Chapter 10
Sirius was two, he shouldn’t even remember it, but he did. He was two, and he’d just learned that Mother wasn’t ill, she wasn’t dying, she had a new baby now.
Sirius was two, when he met his brother. Mother left the baby in the care of an old, old woman, and had a screaming fight with Father. This wasn’t rare, life was back to normal. Normal was good.
A baby in the house wasn’t normal.
But how could that little thing be anything but good? That small, wrinkly white thing that clutched Sirius’ fingers, one by one, as if deciding which one was the one he wanted? That thing, that baby that smiled as big as its whole face when Sirius held it’s head between chubby, unsure hands.
Regulus, Mother had called him. Sirius couldn’t make those sounds with his mouth. He tried, and tried, and tried. He asked for help from Kreacher, to listen and correct him, again, and again.
He was two.
Sirius was three for Regulus’ first birthday. The thing’s, no, the baby’s first public appearance. He didn’t know what public meant, but it sounded horrible. The poor thing didn’t even know, Sirius thought, didn’t even know how to behave yet.
Sirius was four, and he couldn’t understand why Regulus didn’t speak. Mother tried to make him, but all that she accomplished was making Regulus cry, making Sirius angry. Mother was mean, he thought. He’s just a baby. Babies don’t talk. Babies shouldn’t cry. Sirius found that if he held on to Regulus long enough, he’d fall asleep and stop crying.
He’d also found out that it was wrong of him to hold Regulus. Mother said she wouldn’t accept having two weak sons.
But how could having Regulus’ cries quieted be wrong?
Sirius always heard her complain that Regulus was a ‘dumb child’, that Sirius, by his age, had already learned to speak two languages.
He’d been four, the first time Mother punished Regulus. No coming out of his room until he said ‘please’.
Regulus was two.
Sirius spent hours, days trying to teach him how to say please. Please, Regulus. Please. Please speak. Please.
But all that Regulus did was watch him with big, big grey eyes, babble, if he was in a good mood.
Sirius tried to get him out, but the door had some sort of barrier to it. The only one allowed past it was Kreacher.
Nobody could say that Walburga Black didn’t keep her word.
Sirius was six when he watched Mother burn Andromeda's portrait off of the family tapestry. She's dead, Father had said, but Sirius knew it couldn't be true. Andromeda had just got married, is all. He'd heard Father talking about it with Mother.
Regulus watched with big eyes as it was happening too, but Sirius didn’t tell him what he'd heard. He was just a little boy; he didn’t have to know about it. He'd only ask why Andy didn't come and play with them anymore.
Sirius was six years old, he didn’t know either. He was left to wonder on his own, why Andy didn't come and smile at him anymore.
Sirius was seven the first time that his magic exploded. Not an usual display, levitating silverware and growing his hair too quickly. A real explosion.
Regulus was hurt. Father had hurt him. Father had struck Regulus across the face for answering incorrectly to a question.
Sirius should have taught him better.
Sirius should have known better than to try to stop things.
Until then, every punishment had alway been delivered by Mother's hand. A disappointed shake of her head, a week inside of one's room. No meals for a while. A few screaming moments. Words that reached deep inside of his tummy and squeezed.
But it was manageable. Kreacher was always eager to help the little masters.
But this time, Regulus had been hurt. He had been hurt by Father's hand.
Sirius couldn't help it. He screamed and he threw himself to his father. Spunk, his father declared, he has spunk this one. He laughed. As if his sons' distress was simply a matter of amusement to him.
Sirius' magic, somehow, detained Father's hand a little. Not much, but a little.
The explosion came when Orion raised his hand again.
Sirius would not let Father hurt Regulus again.
The hand didn’t collide with Regulus' face again.
Regulus still cried.
He was five.
Sirius got praised, for his display of magic, for his fury. For a burst of power that sent his own father, protected by the House, flying across the room, along with everything in it. Except Regulus, of course.
Sirius got punished too, for trying to disrupt a teaching moment. For trying to protect his little brother.
By the time that Sirius had to go to Hogwarts, had to go, had to go, had no choice but to go, Grimmauld had become a minefield.
They were unpredictable, Mother and Father. One moment, they were content. They praised their eldest for his power, his looks, his poise. The next, they told him he was a disgrace. The next, they decided that he was getting a new broom, the next they broke the broom into a million pieces.
One moment, Regulus was their perfect boy. The next, he was a weak, pathetic squib. The next, he was showered with presents. The next, he was berated, the spare, they called him.
Sirius was eleven, and he didn’t want to leave his brother.
Nobody else knew that Regulus cried so hard sometimes that he turned red, then blue. And nobody else knew how to calm him down. It was Sirius’ job. Sirius was the big brother. Sirius was the one who knew better.
Nobody else would teach Regulus about their family’s history, or explain the rules at gatherings or for supper. This was Sirius’ job. He’d learned those rules the hard way, so that Regulus could learn less… painfully.
Walburga and Orion didn’t teach, they admonished. Sirius hadn’t known that there were so many mistakes to be made until he saw how differently Regulus acted. Sirius was sure that he hadn't acted that way. But he was only a little child, of course he’d make mistakes. Sirius would just have to create bigger ones to shift Mother and Father’s attention to him. Sirius was the big brother. It was his job. Sirius could take it.
Regulus couldn’t.
Sirius didn’t want to go. Not to Hogwarts, nor anywhere else. Regulus needed him.
But he’d gone.
He’d had no choice.
In the years to come, Sirius would ask himself if he regretted going away.
If there had been any way that he could have prevented going.
It was no use, however. Sirius had gone.
Then, the ultimate betrayal.
His sorting into Hufflepuff had been easier than he could have thought; not a choice, but not a demand either. Funny, how his sorting into the loyal House had been born from an act of disloyalty.
Nobody in the family had been even remotely pleased.
While all of his classmates, housemates, had received congratulatory notes, letters, presents or all three, he’d been visited by his parents at the school.
The Blacks would never have sullied their name by sending a Howler. It was a private matter, as all scandals were in such circles, and it was handled accordingly.
In a secluded office, Walburga and Orion first tried to move him into Slytherin, to save face. When that was denied, they tried to pull him out of the school. Sirius must have had horror showing in his face, for Pomona Sprout immediately sent her Patronus to Minerva Mcgonagall, and undertook the effort to reason with them.
Sirius thought they might kill him, and what would become of Regulus then?
Still, there was a possibility that they might not kill him, and then he could stay at Grimmauld Place and look after his little brother until he could attend Hogwarts himself.
Perhaps it would be best if they did pull him out of the school.
They didn’t, in the end. Just as he was getting used to the idea, preparing in his mind for the best outcome, fearing the worst, uncle Alphard had shown up.
Sirius never learned how, or why he’d shown up. Alphard wasn’t particularly fond of children. There was no love lost between him and his sister. He didn’t even look pleased to be there, nor exactly eager to take charge of Sirius.
But he did. Walburga and Orion didn’t even put up a fight.
The only consolation he had was that, even if now he’d live with uncle Alphard during the summer, and neither of them were welcome to the family’s functions anymore, and Regulus was forbidden to communicate with him, at least in two years they’d be together again; Regulus would attend Hogwarts and be free of that house for months at a time. They could talk to each other at school. They’d be brothers again. And perhaps Sirius might convince Alphard to rescue Reggie as well. It was the only plan he had.
Alas, when the time came, Regulus was homeschooled. They’d take no chances with him, he explained in a letter.
Sirius didn’t know how he managed to keep their sporadic correspondence from Orion and Walburga, but he was so, so grateful that his little brother was so, so crafty.
Their relationship was never the same, however. Regulus blamed him for leaving, and Sirius hated himself for wishing he could go back.
Sirius was eighteen when the last letter from Regulus arrived.
He was honouring Orion’s last wish, he’d said. He would communicate with Sirius no more.
Sirius must have sent a thousand letters, asking, begging for him to answer. But there was no response.
Sirius was twenty when he read the obituary. Black Heir, dead. And his entire worldview changed. He was no longer an older brother. Not even an estranged one. And now he’d never be one again.
Sirius never cried over it. As hard as he’d wanted to at the time, and on occasion since then, he hadn’t. Because he knew, in his heart, that he should have done more for his little brother.
Sirius didn’t deserve to mourn. This was his doing.
“Regulus Black was my brother,” Sirius said. He didn’t recognise his own voice.
James’ friend. The friend who left him, who promised he’d come back, who’d promised to help. It was Regulus. His Regulus. Sirius’ Regulus.
Sirius wanted to cry.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to thank James, because even in this terrible moment, he knew that the Prince had been a good friend to his brother.
Sirius’ little brother.
He wanted to rage against the world. Against Walburga, Orion, Alphard, Hogwarts, all of them.
Against James, even. Who’d got to have some piece of Regulus after Sirius couldn’t.
But he didn’t want to rage against James. He wanted to thank him. He wanted to know everything.
What did Regulus talk about? The last time Sirius had laid eyes on him they’d both been children. The letters they’d exchanged had been so stilted, so filled with information that warmth was forgotten.
What did Regulus like? How had he grown up?
He obviously hadn’t shared the Black family’s ideas on blood purity, if he’d managed to befriend James.
Rather, if James’d managed to befriend him.
Had he been a good person? Had he been funny and sensitive as he’d been as a child? Or had his family corrupted all those little things that shone so dimly in Sirius’ mind? The twinkle of a star, in a vast sky of brighter objects, but one that brought him comfort and a sense of… belonging, for the longest time. Sirius had known who he was, when Regulus was born. He was an older brother. A teacher. A shoulder. He'd known his purpose. And even if he didn't have that, his eyes always found the unremarkable glow of his brother's star and he'd feel… well, not good, exactly. But he felt something. Pain, mixed with love.
All the information of the past two days flooded Sirius’ mind in a violent hurricane of thoughts and questions.
Had Regulus been capable of love, even as Waburga had tried to eradicate such feelings from him?
What had he been doing with Riddle?
How had he befriended Dorcas?
Why had he left James, his friend, to fare against Riddle for himself?
Had he changed his mind about his family at the last second?
What did Dorcas want to investigate?
Had he been happy?
Had he ever mentioned his older brother?
James looked struck. As if, maybe, this piece of information had hit him as hard as it had hit Sirius. As if he understood. As if he was hurting too.
“You–, Regulus–, your–,” James shook himself, his horrified expression settling into a mask of calmness. The sorrow in his eyes didn’t subside, however. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Sirius,” he said in an overwhelmingly tender voice.
Sirius wanted to scream. To cry. To hit something.
Instead, he laughed hollowly, “We weren’t on–,” his voice caught. “speaking terms,” he finished stupidly. But James didn’t say anything, only looked at him with such compassion that he felt compelled to offer a little more. “Since Fa–, his father died, he put a stop to any communication. I wasn’t–, my uncle took me in when I started school. He didn’t attend. The last time I physically saw him was when we were children. No more than nine, Regulus. It must be more of a loss for you, than for me.” Even as he spoke the last words, he knew that they weren’t fair, nor true.
It had been devastating for him to lose Regulus. Even if they’d barely been brothers by that point. Even if it hadn’t been the first time SIrius had lost him. This time it had been permanent. Irrevocable.
And it hadn’t been James’ fault. Sirius had no right to throw that in his face. Him and Regulus had been friends. He should have been happy that Regulus had such a friend as the Prince. The sun, even in its darkest moments, must have brought Regulus some light.
But he wasn’t happy. He was glad, of course, but it was impossible to ignore the pain that came with the realisation that someone else had memories of Regulus’ later life. That someone else had known him. That he’d cared about someone else. Even if it was arguably the most deserving person that Sirius had ever known.
James looked uncomfortable. Behind that schooled expression of his, Sirius could tell the signs of grief, distress, disbelief. He could tell that the Prince didn’t really know how to behave right this moment. There were too many questions to be asked, and even more to be answered.
“Si, I’m sorry for your loss,” James repeated, and no. No.
“No,” Sirius said.
“You didn’t leave him behind, Si, you didn’t leave him,” said James and what the fuck? Where the fuck had that come from?
“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed.
“He didn’t want to leave you either,” James said. Oh. Stop. Stop. Stop it.
“Stop it,” Sirius said.
“It wasn’t your fault,” James said.
“I know,” Sirius agreed again.
“It wasn’t your fault,” James repeated.
“I know it wasn’t,” Sirius chuckled bitterly.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” James said.
“Jamie, stop.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” James said.
Sirius stood up abruptly, too worked up to hold his anger back, “IT ISN’T MYLOSS,” he screamed.
But instead of James running away and leaving him alone, perhaps scared, probably annoyed, as he expected, he stood up next to Sirius and raised his open arms. Asking. Offering.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said once more.
And Sirius broke down.
He hugged himself, choking on a sob, leaning his whole body on the Prince’s, his face against his chest.
“I miss him,” Sirius lamented, for once, letting his tears fall.
James held him in strong arms, the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor, probably.
“I’m sorry I knew him when you didn’t,” James whispered. Sirius sobbed harder.
It was hard to resent a person who was so, so compassionate. It was impossible not to wish for things to be different. It hurt to know that it was true, but it felt so liberating to have that particular feeling validated, vindicated, acknowledged, understood.
Sirius thought he’d never stop feeling grateful, but it was also mixed with a tinge of jealousy.
He was jealous of James, for having known and cared for Regulus after Sirius.
He was jealous of Regulus, for having known and cared for James before Sirius.
And he was inextricably thankful to both of them, for having had each other.
As the time passed, the sun hid itself, and Sirius’ tearful crying subsided, he also felt a sort of anger towards his brother.
Sirius couldn’t determine why, at first. He wasn’t angry for himself. Regulus had cut all ties with him, but Sirius knew that that had been born out of grief, guilt, and more than a little fear.
He realised, lifting his head to face James, trying to ignore the mess he’d left on his chest, that he was angry on James' behalf.
How could his brother have been so unfeeling towards him? Leaving him to be… hurt by Riddle?
Of course, he didn’t know the circumstances in which that had happened, but Sirius found it very difficult to sympathise with his brother when he thought of the way that Walburga and Orion treated their children, the hell that they created in Grimmauld Place.
How could anyone, anyone, choose that family, the House of Black, when they had the chance to choose James instead?
Was it worth it, Reggie? He wanted to ask.
“We have a problem,” Lily’s voice sounded far away to Sirius, with James’ arms still wrapped around his frame. Both of them jolted, Sirius turned away before she could see his face. “Am I, er, interr–,” she started, uncertainly.
“What problem?” James cut her off.
“We need to go,” she said.
“I’m not saying I trust her,” Remus said.
“But you’re willing to do what she’s saying!” Marlene complained.
“I don’t think there’s any harm in being cautious,” Lily argued, as they entered the room.
“She suggested it!” Marlene said, gesturing towards a silent Dorcas.
Sirius nudged James with his elbow, “do you know what they’re–,”
“Not a clue,” he answered, offering a tight smile. Not ingenuine, but still smaller than his usual, brighter-than-the-sun smiles.
Sirius thought he understood why. His own mood wasn’t exactly peachy at the moment either. Crying over a long dead brother and friend did that to people, he supposed.
Still, Sirius' chest constricted when he caught sight of the Prince's red rimmed eyes. He wished that he'd allowed himself to cry as well.
He probably hadn't out of respect for Sirius.
Fucking honourable, beautiful, golden idiot.
The discussion continued, still no interruptions from Dorcas, but neither Sirius nor James asked for explanations.
"He's not listening," Sirius heard Remus say, staring straight at him.
"Neither is he," Marlene added, looking at the prince.
Both James and Sirius reacted at the same time with two (not at all idiotic) identical 'huh?'s.
Excuse a man for focusing on the brightest person in the room. Nay, the world. The universe, Sirius thought scornfully.
"Could you repeat that?" James asked.
"We'll start over," Lily said. "The facts are as follows."
"First, Riddle wants something from the Prince, that he apparently cannot get without the Prince. The cloak," Remus said.
"Dorcas claims–," Lily started, but was quickly cut off by Marlene.
"Stick to the facts, Evans. I don't believe her."
"Fine. Sirius, you are too recognisable for Riddle not to have found out who you are by now. We can assume you're not in his friends list."
"Why would I give a–,"
"Third," Remus raised his voice a little, "Dorcas met her, er, friend at a Selwyn party, and that friend was Riddle's ward. We can assume he has, at least in the past, probably still, held a strong standing relationship with other purebloods..." he seemed to arm himself, fill his lungs with air and courage as he continued, "...as the Black family."
"Knowing that family…" Marlene muttered, but didn't finish her sentence. It was quite alright. Sirius understood.
"Dorcas has, er, suggested," Lily continued, the emphasis on the word made Sirius strongly suspect that Lily was guarding her language, "that the Prince and Sirius go underground for a little bit."
Sirius frowned, looked at James.
"Do you think they rehearsed that?" the Prince asked mock seriously, effectively ruining the strained atmosphere
Sirius had to laugh.
Ridiculous boy. Perfect boy.
"Poorly, if that's the case," he quipped back, offering a smile that was half smirk, half softness.
Bugger the Prince for tainting his sharp smirks with softness.
"Why would we have to hide?" Sirius rolled his eyes as he spoke. "I'm not afraid of Riddle," he lied with much more confidence than he felt. That awful smile, when the masked person had used the torture curse haunted his thoughts.
"I am," James admitted, "but I won't hide from him."
Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, "you are going into hiding," he asserted. "Riddle's literally looking for–,"
"Beg your pardon? If anyone's going into hiding–,"
"I'm a ministry official!"
"I've dealt with Riddle before!"
"Gentlemen," Lily admonished, "I'm afraid that the decision isn't up t–,"
"You're going to kidnap us then, Evans?" Sirius snarked.
"I thought we'd agreed," James whined, brows furrowed, "that kidnapping is wrong, Miss Evans."
He punctuated his statement by a disappointed shake of his head that left Lily looking rather murderous.
"Nearly bit my head off for that one," Marlene tutted, "for shame, Evans."
Remus addressed Dorcas, "trying to have a conversation with these people is a bit like trying to understand Mermish outside of the water," he said. "With no knowledge of Mermish," he added.
Dorcas made a snorting sound, but she spoke no words.
Sirius wondered why she wasn't making her case herself, until he realised and burst out laughing, shocking about every person in the room.
"You silencioed her?" he managed between giggles.
"Marlene did," Lily said exasperatedly. "Why was that, again?"
"She's a horrible person who deserves not the privilege of words?" Marlene answered unconcerned.
"The crux of the matter is,” Remus began, “that now the Prince’s security and wellbeing are compromised, as well as Sirius’. Marlene, Lily and I are, if not safe, not quite priorities for Riddle. We’re rather nameless, in the Wizarding World.”
Sirius saw Dorcas’ eyes widen a little, she started shaking her head, as if she wanted to speak.
Nobody paid attention to her.
“But Marlene is a Mckinnon,” Sirius argued, and Dorcas relaxed again.
“So?” asked Lily.
“So,” James said patiently, “isn’t she a pureblood in your world? Why wouldn’t she be at risk of Riddle attacking her, same as with Sirius and me?”
“The Mckinnons are part of the Sacred twenty-eight. They’re just as ancient as the Blacks or the Selwyns or Macmillans,” Sirius said.
“I’m not hiding,” Marlene stated. “I’m working on this project. I know some people in the Auror Department. I’m having Riddle investigated by competent people,” she said, staring at Dorcas. “And I’m having him locked up.”
“But if he’s studying ancient families,” Sirius started, but she cut him off.
“I’m. Not. Hiding.”
“I’m not hiding either!” Sirius and James protested in unison.
Going into hiding with James might have been a sort of dream for Sirius.
They’d chosen a cottage in Godric’s Hollow, owned by one of Marlene’s aunts, as it’d be hard to find but still somewhat connected to the Wizarding World. The place was old, and more than a little dusty, but it was also full of light in the daytime and it glowed with soft, warm lights at night, as though it had been enchanted by the fae. The good fae, though. Not the ones that tricked humans into deals of servitude for eternity. The cottage had cushions everywhere, which would have been uncomfortable if they weren’t so fluffy and cloud-like. The floors were hardwood, but they were never, ever cold. The whole place was invitingly lovely. Small, especially after living in the palace for so long, but cosy.
And then, of course, it had James in it. And, as things so happened, the place being that small was a sort of blessing, Sirius supposed. He could ogle the Prince at virtually all hours, spend all his time with him, be with him.
So yes, it might have been a sort of dream for Sirius.
If it weren’t for the fact that Dorcas and Marlene would be staying there with them too.
“I’m not letting Jimmykins out of my sight again,” Marlene had argued. “Last time I did that the stupid idiot decided to–, I’m just not doing it. And I’m not losing sight of Dorcas either. I don’t trust her. And you, Sirius, you are too much of a loose cannon on your own.”
Of course, it could be argued that Sirius and Marlene together tended to be a little explosive, but he got the point.
For his own part, James had argued that, should Marlene and Sirius not go into hiding with him, he wouldn’t do it either. He had tried to do the same with Lily and Remus, but even he could see that they were the only ones who had a chance of being somewhat safe, moving the waters of the Ministry, investigating Riddle.
“Ask not what blood supremacy can do to you, but what it can do for you,” Lily had quipped, though her expression had been troubled and more than a little infuriated. Sirius hated that she had any reason to be upset about it, and she did. As a muggleborn, she had every right and reasons to be enraged at the system. It was horrid to see how it affected her, not only personally, but in literally every aspect of her life.
It was even worse to see how it affected Remus. While Lily fought against oppression in every way she could, Remus was only resigned to being basically ostracised as soon as anyone found his secret out. It was disheartening.
Still, their names having no notoriety in the Wizarding World did give them an advantage. So, they’d be using that advantage to dig some shite on Riddle, while the other four spent their every minute at the cottage, waiting things out. Sirius wanted to tear his hair out.
Dorcas warned them, after Marlene agreed to let her have her voice again, that Riddle had some contacts in the Ministry, which roused another problem. Rather, problems.
Firstly, the attack at the palace had to be covered up, muggle authorities notified and obliviated, the building fixed. Then, the Royal Family had to be briefed on why their Prince had disappeared, and the muggle press had to be fed a story as to why he wouldn’t attend the New Year’s party, all that shite.
Sirius wasn’t miffed about missing that part of the job, he mused to himself as he settled into his new room.
The hard part was going to be convincing the Ministry that they didn’t have to know where the Prince was staying, and investigating Riddle through Ministry means, without any of his contacts learning about it.
Sirius was a little miffed about missing that part.
The first few days had been the worst.
Marlene had taken it upon herself to remind everyone that she didn’t trust Dorcas, constantly.
Dorcas kept throwing Sirius cautious, searching glances, all the time. Actually, not all the time. Just any time she didn’t spend ogling Marlene. Or bickering with her. Or pretending that nothing fazed her. Sirius had never seen someone so transparent act as though they had the most impassive face in the world. He was quite certain that Dorcas was perhaps trying to look for a resemblance in Sirius with Regulus, perhaps trying to see when she could break the news that her friend was Sirius' little brother. That, or she hoped Sirius might help her deal with Marlene. He was in no mood to be of assistance in the matter.
All of this, though annoying, did very little to Sirius’ incessant need to fix his attention on James, at all times.
It’s just–, Sirius wasn’t used to having crushes. He usually didn’t actually feel things for people, and if he did, it was just lust. And he certainly had never had to woo anyone. People simply said yes, and if they didn’t, sod them, plenty of fish in the sea. In fact, people asked him, more often than not.
Of course, Sirius already knew that he liked the Prince, and that he wanted to fuck him, and it already was plenty weird that his focus on him hadn’t waned by that point, but it had been different in the safety of the palace. There, he saw His Royal Highness, most of the time. And sure, they’d become friends, and the Prince wasn’t a stuffy, pretentious twat, and he did show moments of vulnerability, but it was still… well, ThePrince. There, there were still times, at least once a day, when the pleasant, fake smile would place itself on James’ face and his manners would become polished and refined once more, and Sirius would remember that this wasn’t just his friend, but the Royal fucking Prince of the Kingdom.
Now, however… now Sirius saw James, and only James. The James that was his friend, and Marlene’s friend, and (for fuck’s sake, of course,) even Dorcas’ friend.
Sirius saw him in comfy clothes, usually barefoot, hair a mess.
The hair was doing things to Sirius.
At the palace it had always been styled and falling perfectly around his face, not a stray curl or wave to be found. At the cottage it was in a perpetual state of disarray, his hands running through it, leaving almost every strand out of place.
Sirius had to remind himself not to imagine what it might look like if Sirius was the one pulling on it. Not until nighttime, at least.
The point was that now Sirius saw every soft side of James', as well as some sharp ones. It felt as if he was seeing him when he wasn’t performing, and it left him with a stupid warm feeling all around his body. It was so stupid.
And then there was that other feeling, the one that made Sirius want to envelop James in his arms and never, ever, ever let go. That feeling presented itself when his mind reminded him of the torture curse, of Riddle, of Regulus. Basically, whenever he thought of any instance in which James had or might have suffered.
Worst of all, was the feeling Sirius got when he thought of James' arms around him, his heartbeat thudding rhythmically in his ears, his words of comfort. It made him want to burn the world, spread chaos and bloodshed to reach its peak, while simultaneously keeping hold of James, shielding him from his own destruction.
That was the feeling he feared most. He had never felt it before. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
But he was quite powerless against it. Every time Sirius recalled how James had put his own feelings aside, just to comfort him. Every time Sirius saw James walking towards him, two cups of tea in his hands, and sat down next to him in the mornings, hair sticking up only on one side of his head, voice still gravelly with sleep, (the voice was doing things to Sirius too,) and every time they exchanged smiles or shared even the smallest of moments, Sirius would get that feeling, that stupid, stupid, lovely feeling.
Sirius had thought that his heart had given up forever when Remus broke whatever they'd had off. He'd thought that it had truly stopped wishing for shite that wasn’t meant for him. Things that neither Sirius nor his heart deserved.
All he’d wanted was a little bit of fun with the Prince.
Then, he’d wanted to know everything about him.
After that, he’d wanted his friendship.
And now?
Sirius wanted it all.
And he knew he didn’t deserve it.
“Tea?” James offered.
With you? Sirius thought, “always.”