Mischeif Managed.
Waking up on his twenty-sixth birthday to the weight of James Potter collapsing on his body, was not how Sirius had planned for his day to start, but he didn’t complain—at first, at least. Instead, he just closed his arms around his best friend and hugged him good morning while James sang Happy Birthday into the pillow.
“Prongs,” Sirius wheezed by the time James had finished, “you’re flattening my ribs.”
“I’m comfortable right here, thank y—AH!”
James sprung up, away from Sirius’s prying fingers in his sides. He pouted like a kicked puppy as he stood there in the midst of Sirius’s still box-filled room. (He had barely unpacked.) “Here I am, giving you birthday cuddles—”
“Thanks, Prongsie, but I gotta change, so leave the room, please.”
Begrudgingly, James left the room, but not before he had flipped Sirius off. Sirius chuckled softly and slowly sat up. His joints ached; something that only seemed to get worse with age. The cold had also got to his back; the tension there was thick. With a sigh, he reached for his bedside table.
When he finally emerged from his bedroom, he lunged himself at James with a hug. James shrieked, stumbling. Sirius laughed in delight. That was until James completely lost his footing and went straight to the floor.
They landed in a puddle on the floor, Sirius on top of James.
“Ouch,” James muttered, eyes closed. “I’m dead. I’ve gotta be dead.”
“Nah, you’re fine,” laughed Sirius and rolled off James. They lied next to each other. “That was just payback for before.”
“I think it was a very sweet way to wake you up. Morning cuddles, who can complain?”
“You need a girlfriend,” Sirius informed him. “I wake up to your cuddles way too often.”
It was true. James's love language was touch, and when he didn't have a girl to pour it over, it tended to go to Sirius. Not that Sirius ever really complained.
James huffed out a laugh. “True that, true that. How about you? Is this the age you settle down at last?”
Sirius shrugged, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
James hummed, and they continued to lay in silence for a few moments until James broke it once again. “You know, it’s almost ten years since you came to live at my house.”
Sirius swallowed. “That’s months away. I didn’t go to yours until the summer of ‘76.”
James propped himself up on his elbow, looming over Sirius. His face was annoyingly serious all of a sudden. Sirius could feel what was coming. “True that, but now the age fits. We can just say that it’s been ten years. Ten is such a nice number, wouldn’t you say?”
Sirius rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He walked towards the kitchen, done with the conversation at hand. James scrambled after him. “Sorry, sorry,” he chanted. “I didn’t want to dampen the mood. I know you don’t like to—”
“It’s fine,” Sirius said as he rummaged through the cabinets to get stuff for breakfast.
“I—”
“James, it’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just—still hard.”
It was hard to look at his best friend, even after all this time, knowing the real reason he was disowned was one he could never even truly admit to himself—least of all James. If Sirius didn’t think about it, if he just chose to believe that his parents really had kicked him out because his rebellious habits had got too bad, then that would make it true. It had to be true.
James fiddled with his bottom lip. He looked like he was gaining the courage to say something. Sirius braced himself.
“Do you think Reg will—”
No. Sirius couldn’t brace himself or that.
“James!” Sirius closed one of the cabinets harshly, straightening his back. “I haven’t heard a word from my brother in ten fucking years, haven’t seen him since his first year at St. Paul’s—of course, I don’t think I’ll hear anything from him! He doesn’t even have my number!”
James backed away slightly, his expression hurt. “Sorry, I just—You never talk about it any more unless it’s with fucking jokes, Sirius, and I worry about you. I know you care, and I know it hurts you, still, but you won’t talk to me about it. Ever. I thought that maybe today being today would...” He shrugged helplessly.
Sirius tightened his jaw and towards the balcony door. It was made of all glass. He could see Remus’s building from here. He could spot a tall figure moving around inside the shop.
“There’s not much to talk about,” Sirius said lowly. “They kicked me out. My brother chose to side with them. I could not care less for any of them.” He looked James’s in the eyes. “I know you care, Prongs, but bringing it up at random times will never ever make me talk more about it, because there’s nothing more to be said. I love you, but that’s the truth.”
James wrinkled his nose. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“It’s okay until the next time you bring it up again.”
It was a never-ending circle with them.
“It’s just—” James let out a frustrated sigh. “You used to tell me everything that goes on in your head, Sirius. Everything, remember? It was you and me, and our silly conversations during school breaks where we talked about everything, but—but then they disowned you, and, Sirius, I was over the moon even though your situation was so fucking shitty, because—because you were finally my brother. I got to have all of you—except, I didn’t. You’ve been closed off ever since. We laugh and talk shit, but we never talk about deep stuff any more, unless it has anything to do with me. You—You’re just a shell.”
James had never said that. Never like that. He’d said many times before he was worried; even insinuated that he was annoyed, but this… this was James Potter finally losing his resolve.
“Wow,” Sirius said, his whole body tensing. “Wow. I’m a shell, huh? I’m a shell of who I was at sixteen, is that it? Newsflash, Potter, people change! As you said, it has been ten years!” He stomped out of the kitchen towards the door.
“Sirius—”
“I need some air,” Sirius huffed. “I think I’ll go take a walk. What time was it, Wormtail would be here?”
“At three,” James said weakly. He looked close to tears where he slumped against the wall. “Sirius, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, but you still said it.” Sirius grabbed his leather jacket from the hook on the wall and put it on.
“I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’m not mad at you. I didn’t mean—”
Sirius sighed and stopped where he was in the midst of pulling on his Doc Martens. He looked at James and sent him a small, reassuring smile.
“And now I just need to get out a bit before I say something I’ll regret. That doesn’t mean I love you any less, or suddenly stop seeing you like my brother, it just means I wanna be ready to greet our friend when he comes to visit us later without throwing daggers at you with my eyes. And in order to do that, I’ll need some air to freshen my mind.”
James hung his head. Perhaps he thought Sirius was hiding parts of himself, but he still knew Sirius better than none other, and he knew that nothing soothed Sirius’s mind more than being alone in fresh air did. So, he nodded.
Sirius finished taking on his shoes and then pulled James into a brief hug. “Love you, Prongs.”
“Love you, too, Padfoot,” James whispered as Sirius stepped back. “I’m sorry that I royally fucked that up. Wasn’t how I planned for the questions to go.”
“Oh, so it was planned?” Sirius asked with a quirked eyebrow.
James shrugged. “I just worry about you. Always do.”
“That’s not your job.”
“I know.”
Sirius sent him a tight-lipped smile and left the flat.
Sirius had very mixed feelings about Remus Lupin. He was enamoured by him, without a doubt. Remus’s mere presence drew him in. If Remus was the hook then Sirius was the fish. It scared Sirius, how Remus made him feel, mostly because Sirius couldn’t fully describe how it was he felt when he was in front of Remus Lupin. He’d never let himself feel it; he’d always pushed away from it. But Remus was the hook and Sirius couldn't move away.
So, of course, Sirius went to the record shop. On the walk over the road, Sirius decided impulsively that just because Remus made his stomach feel ways it hadn’t done in a very long time, and in a much bigger capacity, it didn’t have to go anywhere. From the get-go, Remus had wanted to be his friend, so that was all Sirius was ever going to let them be. All he could ever let them be. Because Sirius was a Black. Through and through he’d been told, and Blacks weren’t—
He reached the shop and quickly stepped inside. The familiar bell chimed above his head.
“Sirius!” Remus let out with delight from where he stood behind the cashier’s table. “What are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?”
“Yeah, it is,” Sirius agreed and made his way over to Remus. “As it is, though, I got into a bit of a fight with James. I needed to cool my head a bit.”
“So you came here?” Remus asked, voice small and soft. It made Sirius's stomach flutter.
Toujours pur.
Sirius closed his eyes and exhaled. It didn’t matter what he felt, as long as he didn’t act on it. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t—
“Sirius, are you okay?”
“Oh—Yeah!” Sirius shook his head and sent Remus a reassuring grin. “But yeah, I came here. Needed fresh air.”
“This is fresh air?” Remus gestured amusedly around the shop. The air was stuffy in there. It always was. It was incredible. Once again, it made Sirius think of Uncle Alphard.
Sirius shrugged sheepishly. “I think—” He swallowed. “I think I wanted to be alone, and being alone with you has become one of my favourite things.”
The corner of Remus’s mouth quirked up. “So much for not being friends, huh?”
Sirius stuck his tongue out at him. Remus laughed.
“So, can I maybe stay here with you a bit?” Sirius asked. “Maybe just an hour or two? My other friend from St. Paul’s is coming to celebrate later, and the flat is a mess.”
“Celebrate?” Remus tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh.” Sirius’s cheeks heated up. He hadn’t told Remus. “Um, it’s my birthday, actually.”
“Really?” Remus’s whole face lit up. “Congratulations, love.”
Toujours pur.
Sirius could’ve sworn he could hear his mother in the room there with him; it was James’s fault, really, it was he who had brought them up.
“Yeah, thanks,” Sirius muttered. “So, can I stay here for a bit?”
“I have something even better in mind,” Remus smirked. “You wanted fresh air? Let’s give you fresh air.”
“Oh, okay,” Sirius said, giddy.
Remus winked and then excused himself to quickly go to the back room. He didn’t bring his cane and his limb was barely visible. Sirius smiled.
He waited for a few minutes, and as he did, he walked along the aisles between shelves. He flipped through the albums, trying to see if there was anything of interest. He was in the middle of inspecting a Fleetwood Mac album when Remus returned, grin in place.
“We’re in the all clear—Hank gave me two hours.”
“Hank’s your boss, right?” Sirius asked and put the album back in place.
Remus nodded and then held up a metal toolbox that Sirius, first then, noticed in his hand. “Wanna do some mischief?”
*
Belvedere Road, where they lived, were just by the River Thames and practically beside Waterloo, which was where Remus was leading him now. He had his cane in one hand, though he didn’t use it, and the metal toolbox in the other. Sirius still didn’t know what it contained.
“Where are we going?” Sirius asked, hands in his jacket pockets. He was shivering slightly. The leather jacket could not keep warm in the colder months, but he was too fond of it to pack it away yet. James would make him do so, soon, though. James would make him go out and buy a proper winter jacket. James always looked after him.
Sirius never could share all of himself with him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Remus grinned as Waterloo Public Square came into view. People were everywhere, walking fast, walking slow, talking, silent, happy, sad. London was everything; Sirius basked in it.
“Yeah, I would,” he said. His shoulder bumped against Remus’s as they walked.
“Well, you’ll have to wait just a few more moments,” Remus said as he led them down a small side alley between two buildings. The buildings blocked out most of the light and it smelled foul.
Sirius wrinkled his nose. “What’s this?”
“An alley,” Remus said.
“No fucking shit,” Sirius said as they walked down the length of it. By the end of it, there was a turn, and now Remus was dragging him along by the arm, grinning wickedly.
“Remus—Oh.”
They had reached the turn in the alley, and Sirius’s mouth dropped open. The alley stretched behind the building on his left until it hit a dead end twenty metres further ahead by some dumpsters—that was where the smell came from. But that wasn’t what had Sirius’s jaw-dropping. No, his eyes were glued to the backside of the brick building the alley was behind: it stood tall, but unlike the front of it, this side of it was covered in graffiti. It spread at least three metres up the wall. Many different words and shapes that overlapped each other. It wasn’t bad graffiti, not all of it. Some of it was pure art, hidden away behind an old building for no one to see. And even that that was made by amateur hands added to the charm.
“Wow,” he whispered in awe. “That’s—” He didn’t have words, so he didn’t continue.
“I know,” Remus said softly. “It’s quite the sight, isn’t it?”
Sirius nodded dumbly. “Who made it?”
Remus’s mouth quirked up. “I started it years ago when I was just a teen. I used to run around London’s street and mark it up in many places. Had to run at full pelt away from police at times.” He had a wistful look in his eyes. His eyes didn’t stray from the wall as he said, “Never got caught, though. I was fast.”
He looked at Sirius, a solemn smile on his face. “Many people have been here since me. I once told a friend about it, who told a friend, and so on. The owner doesn’t seem to mind, honestly. I swear to God, Sirius, one day she even came out to give me biscuits while I was painting a gigantic knob.”
“What?” Sirius let out a startled laugh.
Remus grinned. “Yeah, so I figure she doesn’t mind. This is the only place I can risk painting any more.” He gestured helplessly to the cane. “Can’t really run any more, can I?”
Sirius didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he inclined his head towards the toolbox. “Is that spray paint in there?”
“Yes,” Remus said, his eyes lighting up. “Ready to make your mark on London, posh boy?”
Sirius pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Whatever. Yeah. Show me how it's done.”
Painting with spray paint was an easy enough task; it was doing it nicely that was the problem. Sirius had taken a red can and was now painting in shaky lines after a bit of instruction from Remus’s side. Remus was a few metres to his right, four cans by his feet, and in the midst of painting what appeared to be a dog mixed with a shark.
Sirius had only written his name with small stars above the i’s instead of dots.
“Why are you not painting?” Remus called over to him when he noticed Sirius hadn’t lifted his can to do something new for a while now.
“I don’t know what to make,” Sirius admitted and looked helplessly at his can.
“Just paint whatever you’re thinking about,” Remus said as if it was an easy task.
Sirius raised his eyebrow. “What, like a dog mixed with a shark?”
“Exactly!” Remus laughed and grasped another can to add some white to the dog-shark’s teeth.
“Alright,” Sirius mumbled, amused. He went over to the toolbox, took a black can, and found a new spot on the wall. He lifted the can and pressed spray. A minute later, Sirius stepped back to look at his creation.
Toujours pur
“What does that mean?” Remus had moved over next to Sirius.
“Always pure,” Sirius said, monotone.
Remus wrinkled his nose and looked at the words. “Why would you write that?”
To remind myself why I can’t be me.
“Because,” was all Sirius said. “How’s your dog-shark looking?”
*
They spent another hour at the alley wall, painting and painting, covering old art with new. Sirius changed between painting random words and animals on the wall. Remus watched him with a fond expression as he, with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, shaped three new words on the wall, not far from the black Toujours pur.
Prongs
Wormtail
Padfoot
“Padfoot,” Remus mused. “James called you that the day I met you. Why did he call you that?”
“When we were in school, we often liked to sneak around the hallways in the night to get up to weird shit. One night, well, I stepped in something that stuck to my shoe as we were chased by Filch—the janitor—and I didn’t see what it was until we had made it safely back to our dorm.”
Remus was cracking up. “No way, don’t tell me—”
“Yup,” Sirius confirmed. “It was a pad. A clean one, mind you. Thank God. How it got into the hallway, I have no idea, but that’s when that iconic nickname got made.”
“What about Prongs, then?” Remus asked. “You called James that.”
Sirius chuckled fondly. “Well, James has always had this one dance move he always pulls when he’s drunk off his arse. He takes his fingers up to his forehead, like this—” Sirius demonstrated. “And kinda jumps on his feet from side to side—” Sirius demonstrated that too. Remus snorted. Sirius laughed too. It was heaven to Remus’s ears. “Don’t ask me why he does it, it’s like the alcohol unlocks something in his brain. Anyway, we always used to say it looked like antlers, and first, we walked around calling him that, but it didn’t sound right. Then Peter came up with Prongs instead.”
“And Peter that’s… Wormtail, right?” Remus asked, amused. “How the hell did you come up with that one?”
“Petey boy himself actually did,” Sirius said. “It was after school finished, and we met up all three of us for the first time in what felt like forever. Got high as kites and had a very serious conversation about if we had tails, what kinda tail would it be?”
“Ah, yes, the most serious of all conversations,” Remus agreed. “Totally.”
Sirius shrugged, grinning. “Anyway, I said a dog tail, James said a stag tail—for obvious reasons, but Peter surprised us all by saying he would have a worm tail of all fucking things. Since then, it just stuck.”
Remus hummed thoughtfully. “I think I would have a wolf’s tail.”
“Are you serious?” Sirius asked.
A smirk crept its way onto Remus’s face. “No, that’s you.”
Sirius’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t just—”
“Oh, I so did.”
Sirius shook his head, exhaling as he looked at the wall. Remus only had eyes on him. Sirius’s hair fell in curtains around his face. His cheeks were red from the cold, and his eyes were strikingly clear as he focused on the art before them. Remus could practically hear the gears running in his head. When Sirius turned his head once again, he looked startled to already have Remus looking at him.
“Happy birthday, love,” Remus said.
If James and Peter got to call Sirius Padfoot, then Remus decided this would be his own name for Sirius. Love. Posh Boy, too. Names just for him. If all he could ever get from Sirius was names, then he would trade all the records in the shop for each and every single one.
And it was more than enough when he saw the way Sirius blushed and spluttered, “T-thanks.”
Remus grinned and squinted towards the sky. “We still have time. Want a fag?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, “but just one second.” He went over to the toolbox, grabbed a can, shook it, opened it, and began to spray.
Remus watched, a soft smile on his lips, as Sirius formed the words. A confused frown creased his forehead as he read what Sirius had written.
“What do you think?” Sirius asked and gestured to the words. There was nothing significant about it, really. It was just two words.
“Mischief managed?” Remus said, head tilted to the side.
“Yeah,” Sirius said, hands on his hips. His back was to Remus as he admired the wall. “You asked if I wanted to join you doing some mischief, and here we are, doing something illegal—”
“The owner—”
“Hush, it’s completely illegal, and therefore we managed it.” Sirius sent him a dazzling smile over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Remus had a lot of things he wanted to say; a lot of things he wasn’t sure whether Sirius was ready to hear or not, but at that moment all he could say was, “Yes.”
*
James was pacing the living room, fingers cupping his chin. His bottom lip was worried between his teeth.
It had been two hours and Sirius hadn’t returned yet. God, what if something had happened? He could’ve been hit by a car, or been kidnapped, or he could’ve jumped from a bridge. London had loads of those. The possibilities were endless.
James needed a fag. He grabbed a pack from where it lay on the dining table and stepped out on the balcony, only wearing his jumper, jeans, and fuzzy socks. He used the lighter that lay by the ashtray on the small, oval table and lit a cigarette. He brought it to his lips, inhaled, and exhaled shakily. He scouted the street below. Their street wasn’t the biggest by any means, but still relatively busy. Sirius wasn’t in sight.
James scouted towards the record shop where Sirius had said his new friend Remus worked. Maybe Remus knew—
He didn’t get to finish his thought, because just then, out of the door beside the record shop—which presumably let up to the upper floors, not unlike their own building—stepped a woman. Her hair was long and red. For just a second, she tilted her head up towards the sun and squinted. Her face was the loveliest one James had ever seen. She wore a brown beret, black boots, jeans, and a green coat. James gawked. He was frozen; time stretched out around him. He was in a constant loop where all he could see was the woman—until he couldn't. The woman was moving down the street, away from James’s sight.
She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; everyone paled in comparison. And she was getting away, he had only glimpsed her face for a few sparse seconds, but he instantly knew that he would be able to recognise her anywhere. From any distance. With glasses or without glasses. And God, James thought, what if she lives in that building?
He wanted to continue his train of thought, but just then, he heard someone whistling from the pavement. He looked down. Sirius was standing there, a fag between his lips, and a mischievous grin on his face.
“Hi, Prongs,” he said. “I cooled off.”