Two
James remembers it all. He wishes he didn’t but it’s there, always there playing in the front of his mind.
Running. That's what he remembers most of all. No invisibility cloak. No passageways. No wand. No map. No stopping for help. Just running until it felt like his lungs were going to fucking give out and then he ran some more.
He remembers how Sirius’ words echoed with pride and how they slid around James’ brain and how it still makes him sick to this day. The way it hissed out from between his grinning teeth. Guess what I did?
He remembers the way his whole body shook and his chest heaved as his feet hit the ground, while his mind was speeding so fast it nearly blanked, his limbs moving off of nerves alone. He remembers feeling the most scared he’s ever felt in his entire life. He remembers hysterically pleading that he wasn’t too late. Sirius…What did you do…
He remembers the look on Remus’ face. The look of sheer horror and desperation. The way his voice was pained against the sound of his bones starting to break, begging him. James doesn’t think he’s ever heard such an ear splitting sound. We won, Prongs, I won.
He remembers tearing the ready wand out of Snape's hand and dragging his limp body out on his back, telling himself to keep going. To keep running. Still running. Always fucking running. The sound of the wood splintering as Moony sunk his claws into the walls and chased them. What. Did. You. Do.
James can picture it so clearly. Like a fast moving picture, like an old muggle film with the burn marks flickering in and out. The night that came after and the morning that followed it. The way his voice was raw and weak as he had to retell what happened to Remus. The way Remus eyes widened just as fearful as they did the night before, then withered numb as the words spilled out of him. I told Snape how to get past the tree.
James doesn’t think he’ll ever not remember.
Sirius hasn’t said anything, he’s just been staring at a plate full of breakfast he and Peter put together that probably won’t even be touched.
See the thing is, James is struggling. He’s really fucking struggling because he wants to hate Sirius for what he did. It was selfish and reckless and stupid and dangerous and- well the list goes on forever. He knows because he’s shouted it all out to Sirius before.
“It’s not a fucking joke, Sirius! This isn’t a game. These are real fucking people and you put all of us in danger- is that getting through to you?”
“I know.”
“Remus could’ve been hurt! I could’ve been hurt. You wouldn’t just be a murder, you would’ve made Remus one!”
“I know.”
“Then why’d you do it, hmm? Tell me, why.”
“I don’t know.”
“Not fucking good enough, Sirius.”
He doesn’t regret it. He was angry and honestly, he still is and if need be, he’d do it again, but what James has come to realize over the past week and probably since the very beginning, even if he didn’t want to admit it, James can’t hate Sirius. He just can’t.
No matter how badly he wants to. Or how badly he deserves it.
“Sirius,” He calls him because he hasn’t really moved since they sat down, “Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.” It takes another try and a slight nudge before Sirius blinks back up at him, “Hmm?”
“Try and eat something. We have practice today.” He says plainly. Sirius nods but only takes two bites before pushing up from the bench and saying he’s not hungry, walking straight out of the hall. James doesn’t stop him but his eyes trail after him after sharing a look with Peter.
“Should we go after him?” Peter asks.
“No, let him be.”
James glances over across the hall and tries to get a better look at what he’d only seen for a split second before having to drag Sirius away, who looked on the verge of collapsing. He realizes now why.
James knows who Regulus Black is, how could he not, he’s Sirius’ brother. The brother who Sirius hasn’t spoken nearly three words that didn’t leave them both blackened and bruised to in almost a year and a half. The one person who James knows can without a doubt hurt him. What he can’t figure out is why Remus is sitting with him and his friends, and why they don’t even seem to mind. They seem almost in place and that, well, he knows why that would sting.
James finishes his food and in less time then he means to, sighs and stands up, going forward to look for Sirius.
…
Sirius can hardly speak. He can hardly think. He can hardly do anything. Anything but sit there pressed in between James and Peter and stare at a plate full of food he has no intention of even touching.
He hasn’t been thinking for weeks.
He can hear people talking but it’s fuzzy. Everything’s fuzzy but he knows things, certain things. For one, he knows Marlene and Lily are doing late Potions work last minute sitting in front of him. He knows Mary is trying to get Peter’s attention. He knows Peter and James are on their second helping of food. He knows James is staring at him. He knows he fucked up. He knows Remus hates him. He knows it’s his fault. He knows Remus is sitting on the other side of the Great Hall next to his brother. He knows that’s his fault too. Somehow.
See, he knows, alright.
It’s just that, he doesn’t.
He doesn’t know how it got this messy. He doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He really just doesn’t fucking know.
Sirius hears James calling his name firmly, like it’s been a couple times already before he blinks back and answers him. Well, it’s not really an answer. “Try and eat something. We have practice today.”
“‘I’m not hungry.” He pushes up from the bench and immediately bee-lines straight for the double doors, pushing them with such force they swing heavily on its hinges. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just needs out. It’s a common theme in his life, Sirius is picking up on. Trying to get out. It’s tragic how he never seems to get far away enough from himself. The footfalls against the stone echo the thought loudly in his mind.
He ends up in the boy’s lavatory, sitting against the cold floor. He brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin on the tops of them, forcing himself to think. He isn’t crying and thank fucking merlin he isn’t because he might just hate himself even more for it. He shouldn’t be the one crying, he knows that, he shouldn’t be the one on the fucking bathroom floor loosing it, and he really shouldn’t feel this fucking hurt but he does. The betrayal hits him like a double edged sword and all Sirius can do is rock himself back and forth and let his arms wrap around his legs, demanding to understand why he did it, as his fingers begin to scratch the tops of his hand.
Because, it’s his fault. He was the one who gave Snape the password. He’s the one who nearly killed James, Snape, and Remus. He’s the one who took the first stab. Him. He swung the pendulum and now it’s coming back just as fucking hard.
His chest clenches and threatens to fold, a storm of emotions that he’s far lost the reins to swarm him entirely, so unsure what to do. He’s angry, he’s hurt, he’s guilty, he’s just- fuck- maybe Sirius is just a bad person. Maybe he deserves this. Maybe, maybe..
Sirius doesn’t cry, he doesn’t let himself. He just heaves and recoils and feels the weight of everything drag him down, a black hole of his own making and he doesn’t know how to get out of it. His throat feels acidic and burns with something he can’t control, like barbed wire wrapped around him, spiteful resentment filling the gaps of all the places in himself he doesn’t want to look at. His nails scratch at the tops of his hands again and again and again and lets it burn just the same.
…
Inevitably, James finds him. Because even when James wanted to scream at him and even did, when James couldn’t even stomach to look at him, even after everything Sirius has done, James will still go and find him.
And there he is, sitting still with his knees tucked under his chin, pressed up against his chest on the cold tiled lavatory floor. If Sirius is startled by his entrance, he doesn’t show it.
“You want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Sirius shrugs stiffly.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
James sighs defeatedly before turning to face his friend, holding onto Sirius’ shoulder until he meets his eye, really wanting the words to stick, “Look, Sirius, we don’t have to talk, it's fine but I want you to know this. What you did was shitty- so beyond fucking shitty but I won’t go into it again, I’ve already told you many times by now, but I don’t hate you. I should but- but even if I’m upset with you, that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, so if you want to talk about it, let’s talk.”
Sirius doesn't do anything, he just blinks at him and his eyes fall a little weak. Honestly, this is the most James has said to him in a week that didn’t involve scolding.
Sirius nods slowly and without preamble, practically sinks back into his own hands, before sucking in a sharp breath, “I don’t know what to do, James.” His eyes flick over warily at him, “I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t- I fucked it up, I know that and I’ve apologized so many times, I have, and I don’t know how to fix it and now, James, he’s gone with Reg-” Sirius’ eyebrows tug in and his voice has a frail bitter edge, words spewing out of him. “And I don’t know-”
There are so many things James could say right now. So many things he’s already said and things he’d have every right to say again, but he listens. Because despite everything, James knows he needs his best friend back just as much as James needs him.
He doesn’t forget, he won’t, he’ll always remember, and in his chest, the stinging feeling lingers that tells him this isn’t forgiveness, but they have to grow somewhere.
Sirius sort of folds into him, head first clashes into his shoulder and James can feel the heave of his chest as he breathes. Because it is fucked up, in the worst way possible, no matter which end they come out of it. And it’s not just Remus now, it’s his brother.
“Why is he doing this?” Sirius murmurs, voice a little weak past the harshness, “Why him?”
James sighs, not really knowing which “him” Sirius is talking about, but he can’t help it, because he wasn’t lying, he can’t forget what happened and even now, he’ll never be able to shake the twisted feeling of deja-vu. James rolls his head on the cold tiled wall and his eyes sink shut before they blink back open, an arm still holding Sirius into him “You know, that’s the same thing Remus asked the morning after.”
Sirius makes a small pained noise and they sit like that in silence until it’s time for class, still not really okay but with every rise and fall of their chests, it reminds James that they still do so the same way.
…
The day blurs by and remains drawn out, just like the entirety of the past week has been. Moving at speeds James can barely keep up with while feeling like it’ll never end. Remus has been nowhere to be found and Sirius has been in and out all day, swinging from a ghost to restlessly impatient, so when quidditch practice comes around, James is more than ready to get back in the air.
He’s early, as he usually is nowadays, and he’s off the ground in no time. The wind whipping in his hair, picking up speed going faster and faster, watching the world around him fade into the background. He needed this. James does laps and his routine set of “pre-drills” and by the time he’s done, the rest of the team are setting up on the ground.
Before long, Sirius is flying fast circles around James as well.
See, this is the one thing that will never change. They know how to do this, flying, it’s simple. Sirius steals the quaffle out of habit and naturally, James chases after him. Second nature kicking back in and before long they’re swapping the quaffle around the pitch, making a dive for it and always one upping the other. Then Sirius falls back and becomes his shadow, his shield, fending off bludgers and leading James right to the goal. When James cheers to no one in particular, it’s Sirius that usually echoes him. It’s different now, more concentrated and heavy now, but even still, they move and fly in sync, they always have.
James needed this, especially when every other part of them seems not to follow.
“James,” Sirius knocks just for the kick of it on the changing cubes before James nods him to go on, “How uh, how long do you think I should wait before I try to talk to moon- Remus again?”
Honestly, James doesn’t know. It’s not like Sirius hasn’t tried before, he has, many, many times that all ended with him being ignored or James having to ultimately tell him to lay off. But he’s new to this too, he doesn’t know. Especially with the new circumstances.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, putting on his jumper and running a hand through his freshly showered hair.
“Have you talked to him about…” Sirius’ jaw twitches as he looks away and James knows what he’s referring to. Regulus. James shakes his head, putting back on his glasses. “Oh.”
“It's only been a day.”
They don’t say much else. Sirius still waits for him, quieter than normal save humming something under his breath, and it only takes a few more minutes before they’re ready to leave. The sun is low and only small streams slip through the trees as they walk out onto the pitch again.
“Sirius-”
Before Sirius can turn around and right before James can even catch up to what's going on, Regulus Black is full on knocking into him with some sort of jinx that makes Sirius fly back and hit the stone wall, falling immediately to the ground. And without another second to spare, before he can even rush over to Sirius, he gets a fist knocked straight across his face, sending him staggering to his knees and clutching his face.
Speak of the fucking devil.
Regulus doesn’t say anything else, simply walking past them both with hooded eyes and a ghostly twitch edging around the corners of his lips. Sirius groans and tries yelling after him but it doesn’t make it that far, and even with his glasses being crooked and most likely cracked, and a warm stream of blood starting to pool around his nose, James can’t help but watch the curious impact induced halo that follows Regulus as he leaves down the pitch.