The Marauders were back for their seventh year at Hogwarts, and as always, the castle buzzed with excitement and anticipation. The Great Hall was filled with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of silverware against plates. Amidst it all, James Potter, with his unruly hair and glasses perched precariously on his nose, was already plotting his next move.
“Oi, Pads!” he called across the table, eyes glinting mischievously. Sirius Black, ever the center of attention, was leaning back in his seat, basking in the adoration of a small group of first-year girls. They giggled as he flashed a dazzling smile, his dark hair falling just right.
“James, stop trying to embarrass me,” Sirius shot back with a smirk, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. He thrived on the attention, but James couldn’t shake the small, possessive pang that arose whenever he saw Sirius being admired by others.
As the meal progressed, James turned to Remus, who sat next to him, still busy trying to sneak bits of food while reading. “You know, I was thinking… I should get Sirius to wear my new Quidditch shirt.”
Remus looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? He’s not a mannequin, James.”
“Sure, but it would look good on him,” James insisted, a stubborn look on his face. He wasn’t quite ready to admit how much he liked seeing Sirius in his clothes, or how it made him feel closer to him, as if they shared a secret.
Later that week, James found his chance. They were in the Gryffindor common room, lounging after a long practice. The fireplace crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the room. Sirius had just returned from a shower, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his hair damp and tousled.
James couldn’t help but stare, his heart racing. “Hey, Pads, put this on!” He tossed Sirius his favorite maroon Quidditch shirt, the one he often wore during matches.
Sirius caught it, looking bemused. “What, you want me to dress like your personal cheerleader now?”
“Just try it! I promise it’ll look amazing,” James urged, trying to keep his voice casual. There was an edge of desperation in his tone that he hoped Sirius wouldn’t catch.
With a resigned huff, Sirius slipped the shirt over his head, and the moment it settled on his shoulders, James felt a jolt of satisfaction. “See? Told you it would look great,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Yeah, well, it’s not bad,” Sirius admitted, adjusting the hem. He noticed the way James’s gaze lingered, but he chose to ignore it, brushing it off as typical James behavior. Little did he know how much James’s feelings ran deeper.
As the weeks passed, James’s penchant for dressing Sirius in his clothes became a regular occurrence. Scarves, sweaters, even his favorite old jumper made their way onto Sirius. It drew curious glances and whispers from their classmates, but Sirius brushed off any teasing with a smile.
“Why do you keep doing this, James?” he finally asked one afternoon, the two of them sitting on the grass by the lake. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
James hesitated, caught off guard. “I just… I like it,” he said finally, feeling a rush of honesty. “You look good in my stuff. Makes you mine in a way, I guess.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Mine? I’m not a possession, you know.”
James’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just—”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” Sirius laughed, but something flickered in his expression. Maybe he understood, or at least sensed that there was more to James’s feelings than just playful antics.
As the year wore on, the dynamic between the two boys shifted subtly. James found himself more drawn to Sirius than ever, not just as a friend but as something deeper. The possessiveness that once felt purely instinctual began to morph into something else—something he struggled to define.
One evening, during a particularly heated game of Exploding Snap, Sirius sat in James’s lap, laughing and teasing. In that moment, surrounded by their friends, something broke through the usual banter. James wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him closer.
“Why do you always have to be so… perfect?” James murmured, half-joking, but his voice was low, sincere.
Sirius turned to face him, a softness in his eyes that took James by surprise. “I’m not perfect, James. But I know you think I am.”
James swallowed hard, his heart racing. “You mean a lot to me, Sirius. More than I can explain.”
Sirius paused, the laughter fading from his expression. “You think you can just dress me up and it means something?”
“It does mean something!” James shot back, frustration spilling over. “I want you to know you’re mine in more ways than one.”
Sirius studied him for a long moment, a mixture of confusion and realization flickering in his gaze. “And what if I want to be yours, James? What then?”
The silence that followed hung heavy in the air. James’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he processed Sirius’s words. “Are you saying…?”
“Maybe I’m saying that you’ve got it all wrong, James. I like wearing your clothes because it feels good, because I like you,” Sirius admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
James’s breath caught in his throat. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve always liked you, you idiot.”
And just like that, the tension snapped. James’s fingers curled around the fabric of Sirius’s shirt, pulling him closer until their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own bubble of warmth and discovery.