Harry Potter Oneshots

Description

Ship pairings; platonic prongsmoon and prongsfoot, right after the prank.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Outside the Headmaster's Office

Some god-awful hour, 1975

Sirius was fidgeting like a bloody wind-up toy on its last leg—hands twitching in his lap, legs jittering, gaze flicking towards the heavy oak door like it might bite him. The tension in the corridor was suffocating, thick as treacle.

James noticed it immediately, of course he did. He always noticed when it came to Sirius.

Without saying a word, James slid his hand into Sirius's and leaned in, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

"'s gonna be okay, Padfoot," he whispered, voice low and gentle. "The Headmaster'll see sense. He's not gonna throw us to the wolves."

Sirius gave the tiniest nod, his jaw clenched tight—but the wild panic behind his eyes softened just a bit. Just enough. James squeezed his hand.

Across the hall, Snape stood stiff and sour-faced, practically glued to the far wall, as if even existing in proximity to Sirius or Remus might burn his skin. James didn't mind. He liked it better that way. The git didn't deserve to be near his mates—not after everything.

But even Snape looked rattled. His leg bounced anxiously, foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the stone floor, and his companion—Regulus bloody Black of all people—had laced their fingers together in an attempt to still it.

James blinked. That was new. He narrowed his eyes. Another person to take Snape's side? Fantastic. Just bloody brilliant.

Meanwhile, Sirius looked like he was about to crumble into dust. James could feel the tremble in his fingers, the sweat on his palm.

Sirius suddenly sniffled—barely, but James caught it.

Without thinking, he shifted closer, brushing his thumb gently across Sirius's cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped free.

"Don't cry, Padfoot," James murmured, his voice like a balm. "I doubt Dumbledore'll expel you. Honestly. You're not gonna have to go back to that house."

But the words weren't enough. Not this time.

"How do you know, James?!" Sirius snapped, his voice cracking like a dropped plate. He shoved James's hand away, and James let it fall to his side, lips pressing into a thin line.

"Sirius..." he said quietly, but didn't push. Didn't grab again.

There was a soft sound behind him. Choked, muffled.

James turned and caught Remus trying—badly—to hide the tears spilling down his face. The quiet kind of crying that crept up and drowned you before you even noticed it had started. His sleeves were soaked, and fat drops were splattering onto the stone at his feet.

James hesitated for half a second, then dropped Sirius's hand and moved toward Remus. He crouched slightly to meet his eyes, lifting the boy's chin with careful fingers.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's going to be alright, Moony. Don't worry, yeah?"

Remus looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, lower lip trembling, and that was it. James pulled him into a proper hug, holding him tight as the werewolf sobbed into his chest.

Tears soaked through James's shirt. Again.

He stroked Remus's hair gently, fingers carding through the tangled mess like he was smoothing out all the nerves in the boy's head. His free hand hovered for a moment before brushing along Remus's back in a soft, steady rhythm.

And as he stood there, arms full of shaking werewolf, Sirius sniffling beside him, Snape glaring across the corridor and Regulus pretending he wasn't clutching Snape's hand like a lifeline, James sighed.

Merlin, being the therapist friend was exhausting.