orchid
James Potter's POV
There are days when I think I understand everything. And then there are days when I'm looking at Sirius Black, trying not to choke on my own laughter because of the mess he's made of himself, and I realize I have no idea what I'm doing.
You see, Sirius is a walking contradiction. The guy is chaos wrapped in black leather and dark eyeliner, like a misplaced punk rock icon in a sea of Hogwarts uniforms. He's always pushing the boundaries of every rule, every expectation, every piece of decorum that’s been drilled into our brains since first year. And I love him for it.
But Merlin, sometimes he’s a disaster.
Today, for instance, his hair looks like he’s just rolled out of bed—or maybe he hasn't bothered to get out of bed at all. It's that usual messy mop of dark black curls that only sometimes cooperate with him. And today? Today they look like they’ve been styled by a hurricane. His fringe hangs over his eyes in that dramatic way, and there’s a certain rebellious gleam to his dark brown eyes, like he’s dared the world to take a step closer. He looks like he’s been in a fight with the entire world and won. Or at least stubbornly refused to lose. It’s an attitude he carries with him everywhere.
He’s wearing this oversized black t-shirt—probably from a muggle band no one else has heard of—along with skinny ripped jeans that have seen better days. His boots are scuffed from countless misadventures, and he’s got a collection of bracelets clinking on his wrist like they're the only things keeping him tethered to sanity. All of this rests underneath his standard black cloak, hidden.
But his nose… oh Merlin, his nose. The poor guy has tried piercing it twice now. Twice. And both times he got dragged by the ear to Professor McGonagall’s office, who gave him that disappointed look—the one that made him regret everything. Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying again. The first piercing was a small stud, the second a hoop. Both times he got sent back to his dormitory for a ‘uniform infraction.’ It’s always the same routine. He’ll act like he doesn’t care, like he’s above it all, but when his mum sends him a Howler about it, I can see the hurt behind his eyes. Sirius can act tough, but we all know it’s just a facade. He’s as soft as marshmallow inside, even if he’ll never admit it.
And I’m not saying Sirius is bad at it—he’s actually quite good at looking the part of the gothic bad boy—it’s just that he’s the type who refuses to conform to any societal standard. Including our school dress code. So, naturally, he’s the one with the most detentions and the longest list of complaints filed against him.
It’s the very thing that sets him apart from Remus Lupin.
Now, Remus is the exact opposite of Sirius. If Sirius is all black leather, spikes, and defiance, Remus is light academia and soft pastels, with an aura of quiet elegance that makes him the kind of guy you’d imagine reading poetry in a sunlit room, surrounded by books and candles. He’s always neat. Always clean. Even his clothes have this kind of soft, worn-in quality, like they’ve been selected with care but without trying too hard. His style is a careful blend of beige, warm browns, and soft greys, all layered in a way that looks almost effortless.
I can’t imagine Remus ever leaving the house without being perfectly put together, which is quite the contrast to Sirius, who always looks like he’s been caught in a storm and is proud of it. But Remus—Merlin, he’s the picture of tidiness. His hair is always neat, a soft brown shade that falls neatly into place, always combed through in that deliberate, almost scholarly way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he had some magical hair potion he used every morning just to make sure not a strand was out of place. His eyes, though—those golden brown eyes, warm like autumn—are the real giveaway. They’re always calm, always grounded, even when everything around him is falling apart.
But here's the kicker—Remus has his own rebellious streak. It’s just… quieter. He doesn’t storm around like Sirius does, throwing things and making his presence known through sheer force of will. Remus is a subtle force of nature. When he speaks, people listen, not because he’s shouting, but because there’s a weight to his words. When Remus Lupin looks at you, you know it’s not just an idle glance. He’s looking at you, like he’s dissecting your soul, and suddenly you feel seen in a way you don’t want to be.
Sometimes, I get the feeling that Sirius doesn’t really notice how different Remus is, and that kills me. He’s so wrapped up in his own mess of chaos and charm that he doesn’t see the quiet fire in Remus’s eyes. He doesn’t realize the way Remus’s smile lights up a room—or the way he’s always there for you when no one else is, his warm voice soft like the world is actually a good place.
Sirius is too caught up in being Sirius Black, the troublemaker, the prankster, the one who makes life a little less ordinary, that he can’t see what’s right in front of him.
But I see it. I see everything. I see how they both wear their pain on their sleeves, in different ways. Sirius in his defiance, Remus in his calm demeanor that sometimes breaks under the weight of things he doesn’t talk about. They’re both trying to protect themselves, in their own messed-up ways.
"Oi, Moony!" Sirius yells, a little too loudly, catching my attention. He's grinning that stupid, too-wide grin, like the world is just one big joke for him to laugh at. "Fancy a game of wizard’s chess? I’m feeling lucky today. Bet I’ll finally beat you."
I can’t help but chuckle. "Yeah, right. You’ve been saying that for weeks, Pads."
He makes a face. "Well, maybe today will be the day. Maybe the universe will finally have mercy on me and let me crush you."
I can tell from the way Remus raises an eyebrow that he’s not buying it. "You’ve got to actually follow the rules to beat me, Sirius," he says, his voice calm but laced with that dry humor only he can pull off. "Something you seem to struggle with."
Sirius gives him an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically onto the couch next to him. "Ah, Moony, you wound me."
Remus just shakes his head, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. That smile is the one that gets me every time. It’s the kind of smile that makes your heart do funny things.
"Well," Remus says, finally giving in, "if you’re so insistent, I suppose I’ll give you a chance to lose again."
Sirius laughs, the sound echoing through the common room. It’s a warm laugh, the kind that fills the space between us with ease, like everything is right in the world, and for a split second, I almost believe it.
As Sirius and Remus get settled for their game, I watch them. The way Sirius leans in close, the way Remus responds with a quiet kind of intelligence that’s both endearing and unnerving. It’s a strange chemistry they have. They’re both so different—Sirius with his endless chaos, Remus with his quiet steadiness—but somehow, they fit. They complement each other in ways that make me ache for something I’ll never understand.
And I think, just for a moment, that maybe I should stop trying to figure them out.
Maybe I should just sit back and watch the beautiful disaster unfold.