”
A man entered, apologetic and breathless. “Oh god. Sorry. We’re moving in across the street and I turned around for two seconds and he was gone.”
Sirius should’ve said something biting. Or charming. Or even coherent. Instead, his brain stalled somewhere between hazel eyes and you look like you give good hugs.
Marlene, unbothered, knelt down to Harry’s level. “Did you break in?”
Harry shook his head, beaming up at her. “No. I push the door. It go ding!” He mimicked the sound with wide eyes. “And then I walk and say hi!”
Regulus tilted his head. “Fair enough.”
James gave a sheepish laugh. “I’m James. That’s Harry. He usually listens. Emphasis on usually.”
“I bring my din-o-saur,” Harry said helpfully, holding up his toy. “His name is Lily.”
Marlene tilted her head. “That’s a girl’s name.”
“Nuh-uh!” Harry said. “I love my mummy and I love my din-o-saur. My mummy is Lily so my din-o-saur is Lily.”
“Fair enough,” Marlene acquiesced. Something twisted in Sirius’ chest, a gaping hole of disappointment.
James leaned down and scooped Harry up with ease. “Sorry again,” he said. “Harry’s mum—Lily—and I recently divorced, and looking after Harry myself is still new to me so, well. We’re a bit chaotic.”
Oh.
“You’ll fit right in,” Sirius said before he could stop himself.
Their eyes caught, a pause stretching soft and strange between them.
“I’m Sirius,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
James smiled—with dimples, damn him—and shifted Harry higher on his hip. “Nice to meet you, Sirius.”
Sirius’ fingers itched for a pencil he didn’t have. Something to do with his hands while his brain caught up.
Once James left, Marlene and Regulus turned to him, wearing identical expressions.
“What?” Sirius asked.
Marlene let out a low whistle. “I knew it. You’re going to fall in love with him.”
“I thought you said I’d hate him?”
“Aha!” she crowed. “I only said you hate cute guys in general. So you admit he’s cute?”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“Bet you wish you had something else in your mouth?” Regulus quipped, snickering.
But even as Sirius rolled his eyes in response, his gaze drifted to the window. Across the street, he could see James wrestling with an espresso machine. Harry appeared to be singing behind him, banging on the counter with a wooden spoon.
Maybe Marlene had a point.
~~~
Lunch break meant the machines had finally gone quiet and they could take a break from the busy morning schedule. Sirius was grateful for their customers and was proud of the reputation they had built over the months, but sometimes it would get exhausting to have so many back-to-back clients.
He finished cleaning down his station, hands methodical, brain running off somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere across the street, if he was being honest with himself.
He could see the café through the window if he angled his head just right. Paper lanterns. The soft shadows of movement inside—warm, blurred.
The bell jingled.
“Hey,” Remus said, stepping inside, jolting Sirius out of his thoughts. He had that comfortable, wind-scuffed look he always wore around his lunch break, like he’d just walked out of a novel. Given that he was an editor at the publishing house a few blocks away, he probably had. “Is Regulus in the back?”
“He’s flirting with the inks,” Sirius said. Regulus had finished his last client about half an hour ago and had gone to rearrange inventory with the intensity of someone solving a murder. Sirius didn’t ask. Regulus and the ink cabinets had a complicated relationship.
“I am not,” Regulus insisted, summoned by Remus’ voice. He accepted a quick kiss. “It’s not my fault the ink cabinet has so many issues!”
“I’m sure the cabinet isn’t the only thing with issues, love,” Remus chided.
Regulus smacked his arm. “Hey!”
Marlene snorted. Sirius allowed himself a small smile.
And then the bell jingled again.
This time it was James, stepping in with a tray of coffees in one hand and a slightly sticky toddler in the other. Harry was bouncing his dog toy under one arm, humming a little song to himself. James looked a bit windswept, a bit sheepish, and entirely too much like something Sirius hadn’t meant to want.
“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to barge in again. Harry saw Uncle Remus heading this way and insisted we come say hi.”
Harry waved his stuffed animal. “Woof.”
James gestured to the tray. “And, well—we’re opening in three days, so I’ve been testing drinks.”
Remus took his Earl Grey without question. “You’re enabling us.”
“That’s what I’m for,” James said with a wink. He quickly passed out the drinks.
“Oh my god,” Regulus said, eyeing his caramel latte. “Remus, seriously?”
Remus just sipped his tea. “Babe, he was bound to figure out you don’t actually like coffee as black as your soul.”
Regulus grumbled but didn’t reject the drink.
Sirius took his drink cautiously, the cup warm in his hands. He took a sip before he could overthink it.
It was good.
Really good.
He blinked down at the cup. “What is this?”
“Dirty chai latte,” James explained. “Chai with espresso. A little spicy, a little bitter, and very satisfying. It was my mum’s recipe.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “And you thought it suited me?”
James grinned. Not cocky—just warm, like sunlight through kitchen curtains. “Complex flavor profile. A little bitter. And, well, if I’m being completely honest, spicy and hot.”
There was a beat of silence in which six distinct reactions happened at once:
Harry, who had been patiently waiting, frowned. “Where’s my hot choc-late?”
Marlene choked on her espresso and started cackling.
Remus exhaled a sigh so deep it seemed to leave his soul through his shoes.
Regulus, without missing a beat, nodded and said, “Called it.”
James looked utterly unbothered. In fact, he looked pleased.
And Sirius went very, very still. “You can’t just say things like that in front of your child.”
“I said bollocks once while parallel parking,” Remus muttered. “And you already had hot chocolate, you heathen child, when you stole mine.”
They stayed like that for a little while, just talking. The easy rhythm of familiar people in the same room, cups in hands, shoulders relaxing. Harry showed off his dog plushie—he had changed its name to Sirius because he thought his earrings the first day they met were cool , which really shouldn’t have made Sirius as happy as it did.
And just as the bell rang again—someone walking in for an appointment—James turned to go.
But before he left, he reached out, quick and quiet, and brushed his fingers against the inside of Sirius’ wrist where the tattoo of a constellation hid. Just a gentle pressure, thumb warm against his pulse.
He leaned in, just close enough, and said quietly, “I’ll see you soon.”
And then he was gone, leaving the door swinging behind him.
~~~
The park was quieter today.
Late afternoon light poured through the trees in long ribbons, golden enough to make anything look softer. Sirius sat on the same bench as he always did, sketchbook open on his lap, coffee cup empty beside him. The dirt path curved in a lazy loop past the fountain, and somewhere out of view, a kid was screaming joyfully at a goose.
He wasn’t drawing James.
He wasn’t.
He had been drawing Regulus’ dream from the other night, the one with the dog and the wolf and the stag. It had started as a dog. Or something dog-adjacent. Long lines, lean limbs, teeth just visible. Something wild but not threatening. Meant to be with others, but always somehow ending up alone.
But then the lines began to shift, smoothed out in places, curved in the edges. The shape of a shoulder, familiar and unintentional. The curl of hair, barely sketched, but there. An arm bent at the elbow. A mug resting in a hand he hadn’t meant to make look so strong.
Sirius scowled at the page.
The vines had returned, too—uninvited but persistent. They curled around the wrist now. Tangled in the collarbone. He’d started adding stars, faint ones, the kind you had to squint to see.
He set the pencil down and let his head fall back against the bench.
Three days until the café opened.
Three days until James was across the street full-time, making chai and stealing eye contact and saying things like “spicy and hot” like it was casual. Like Sirius wasn’t still thinking about it hours later.
“You’re going to fall in love with him,” Marlene had said.
He was starting to think that maybe she wasn’t wrong.
And then, just when he thought the moment might pass quietly, a familiar voice called out across the grass: “Harry, don’t chase that one, it’s enormous!”
Sirius sat up.
James was jogging along the path, red-cheeked. Harry, further ahead, was running in the general direction of a very unbothered crow, laughing wildly.
The bird gave him a look of reproach and hopped out of range.
Sirius watched them head toward him, unsure whether to close the sketchbook or throw it in the fountain.
James spotted him and brightened. “Hey,” he called. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here.”
“I come here sometimes,” Sirius said. “When I’m trying not to commit arson.”
James laughed. “That’s a very specific hobby.” He watched as Harry veered past them, deep in pursuit of a second crow, then dropped onto the other end of the bench, glancing at the sketchbook.
“Working?”
Sirius hesitated. “Sort of.”
James didn’t push. Just sat there, legs stretched out, hair catching the light like he’d wandered out of some terrible romance novel. He didn’t look at Sirius when he asked, “Is that for someone?”
Sirius thought about lying. Then he thought about how tired he was of pretending he wasn’t already in too deep.
“Maybe,” he said.
James nodded slowly. “Well. Whoever it’s for, it’s beautiful.”
Sirius didn’t respond. His hand was too close to James’ knee. The air felt like it had stilled around them.
Across the path, Harry screamed, “I am the crow king!”
James groaned. “I’ve lost control of my child.”
Sirius smiled before he could stop himself. “I don’t think you ever had him under control.”
“Probably true.” James moved to stand, brushing dust off his jeans, but his eyes lingered on the sketchpad again. “Let me know if you want to put it on someone.”
Sirius hesitated.
And then, quietly: “It’s you.”
James turned back.
“What?”
“The drawing,” Sirius said, gaze still on the page. “It’s you. Not, like, intentionally at first. But it is.”
There was a pause. A long, slow beat of surprise folding into something warmer.
James stepped back toward the bench. “You drew me.”
Sirius gave him a look. “You sound surprised.”
“I just didn’t realise you saw me as so…” James leaned in slightly, tilting his head to peer at the sketch. “…pretty.”
Sirius groaned and flipped the sketchpad shut.
James shrugged. “I mean, you got the curls and everything.”
“Get over yourself.”
James sat again. Not quite touching, but closer. His hand brushed Sirius’ briefly.
“I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,” he said casually, like it wasn’t everything Sirius had secretly wanted to hear. “Nothing big. Just—something.”
“What,” Sirius said, dry, “looking for any excuse to have my hands on you?”
James didn’t blink. “Not you, idiot. Marlene.”
Sirius froze.
And then James snorted. “I’m joking. God, your face.”
Sirius shoved him lightly with one shoulder. “You think that was funny? Here I was thinking, oh, shit, he never said he was into men, did he, and he was married to a woman up until very recently, so maybe he’s actually straight—”
“It was a little funny,” James said, smirking. “I’m bisexual, actually, and very, very interested in someone who’s decidedly not a woman—”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Sirius reached up, grabbed his face firmly with both hands, and kissed him.
It wasn’t careful. Not the kind you give someone to test the waters. It was the kind that had been circling for days, waiting just below the surface—restless, inevitable. It was soft at first, like a question, then fuller, like an answer neither of them had been ready to say out loud.
James inhaled sharply against his mouth and kissed him back like he’d been hoping for it. Like he’d been aching for it. One hand cupping Sirius’ jaw, the other curling against the back of his neck, pulling him in with quiet certainty.
And, fuck, if Sirius wasn’t gone for this man before, he certainly was now.
James kissed him like he meant it. Like he was too tired of holding still. Like his mouth already knew the shape of Sirius’. His hands found Sirius’ waist without hesitation, and he tilted into the kiss, breath catching just slightly, lips warm and sure.
When they broke apart, it was slow, like neither of them had entirely decided to stop. James’ eyes fluttered open, and his perfect, kiss-swollen lips were still parted like he might lean in again.
The park was still there. The sun still dappled the grass. Somewhere, Harry was still chasing crows.
Yet, Sirius felt like the world had tilted on its axis. Surely the sun was a little brighter, the chirping of the birds sweeter—
James cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, voice a little rough. “That was—”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Any notes?”
James thought for a moment. “Just one.”
“Yeah?”
“I really, really want you to tattoo me.”
Sirius smiled, the kind that settled behind his ribs and stayed there. He curled his body around James, and his heart fluttered when James tucked him in closer to run his fingers through his hair.
He was so, so lucky.
~~~
Breakfast at the shop before it opened for the day had become a kind of tradition in the days leading up to the café’s opening. It was a rotating spread: Marlene’s aggressively buttered toast, Regulus’ meticulously sliced fruit, and whatever pastry James brought over, always with flour on his sleeves and a smile that sent Sirius’ heart racing. It was nice, having everyone in the same space before they scattered—James off to wrangle last-minute logistics, Remus to his office to edit the manuscripts waiting at his desk, the shop humming with machines and ink and motion.
Today James had brought apricot croissants. The six of them were crowded around the front counter with their plates and coffee cups, elbows bumping, Harry in his special dinosaur chair that Regulus had impulsively purchased a few days ago. Sirius was in a rare mood, softened by good food, warm sunlight, and having James beside him, engaged in a passionate discussion with Remus.
Then James’ phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, winced. “Sorry. Need to grab this. Back in a sec.”
He stepped outside with the phone pressed to his ear, voice muffled behind the glass. Sirius watched him pace just out of earshot. He watched as James’ eyes lit up, the way his hands moved in the air as he talked excitedly with the other person on the line.
Minutes later, a red car pulled up in front of the café.
It was small and a little dusty as if it had driven through early morning fog. The woman who stepped out had the kind of presence that made people look twice: sharp cheekbones, freckles, bright hair the same colour as her car pulled into a low twist. She barely had time to straighten up before Harry squealed from inside the shop and launched himself at the door.
“Mummy!”
She opened her arms just in time, catching him mid-run and swinging him up with practised ease. Her laugh rang clear across the street.
James reached them in three long strides. She kissed his cheeks, hugged him tightly, and for a moment they stood in that loose, familiar way that said history lived in their bones.
Sirius watched from the doorway, heart twisting in a way he didn’t love.
James looked over and waved Lily into the shop. “Come meet everyone, Lils!”
Harry jumped out of Lily’s arms and excitedly pulled her in. She stepped into the shop and looked around, green eyes bright and curious. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Lily. Sorry to barge in. I didn’t mean to interrupt breakfast.”
Sirius mumbled something polite. Regulus offered his most charming wave. Remus stood up to hug her, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Marlene, returning from the bathroom, froze mid-step. Her eyes widened, landed on Lily, and stayed there.
Lily turned at the movement and gave her a little wave. “Hey.”
Marlene blinked. “Hi,” she said, barely audible. Her face turned the colour of strawberry jam.
Lily ducked her head, pink rising to her cheeks.
Interesting, Sirius thought.
James cleared his throat. “Lily’s taking Harry for the weekend to let me finish setting up without having to worry about him repotting the basil again."
“He only did it twice,” Lily said, ruffling Harry’s hair. Harry looked up and grinned proudly, chubby cheeks forming dimples.
She stayed for a few hours while they wrapped up morning appointments. Helped Harry colour a dragon on a sticky note, giving it blue wings, oversized sunglasses, and naming it “Craig.” Leaned over James’ shoulder while he checked something on his tablet, offering unsolicited opinions on font choices and muffin pricing, pinching his cheeks when he groaned and rewrote half a sentence. She and Remus swapped stories like they’d never stopped talking, the kind of easy, familiar rhythm that came from years of friendship and too many late-night takeout runs. Even Regulus, usually allergic to small talk, slipped into conversation with her like it was effortless.
And Marlene—Marlene spoke to Lily like she wanted to memorise everything about her. Her new flat. The flowers in her earrings. How she liked to drink her coffee when it wasn’t too hot but before it went cold. But when Lily leaned close to show her a photo of Harry on her phone, her eyes did that wide, startled thing Sirius recognised in himself far too well.
“Cute, right?” Lily asked.
Marlene cleared her throat. “Yeah. Harry’s adorable.”
Lily looked at her, soft and unbothered, and Marlene smiled back like she hadn’t momentarily forgotten how to function.
Sirius, from the other side of the room where he was inking a blooming daffodil onto a client’s arm, watched the whole thing unfold.
He and James still hadn’t talked about the kiss. Not really. And now, surrounded by warmth and people and history he wasn’t part of, Sirius couldn’t tell if he was standing at the edge of something or being quietly left behind. James hadn’t pulled away. But he hadn’t reached for him again, either. And Sirius didn’t know how to ask if the moment meant anything without sounding like he needed the answer too badly.
At lunch, they all crammed into the back room and shared sandwiches and leftover croissants. Lily sat beside Marlene again, their knees bumping lightly under the table, and Marlene still looked nervous, still a little pink in the cheeks, but her words came more easily now, like she was letting herself hope for something she hadn’t dared name.
When Lily finally stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans, Harry was already bundled into his car seat and Marlene looked like she was swallowing glass.
Remus nudged her. “Go.”
Marlene blinked. “What?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Marlene hesitated—then bolted out the door.
Sirius watched as the two women stood beside Lily’s car, talking. Laughing, eventually. Lily wrote something down and passed it over. Then she leaned in and kissed Marlene’s cheek before getting into the car and driving away.
Marlene came back inside looking like someone had whispered the moon into her ear. Sirius didn’t know whether he envied her or pitied her, recognising his own hopeful yearning in the way she carried herself throughout the rest of the afternoon.
~~~
That evening, Remus and Regulus slipped out hand in hand, their conversation low and easy between them. Marlene left not long after, still half-smiling.
Sirius was locking up when he saw James across the street, standing in front of the café. He wasn’t moving. Just staring up at the sign, hands in his pockets.
Sirius crossed without thinking.
He stepped up behind James, wrapped his arms around his waist, and pressed his forehead between his shoulder blades.
James didn’t startle. He leaned back into the touch like he’d been waiting for it.
“Feels weird,” James murmured. “Not having Harry tonight.”
“He’ll be back before you can miss him properly,” Sirius said.
James turned slightly, enough to see him. “Tomorrow’s the opening.”
Sirius kissed him. “You’re going to be amazing. People already care. They’re already interested. A well-known chef opening his own café? They’re practically vibrating across the street.”
James looked pensive. “You think so?”
Sirius nodded against his collar. “I know so.”
They lingered there a moment longer, wrapped in the hush of the street.
Then James tilted his head, eyes catching the soft light from inside his café. “You wanna come in? I’ve been meaning to show you something.”
Sirius followed him to the door, ducking under the just-hung string lights. The inside of the café was mostly set—tables positioned, walls painted in airy mint-green and warm creams. There were framed prints along every wall: vintage food posters, botanical sketches, a few old family photos of James and Harry and Lily and Remus, and some newer ones with Regulus and Sirius.
All except one wall, completely bare, near the back.
Sirius stopped in front of it.
James scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I was saving this spot. Thought maybe you’d want to put something up. If you ever felt like it.”
Sirius blinked. “My art?”
James shrugged, but his smile was crooked with something nervous. “I just thought, since you’re always sketching. Thought maybe they deserved a wall.”
Sirius looked at the space again, a lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “I think I’d like that.”
Before James could reply, he had him pressed against the empty wall, kissing him, saying all the things he couldn’t say aloud— thank you. I want you. Do you want me too? I think I might love you. James’ hands found his waist, his words caught between them, muffled by Sirius’ mouth and the soft thud of his head leaning back against wood.
“Wait,” James said. “There’s a bench somewhere here.”
Sirius looked up. “Oh?”
James nodded, then pushed Sirius away. Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but then James lifted him up like it was nothing, hands firm and sure, and Sirius had to bite down hard on a gasp, heat flashing down his spine at the sheer ease of it.
They ended up on the bench in a tangle of limbs, Sirius’ back pressed down, James’ arms holding himself up so he didn’t crush him. He leaned down for another kiss, and Sirius sighed into it happily.
“I want to fuck you so badly,” James groaned into his neck. “Is that okay?”
There was no world where Sirius would say no—not to James, not like this.
“Please,” he said, breath hitching as he reached down. “I have lube in my pocket.”
“You—you have what?” James pulled back, snickering. “Did you plan for this?”
Sirius refused to squirm under his gaze. “No, but are you complaining?”
James shook his head, squeezing a liberal amount on his fingers and rubbing them together just enough to warm it up. “Of course not, sweetheart.”
Sirius shivered at the pet name, and James’ gaze sharpened with curiosity. He moved down Sirius’ body, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered as he slowly took off his clothes. When his fingers began prodding at his entrance, Sirius had to clench his fists around the edges of the bench, willing himself to keep it together.
“Ready?” James asked, and Sirius nodded, unable to speak. James began fingering Sirius open, slowly and thoroughly, murmuring hushed praises into his skin, pressing kisses along the tattoos on his ribs and lower at the slope of his hips. Sirius tried to focus on what James was saying, but gave up when James’ fingers kept brushing against his prostate and then circling his entrance, over and over again.
“You’re so beautiful,” James whispered. “So, so lovely. I’m so lucky to have you, my darling. Do you know how you look, spread out like this for me? With all your goddamn tattoos like a fucking piece of art. Like you were made just for me. Every part of you—fuck, Sirius—you drive me out of my mind.”
Sirius moaned, arching his back as James pushed a third finger in. “Yes,” he rasped. “Just for you, fuck, I need—”
“Shh,” James said. “I know. Let me take care of you, yeah?” He got out some more lube and slicked it up Sirius’ cock, making him keen.
“Just fuck me, already,” Sirius bit out. “Been thinking about this—about you—every damn day.”
“Such a demanding little thing,” James admonished, positioning himself above him. He pushed in slowly, and Sirius’ eyes went wide before falling shut, broken whimpers falling out of him. “So fucking tight. You’re perfect, my love.”
“M’love?” Sirius breathed, dazed and aching. James didn’t answer with words—just a sound low in his throat as he kissed him again, all heat and hunger, nothing careful about it.
Sirius wrapped his arms around James’ neck, tangling his fingers into the unruly curls. His nails scratched at James’ scalp, and James groaned, pushing into Sirius in a particularly sharp thrust. Sirius felt himself clench as he gasped.
“I’m close,” he said, then swatted away James’ hand when he started to reach for his cock. “No, I want you to cum first.”
James shook his head, readjusting his weight onto one arm and returning his other hand to Sirius. He kissed him gently as he stroked Sirius’ length, still pushing in and out of him, and Sirius was distracted by his own impending pleasure to stop James again.
Within minutes, he was pushed over the edge, cum splattering against James’ stomach. James pulled away slightly, watching him, and Sirius took the opportunity to lightly smack his chest.
“I said I wanted you to cum first,” he said glaring. “You’re such a pain in the arse.”
James grinned. “Well, I’m literally in your arse, so—”
“Oh, shut up,” Sirius groaned.
“I’ve never shagged someone who immediately started arguing,” James mused. “Especially about an orgasm. Isn’t that supposed to be the point?”
“No,” Sirius said. “Well, yes, but I wanted tonight to be about you.”
James huffed. “I mean, you can always make up for it now, instead of complaining.” He emphasised his point by rolling his hips into Sirius, whose lips parted silently at the overstimulation.
Sirius held onto James’ arm, using the leverage to flip James onto his back on the bench. He rose above him, sucking in a breath as James slipped out of him. James hissed.
“You’re awful at listening to me,” he informed him, pushing his long hair over his shoulder. “And now I’m mad. I was going to ride you, but you don’t deserve that anymore.”
James laughed. “Shame. Should you really be near my dick if you’re mad?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m not an animal.” He went down James’ body and didn’t give him any further warning before wrapping his lips around him.
He could taste the remnants of the lube and something muskier—himself, he realised with a start—on James, and it wasn’t entirely pleasant, but this was James. Everything about him was perfect, at least to Sirius.
He licked the tip of his cock after placing a gentle kiss on the end, relishing the way James’ hips jerked. His tongue licked around the head before slowly taking him deeper, hollowing his cheeks, and James blindly reached out to tug on his hair. Sirius moaned at the pull, taking James in deeper as he caressed his balls, gently tracing and tugging at them.
He was dimly aware of James swearing and mumbling nonsense, urging him on to continue, yes, just like that. Then James was tensing, babbling a stuttered warning—
As if Sirius hadn’t been fantasising about how James would taste for days.
He gripped James’ thigh with the hand that wasn’t playing with his balls, sucking on him with renewed vigour. James came with a shout, hazel eyes pressing shut as Sirius swallowed it all down, letting James’ hips jerk and push deeper into his mouth.
There was silence as they both caught their breath. Sirius half-wondered if he was squashing James as he laid on top of him. The thought quickly disappeared as his hands ghosted up and down his bare frame. He leaned down to remove James’ glasses, then pressed quick kisses onto his eyelids.
“You know, when I put this bench in, I never thought I’d have sex on it,” James mused.
“The first time I saw this bench, all I could think about was having sex on it,” Sirius countered, nipping at his neck as James pinched his back. “I’m glad I just so happened to have lube in my pocket.”
“You just happened to have it,” James repeated, disbelieving. His hair was mussed, even more so than usual, and his face was relaxed, open and happy. Sirius couldn’t help but kiss him again.
“Remus and Regulus and Marlene had all left, so I was hoping we could, um, hang out together,” Sirius admitted quietly. “I wouldn’t have minded if we didn’t have sex, but I had hoped—I just thought that maybe with Harry gone—”
James shushed him with a finger on his lips. “I know, darling. I’m just teasing.”
That reminded him. “You said—I mean, you were balls deep in me when you said it, so I get it if you didn’t mean it, but you called me love. Does that—did you mean it?” Sirius tried not to let his feelings show, but he didn’t know what he would do if James said no.
“What do you think?” James asked. “Of course I love you. Everyone knows it. Harry knows it. Remus and Regulus have known even before I did. Even Lily knows. For such an intelligent person, you can be quite dense.”
“Say it again,” Sirius requested, heart soaring.
“What, that you’re dense?”
“No, you buffoon, before that.”
“Everyone in the world knows something and you don’t?”
“James!”
“I love you,” James repeated, voice fond as he pushed a lock of hair behind Sirius’ ear. “I love you. I love you and your beautiful hands and your amazing drawings and—” he squeezes Sirius’ arse playfully, “—your perfect butt. I love everything about you. So bloody much.”
Sirius buried his face into the space where James’ neck met his shoulder. “I do too. I love how happy you always make me feel. I haven’t felt like this in ages.”
James responded by kissing him, and they stayed there, quietly enjoying each other’s presence, when a thought reoccurred to Sirius. “Aren’t you uncomfortable like this?” he asked, wriggling about a bit, noticing that his whole left shoulder was hanging over the edge of the bench and his dried cum between them.
“Don’t even think about moving,” he said, locking his arms around his waist. “This is the most comfortable I’ve been all week. In fact, this is all I’ve thought about. It’s all I’m going to be thinking about. You’re like an addiction.”
“I feel the same way,” Sirius replied, amused, against his lips. “You’re very distracting.”
“I could tell,” James teased. “From all the staring you did through your window.”
The denial was at the tip of his tongue, but something about James’ expression— uncharacteristically tentative, almost shy—made him pause. “I can’t help that my boyfriend is so beautiful.”
James kissed his bare shoulder. “I’m your boyfriend now?”
“We had sex not too long before we confessed our love for each other,” Sirius said. “I’m pretty sure that makes us boyfriends. Unless you want to be friends with benefits, or, I don’t know, husbands, or something.”
“Yeah,” James whispered against his lips. “I’d like that.”
“Which one?” Sirius asks cheekily, arching into him. “I gave you several options.”
“‘Which one,’ he says,” James mocked, rolling his eyes. “What do you think?”
“I’m thinking that you’re scared of commitment, so you want us to remain friends who occasionally fuck each other,” Sirius said, his poker face breaking at James’ expression.
“I’ll show you commitment,” James growled. “I’m going to marry you someday.” Then a sheepish look crosses his face. “Maybe not right away, though. I just got divorced, like, two months ago.”
Sirius snorted. “This is the crappiest proposal I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”
“Oh, really?” James asked. “How many others have been proposing to you?”
“Technically, you’re the first,” Sirius said. “But that’s still more than you.”
James pressed a series of kisses against his skin. “Maybe you can propose to me, then, to show me how it’s done.”
Sirius sighed when James’ lips found their way to the spot behind his ear. “Maybe.” Comfortable silence stretched around them.
“Okay, we’re disgusting and it’s getting cold,” James suddenly said, sitting up and manoeuvring Sirius onto his lap. “Let’s get cleaned up and go home.”
Sirius frowned petulantly.
“Come on,” James insisted, wiping the dried smears on his belly before pulling his clothes and glasses back on. “It’ll be nicer to cuddle in a warm bed.”
“Fine,” he acquiesced, getting to his feet.
“I love you.”
Sirius accepted his kiss, burying his hands into the thick curls he had dreamed of for the last three weeks. “I love you too.”
James and Sirius are so beautiful together. I want to ask, if you have time, of course. Would you mind writing a story about james starting to call Sirius by a different pet name every day to get Sirius' attention. But, Sirius, even if he loves it, he plays it cool. Fluff and getting together
((Note: Read below or on AO3!))
“What the hell, Potter?” comes an enraged yell from across the Great Hall. James looks up to see Sirius Black storming towards the Gryffindor table with red and gold stripes replacing the usual green and silver on his tie. He snickers.
Remus tries to hide his amusement. “James, it’s the second day of school.”
James shrugs. “Which is why I used a second-year charm to torment him today. If he’d stop to think for half a second, he could easily solve the problem with the counter-charm.” He ignores Remus and Peter’s disbelieving scoffs and smiles innocently at Black when he reaches them. “Alright there?”
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, grey eyes flashing.
“It’s a second-year spell, Black, bloody hell. Just fix it yourself if it bothers you so much.”
“You think I didn’t try?” he bites out. “I wouldn’t put myself in your presence if I could help it.”
Remus and Peter share a glance, then raise matching eyebrows in James’ direction. James doesn’t bother to look at them.
“See, here’s the thing. I could fix it, easily, but the Gryffindor colors look so much better than the Slytherin ones. So, no, for the sake of my eyes and everyone else’s, I’d rather not.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Black sneers and turns away.
Not quite finished messing with him, James winks. “I’d rather you fuck me, ” he says, relishing the way Black’s eyes widen slightly and lips part before he recovers and smooths out his expression again. He once again ignores his friends’ bewildered expressions.
“I wouldn’t dirty any part of my body by having it come near you,” Black retorts.
“Think about your come near me often, do you?” James says.
“That is not—you—” he splutters, then rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters and walks away.
James watches him leave and grins. He had expected Black’s predictable comeback, but his face, wide-eyed and caught off-guard, was a much more exciting reaction.
~~~
The summer before James started Hogwarts, his parents threw a large banquet in his name. They invited all the purebloods they knew and some others, and to their surprise, most of the pureblood families showed up. The Blacks, unable to resist the lure of a night of gossip and wine and music, were one of them.
At eleven, James was just as restless as he is at seventeen. He’d managed to escape the crowds of people gathered inside Potter Manor to climb one of the trees on his back lawn. Something about the night—just a week before he’d leave for Hogwarts—made him ache in a way he had never felt before, and he wanted to step outside to look at the stars. His mum had taught him all about constellations, and he found comfort in trying to find them.
He was just about to swing his legs over the highest branch when his hold on the trunk slipped and he fell onto the grass below.
“You should watch where you’re going,” came a disdained sniff next to him. “Or are you blind even with your glasses?”
James looked up to see the Black heir, clad in silk robes of deep emerald, eyeing him with a bored expression. His blood boiled—it was one thing to make fun of him, but another thing to consider him boring.
“I’m not blind, but seeing you makes me wish I was!” he answered hotly. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was being unreasonable, that there was no need to lash out, but someone finding him when he was trying to get away from his own party made him feel unpleasantly exposed.
“Clearly you blood traitors have no manners,” Black said. His expression remained bored and James wanted to punch him. How dare he come to James’ party just to insult him and then talk about manners?
“At least we’re not so inbred our family tree is more of a circle than anything resembling a tree,” he retorted.
“It’s to keep the good genes away from you lot,” Black said, scowling.
James looked him up and down. “I don’t see anything I’d want to have,” he said, done with the conversation.
In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to make an enemy out of someone so magically inclined as Sirius Black, especially if said person was to be one of James’ peers for the next seven years. James decided to simply avoid Black for his own good.
On the train ride, he’d successfully managed to follow through with his decision. But as soon as they arrived at Hogwarts, all his efforts to avoid and ignore were quickly undone. As soon as they were sorted—James to Gryffindor, of course, and Black to Slytherin—Black started in on him as though he were making up for James having the last word in their argument in the summer just days ago.
“I’ll never understand how the Sorting Hat managed to fit on you, Potter, with your head being as large as it is. Maybe that’s why you were sorted before it even touched you.”
“It’s really not that hard to understand, Black, but you were always a slow one.”
“Slow? More like waiting for you to catch up. It’s not fun having one-sided conversations, but you wouldn’t know the difference.”
And thus their years-long rivalry began. Initially, they exchanged nothing more than barbed insults, but soon, increasingly complex pranks followed. In their third year, Black vanished James’ clothes mid-Quidditch match, while James slipped enchanted powder into his shampoo bottle, causing his hair to become an impressive gold and red for a week. James cast a silent spell on Black’s shoes, making them squeak with every step, and in return, Black charmed James’ cloak to stick to him.
This year, however, James has a plan to beat Black once and for all. It isn’t a particularly good one, but that has never stopped him.
~~~
The first week of classes passes without incident. James wants to feel happy about it—perhaps Black’s prudish nature couldn’t handle James’ comments a few days before—but instead, he feels rather, well, disappointed.
It comes as a welcome relief when Slughorn announces the potion they will be working on that week: Essence of Insanity.
“Now, class,” he begins, leaning against his desk. “This is a very dangerous potion. I trust that as seventh years in a NEWT-level class, you are all well-equipped to make this without trouble. Now, can anyone tell me why it is so important to follow directions with extra care for this potion?”
Lily raises her hand. “It causes irrational decision making in the drinker, Professor, so it’s already a pretty dangerous potion if it falls into the wrong hands.” She pauses, instinctively flicking her eyes to the Slytherin half of the room. “And the main active ingredients, frog brains and beetle eyes, can cause unpleasant results if not mixed in the right way.”
Slughorn beams. “Excellent work, as usual, Miss Evans! Now, get in pairs. We’ll be working on this all week.”
Remus is already sitting near Lily, so James is left to partner with Peter. As he makes his way to the storage cabinet to get the ingredients, a shadow falls across his arm.
“Your potion will likely be the best in the class, Potter, since you’ve mastered the essence of insanity ages ago, don’t you think?” a snide voice says next to him.
James hums, in the middle of crushing his spoonful of beetle eyes. “Well, my father is a master potioneer.”
“Sure, plus you’re a master at being insane—”
“You’re so tall,” James says, as he finishes measuring. “It’s nice.” He had turned around to return to his seat, but he hadn’t realized how fast the line had moved and how close Black now stood behind him.
Black eyes him warily. “What?”
“I mean, I knew you were tall, since I’ve seen you around, but I hadn’t realized you were taller than me,” James continues. “You’ve probably got a couple centimeters on me. Probably makes it easier to reach these ingredients on the high shelves, doesn’t it?”
Black steps back, or as much as he can without trampling someone’s feet behind him. He looks down at himself, then back at James, mentally cataloging their height difference with a bewildered expression. “Um, I guess. So?”
“So, nothing,” James says. “Just that I find tall people more attractive. See you later.”
And then he strolls back to his cauldron where Peter awaits him, leaving Black baffled behind him.
~~~
“Hey, Potter,” Black sneers in the corridor near the Great Hall the next morning, stopping James on his way to breakfast. “Where’s the rest of your little clique? Did they abandon you? I suppose they were bound to figure out how boring you are after seven years in your presence.”
James shrugs, the jab not bothering him nearly as much as it did seven years ago. “Remus and Peter woke up before me. And anyway, I’m glad I caught you without them around—they wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if they heard me tell you that green is your color.”
Black raises an eyebrow. James idly wishes he could make the same expression with as much ease. “The same green that you claimed was an atrocity to everyone’s eyes?”
James nods. “Yeah. Somehow you make it work. I never noticed before, but your eyes are sort of a cooler shade of gray. The green brings out the color. You look good.”
“Er—”
“I’m not sure if the green is what brings your eyes out more, or if it’s your ridiculous cow eyelashes, or your hair,” James says, leaning a little closer to scrutinize him.
Black takes an alarmed step back. “M-my what eyelashes?”
“Cow eyelashes,” James repeats, gesturing at them. “They’re all long and thick. Mine aren’t half as pretty, but I guess my glasses cover most of them anyway. Hey, is your hair wavy? I always thought it was straight.”
Black reaches up and touches his hair uncertainly, looking lost about how to deal with James’ onslaught of compliments. “Uh, no, it’s always been wavy.”
“I bet your parents aren’t a fan of you growing it out,” James remarks, wishing he could take the words back when he sees Black’s jaw clench.
Unexpectedly, Black barks out a laugh, though his posture remains stiff. “That’s the whole point.”
James glances up, surprised. “Seriously? I’d have thought you would do anything to keep them happy.”
Black’s eyes darken. “Well, that just goes to show that you know nothing,” he says icily, sweeping past James into the Great Hall. James exhales heavily, regretting his words, before following him to breakfast.
~~~
Several hours later, James finds himself hunched over his and Peter’s cauldron of Essence of Insanity at the table in front of Black. He’s minding his own business, already feeling guilty about this morning’s encounter.
“Hey, Potter.” When James turns his head, Black is pointing at the jar of frog brains on the racks next to their desk, “If it’s not too much trouble for you to help a spineless, evil Slytherin.”
James’ lips tighten. “I didn’t mean—never mind,” he says, passing him the jar. He looks over at Black’s potion. “Hey—what the heck, yours looks amazing! What did you do?”
“I read,” Black snaps, voice sharp. “Which you clearly can’t do, even with an extra set of eyes.”
“I—”
“But it’s not unlike what I’d expect from you. It makes sense that a reckless Gryffindor such as yourself wouldn’t be able to read the room or, apparently, textbooks.”
James falls silent. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he says quietly. Then, gathering his courage, he says, “My dad always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I’ve never been the best at potions. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he still wishes I did better. Maybe we could work together for the next potions project since you’re really good at it? You could show me all the ways you’re better than I am at following instructions.”
Black doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles whiten where he’s gripping the jar. “Absolutely not.”
“Okay. Whatever you want.” He feels bad about earlier and chooses not to push Black any further.
Black suddenly stands up and rounds on James. He digs the tip of his wand against James’ collarbone, and James takes a step back. His back collides with his desk, leaving Black leaning over him. Peter looks up, startled.
“Erm, Black?” James asks, his voice tentative. He reaches up and catches Black’s wrist, momentarily distracted by the contrast between the slenderness of the bone and the solid strength in the rest of his arm. The rest spills out in a rush. “You’ve got really nice arms, and normally I wouldn’t mind you pressing against me like this, but we’re in class and this definitely isn’t normal, at least for you. What exactly are you doing?"
“What am I doing?” Black repeats, incredulous. “The better question is, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Nothing?” James replies. “And let go of me—I know you’re dying to get your hands on me, but Slughorn will notice.”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Black nearly yells. “Why the bloody hell are you complimenting all the damn time? You’re supposed to be annoying me, not talking about my fucking hair and my height and my hands! When I pinned you down, you were supposed to hex me or punch me or something, not act as if we—as if we were—”
“What, dating? Fucking? In love? All of the above?” James says mildly. “But I am annoying you, if this situation is anything to go by.” Black groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Do you want me to hex you?” James asks after a beat, doubtful. “I mean, while it’s fun to rile you up like this, I’d be happy to punch you if you really wanted.”
“That is not what I—no. ” Black rubs his eyes. “Fuck. You know what? Pettigrew, we’re switching partners for the next potion. I need to teach this one a thing or two about following the rules.”
“There aren’t any rules about how to antagonize you,” James begins.
“Yes, there bloody well are!” Black snaps, cutting him off. “Like not flirting, for starters! Or complimenting my eyes! Especially when we’ve hated each other since forever!”
Peter speaks up, voice meek, like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or frightened. “Erm, is this supposed to be some kind of foreplay for you guys?”
Black jerks back. James gapes between Black and Peter, heat rising to his face.
“No,” James rushes to say. “No, we’re not—it’s just a joke. I was trying to see how far I can go to rile him up.”
“Right,” Black scoffs. “You think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t catch on? Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not an idiot. I can think and do things for myself.”
He holds James’ gaze when he says that, and James flushes. Then the moment passes, leaving James with the nagging sense that he’s missed something significant.
~~~
James feels like an arse through the rest of his classes. He can’t unsee the way Black’s expression had closed off at the mention of his parents, the way he had flinched. Remus and Peter aren’t surprised when, all throughout dinner, James keeps looking over to the Slytherin table. James knows he’s like a mother hen to all the people he cares about. Black is hardly someone he can tolerate, much less care about, but even he isn’t ignorant of the Black family’s unorthodox principles of keeping their children in check. He feels terrible about bringing up all that baggage, especially when Black had actually been decent, as far as Slytherins can go.
He had been laughing. In James’presence.
Despite what had happened immediately after, James couldn’t help but remember the way his eyes had sparkled the instant before he had laughed, the way his shoulders had loosened with mirth. At that moment, when they had bonded for a brief moment over a mutual dislike for the Black parents, he hadn’t seemed like the irritating menace he had been throughout their Hogwarts years. He had just been a boy, bitter about the control his parents had over his life, and while James hadn’t understood, per se, he could still relate to doing things for the sake of rebelling against his parents.
And then James had to muck it up.
He feels responsible for Black’s bad mood as he watches him snap at his brother and friends over at the Slytherin table and later in the halls after dinner. As he makes his way to the Gryffindor tower to get ready for his night’s patrols, he quickly grabs the Marauder’s map before thinking better of it. It would be good to apologize to Black sooner rather than later, he thinks, and ignores the small voice in his head that Black wouldn’t appreciate an apology at all.
He finishes off his assigned rounds as fast as he can, then pulls out the map, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls. The glow of his wand illuminates his face as he scans the parchment for the dot labeled “Sirius Black.” Finally, he spots it, hovering near one of the abandoned corridors on the seventh floor near the Astronomy Tower.
“What’s he doing there?” James mutters to himself. A strange unease settles in his stomach. He folds the map and tucks it into his pocket, quickening his pace.
The corridor is dimly lit, the torches on the walls flickering feebly. James slows as he approaches, hearing the faint clinking of glass. Rounding the corner, he spots Black leaning against the wall, a bottle of Firewhisky in hand. His posture is loose, almost careless, but there’s a tension in the line of his shoulders that betrays his mood. His robes hang off his shoulders, the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, and stray hairs from his bun frame his face. James swallows, trying to stop the way his heart quickens at the sight of the faint golden light spilling across Black’s disarrayed state.
“Black?” James calls out cautiously. He tucks the map into his pocket.
Black looks up, startled, and his eyes narrow. “Head Boy,” he says coolly, tilting the bottle in a mock salute. “What brings you here? Here to give me detention for being out after curfew? Or say something about my butt”
James steps closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “Thought I’d find you,” he says. “I wanted to apologize. But I can compliment your butt, too, if you’d like. It’s unfairly distracting.”
Black looks skeptical, but there’s an amused quirk at the corner of his mouth. “It’s my second-best asset,” he says. “And apologize for what? Letting your mouth run away with you earlier? Don’t bother. It’s not like it’s the first time.”
James winces but presses on. “Yeah, for that. Look, I shouldn’t have brought up your parents. It was out of line.” Then he pauses. “What’s your best asset?”
Black snorts, taking a swig from the bottle. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmurs. “Anyway, you’re not wrong about them. They’re bloody nightmares, both of them. But it’s not exactly dinner conversation, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” James admits. “Still, I—” He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know I don’t understand what it’s like, but… I’ve seen enough to know it’s not easy.”
For a moment, Black just looks at him, the guarded expression on his face cracking ever so slightly. Then he slumps down to sit on the cold stone floor, motioning vaguely for James to join him.
“So you’ve come to play Mind Healer, have you?” he asks, his tone laced with sarcasm. His head tips back to lean against the stone walls, and James turns his gaze forcibly away from the long line of his neck, the sharp curve of his Adam’s apple.
Merlin, what was happening to him?
He sits beside him, keeping a small distance. “Not exactly,” he says. “But if you feel like talking, I’ll listen.”
Black takes another swig and then sets the bottle down between them. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“I’ve been told,” James says with a faint smile.
Silence falls between them, stretching long enough that James wonders if he should leave. But then Black speaks, his voice quieter than James has ever heard it.
“They hate me,” he murmurs, staring at the far wall. “Always have. I’m not what they wanted. Not obedient enough, not ambitious enough, not…dark enough. Regulus? He’s the perfect son. Does everything they ask without question. Me? I’m the family disappointment.”
James listens, the weight of Black’s words settling heavily in his chest. “That’s not on you,” he says firmly. “That’s on them. Parents are supposed to, you know, love their kids for who they are, not try to mold them into something they’re not.”
Black lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s not how the Blacks operate. Loyalty to the family above all else. Toujours pur. It doesn’t matter if it breaks you in the process.”
James hesitates, then takes a long pull of Firewhisky. Gathering his courage, he speaks. “My parents—they’re not like that. They’re amazing, honestly. But even then, I’ve felt it sometimes, the pressure to be the perfect son. They’ve wanted a child for years, so I feel like I have to, I don’t know, live up to expectations. It’s nothing like what you’ve been through, but I get it. A little, at least.”
Black takes the bottle from him. “I thought you were the perfect golden boy.” He takes a shuddering breath, then closes his eyes. “When I was younger I actually used to be jealous of how easily you made friends and how happy you always seemed.”
“I am happy,” James says. “And I’m grateful for my friends. But it’s hard to be the ‘perfect golden boy’ all the time. Sometimes I just want to hex someone or scream bloody murder, but I have to keep up the act for others’ sakes. It’s tough. I’m always looking out for others, but not all of them would even think to look out for me. Not that I’d ever ask.”
Black holds his gaze, something in James’ expression making his eyes soften. “I guess we’re not as different as I thought,” he says, almost grudgingly. He pauses, but then steeling himself, he continues.
“I can’t ask anyone for help either,” he says hesitantly, “I don’t—I’d be in a worse position if they figure out I’ve been speaking about family matters to outside people. And I can’t imagine Regulus in my place. He’s quiet, sure, and he never stands up to them, but at least he’s there. When everything goes to hell, he’s the only one who understands.”
James glances at him, surprised. “Really? I didn’t think you two were close.”
Black’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s my little brother. I’d do anything to protect him. And he’s the only one who looks out for me when there’s no one else. We both hate them, our parents. He just better at keeping his head down. It’s like he’s learned to survive by staying silent. I’m not sure if that makes him smart or just cowardly, but, well, it’s Reg. That’s just how he is.”
James nods slowly, understanding dawning on him. “Sounds like he cares about you in his own way.”
“He does,” Black says softly. “And I care about him. I just wish he didn’t have to carry all of this, you know? Wish neither of us did.”
“Maybe you don’t have to,” James offers. “Not alone, anyway.”
Black glances at him, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a sigh, he inclines his head. “Maybe, Potter.”
“James.”
“What?”
“James,” he repeats. “Call me James. I’ll call you Sirius, if that’s okay?”
Black pauses, considering, then nods. “Okay, uh—James.”
They sit in silence for a while, the Firewhisky forgotten between them. And for the first time, James sees Sirius Black not as a Slytherin or an enemy, but as a boy who’s just as lost and hurt as anyone else. And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, they could be something more than rivals.
~~~
The next morning, History of Magic is as dull as ever. James strolls into the classroom, his usual confident swagger intact, but instead of heading to his seat beside Remus and Peter, he veers off. He makes a beeline for Sirius, who’s slumped in his chair at the far end of the room, looking decidedly worse for wear.
Remus and Peter exchange glances as James drops into the seat next to Sirius without preamble.
“What are you doing?” Sirius mutters, his voice low and gravelly, as though he’s nursing a hangover—which, James realizes with some satisfaction, he probably is.
“Spying on you, obviously,” James quips with a grin, loud enough for Remus and Peter to hear. “Can’t let a Slytherin out of my sight.”
Peter chuckles, apparently buying the excuse, but Remus just raises an eyebrow, his sharp gaze cutting straight through James’ bravado.
Sirius rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest further. He’s too distracted, his usual immaculate appearance slightly ruffled. His hair is less polished than usual, and while he still looks more put-together than James on any given day, there’s a weariness in his eyes that makes James pause.
“You look like hell,” James whispers, leaning closer.
Sirius glares at him. “Thanks for the observation, Potter. Very helpful. What happened to my beautiful eyes and hair?”
“They drowned in last night’s Firewhisky,” James says, fishing a small vial out of his pocket. He slides it across the desk. “Sober up potion. You’re welcome.”
Sirius hesitates, then snatches the vial and downs it in one gulp. He grimaces at the taste but says nothing, his posture straightening slightly as the potion takes effect.
“Don’t mention it,” James says, smirking. Cheekily, he adds, “Now you look like your usual hot self.” Sirius rolls his eyes again, but he looks pleased.
The two of them spend the first half of the lesson ignoring Professor Binns’ droning voice entirely. Instead, they pass notes back and forth, the parchment quickly filling with a mix of sarcastic commentary and idle chatter.
At one point, James mentions how he practices Quidditch during any free time he can find, juggling it with his Head Boy duties and NEWT preparations.
Sirius scribbles back, his handwriting perfectly even and neat. Must be nice. Slytherins aren’t usually welcome on the pitch unless it’s for reserved practice hours or games.
James reads the note, his jaw tightening. He scribbles furiously in response. That’s bollocks. The pitch should be for everyone. You should come flying with me sometime.
Sirius glances at the note, his expression unreadable. Then, to hide whatever emotion flickers across his face, he writes back, I’m busy. There’s a pause before he jots down, But maybe. Later this week.
James beams at the reply, his mood lifting instantly. Sirius glances at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement at James’ obvious delight.
“What’s got you so chipper?” Sirius mutters, though there’s no real bite in his tone.
“Oh, nothing,” James whispers back, still grinning. “Just thinking about how much I’m going to show you up on the pitch.”
“In your dreams, Potter,” Sirius retorts, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips now.
“Oh, I do much more than that with you in my dreams,” James says with a wink. Sirius looks away, flushing.
When the lesson finally ends, James rejoins Remus and Peter as they head out of the classroom. Sirius takes a different direction, his gait more composed than it had been earlier.
“Alright,” Remus says as soon as Sirius is out of earshot. “What the fuck was that about?”
James shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Just keeping an eye on him. You know, for strategic purposes.”
Remus gives him a long, unimpressed look. Peter, however, nods earnestly. “Makes sense. Got to keep tabs on the competition.”
James hides a grin as they walk down the corridor, already imagining how satisfying it’ll be to have a proper challenge on the pitch.
~~~
The Quidditch pitch is quiet the night James and Sirius go to play, the lamplight casting shadows on the grass, illuminating the glinting frost, and reflecting the starlight that spills across the grounds. James hovers high above the pitch, his broom swaying gently beneath him as he watches Sirius adjust the straps on his gloves.
“You ready to get your arse handed to you, Black?” James calls, his grin audible even through the distance.
Sirius mounts his broom, looking up with a smirk that could cut glass. “You fucking wish, Potter. Try to keep up.”
James’ laugh echoes as Sirius kicks off from the ground, soaring up to meet him. The wind tugs at their robes, the chill biting at their faces, but neither pays it any mind. The exhilaration of flying drowns out the cold.
“First to five goals wins,” James announces, flicking his wand to summon a Quaffle from the nearby trunk. It zips into the air, spiraling between them as if eager for the match to begin.
Sirius snatches it mid-flight, spinning his broom with a graceful twist that makes something warm spool inside James’ belly. “That’s one for me already,” Sirius taunts, his voice ringing with playful arrogance.
“Oh, it’s on,” James growls, diving after him.
The game is fast and brutal. Sirius weaves through the air with an agility that James can’t help but admire, his broom a blur as he dodges and ducks, keeping the Quaffle tantalizingly out of reach. But James is relentless, his competitive streak burning as brightly as the lanterns lining the pitch.
They clash near the goalposts, James’ broom edging perilously close to Sirius’. Sirius laughs, sharp and wild, as he swerves just in time to avoid a collision. He tosses the Quaffle toward the hoop with a flick of his wrist, but James intercepts it with a well-timed dive.
“Not so fast, Black,” James crows, tucking the Quaffle under his arm and rocketing toward the opposite goal.
Sirius chases him, the sound of his broom slicing through the air close behind. “That’s all you’ve got?” he calls, though his breath comes heavier now.
“Just warming up,” James shoots back, grinning as he swerves and hurls the Quaffle through the hoop.
They trade goals back and forth. Sirius’ form is impeccable; his turns are sharp, his throws precise. But James has the advantage of instinct, his ability to anticipate Sirius’ moves honed through years of playing against the best. By the time the score is tied at four each, both are panting, their breaths misting in the frigid air.
“Next goal wins,” James says, his voice tinged with exhilaration and exhaustion.
Sirius’ eyes glint with determination. “You’re going down, Potter.”
The Quaffle hovers between them, pulsing slightly as if sensing the tension. They stare each other down, brooms poised, before launching forward simultaneously. The Quaffle shoots upward, and they collide mid-air in their scramble to grab it. Sirius’ shoulder slams into James, but James holds firm, his hand closing around the ball.
“Not today!” James yells, pulling into a steep dive. Sirius is right on his tail, the distance between their brooms almost negligible. The goalposts loom ahead, but Sirius isn’t about to let him have the victory so easily.
With a final burst of speed, Sirius lunges, his fingertips grazing the Quaffle. It slips from James’ grasp, spiraling toward the ground. Both dive after it, the world a blur as they race for the ball. At the last second, Sirius reaches out, snatching the Quaffle and rolling to the side to avoid a crash.
He straightens, laughing triumphantly as he tosses the Quaffle through the hoop. “And that’s how it’s done,” he declares, his grin wide and smug.
James lands beside him, shaking his head but smiling despite himself. “You got lucky.”
Sirius’ laugh is softer this time. “Admit it, Potter. I’m the better player.”
“Never,” James replies, though there is no venom in his tone. He holds out a hand. “Good game.”
Sirius shakes it, his grip firm. “Yeah. It was.”
They stand there for a moment, the rivalry between them softened by the shared exhilaration of the match. The frost-covered pitch stretches around them, silent and still, as the adrenaline begins to fade. James looks over at Sirius, his hair a windswept mess, his cheeks flushed from exertion, and feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the exercise.
“Want to go somewhere?” he asks impulsively, his voice light but his gaze tentative.
Sirius frowns. “Somewhere else? It’s nearly curfew, and I thought Head Boys were supposed to enforce rules, not break them.”
James’ eyes sparkle with mischief. “What’s the point of being Head Boy if I can’t use my power to bend the rules every now and then?”
Sirius’ lips quirk. “Are you saying you’re a bad influence, Potter?”
“Oh, the worst,” James replies, winking. He notices with satisfaction the faint flush creeping up Sirius’ cheeks, though he tells himself it’s probably just the cold. Probably.
Sirius huffs but falls into step beside him. “Alright, then. Lead the way, troublemaker.”
James leads him through the castle, weaving through shadowed corridors until they reach the entrance to a secret passageway behind a statue of a one-eyed witch. Sirius’ eyebrows rise as James mutters the password and reveals the hidden staircase.
“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius says, breathing a laugh. “A secret passage? How in the name of Salazar did you find this?”
“It wouldn’t be a secret passageway if everyone knew where to find them all,” James teases.
“There’s more? ” Sirius exclaims.
“Plenty,” James says smugly. “I’d love to show you more sometime.”
Sirius gives him a sidelong glance, but a faint smile tugs at his lips. “You’re full of surprises.”
They emerge in Hogsmeade, the village eerily quiet and coated in frost. Honeydukes is dark, but James has a way in, and soon they’re rummaging through shelves of sweets. Sirius surprises James by grabbing handfuls of sugar quills and chocolate frogs, stuffing them into his pockets with an almost childlike enthusiasm.
“You’re like a kid,” James teases, laughing as Sirius drops a handful of gold onto the counter.
“Shut it, Potter,” Sirius says through a mouthful of candy, but he’s smiling. “Everyone has their vices.”
As they make their way back to Hogwarts, Sirius’ pace slows. “Potter—James,” he says. “Thank you for tonight. I had fun.”
James smiles. “Me too.”
Sirius watches him carefully, then closes the distance between them to kiss him softly.
James jerks back, staring at him in shock. “What—what are you doing?”
Sirius’ face colors. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“No!” The word comes out before James can process the question. “Wait, what? No—I mean—”
Sirius laughs humorlessly and takes a step back. “Fuck off, Potter.” His glare is cold, mask slipping back onto his face to hide his emotions, but James can see real hurt behind his eyes. James opens his mouth to try and explain when Sirius talks over him. “Was it all for revenge?” he asks, waving a hand between them. “Try to out the Black heir as gay? See what it would take to get into my pants?” His voice gets smaller as he speaks. “Well, congratulations, Head Boy, you’ve humiliated me enough.”
“Of course not!” James manages to get out. His heart is racing. “Of course that wasn’t what I was trying to do!”
“Then what were you trying to do?” Sirius snaps, glaring. “‘Your robes make your arse look fantastic, Black, and I really like your eyes,’” he mocks. His voice cracks as he continues, “‘You don’t need to be so alone anymore because you have me.’ Everyone thinks you’re the saint of Gryffindor, but you’re a right arsehole, you know that? You make me sick.”
“I meant all of that!” James exclaims.
Sirius spins around, his eyes blazing with something James can’t quite decipher—anger, fear, hope, maybe all three. “You’re a bloody fucking liar,” he says. “Because you just said you didn’t.”
“I do,” James insists, his hands shaking slightly as he gestures between them. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise and I blurted it out without thinking. Of course I like you. As a friend, obviously, but I also like you as more than that. I would’ve run away screaming if I didn’t.”
Sirius exhales sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence stretches, filled only with the sound of their breaths mingling in the cold night air. Sirius looks at James, really looks at him, as if trying to find the catch, the hidden joke, the reason not to believe him. But all he sees is honesty, open and raw.
“I hate this,” Sirius finally says, though his voice lacks the venom it usually carries. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”
James steps even closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch. “And how’s that?”
Sirius hesitates, his jaw tightening. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Like I matter.”
The admission hangs between them, heavy and fragile. James feels his chest tighten, the weight of Sirius’ words almost unbearable in their sincerity. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against Sirius’. “You do,” he murmurs. “You matter, Sirius. So, so much.”
Sirius looks down at their hands, then up at James, his expression conflicted. “You’re going to regret this,” he says, but there’s no malice in his tone—just a quiet, lingering doubt.
James smiles, lopsided and genuine. “Not a chance.” Then cheekily, he adds, “I wasn’t able to enjoy the last experience as much as I should have, so may I kiss you again?”
“Are you saying you’re a better kisser than I am?”
“Your words, not mine,” James murmurs, then moves, closing the gap between them in one swift motion. His lips crash against Sirius, fierce and desperate, as if trying to convey all the things he can’t put into words. Sirius responds just as eagerly, his hands coming up to cup James’ face, grounding them both in the intensity of the moment.
When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their foreheads pressed together. Sirius’ eyes are dark, but there’s a softness in them now that James hasn’t seen before.
“You’re insufferable,” Sirius mutters, though there’s no heat behind it.
James laughs, his thumb brushing lightly against Sirius’ cheek. “And you’re impossible. Guess we make a good pair, huh?”
Sirius huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “We’ll see.”
But the way his lips pull into the barest hint of a smile feels like a promise James is determined to keep.
~~~
By the next morning, nothing about Sirius and James has outwardly changed. At breakfast, they sit at their respective tables, Sirius laughing at something Regulus mutters under his breath while James launches a piece of toast at Peter for eating the last sausage.
But in the moments in between, when no one else is looking, James catches Sirius’ eye from across the Hall. It’s only for a second, but the corner of Sirius’ mouth quirks up in a small, knowing smile that makes James’ heart stutter in a way he’ll never admit.
They’re careful, of course. Sirius keeps his distance in public, maintaining his sharp tongue and impenetrable facade among his housemates. James plays the part of the Head Boy perfectly, breaking up scuffles and charming professors with his easy grin. Yet, when the corridors are empty or the nights grow still with promise, they find each other.
It’s during one of those moments, tucked into the shadows of the Astronomy Tower, that Sirius presses James against the cold stone wall. James’ hands slide up Sirius’ back, pulling him closer, and for a while, they forget the world outside.
“This is mad,” Sirius whispers when they finally break apart, his forehead resting against James’. He looks at James with a mix of frustration and something softer, something he can’t quite put into words. “If anyone finds out—”
“No one will,” James cuts in, his voice low but sure. His hands rest on Sirius’ waist, steadying him. “And even if they did, I wouldn’t care.”
Sirius snorts, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re Gryffindor’s golden boy, Potter. You can’t afford to be seen sneaking around with me.”
James tilts his head, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Maybe I don’t care about what they’d think. Maybe I care more about this.”
For a moment, Sirius doesn’t reply. He just looks at James, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he leans in again, his lips brushing against James with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down his spine.
~~~
One evening, they meet in an unused classroom near the dungeons. Sirius is leaning against a desk, his arms crossed, watching the door with a practiced indifference that vanishes the moment James slips inside.
“You’re late,” Sirius says, but his tone lacks its usual bite.
“Got held up with patrols,” James replies, shutting the door quietly behind him. He grins as he steps closer, his hands finding their way to Sirius’ hips. “Miss me?”
Sirius rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint pink tinge on his cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
James leans in, his lips brushing against Sirius’ ear. “Too late.”
~~~
It isn’t always easy. There are days when Sirius withdraws, the weight of everything—his family, the expectations, the constant mask he has to wear—bearing down on him. Those are the days James finds him in the empty classroom on the third floor, sitting on the windowsill and staring out at the grounds.
“Sickle for your thoughts?” James asks one afternoon, his voice gentle as he approaches.
Sirius doesn’t look at him. “You don’t have enough sickles, Potter.”
James doesn’t push. Instead, he sits beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they watch the sun dip below the horizon. After a while, Sirius speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s stupid, isn’t it? Hiding like this.”
James turns to him, his eyes soft. “Maybe. But if it means I get to have this—to have you—I don’t mind.”
For a moment, Sirius says nothing. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against James’. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough.
Well, what should I say... Another Sirius Black fan art (you might have guessed by now, who my all-time favourite fictional character is), and again it is very dark. I love to paint emotional works, I want to express strong feelings, especially very negative ones. I am a really happy happy person by now, but I also had a dark time, so I guess these artworks are kind of a therapy for me. Well yeah, that’s it, I hope you still enjoy my artworks :)
OMG I am so excited for this @prongsfootbingo! Will be updating this post with links under the cut as I get this filled out just to have it all in one place.
Fairytale AU
Middle Aged
Under the Invisibility Cloak
It's not that James is jealous. He just kind of wants to reach a hand down Sirius' stupid date’s throat and tear out his insides one handful at a time so that he could drag Sirius off to spend the rest of Valentine's together.
As friends. Neither of them want anything more - or do they?
First fic up @prongsfootbingo! This is also a fill for a prompt over on @imaginejamesandsirius
Under the Invisibility Cloak
It's not that James is jealous. He just kind of wants to reach a hand down Sirius' stupid date’s throat and tear out his insides one handful at a time so that he could drag Sirius off to spend the rest of Valentine's together.As friends. Neither of them want anything more - or do they?
OMG I am so excited for this @prongsfootbingo! Will be updating this post with links under the cut as I get this filled out just to have it all in one place.
Fairytale AU
Middle Aged
Under the Invisibility Cloak
James is sure about this: one, that he isn't jealous, and two, that he's not in love with Sirius. He just thinks it's rude of Sirius to replace him in their Valentine's plans with some stupid bloke to go on a stupid date with. All he wants is to spend time with his best friend. There's nothing more to it, despite what Remus and Regulus seem to think.
Turns out, he really should've remembered that Remus and Regulus always know more than they let on.
