Chapter 11
Living in such close quarters with Sirius was starting to be difficult for James, he mused to himself as he tried to fall asleep.
Not that he didn’t enjoy it, obviously, it was more the fact that he–, well, he was finding it very distracting, and more than a little disturbing.
Learning that Regulus was Sirius’ brother was a shock to him. But it was more than that. Because now, through that knowledge, he realised that he knew a lot more about Sirius’ past than he thought he had.
He knew shite about Regulus’ family, which meant he knew about Sirius’ family. He knew that they were cruel, demanding, that they had little regard for their son, sons, that they were pretentious, pompous and overall horrible people.
He knew more than that, too. He knew that Regulus had been abused in that House. Even if the boy hadn’t ever said anything of the matter, James wasn’t so blind as to not see it. It took a while, but he’d spent years with Regulus, he knew.
And now he knew about Sirius as well.
The thing was, Sirius hadn’t confided in him with that. He felt that he had no right knowing those things. At the same time, he couldn’t help but see Sirius now, almost all of him. His past and his present. He didn’t want to erase the knowledge from his mind, but he did wish he could have learnt it another way.
He wished it hadn’t happened at all, actually.
Two of the best, most wonderful people he’d met in his life had had such terrible childhoods. Regulus had barely had time to be an adult, and now he was nothing but memories and hurt. And Sirius? Sirius was beautiful, damaged, vulnerable and strong. All in one breath. Nobody deserved what they’d got, but the two brothers especially didn’t deserve what they’d got. James wasn’t blind. He saw that Sirius had sharp edges and sharp words. He saw him, but now it was all contextualised differently in his mind.
It wasn’t an excuse for his behaviour, rather an explanation.
To James, Sirius wasn’t beautiful because or in spite of his trauma. He was beautiful because he was Sirius. He was caring and lovely and funny and clever and intense and spirited and protective and jagged and soft. He was Sirius, and that was enough for him. He was Sirius, and that was everything for him.
He had cared for Sirius long before he knew about his past and his connection with Regulus, and he cared about him still. A place in his heart had already been claimed by Sirius, and it had nothing to do with Regulus.
The Regulus thing had only made it a little more complicated, and a little clearer.
He saw echoes of Regulus in some of Sirius’ expressions and actions, a little something in his eyes, in the way they both pouted similarly to how small, spoiled children did, in the way their concerned frowns mirrored each other.
But Sirius was Sirius. The two brothers couldn’t be more different. Sirius was loud and dramatic and rambunctious, where Regulus had been reserved and withdrawn.
It had been easy to befriend Sirius, where it had been an accomplishment with Regulus.
Where Sirius laughed, Regulus had smiled.
Where Sirius had got James’ trust immediately, Regulus had lost it slowly.
It was too difficult not to compare the two, and, at the same time, they were as separate as they could be, in James’ mind.
A prickling of guilt made itself known in the back of his mind. How dare he compare the two brothers? They were two different people with a shared past, is all. Each was his own person. And one of them hadn’t even volunteered any information about it.
He groaned into his pillow, thankful that, even if he had to sleep in the same room with Sirius, they tended to go to bed at wildly different times. Sirius wouldn’t come into the room for at least an hour yet.
Sharing the room hadn’t been in James’ plans at all, at the beginning. Nor in Sirius’, it seemed, though he did do the most of it, flirting outrageously once it became inevitable.
It had actually been Marlene’s idea, which surprised everybody. She’d never passed up an opportunity to prank a sleeping, unsuspecting James before.
“You two will stay in the green bedroom,” she’d said, pointing at the two boys. “And don’t you go getting any ideas, Sirius Black,” she warned.
“Wha–, why?” James had asked, a little bewildered, a little hurt.
She had rolled her eyes, “because, I’m not sleeping on the sofa, Dorcas is certainly not sleeping unsupervised, and there are two bedrooms in this place.”
“I’d love to sleep with the Prince,” Sirius had quipped, blinking exaggeratedly at James then schooling his expression for Marlene.
“I’m certainly capable of sleeping unsupervised,” Dorcas had complained haughtily. “It was my idea to–,”
“You are a stowaway,” Marlene snapped. “You’re here because the forces of Morgana wish to punish me for my awesomeness. But it doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I’m not working with Riddle! I don’t want to attack you! I came here willingly.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Marlene had dismissed her. “Not a single idea,” she had warned Sirius again, her eyes narrowed.
And that had been that.
So now James had to contend not only with having Sirius around all the time during the day, but during the night as well, struggling under the guilt over having been friends with Regulus, knowing some of Sirius’ past without his consent, and finding it very hard indeed not to wrap his arms around him and tell him everything’s alright.
It’s just–, he saw Sirius all the time.
He saw him at breakfast, sleepy and grumpy and lovely, and he saw him in the late morning, the sun slowly crawling up in the sky and illuminating his blue eyes and his long nose and his high, sharp cheekbones and looking lovely and he saw him sparring words with Marlene in the afternoon, over that card game that exploded in people’s faces and being lovely and he saw him ignore Dorcas pointedly with a studiedly bored and lovely expression and he saw him fussy and pouty at night, right before bed, all soft and vulnerable and lovely and he saw him speak to him and rest his lovely hand on his hand and he–.
Well. Sirius was simply lovely all the time, is the point. And James couldn’t stop looking. He wanted to touch, to feel him, all the time, all of him.
Suddenly, all of Sirius’ jokey flirtations felt a little bit like a paper cut.
It’s not as if James was unaccustomed to beautiful people. He was used to seeing attractive people. He'd grown up around celebrities and aristocrats and nobility. He knew he wasn't hard on the eyes himself. He wasn't intimidated by beauty. He certainly never thought a person's value stemmed from their beauty.
It wasn’t Sirius’ beauty that drew James to him. Not the physical one, at least. It was the beauty of a person who had lost so much, yet managed to shine so brightly. It was the beauty in being good, even when the whole world seemed to have wanted to turn him bad.
It was the beauty of a person who had rebuilt himself.
James was a sucker for vulnerability, and Sirius showed himself to him unguardedly. Not with words, not his history, but his feelings, himself.
And now, James felt as though he had betrayed Sirius’ trust.
He sighed. This couldn’t continue this way. He needed to tell Sirius what he knew. He didn’t want to keep shite from him. Sirius didn’t deserve that.
Standing up from bed, he started walking to the living room, where Sirius would be still reading the magazine with the huge motorbike on the cover.
"I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me," Sirius had muttered. Yes, thought James, he'll definitely still be there.
As he took the narrow stairs down to the living room, he stumbled a little. As if the whole world had tilted, then righted itself in the blink of an eye. He didn’t know how to start the conversation. 'I'm sorry I know stuff that you haven't told me about yourself because I knew your dead brother,' didn’t seem appropriate, though it was the truth. Even in his thoughts, it was painful referring to Regulus as 'dead' and 'brother'. Not for the first time, he wished on the universe that things were different.
The next step, he miscalculated the distance and nearly fell flat on his face.
"What is wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath, hand gripping the bannister harshly. A rustling sound had his ears perking up, like a rabbit's. He felt strange. The rustling made everything else sound clouded and muffled, even his own steps.
Finally, he reached the last step. It had taken him too long, he thought. He needed to focus. He was doing something here. He must have been more tired than his inability to fall asleep might have suggested.
One, two, three steps and he was in front of Sirius, still reading the magazine, silhouetted against the glow of the lamp, head bent low. No curls, he must have tied his hair.
Also, when had Sirius changed clothes? He was in black robes now, his too pale, long fingers holding the magazine.
But it wasn’t a magazine, it was a book. The tales of something.
None of the fingers sported a ring.
James realised too late his mistake.
All the signs he had missed, dismissed.
That wasn’t Sirius.
Riddle lifted his eyes from the book, fixing them on James, a flash of angry red replacing the greenish grey in them for a little more than a second.
James was stuck in place, his feet refused to cooperate, his mouth unable to make any sound.
Marlene, Sirius, Dorcas. They were in the cottage too.
Riddle was staring.
Leave me, he wanted to say. Go away, he wanted to cry. Please, don't hurt them, he wanted to beg. Let them leave, he pleaded silently.
"They've already left you," Riddle said. He always knew what James was thinking. Sometimes he didn't even need to use his wand. "Everybody leaves you in the end, James. Everybody but me."
Marls wouldn't leave me, James tried to argue. Sirius wouldn't leave me, he tried to convince himself.
"I am sure you thought the same of Regulus," Riddle spoke quietly, sympathetically. "And look how that turned out. You can't trust them, James. You can trust me."
James wanted to cry. He felt the whole house tremble. He didn’t want to give in. Riddle was bad. Regulus had had to go. Riddle was playing with his mind.
"Think of all that I've taught you," Riddle said. "You are strong because of me," he said.
In spite, James wanted to argue. I am strong in spite of you.
Riddle stood up leisurely, rolling his wrist as if tired from holding the book.
In less than a second Riddle was in his face, bent down, mouth close to his ear. He shivered. The unpleasantness of the sensation only lessened by the fact that he couldn’t smell Riddle's breath, the usual scent of blood and, weirdly, snakes, wasn’t there today.
"A shroud to swathe sensations, a wand to weld wonders, a ring to resurrect the reposed. We could do that, you and me,” he whispered in his ear, making all of the hair in the back of his hair stand on end.
I don’t want that, he wanted to scream.
He was still unable to move, even when Riddle made to grip his neck. He would strangle him, he was sure.
James woke with a gasp.
He was in the room, in his bed still. The sky was dark outside, Sirius was sleeping in the bed across the room.
Just a dream, he sighed.
Still, he got up and checked on Sirius. There was no harm in it, he just wanted to be sure.
But as he made his way across the room, very quietly, he noticed that, though it was Sirius lying on the bed, not everything was alright.
Sirius was frowning, his mouth turned down a little, definitely unhappy with his thoughts, or his dreams.
If Sirius was anything like James, he’s unhappy with his memories.
He didn’t want to wake him. He thought Sirius slept too little as it was, but it became rather inevitable when Sirius’ frown deepened and his mouth twitched, the quietest ‘no’ falling from his lips. Distressed.
Nobody should have to sleep through a nightmare.
“Si, Sirius, wake up,” he said, but there’s no response. He shook him gently, but Sirius didn’t rise. He only squirmed, the sad turn of his lips turned to a pout, chin trembling slightly. “Sirius, darling, it’s a nightmare,” he said, because saying that it’s not real might be a lie. James knows about the thoughts that plague a sleeping mind. “Wake up, Sirius, please,” he said, more urgently this time.
Sirius’ dream, nightmare rather, seemed to reach a crescendo, then suddenly he sat up, eyes unfocused but determined. Always ready to fight.
“There you are,” James breathed out. “Nightmare,” he explained.
Sirius seemed to come back to himself a little, “are you alright?” he rasped.
James almost chuckled, but he restrained himself. “Are you?”
Sirius smirked, all teeth, but didn’t answer.
Now is the moment you go back to bed, he thought. But he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to be close to Sirius.
“Could I stay here?” he asked.
Sirius’ smirk softened, “of course,” he shuffled on the bed, lifted the duvet, “get in,” he said.
It might have been awkward, but it wasn’t. The bed was warm, and so was Sirius, and the two boys settled in, looking up at the ceiling. Sirius shuffled more, pressing his entire body to James’, arm to arm, side to side, leg to leg.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked.
“Do you?” he replied.
“Not really.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What for?” Sirius asked.
“Everything. Nightmares. Reg–, your brother. That I dragged you all into this mess.”
“You didn’t.”
They settled into silence once more. It was pointless to argue now. But he still had to talk to Sirius. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves.
“You should know something,” he said, but Sirius didn’t answer. He wished he did. He wished Sirius would demand what exactly he should know. But he didn’t. “Regulus was my friend,” he said, when it became clear that he couldn’t stall this anymore. “For years,” he added. Sirius didn’t answer, but his whole body was coiled tight, as though ready to run out of the room. He couldn’t have that. Sirius deserved to know. “I know things about the Black Family, things that–, they–, I suppose they involve you, too.”
Sirius didn’t respond.
“I’ve got knowledge of your past that I haven’t earned the right to have,” he explained. “I’m sorry for that too.”
Sirius sighed, but when his words came, they were sharp and angry, “it’s no secret that I hate that House. They call themselves a family, but they are nothing but a snake’s nest.”
“I mean that I know of–, I know things that you probably wouldn’t have told me. I know how Regulus was treated there. And, well, I suppose they were the same to you.”
Sirius turned on his side, facing him, and, after a second’s deliberation, he did the same.
Sirius’ voice was tight, and it cracked when he said, “will you tell me about him?”
James didn’t have to ask whom Sirius was referring to.
So he did. It hurt his soul, his heart, but he did. It was the least he could do.
He taught Sirius about a brother he lost, not once, but twice. He told Sirius about him, even if he could tell that many parts hurt him deeply.
It wasn’t clear what was worse; the good, or the bad. The knowledge that the House of Black had been as bad as Sirius knew, or the knowledge that from there had risen a bright young man who spoke in short sentences and that had been a friend to a lonely Prince.
Sirius’ eyes were filled with tears as he continued his account of his friend, but they didn’t actually spill until he asked brokenly, “did he ever mention me?”
I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I never want to make you feel pain, he wanted to say. But it was useless. The pain was already there. All that he could do was make it worse, to make it better.
He reached one hand to cup Sirius’ face, wiping away the tears as gently as he could, “never by name, no,” he told him. “He told me about his first friend, though,” and Sirius’ face crumpled, he hid in James’ chest, sobbing silently. He didn't want to go on, but he had to. For Sirius. For Regulus. “He told me that he knew he could be my friend because his first friend had shown him how to care.” But it was too much. He couldn’t continue, otherwise he’d cry, and this wasn’t his moment to cry.
James had had his time to cry already. He had had his time to grieve. That he handled it poorly was his fault. Now was Sirius’ time to cry.
What right had him to hurt over a lost friend, when Sirius was there, mourning his lost brother?
So he kept his tears at bay, he tried to breathe deeply and steadily, and he held onto Sirius, James’ arms around him, stroking his hair, caressing his back as Sirius fisted his shirt, dampening it with sorrow.
He must have not been doing a good job keeping a calm demeanour, for Sirius' head snapped up, and he said, almost urgently, “you’re allowed to hurt too, you know?”
It was a nice sentiment, but James knew it wasn’t true.
So he held Sirius tighter, buried his face on Sirius’ hair, and willed the warmth of their bodies lull him to sleep.
After all, James Potter didn’t have bad days.
"She's just so infuriating," Marlene was already speaking before James entered the living room, "and it's annoying and horrid and I want her gone."
This was James' life now. Listening to Marlene complain about Dorcas and trying with all his might to stop noticing Sirius so much.
Sirius' eyes and his smile, that lit up his face. Sirius' voice and his skin, both soft and sharp and wonderful, they both felt like caresses. And his pain and his joy too, that felt almost too big in the chest.
They'd slept together the previous night, but Sirius' nightmare must have tired him more than he'd shown, because by midmorning he still hadn't awoken. James, however, had had the best sleep of his life, warm and tranquil and dreamless, holding Sirius, Sirius holding him.
Still, the guilt was there, and he felt it wash over him as a wave of freezing cold water in winter, so he had got up, careful not to jostle Sirius, and left him there.
"You can't trust her, Jimmykins," Marlene was saying. "I can't actually stop you from speaking to her, but I can sure well try," she warned.
"She's rather nice, isn't she?" James teased.
"She's–, I beg your fucking pardon? She's a manipulative, clever little woman and she'll use everything she has to her advantage!" she breathed deeply and continued, "You can't just trust her because of her looks."
"Her looks?" he teased. "Hm, yes, I also noticed her looks. She's, some might say, hot."
Marlene turned bright red and looked away, but still she said, "I wouldn't."
He gaped at her for a second. Lying wasn’t something Marls did with him. They didn’t do that with each other.
"You know she's beautiful," he asserted.
She faced him once more, face still red, and rolled her eyes.
"Well, obviously I do know that," she said, "but that's exactly why I–,"
"Is that all of it?" he pressed. "You don't trust her because she worked with Riddle for a little while? You'll refuse to give her the benefit of the doubt?"
"She attacked me!"
"You were literally unharmed, Marlsly," he reasoned. "And she said she was spying on Riddle. For her friend. Plus she didn't even try to run off or attack again. She tended to the garden " he added in a softer tone. It was Barbara's garden, after all. Marlene stayed stubbornly silent. "I think there's something you're not telling me."
"I think there's something you're not telling me," she shot back. James didn’t dignify that with an answer, and the two engaged in a silent staring contest for a while.
"Fine," she sighed, draping herself on his legs, pouting playfully. "I knew her in school," she started, and most of the mirth left her expression. "I was in the quidditch team for Gryffindor and she was in the one for Slytherin. Chaser. Watching her fly was…" she trailed off.
Amused, he prompted, "was… what?"
"Hm? Nothing. Just. She flew really very well. and she was good with school shite too. And she was sort of kind for a Slytherin, and sort of funny in a mean, short way. She didn't exactly blend into the background.
"Were you friends then?"
She shot him a glare, "don't be daft. She was a Slytherin. I told you this. I just knew about her and spoke to her occasionally and we, er," she deflated. "I tried to be her friend for a while. I thought we were getting somewhere. It turns out, she was only using me to get access to the Gryffindor common room. A horrid prank that her housemates made against us."
"She was a child, then," he responded, but even his own conviction was waning a little.
She offered him a sad smile, "and you were always too trusting. Like right now,” she said, and pushed him through the curtains, through the window, jumped after him and wrestled him into the bush that surrounded the cottage.
It was always this way with Marlsly, it was comforting to know, to feel, that some things never seemed to change.
They settled into silence and relative stillness after a while, both panting, playing with sticks and leaves and thorns that had stuck into their clothes, but silence was never James' favourite thing.
"So, you think she’s beautiful and clever and funny?"
He didn't even try to dodge her hand. He knew he deserved it.
They got inside to a frowning, annoyed looking Sirius, sat on the sofa, arms crossed, hair a mess. For him, anyway. It would have been troubling if he wasn’t so fucking adorable when he frowned. Glared, more like, in this case.
“What’s wrong with him?” Marlene asked in, what she must have thought was, a hushed voice. Marlene being Marlene though, her voice carried across the room and probably everywhere else in the cottage.
“You, Potter,” Sirius pointed at him, then at the sofa, “you sit here. Now.”
Exchanging an amused look with Marlene, who left the room to check on Dorcas in the kitchen, he went to Sirius. Of course he did.
"Wh–," he tried to say.
"You. Do not." Sirius punctuated his words with quick movements on his part. Reaching for James' hand, pulling him down on the sofa, "Sleep with me." Pushing on James' chest so that his back was pressed to the back of the sofa, "And leave the bed." Placing both legs on top of James'. "Without telling me." Resting his head on his shoulder. "First." Crossing his arms again.
James resisted his urge to laugh. It all was so adorable and cute that he wanted to squeeze Sirius until his eyes popped out and his spine cracked a little.
He wouldn’t, of course. He would never hurt Sirius.
So he did the next thing he wanted to do. He reached behind him and held him closer to himself, Sirius' face somewhat hidden in the crook of his neck.
Then Sirius' words caught up to him. Sleep with me, he had said. Oh.
To sleep with Sirius. He wanted to–.
Oh no. No. James had already fucked his way out of too many good friendships. He couldn’t risk it with Sirius. He was always too much, and shit always hit the fan. Sirius was too important. He wouldn’t think of him that way.
He couldn’t lose him too.
Knowing himself, the best course of action was to put some space between them, for a little while at least, until he could quash those feelings away, snuff them out as a match that didn't take too well to the flame yet.
"I'm sorry I didn't wake you," he said instead, pressing him a little tighter.
James was never good at putting distance between him and his friends, not even to protect his heart.
"Thank you for waking me last night," Sirius murmured. "Before," he clarified.
"Of course," he said, because of course. Sirius snuggled up to him a little more. "I had the best sleep I've had in ages," he told him. He wasn’t sure why.
Sirius lifted his head slightly, locking eyes with him. Blue to brown. He had an expression of wonder, maybe, or perhaps he was just glad for his part in James’ rest. Slowly, however, his face grew an impish smirk, "I could give you more than a good sleep, sir," he teased and immediately no.
This isn't how you snuffed out a baby flame. This is how you started forest fires.
If, before, James could ignore or laugh away any flirty comments from Sirius, it was because they didn't mean anything before. To neither party. He hadn’t known anything about Sirius, and Sirius hadn’t known anything about him. He hadn’t seen him entirely. Before Sirius revealed something to him, before he was so transparent and open with him, outside of what he knew from Regulus of course, he had seen those advances as jokes, little teases.
Now he wished they were real.
It wasn’t fair on Sirius to change their dynamic, but he truly would not be able to handle it if he continued this way.
James was a sucker for softness, openness, but also people who were quick-witted, who kept him on his toes, who made him laugh, with whom he didn’t have to pretend or with whom he didn’t have to have a ready, photograph-able smile all the time. He was a sucker for a little bit of darkness as well.
Sirius was all of those things. It was actually quite an achievement that James hadn’t had these… inconvenient feeli–, thoughts, about him before now.
Also, ' sir '?
The word didn’t need to sound so filthy falling from Sirius' lips.
"Hah," he tried to chuckle, "Hm, yes, well. Shall we, uh, have you had any breakfast yet?"
"You were with Marlene for hours, James," Sirius exaggerated. "It's time for lunch now."
“It wasn’t hours, you dramatic swine,” he replied, giving Sirius one last squeeze before standing up, offering his hand. “Let us make lunch,” when Sirius reluctantly took his hand, he added, “and perhaps we’ll prevent my best friend from murder charges.”
James had never, ever, in his life, and probably the life before either, known a less competent group of people when it came to making lunch, ever, ever, ever. Never.
And Sirius was the worst of them. At least Marlene knew how to make toast and sometimes she didn’t even burn it, and Dorcas was handy with a knife, though the glint in her eyes spoke of too much enjoyment out of using it.
“I’m not above pointing out that the privileged arsehole here should be me,” he says, taking the three knives from Sirius’ hand, which he was trying to use as a triple finger-cutting machine, perhaps. It was unclear.
“Ah, yes. Talk to public school children about privilege, please Your Royal Highness,” Marlene snarked.
“I went to public school as well!” he argued, steering Sirius away from the hot pan, where he was… trying to stick his head into?.
“Yes, well, our school was so posh and privileged and exclusive—,” Dorcas started.
“Elitist,” Sirius interrupted.
“—that only people with certain abilities an racial backgrounds were admitted to it,” she finished, ignoring him.
“So you can see, we think we’re better than anyone who has to prepare their own meals,” Sirius added mock haughtily, climbing the worktop to reach for the flour on top of the cupboard.
“Sirius, don’t climb the worktop,” James admonished, fetching the flour himself. “And that’s bullshit, everyone should know how to make a simple meal. Everyone here’s an adult,” he pointed out.
“That’s debatable,” Dorcas tutted.
“I need a heavier rolling pin,” Sirius whined. “Hold on, simple meal?”
“Jimmykins has a thwarted sense of what a simple meal consists of,” Marlene teased.
“All that privilege,” Dorcas added helpfully.
“I do not, and no, Sirius, you do not need a heavier rolling pin. Put your back into it,” he said, but Sirius had already moved on to brighter activities, namely, stirring the custard instead of whisking it. For fuck’s sake, did he never stop? “It’s going to be lumpy if you do it like that,” he explained with about a hundred stones of patience, in his opinion. “Ratatouille is literally one of the easiest, less time consuming, best dishes one can make in less than an hour.” In a lower voice, he added, “if you’re not a menace to society.”
“I’m not a menace!” protested Marlene and Sirius at the same time.
“Marlene, you mind the dough. Dorcas, you mind the pudding,” he said, once again guiding Sirius’ hand away from his mouth, “Sirius, for the love of all that is holy do not lick your fingers which will be used in preparing the meal!”
“He’s breaking,” Dorcas commented casually.
“Actually, no, I’m not. In fact, I’m as calm as I’ve ever been. Marlene, do not pound the dough, you’re supposed to roll it. Dorcas, I told you to whisk, not–, I don’t even know how to describe what you’re doing. You were so much nicer when you were doing nothing,” he sighed.
“You’re so hot when you give orders,” Sirius teased, and he ignored how those words made him feel hot all over.
“Right? He’s like a sexy chef,” Dorcas agreed good-humouredly.
Marlene and Sirius both dropped what they were doing and turned around testily.
“Beg your pardon?” Sirius said in a low voice.
“One more and you’re dead, Meadowes,” Marlene hissed.
Dorcas yelped minutely, then composed herself, “Excuse me for agreeing with you,” she said warily.
“Sirius!” he snapped, and the boy jumped, his hand stilling near the fire. “Do not. Cook your fingers. On my stove,” he emphasised. “In fact, just. Come here,” Sirius bounded over happily, his expression going from innocently amused to startled in a second when James wrapped his hands around his waist and lifted him on top of the worktop. “Just sit here and look pretty, alright?”
He turned around before Sirius’ big, big, beautiful, befuddled blue eyes compelled him to do something mad such as kissing him silly. Or something to that effect. God his waist. His fingers twitched. Who knew waists would be so enticing to the touch, even through layers of fabric? He’d have to rethink what parts of the body he considered alluring or erotic.
Pull yourself together, he thought to himself.
He batted Marlene’s hand away from the dough, with which she was sculpting a surprisingly accurate depiction of a murdered girl with box braids, a real kitchen knife stuck in each of her hands, and a carved out heart by the figure’s head. “What did you make the blood with?” he asked longsufferingly.
Marlene only smiled her crazy goblin smile.
“That’s it. You’re in time-out as well.”
“But it’s my job to be on time-out!” Sirius protested. “I remember distinctly, you said that I was gorgeous.”
“He did not!” Marlene exclaimed, sitting herself down on the floor next to the oven. The very much turned on oven. “He said you’re useless.”
With a sigh, James pushed Marlene with his foot, all across the room to the wall farthest from any fire, sharp objects and food ingredients.
“Actually,” Dorcas interjected cheerfully, pacing the room, examining each abandoned workstation, as if flaunting that she was still free to move around as she liked, “he said you’re menaces.”
“I said you’re all menaces,” James clarified. “Don’t touch that,” he admonished Dorcas.
“Is that me?!” she exclaimed, stunned at the figure made of noodle dough.
“I don’t believe it is,” he said unconvincingly, rolling the pin on the figure, back and forth.
At the same time, Marlene cackled, “it most certainly could be!”
“You flattened mini-me!” she complained.
“It’s food,” he explained, his eye twitching.
“I’m bored,” Sirius declared.
“Uh-oh,” Marlene uttered, much too amused for James’ liking.
“Fifteen minutes,” he pleaded.
“I’m setting the table,” Sirius announced, jumping from the worktop right on Marlene’s foot.
“I’m going to remove your feet violently from your legs and make you eat them with the ratwail!” she screamed.
“Ratatouille, idiot,” Sirius answered.
“Sirius, I told you to sit there,” James warned.
“I remember what you said,” he answered teasingly, “you said I was pretty. Am I really pretty?” he asked, batting his eyes, fetching pudding bowls instead of pasta dishes. Whatever, at least he wasn’t doing anything destructive this time.
“You flattened the only liking that anyone’s ever done of me,” Dorcas lamented.
“Is the time-out done already?” Marlene whined, “I’m hungry. And bored.”
“She was so darling, just like me, but if I was dead,” Dorcas was still whining about her brutally murdered likeness.
“I was bored first,” Sirius argued, walking to the door with the bowls in his hands.
“Yes, but I’m bored-er” Marlene mocked him.
“And now it’s dead dead. Not me dead. She’s boiling in the water,” she narrated pitifully.
James had his back to them as he took the ratatouille from the oven, keeping an eye on the boiling noodles, so he didn’t know what happened exactly, only that when he turned around Sirius was with his belly pressed to the floor, Marlene’s foot on his back. The bowls were still in the air when James thought please don’t fall and break and hurt Sirius and Marls as quickly as he could, and they stopped their rapid descent on Sirius’ and Marlene’s heads, hovering above them instead. With a flick of his wrist he sent the bowls back into the cupboard and summoned the dishes, sending them towards the dining room in a neat line, a floating train of plates, each resembling a train car, connected by couplers made of silverware.
He walked to the pair of miscreants, he reached down to push Marlene’s foot off of Sirius, who was still on his front, on the floor, but looking dumbly between the plates and James.
“Are you hurt?” he asked in a low, soft tone.
“Just a fall,” Sirius answered just as quietly. He must have been a little out of sorts, for he didn’t even accuse Marlene of tripping him.
“Do we even want to know?” Lily’s voice came from the door.
“I certainly do not, I’m hungry,” Remus answered boredly.
“Oh, thank the heavens!” James exclaimed in relief.
"Why is Sirius on the floor?" Lily asked, though seeming rather unconcerned about the answer.
"Whoa, real food," Remus said in awe. "Dorcas?"
"I helped!" she lied.
"Jimmykins said she was a menace," Marlene scowled.
"I said all of you were menaces," he reiterated. Facing the other two, he complained, "you could have warned me about this."
"You. Royal fucking Prince. Cooked this?" Lily asked, looking lost. "Is it edible?"
Her words hurt a little, but James flashed her a smirk, "you doubt me," he said. "Why would you doubt my abilities as a cook? It's just like Potions' class."
"You're terrible at Potions," she squeaked.
"I cannot believe we're having real food for once," Remus marvelled.
"I made the pudding," Sirius piped up, pointing at the custard that James had grabbed to try and salvage from the savages. "But the Prince did do everything else," he scowled at her.
"Obviously you didn't, the Royal fucking Prince is making it," Marlene said, standing defensively next to him, staring Lily down. "As he did everything else," she finished, as if it was a challenge.
Good old Marlsly, always a danger to herself and others, but always ready to defend James against everyone.
He decided to ignore the warm feeling coursing through his body at Sirius' words, however.
"I hope everyone is in the mood for cannibalism," Dorcas announced mournfully.
"It really was delicious, James," Sirius told him later that night, settling down under his duvet. James tried not to preen at the compliment.
"It was nothing," he said bashfully. "You should be praising my ability to keep your fingers and limbs in place and intact," he quipped.
Sirius sat up from his bed, "my extremities were never in the line of fire," he protested.
"You literally put them on the fire," he reminded him.
"Well. True. Thanks for that," Sirius said after a second.
Not wanting for the conversation to end just yet, James said, "you really are useless in the kitchen."
But instead of answering with a snark of his own, Sirius surprised him by getting up and standing next to his bed.
"Can I–, could I sleep with you tonight?"
James was powerless to deny him. Even if his brain screamed 'no!' his heart said 'let him!'
So he shuffled a little, making space for Sirius next to him.
"Are you angry?" Sirius asked. "For our, uh, behaviour in the kitchen?"
And the question seemed so genuine, so unsure, that he got the urge to squeeze the boy again. He should really put a stop to this.
Instead, he turned on his side and held the hand that Sirius had left palm up on the pillow.
"I'm not, Si. It turned out well in the end."
Sirius didn’t look fully convinced, but he gripped his hand a little tighter and spoke quietly, "if you were, I'd say I'm sorry."
"You don't have to."
"You don't have to forgive me, either," he said, closing his eyes, and James got the feeling that Sirius wasn’t talking of their time in the kitchen.
Oh no, his head said. Oh no, his heart agreed.
"Oh no," he whispered into the night, right before he fell asleep next to Sirius.