astronomy

He wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp, his heart beating thunderously against his ribs, all of him shaking and sweating as he looks around frantically. 

Oh, fuck. Did I put on a silencing charm before I went to sleep?, is the first thought he has, and panic consumes him whole as he scurries out of bed as quietly as he possibly can, pulling back the curtains an inch, straining his ear to make sure everybody’s asleep. 

It’s alright, he’s fine, they’re asleep. Maybe he did remember to put on a silencing charm after all. 

He looks around silently, stepping out from behind his curtains, trying not to knock anything to the ground, before walking up to the window and looking up at the sky. It’s almost a full moon, the wind crisp and cold, beating against the trees, making them sway dangerously to the side. 

James sighs lightly and moves towards the windows, leaning on the sill. He takes a deep breath, trying to forget everything, despite knowing the fact that it’s of no use. It’s not the first time he tried, anyway. It never works, he can still remember the screeching of the tires, the screams, the blood. He can still see it on the back of his hands, on his clothes, every single time he closes his eyes. 

He’s so tired these days. He barely gets any sleep, barely remembers to eat something, barely managing to plaster that fake smile onto his mouth as if nothing ever happened, as if he’s just a normal Pure-blood eleven year-old. As if… 

He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the memories he does not want to remember. Pouring himself a glass of water, he wonders what the others think of him, he wonders whether they actually believe his smiles and laughs or whether they’re not as thick as he thinks they are. He wonders how long it would take for them to find out how fake he really is. 

He stumbles back to his bed, pulling back the curtains before crumbling down onto his bed, so fucking exhausted, only to come in direct contact with a throb in his ribs. Hissing painfully, he sits up just to see his glasses broken on the bed, most likely because of his weight. 

He debates on whether he should repair them or not, it’s not as if he needs them anyway, his eyesight’s perfectly fine, thank you very much, it’s just a part of the new personality he’s trying to construct for the people he’s probably going to spend the next seven years with. He lets out another deep breath before reaching for his wand and repairing them in a flourish, deciding on the former. It would only cause a scene, even if it was a little one, and James doesn’t want that. He’s had enough drama for a year. 

He crawls into bed, waving his wand so his curtains part silently, just enough so he can see the window, and he sits there, reminiscing in memories - the only thing he has left - till daybreak. 

He watches as birds move in the forest trees, branches sway and leaves rustle, nature greeting the sun as it makes its way over the horizon. The distant tweeting of birds, the hooting of owls like music to Jame’s ear, his eyes trained unwaveringly on the most sense of peace he’s come in contact with in weeks. 

Glancing over at the clock, he sighs yet again when he sees the hour hand almost at seven. Well then, if he wanted to construct a personality believable enough, he had a reputation to maintain. 

Sure enough, several minutes later, the earlier silence can’t even be dreamt of as the other three boys murmur and throw pillows and crawl further into their beds. Seriously, James thinks sometimes, the only person who has sense in their dorm is Remus. The thought makes him smile. Maybe he’ll manage to make some friends without actually getting them killed again. 

• • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

James doesn’t know what it is about Lily Evans, but something in her, is addictive. He knows he makes an idiot out of himself every single time he sees her without fail, but the truth is, he just can’t help himself. 

He doesn’t get why Lily hates him either, what is it in him that makes him so unbearable? He’s not that bad, what is it? It doesn’t help that her “best friend” is the boy with the greasy hair and the long nose and the funny name. It’s not James’ fault the second he saw him his food threatened to make an appearance again, right? 

People fall in love at first sight but, with that whatever-his-name-was, James is pretty sure he fell in hate at first sight. He’s pretty sure he hates him back too, so to be very honest, Lily doesn’t really have a point in her bashing James. 

He’s telling this to his friends, running a hand through his hair in frustration when an owl comes tapping at their window. 

“Hyde?” gasps Sirius, his grey eyes widening as he scrambles to the window, unlocking it. 

“What in the name of Merlin?” Sirius reaches out for the scroll of paper tied to its leg, only to get pecked. He dodges the peck once again, then actually manages to untie the scroll. 

James and the others share a look before Remus clears his throat in an attempt to catch Sirius’ attention. He looks up, a bit dazed. 

“Uh… keep us updated here?” says Remus, nodding to the owl. 

“Oh, right, sorry.” he laughs lightly, “This is Hyde, Reg’s owl. I told you about Reg right? My lit-”

“Your little brother who’s going to be sorted next year, who’s an absolute prick because he likes to nick your leather jacket that your cousin gifted to you last year, who’s so going to get sorted into Ravenclaw, because he’s so shy yet intelligent and always has his nose buried in a book, whose favourite ice-cream is vanilla, whose birthday falls exactly a month after yours, who has grey eyes exactly like yours and whose hair is curly and a bit long, and who cried when he watched Bambi when you sneaked into a Muggle cinema when you were ten and him nine with your father?” Remus recites, arching an eyebrow. “You know, who’s named after the heart of the lion in the Leo constellation? No, I don’t think you have, who is he?” 

Everyone bursts out laughing. James has learnt in the past month that Remus can be very sarcastic when he wants to, and he wants to be sarcastic almost all the time. It’s a very good and consistent source of entertainment for the others. Well, except Sirius, since he’s the one getting snubbed most of the time, it’s funny, really. 

“Yeah, him.” says Sirius, running a hand over his hair, “He- I wrote to him alot, you know, but he never replied. And now here his owl is,” he says, looking at said owl. 

“Well?” asks James, “Aren’t you going to read what he said?” 

Sirius nods, then leans over to do just that. He grabs the scroll and rips off the wax, unrolling it as he spreads his legs on his bed. 

His face goes through a series of expressions as he moves down the letter; confusion, anger, happiness, sadness. James can’t pinpoint every single one, but there’s a wide range of variety.  

He looks up when he’s done, a grin on his face, to find all three boys staring at him intently. 

“What?” he asks, the happiness practically radiating off of him in waves. 

“In the past month, this is practically the happiest I’ve seen you.” says James, arching an eyebrow. 

“You- Oh, come on.” Sirius says, waving a hand around, “You’re only childs, aren’t you, all of you?” he asks, looking around, “You wouldn’t understand. I missed him!” 

“And wanted to kill him for making you a miserable sod?” pipes in Peter, grinning. “I remember you saying that a few days ago,” 

They all laugh again, the happiness in the room almost a solid thing, almost tangible. 

James knows Sirius’ mother isn’t really the best. The Howlers were enough proof of that. He doesn’t know in detail what his relationship with his brother is though, and it blossoms some curiosity in him that he can’t push off. 

That’s when James realises, he doesn’t know so much about the boys he’s supposed to spend the next seven years with. He knows what they told him on the train-ride here, but that’s about it. He doesn’t know about any of them that good, really. He doesn’t even know when their birthdays are, only Sirius’. 

That’s when James promises himself that in the next seven years, he’s going to make sure he knows every single thing about the boys he’s no doubt going to grow old with. He’s going to find out their favourite ice-cream flavours, he’s going to find out their favourite song artists, their favourite books, their favourite Quidditch teams, everything. He’s going to find out anything and everything he can about these people. Partially out of curiosity, and partially because he… James can’t pinpoint it, but it’s a feeling he has whenever he makes new friends or meets someone new, that immediate feeling of trying to be close to them, being the person they can trust, being someone they love. 

Bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Says the voice in his head, the one he’s trying to push back into thin air most of the time, that you get to know everything about them, but them nothing about you? 

I will tell them. I will. Just- not right now. 

You think you actually have the guts to? Humour me, James Fleamont Potter. 

Sirius’ barking laughter snaps him out of his thoughts before he can drown in the guilt that’s been pooling in his gut since the day he met them, and he looks around, trying to figure out what they’re grinning at. Or, more accurately, Sirius and Peter are laughing at; Remus just has a quizzical expression on his face, one that reads along the lines of “Why the hell am I friends with these idiots, again?” James smiles. 

Remus meets his eye, shaking his head. James mouths “What happened?” at him, trying to make sure he gets the message.

 “Lame joke,” he replies, “They’re idiots.” 

“You’re friends with them,” says James over the new round of laughter. 

“Unfortunately,” 

James feels euphoric, so it isn’t only him who thinks they’re going to grow old together, who thinks they’re going to be best friends for the rest of their lives. The feeling’s amazing, comforting, warm, like a blanket wrapping around him in the cold of winter, like soup when you’re ill, or ice-cream when it’s cold or- well, you get the point. 

Remus still looks a bit shabby; he was ill a few days ago, fever, headache, poor thing, couldn't even walk properly. Madam Pomfrey had kept him for some time, then let him go when she thought he was fine enough. He missed classes though, and damn sure did he throw a right fit about that. 

• • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Blood. 

On his hands.  

On his clothes. 

On the road. 

Pooling around her head. 

Soaking into her clothes. 

Covering the chalk. 

• • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sirius’ voice filters through his brain, waking him with a start. 

“Were you asleep?” he says, and James has the mind to borrow some of Remus’ sarcasm, but Sirius doesn’t even let him reply. “I’m sorry if you were, I’ll just go back, it’s alright.” 

Then James realises the time. He looks at the alarm on his bedside table before looking back at Sirius. 

“Do you ever sleep?” he asks, reaching for his glasses and making space for him on the bed. 

“Couldn’t,” he says sheepishly. 

“That was what you said last time we found out you hadn’t slept the whole night too.” James replies. 

“For different reasons.” he says, crawling into bed next to him, pulling the sheets on top of him, their legs touching. “That was negative, this one couldn’t be more opposite.” 

James nudges his leg with his own. “It’s because of your brother isn’t it? Regulus? Because he wrote?” 

James swears Sirius glows at the mention of Regulus. His eyes grow wide, his mouth breaking into a smile that would literally hurt his cheeks. Probably even does. 

“I was wrong about him, y’know?” he says, his voice so soft, his eyes fond, “I thought he didn’t want to write to me. He did. It was just - he - he just didn’t… um… get my letters,” 

“Why?” asks James; Sirius writes to his brother at least ten times a week, there’s no way Regulus didn’t receive even one letter. No freaking way. 

“My… uh, my mother,” Sirius sounds embarrassed, his hand coming up to scratch his neck. “She, uh, didn’t want Regulus to be in contact with me, apparently,” he explains, “y’know, me being in Gryffindor and all that,” 

James doesn’t like Sirius’ mum, that’s a fact he knew was true. After this, however, he’s one hundred percent sure his dislike multiplied by ten. Why would you cut contacts of brothers, for hell’s sake. Shout at him all you want, no-one can stop you then, but seriously, breaking their contacts too? That’s just- volatile. 

“And Reg wanted to?” he asks Sirius, just to make sure none of his other thoughts escape his mouth, “Talk to you?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius starts beaming again, “That’s the thing, I wasn’t expecting him to. I thought the not replying to my letters implied that maybe he didn’t want to talk to me, maybe he was angry or something, but no, he just wasn’t getting them.” 

“You’re practically beaming, mate.” 

“Can’t blame me, can you?” 

“Meh, I’m an only child.” 

“Pity, you’re missing out.” 

They pass retorts back and forth till both of them are struggling to keep their eyes open. Sirius looks - like something James can’t pin-point. Confused? Nervous? Scared? 

“Uh… I- um…” he starts, and yep, that’s nervousness. 

“What?” 

“Can I… uh, y’know,” he gestures to James’ bed. 

“Sleep here?” he asks. Sirius nods. 

“I can go if you want me to, it’s fine,” he says, taking off the sheets. 

“Yeah, sorry, you’re not going anywhere.” James grabs him by his arm and pulls him back. 

“I- um, I can?” 

“Yeah, sure, you’re already here, and we are friends right?”

Sirius nods and watches James as he makes space for him shuffling over and fluffing the pillow. 

It’s comfortable when they’re both laying together, both of them just silently staring at the ceiling. 

“James?” Sirius asks, his voice now a whisper. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

That day, for the first time in probably a whole month, James sleeps without blood in his dreams.