James Potter had always been the center of attention. And he knew it. Hell, he reveled in it. He had been the charming, reckless, spoiled golden boy since the moment he first stepped into Hogwarts. He was handsome, witty, good at Quidditch, and, of course, had the incredible ability to make everyone laugh, even if it was at his own expense. But the one thing James took for granted was his best friend, Sirius Black.
Sirius was always there, right beside him, making James feel like the king of the world. Sure, he had Remus and Peter, but it was Sirius who was always there—with the teasing smile, the sarcastic remarks, and the ever-present loyalty. James liked to think that he was the one who did all the work in their friendship, that he was the one who kept Sirius entertained, kept him on his toes, kept him interested. The idea that Sirius might ever be frustrated with him, or that he might tire of their dynamic, didn’t even cross James’s mind.
Why would it? James Potter was James Potter, after all. And Sirius Black? Well, Sirius was his to command.
It started innocently enough.
“Oi, Padfoot,” James called out one afternoon, plopping down next to Sirius on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. He flung an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, pulling him in closer than necessary. “You know what would be brilliant? If you came with me to Hogsmeade this weekend. I’m bored out of my mind, and I need someone to talk to. You know I can’t go alone.”
Sirius looked up from his book, his lip curling into that lopsided smile James loved so much. “I’m not your personal escort, James.”
James grinned and gave Sirius a quick, exaggerated pout. “Oh come on, you know I need you. What if something goes wrong, huh? Who’s gonna protect me from all the scary people in Hogsmeade? It could be dangerous. You’ve gotta be there. For me.”
Sirius blinked, giving him an exaggerated look of mock disbelief. “You know, you’re insufferable when you do that.”
James ignored the tone of annoyance and pushed on, letting his fingers trail up and down the back of Sirius’s neck, just for the sake of inconvenience. “Well, I’m also insufferable when I’m bored. So what’s it gonna be, Padfoot? You’re not ditching me, are you?”
Sirius sighed dramatically but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned back into James’s touch, the familiarity of their friendship — and something more — coloring his expression. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but you owe me. Big time.”
James’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “You got it, mate.”
But as Sirius turned back to his book, his smile faded just a little, a flicker of something more in his eyes, something James didn’t catch. Because, of course, he was too busy focusing on himself.
This scene, over and over again, became the routine. James would make his demands—small at first, but slowly growing more regular and needy—and Sirius, for reasons James couldn’t fathom, would give in.
Sirius would find himself tagging along to all sorts of places he didn’t need to be—extra Quidditch practices because James couldn’t “bear to be alone” on the pitch, library trips that turned into lunch breaks with James making sure Sirius had “enough time” to hang out. He would sit with James at the front of class, even though they were both perfectly capable of paying attention alone. And when James would casually drop his broom so he could “rest his arm” during a practice, Sirius would be the one to pick it up—just to hand it back to him.
Every time, James didn’t think much of it. But to Sirius, well... each moment became a little more precious, but also a little more suffocating. Because, truth be told, Sirius loved the attention, loved being close to James in a way that no one else could understand. He’d let James call the shots, let him have his way, let him dictate the terms of their friendship, all the while pretending that it didn’t mess with his head, with his heart.
The rest of the Marauders, however, were split.
Remus was amused. He’d been watching James and Sirius for years, knew them both better than anyone. He knew that James was oblivious to how much he relied on Sirius, how much he expected from him, and how much Sirius quietly indulged him. Remus would just sit back, hidden behind a book or a cup of tea, and shake his head with a small, bemused smile. He knew it was all part of the unspoken dynamic between them—Sirius was too smitten to say no, and James was too self-absorbed to see that Sirius was more than just his loyal shadow.
Peter was annoyed. "Honestly," Peter muttered one evening while they watched James and Sirius bicker over a small argument about Quidditch tactics. "They’re like that all the time. James thinks he’s the king of the world and doesn’t give Sirius a moment’s peace. It’s exhausting to watch.”
Remus smirked. “You’ve noticed too, then?”
“Of course, I’ve noticed,” Peter snapped. “It’s like James expects Sirius to drop everything and follow him around like a bloody puppy. And Sirius just—lets him.”
“That’s because he’s in love with him,” Remus said lightly, not even looking up from his book.
“What?” Peter sputtered, wide-eyed.
Remus shrugged. “Well, he’s always looking at him like that. I mean, it’s kind of obvious.”
Peter gaped. “No. Way.”
“You really didn’t notice?” Remus raised an eyebrow at Peter. “Sirius doesn’t care how much James takes him for granted. He’s completely... smitten.”
Peter thought about it for a second and then looked at Sirius, who was currently doing a dramatic impression of James’s victory dance after a particularly successful prank. Sirius was smiling adoringly, his attention completely focused on James. Peter let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point.”
For James, things went from good to even better. He never noticed how often Sirius would drop everything for him, never noticed how easily he could manipulate the situation, how often he had Sirius wrapped around his finger. It became his second nature. He’d send Sirius to fetch him a snack from the kitchens (despite being perfectly capable of going himself) or drag him to the library to study because “it’s more fun with you there.”
One day, during yet another one of these impromptu study sessions, James found himself lounging back in an armchair, hands behind his head as he casually flipped through a Charms textbook. Sirius, sitting on the floor, had his nose buried in his own book, but he wasn’t really reading. His attention kept drifting back to James, and the longer he sat there, the more it became painfully obvious to him: He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop falling for James. Even if he didn’t notice.
“Padfoot?” James said lazily, snapping his fingers to get Sirius’s attention.
Sirius immediately looked up, blinking as though he hadn’t just been staring at James’s face for the last five minutes. “Hmm?”
“You still haven’t gotten me that book on advanced transfiguration, you know,” James said, his voice deceptively innocent. “I’m sure I could find it myself, but I’d really appreciate it if you could get it for me.”
Sirius sighed. “James, you could do it yourself.”
James smirked. “But I’m asking you. You don’t want me to get all mopey, do you?”
Sirius groaned, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“I know,” James replied, grinning. “But you love it.”
And Sirius did. Even if it made him insane sometimes. Even if it was infuriating how much he was willing to give in to James’s every whim. Because somewhere, deep down, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The Marauders had their fun with it, of course. There were plenty of whispers behind James’s back—Peter sometimes jokingly referred to him as “His Royal Highness” and Remus would smirk knowingly whenever he caught sight of Sirius looking a little too fond of James’s latest unreasonable request.
But the truth was, no one ever really called James out on his behavior. Because, as much as it irritated the others, it was hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And because Sirius, for all his sulking, was always there—always the one to indulge James’s ridiculousness, even if he knew it was a bit much. Even if it was slowly, subtly, driving him crazy.
And as for James? He never stopped to think about how Sirius might be the one being taken for granted. Because James was far too busy enjoying being the center of everyone’s universe.
James Potter had always gotten what he wanted. But now, with Sirius spending more and more time with Marlene McKinnon, James was starting to realize that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t get to have everything.
Sirius, who had always been his shadow, his partner-in-crime, had started to drift. He’d laugh a little harder at Marlene’s jokes, stay by her side a little longer in the common room, and even share private conversations with her when they used to be reserved for James alone.
And James? James was confused. He told himself it didn’t bother him, that it was just a phase. Sirius was allowed to have other friends, wasn’t he? He didn’t need all of Sirius’s attention.
But then, one evening in the Great Hall, James saw it. It was the way Sirius and Marlene were talking, heads bent close together, eyes locked in a way that made James’s stomach twist with something he couldn’t quite define. They were laughing, not at anything in particular, just at the rhythm of their own banter. And James? James was sitting at the table with his friends, looking over at them like some forgotten afterthought. He felt… left out.
A flare of irritation ignited in his chest, but James quickly buried it under his usual bravado. It’s fine, he thought. Sirius is allowed to have friends. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I—
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
The days dragged on, and James grew more and more moody. He found himself counting the moments when Sirius wasn’t with Marlene—when he could snatch his attention back, even for a minute. But those moments were growing fewer. Whether it was Quidditch practice or the Marauder meetings, Sirius was always a step ahead. Even when James tried to pull him into one of their old shenanigans, Sirius’s responses were distracted, his jokes more distant, and his smiles… well, they weren’t reserved for James anymore.
James tried to keep his cool, but it was harder than he’d expected. He was James Potter, after all. He didn’t need to feel jealous. But there he was, obsessing over every little interaction between Sirius and Marlene. The way they exchanged looks. The way Sirius listened to her in a way he hadn’t listened to James in days. It was maddening.
Then, one evening, James found himself walking through the corridors after dinner. He didn’t have any particular destination in mind, just walking to burn off the feeling that had been building inside him for days. He turned a corner, and there they were—Sirius and Marlene—standing close, speaking in hushed tones, their faces lit up with an easy camaraderie that felt… intimate.
James froze, his stomach lurching. This time, there was no pretending it didn’t bother him. It was more than just bothering him. It was like a knot of something raw was twisting inside him.
But before he could turn away, Sirius caught sight of him. His face brightened immediately. “James! Didn’t see you there, mate.”
Marlene gave a small smile, but there was something different in it. Something warmer. Something that wasn’t for James.
“I was just telling Sirius about this new prank idea,” Marlene said casually, as though it were just a passing remark, but James caught the way she leaned into the conversation. The way Sirius nodded enthusiastically. And James? James was standing there, alone.
It was too much.
“Right,” James said with a forced smile, trying to keep his tone light. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, then.” He turned on his heel and walked off quickly, though his heart was hammering in his chest.
It wasn’t long before his mood soured completely.
James spent the next few days sulking, snapping at his friends, and barely speaking to Sirius. He tried to tell himself it was just the pressure of being Captain, the constant Quidditch practices, the stress of N.E.W.T.s, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t that. It was Sirius—or rather, the fact that Sirius was suddenly slipping out of his grasp.
The turning point came one evening when James was in the common room with Remus and Peter. It had been a particularly bad day—Sirius had spent all of it with Marlene, and when James had finally cornered him for a bit of one-on-one time, Sirius had been distant, more focused on his own thoughts than anything James was saying.
“Where’s Padfoot?” Peter asked innocently, looking around. “He’s been gone all day.”
Remus didn’t even look up from his book. “He’s probably with Marlene.”
James’s stomach clenched. Marlene. Again.
“I’m really starting to get tired of it,” James muttered, picking up his broom from the corner where he’d left it earlier. “He’s been spending all his time with her lately. You’d think he’d remember he has a best mate.”
Peter glanced at James. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
James froze. The word hit him like a bludger to the chest. He swallowed, trying to brush it off, but the tightness in his chest told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m not jealous,” James snapped, trying to sound dismissive. “I just… don’t like how he’s been acting, that’s all. It’s not like I’m—”
“You’re jealous,” Remus interrupted calmly, lowering his book. “You are, James. And it’s about Sirius, isn’t it?”
James gaped at him. “What? No! I—Remus, you’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I’m not.” Remus’s gaze softened, his tone gentle. “You’ve been acting off for a while now. And I know you, James. I know you think everything’s fine until it isn’t. But you’re not fooling anyone, especially not yourself.”
James stared at Remus for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He was suddenly aware of the coldness in the air around him, the oppressive feeling of things unsaid. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sirius. About how he’d always been there—always been the one to stand beside him through everything. And now, all of a sudden, someone else was getting that attention.
“You’re in love with him, James,” Remus said softly, as though the words were inevitable, as though they had always been there, waiting to be said.
James’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded. “What?”
“You’re in love with Sirius,” Remus repeated, his voice firm but understanding. “And that’s okay. But pretending you’re not is just making everything worse. You’re jealous because it’s not just about the attention anymore. You want more. You want him.”
James’s mind spun. He wanted to argue, to deny it, to laugh it off. But all he could do was sit there, feeling exposed, feeling like the entire world had suddenly turned upside down.
“I don’t know what to do,” James muttered, feeling suddenly small.
Remus’s smile was soft, almost sad. “You’re going to have to talk to him, mate. You can’t keep bottling this up. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose him. And the last thing you want is to lose someone who’s been with you all along.”
James nodded, though it felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
That night, James found himself standing outside the door to their dorm, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t know how to do this, didn’t know where to start, but he knew he had to say something.
Sirius appeared, taking long strides to the last steps of the stairs,with a grin that faltered when he saw the serious look on James’s face. “James? What’s up?”
James opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had.
“I think… I think I’m in love with you,” James said, his voice low but steady.
Sirius blinked, then blinked again. And then his expression softened, his eyes going from surprised to something else—something tender, something that made James’s heart race even faster.
“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” Sirius said quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
James gaped. “Wait—what?”
Sirius chuckled softly, stepping closer. “I’ve known for a while, mate. I was just waiting for you to stop being such a prat about it.”
James’s heart stopped, then started up again in a frantic beat. He didn’t know what to say next—his mind was a whirlwind of confusion and relief and everything in between.
“Padfoot,” James said, his voice a little shakier than he intended, “are you saying…?”
Sirius smiled, his gaze soft. “I’m saying you don’t have to fight it anymore, James. I’m right here. Always have been.”
And just like that, everything clicked into place.
The knot in James’s chest unraveled. The world didn’t feel so big and confusing anymore. He wasn’t just the golden boy. He was Sirius’s James now.
And maybe, just maybe, that was all he ever really needed.