Art
James groaned,
"I cannot believe we have Art first thing in the morning. And with the Slytherins."
Sirius scoffed. "The horror."
"It is horror," James insisted. "It’s bad enough that we have to do Art, but now we have to do it with them."
"You say that like they’ve personally wronged you with charcoal and watercolors," Remus said, yawning.
"They have!" James exaggerated. "I sat next to Mulciber last lesson, and he spent the whole time sneering at my painting like I’d personally offended him."
Peter snorted. "Maybe you did."
James shot him a betrayed look. "Alright, traitor. But seriously, I don’t understand why we even have to do Art. It’s not like we’re going to need it in the future, there’s no technique!" James argued. "They just hand us supplies and say, ‘Express yourselves!’ What does that even mean?"
"It means there’s no right answer," Sirius said, smirking. "Which is clearly why you’re struggling."
James groaned again. "This is going to be the longest class of my life."
Sirius just shook his head. "That’s because you’re a lost cause."
James turned to him with a offended expression. "You could help me, you know."
"I could," Sirius said, grinning. "But it’s funnier to watch you struggle."
"Unbelievable," James muttered.
Sirius only smirked as they stepped into the Great Hall and slid into their usual seats at the Gryffindor table.
Truth be told, Sirius loved Art.
It was one of the only classes that didn’t feel like work. It was also the only class he had with Evan.
Evan had been his friend for as long as Sirius could remember. Before Hogwarts, before Houses, before all the complications that came with being a Black and a Rosier. They had spent hours together, sketching in the margins of books they weren’t supposed to be reading.
James suddenly groaned again, he seemed to do that allot, reaching for his mail as it landed in front of him. "Oh, great. More bad news from home."
Remus frowned. "Something wrong?"
"Yeah, my mum insists on sending me letters," James said, opening the envelope dramatically. "She writes to much."
"You say that like it’s a bad thing," Sirius said, grabbing some French toast and cutting into it.
"It is a bad thing when I have to read an essay before breakfast," James muttered, scanning the parchment. "Honestly, I love her, but does she think I have time for this?"
Peter grabbed some toast. "What’s she saying?"
"Same stuff as always," James said. "Hope I’m staying warm, hope I’m eating properly, oh, and she sent brownies for everyone."
Sirius, who had been mid-bite, paused.
He watched as James tossed a small, neatly wrapped package onto the table.
She sent brownies. For everyone.
Sirius didn’t know why that felt… odd. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed one as James unwrapped them. He turned it over in his hands before taking a bite. It was good—rich, chocolatey, the perfect texture.
But still.
He glanced at the letter James had set down and, without thinking, pulled it toward himself. His eyes skimmed over the words.
—your father and I are so proud of you—
—hope you’re staying warm, it’s been chilly—
—don’t forget to eat something other than toast—
It was so casual. No demands. Just… kindness.
James noticed him staring. "What?"
Sirius hesitated. "Your parents are like.. really nice."
James frowned slightly "I mean, yeah they're nice I guess."
Sirius suddenly felt overwhelmed, "you say that like it’s normal,"
James looked confused, "it is normal..." Sirius didn't want to talk any longer "Right," he said looking down at his food.
He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to compare.
His parents were his parents. James’s were James’s. That was all there was to it.
*Time skip to art class*
Sirius grabbed his sketchbook and made his way toward the back of the classroom to sit with Evan, Weaving past the Marauders.
Evan barely glanced up from his sketchbook, his pencil moving in quick, deliberate strokes. "What, finally remembered I exist?" he muttered, smirking slightly.
Sirius snorted. "Oh, shut up. I always remember you exist. You just lurk in the back like a cryptid."
"Fair," Evan admitted, his smirk widening.
Mrs. Webb clapped her hands at the front of the class. "Alright, everyone! Today, we're doing charcoal drawings, a study of contrast, texture, and expression!" Her voice was bright, full of enthusiasm. The first time Sirius stepped for in the classroom he immediately decided he liked her.
He pulled out a sheet of paper and started sketching, absentmindedly letting his hand move across the page. He glanced over at Evan’s work and, predictably, it was already shaping up into something vaguely horrific, an eerie figure with hollow eyes and clawed fingers.
"Why is it always demons with you?" Sirius asked, dramatically throwing his hands in the air.
Evan smirked. "Because life is a nightmare, and art should reflect that."
Sirius huffed. He turned his attention back to his own paper and, before he knew it, his hand was moving, forming roses, dramatic roses with curling vines and delicate petals.
Evan glanced over. "Aw, so poetic" he teased.
"You can't say anything, yours looks like a sleep paralysis demon." Sirius shot back.
Evan placed a hand on his chest,
"I prefer darkly inclined artist."
"That’s literally just a fancy way of saying what I said,"
Evan shrugged and went back to his demon, adding more shadows and texture. Meanwhile, Sirius, who could never just sit and draw in silence, started ranting about whatever came to mind.
"You know, I actually like most of my classes," he said, flicking his charcoal across the page. "Obviously History of Magic is the best, even though Binns is the most boring ghost in existence. History is brilliant, you know? Wars, betrayals, revolution. If Binns was more intresting it would be everyone's favourite."
Evan raised an eyebrow. "You like History?"
"Of course!" Sirius paused, then added, "Well, when it’s not just ‘Goblin Rebellion number four thousand and three,"
Evan smirked. "Nerd."
Sirius ignored him. "And English! I love English. It's all so dramatic, so. I’d rather be reading something exciting than memorising lists of potion ingredients, you know?"
Evan snorted. "Anyone who only sees you in public would never gues that you actually read"
"And Art is brilliant, obviously," Sirius continued, waving at his sketchbook. "You can just make things exist. Take something from your brain and put it in front of you. It’s like magic but without all the wand-waving."
"You’re literally a wizard," Evan pointed out.
"Yes, but that’s different," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Magic has rules. Art just... is."
Evan hummed in agreement, adding a particularly sinister-looking grin to his demon.
"And Divination," Sirius went on,
"I actually don’t hate Divination. It’s ridiculous, obviously, but it’s fun. Trelawney’s a bit... intense, but at least she tries to make things dramatic. She told me last week that I have a ‘great shadow looming over my future,’ and I was like, yeah, it’s called my mother."
Evan let out a rare, genuine laugh. "Alright, I give you that one."
Sirius grinned. "See? Fun. Plus, I like pretending I actually have the Sight. I make up prophecies all the time just to mess with people. Told Peter last week that his future holds ‘an unexpected fall from grace,’ and now he’s convinced he’s going to trip down the stairs and break his neck."
"That’s evil," Evan said approvingly.
"Thank you," Sirius said, bowing dramatically. "I try my best."
Evan shook his head, going back to his drawing, and Sirius continued, unable to stop himself once he got going.
"You know what’s exhausting?" Sirius said, aggressively shading a petal. "Being bloody everywhere all the time. It’s like, I love my friends, obviously, and I love Gryffindor, but there is never a moment of peace. Ever. The common room is always full, James is always talking, Remus is always doing somthing, Peter’s always there, and then there’s everyone else. It’s like, Sirius, what do you think about this? Sirius, help me with that!' Like, just let me sit quietly for five minutes without someone else around."
Evan raised an eyebrow. "Tragic. You’re popular."
"Be quiet," Sirius muttered. "It’s not even that, it’s just, it’s loud all the time. And I don’t mean just sound, I mean... Too many people, too much talking. There’s always someone there. And don’t get me wrong, I like people, but sometimes it’s like... I don’t know."
Evan tapped his pencil against his paper, thinking. "You ever try just leaving?"
Sirius scoffed. "Easier said than done. If I disappear, James goes all dramatic because I don’t want to be around him for two seconds. And then I get the ‘Oh, why didn’t you just say you needed space?’ As if that ever actually works. And then Peter gets all weird about it, and Remus looks —" Sirius waved his hands dramatically. "Like, no, I don’t need anything, I just want to be on my own."
Evan smirked. "Sounds like a you problem."
Sirius groaned. "I know! That’s the worst part! I don’t even know what the problem is, I just—ugh."
Evan was silent for a moment, then simply said, "Overwhelmed."
Sirius frowned. "What?"
"You get overwhelmed," Evan said casually, going back to shading.
Sirius blinked. "Huh." He twirled his charcoal between his fingers. "Weird."
Mrs. Webb wandered over. "Oh, lovely, lovely!" she said warmly. "How’s it going, boys?"
Evan grinned. "Well, Sirius is drawing flowers, and I'm summoning the devil, so I’d say we’re doing great."
Mrs. Webb laughed. "Oh, I love contrast in art! Sirius, your flowers are so alive, they have movement."
Sirius beamed. "See, Evan? Someone appreciates it."
Evan rolled his eyes. "I never said I didn’t appreciate it. I just think it’s boring."
Mrs. Webb turned to Evan’s drawing, eyes lighting up. "Oh! And Evan, yours is so intense! Very raw. Very emotional."
"That’s a nice way of saying ‘deeply concerning,’" Evan said, smirking.
"Oh no, I love creepy art!" Mrs. Webb said cheerfully. "I used to draw ghosts and haunted houses all the time as a student! My professors thought I was very odd, but I always said, ‘Art is supposed to make you feel something.’"
Evan raised an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. "Respect."
Sirius leaned on the table. "Alright, so if you were a student drawing haunted houses, how did you end up teaching instead of being an artist?"
Mrs. Webb gasped, feigning offense. "Sirius! You make it sound like a tragic fate!"
"It is tragic," Sirius said dramatically. "You could be out there, creating, but instead you’re stuck here teaching us."
"Teaching you is fascinating," Mrs. Webb said, grinning. "And besides, I love teaching. You lot are so much fun, well, most of you are."
"Who’s not fun?" Evan asked.
Mrs. Webb gave him a conspiratorial look. "You lot didn’t hear this from me, but I swear some of the seventh years have no soul. They act like they’re suffering every time I ask them to draw something."
Evan smirked. "That’s the thing about school. The second you make something mandatory, people hate it."
Mrs. Webb sighed. "I suppose you’re right. But honestly, how can someone hate art? That’s like hating breathing!"
Sirius nodded. "Exactly. Though, to be fair, some people do hate breathing. My mother included."
Mrs. Webb blinked, then let out a startled laugh. "Sirius!"
"What?" Sirius said innocently. "She looks like she’s holding her breath all the time."
Evan snorted, shaking his head. "Your poor mother."
"My poor mother?" Sirius repeated, looking appalled. "Evan, I am the real victim here!"
Mrs. Webb, still laughing, wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, I do love my job."
"Glad we amuse you," Evan said dryly.
"Yes, well, it's my favourite part of teaching," Mrs. Webb said, still smiling. "I get to have conversations like this instead of dealing with grumpy seventh years who hate fun."
"See, this is why you’re the best teacher," Sirius said, pointing at her. "Because you get it. Other teachers are all ‘education is the most important thing’ and ‘you must take your studies seriously,’ and you’re just over here like, ‘Wow, cool demon, Evan!’"
Mrs. Webb grinned. "Hey, I meant what I said. Art should speak. And Evan’s demon is definitely saying something."
"It’s saying ‘don’t talk to me or I’ll eat your soul,’" Evan said casually, adding more shading to the hollow eyes.
"Good! Then it’s expressive!" Mrs. Webb declared.
"Alright, I’ll let you two get back to it. Can’t wait to see the final pieces!" She wandered off to check on another table.
Sirius turned to Evan. "I really like her."
"Same," Evan agreed. "For a teacher, she’s surprisingly cool."