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Assistant: Title: Choices
        Author: MesserMoon undefined 
        Chapter: 14/56 
        Summary: People make mistakes, but they also make choices. It’s important to James, that difference. He does his best not to confuse the two.
        Contents: Chapter 14
    

    


      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    James spends the day in the infirmary with Remus. They don’t talk much. Peter brings their schoolwork and breakfast, stays for a while. 	“Have you seen him?” James asks as Peter is leaving, they walk away from Remus’s bed, talking quietly by the door. 	Peter nods. “He’s in the room. He asked about Remus—he wanted to come but I—I thought it would be a bad idea.” 	James nods. “Thanks.” 	“See you at dinner?” Peter asks hopefully. 	“Maybe,” he pats him on the shoulder before heading back to Remus, whose been burying himself in a history book for the last hour. 	“Moons?” he asks tentatively, leaning against the end of the bed.	Remus’s eyes flick up briefly before dropping back down. “Mm?” Everything about his posture is closed off, since their conversation this morning he’s been nearly silent. James doesn’t blame him, not at all, but he hates it. 	“I just have to do something real quick, but I’ll be back soon okay?” 	There’s silence and then Remus sighs. “You don’t have to be here James,” he says quietly, eyes not lifting from the page in front of him. 	“I know, but I want to be.” 	 They’ve already had this conversation several times this morning and James doesn’t think that either of them feels like getting into it again. 	“I’ll be back,” he repeats, and this time Remus just nods his head. 	Before he makes it out of the infirmary he casts a look at the bed a few paces away. According to Pomfrey Snape is awake now. James knows that he’s talked to Dumbledore, knows that he told them all that Sirius was the one who told him about the whomping willow, which, of course, led to James being interrogated again.	He feels a bit wary of leaving Remus alone with him, even knowing Pomfrey is just in her office and that Snape hasn’t got his wand back yet. This won’t take long though, and if he wants to do it he has to go now. So, reluctantly, he pushes through the door and into the corridor. 	Pomfrey told Remus he was well enough to return to the dorms if he wanted to. He didn’t. James wasn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t want to go back there either if he’s being honest. But he can’t have Remus hiding out in the infirmary for the rest of the year.   	“Professor?” James says, tentatively knocking on the open door to McGonagall’s office. 	She looks up from the paperwork on her desk, brows drawing together at the sight of him. “Potter?” 	He steps further into the room. “Can I talk to you for minute?” 	She only pauses briefly before gesturing to the seat in front of her. He sits on the edge, not intending to get comfortable. He doesn’t want to be here long. She leans forward across her desk, fingers weaving together as she waits patiently for him to continue. 	“Is Sirius going to be expelled?” for some reason those words feel like nails being dragged up his throat. He wouldn’t fight it, if it happened. It would be right after what he’s done. But the thought still breaks his heart. They’ve always been together, the four of them, ever since they first met. And if he’s being honest, James has never thought that would change. Not as they got older, or left Hogwarts. It felt like this unquestionable law of the universe—the marauders belonged together. Always. 	“I’m afraid it is not my place to discuss that with you,” McGonagall says after a long pause.	James nods. He’d been expecting that, but he figured he’d try anyway. 	“Well if he isn’t,” he presses on. “I think he should be moved to a new dorm.” He says it very matter of fact, like it doesn’t shred him on the inside. He can’t really think about it. About what he’s asking. Because if he does he won’t do it.	“I see,” McGonagall says carefully. “It is not…commonplace, to remove students from their dorms.” 	“This isn’t exactly a common situation though, is it?” 	She dips her head in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. 	James sighs. “Look, it isn’t fair to Remus—to make him have to face him like that, have to see him every day. He deserves to feel safe, and how will he ever feel safe if he has to share a room with the person who—“ Betrayed him? Lied to him? Used him? Broke his heart? James isn’t sure how to best sum up what Sirius did.	McGonagall nods slowly. “I’ll see what I can do, there are no more available beds, but if I can find someone willing to switch with him would that be acceptable to you?” 	“Yes,” James says quickly, even though the thought makes his stomach clench. Having someone else in their room. In Sirius’s bed. “Yes that would be acceptable.” 	“Good.” 	He gets out of his chair, anxious to get back to Remus. “You’re still with Mr. Lupin in the infirmary I imagine?” McGonagall says as he turns to leave. 	“Er—yeah?” 	She nods. “Best that you stay there. The parents will be arriving soon.” 	James’s heart plummets into his stomach. “The parents?” 	An hour later James finds himself in Dumbledore’s office with Remus, Sirius and Snape. It is maybe the most awkward he has ever felt in his entire life. None of them speak—none of them even look at each other. Sirius is sunk low in his chair, eyes on the floor, a sick expression on his face. Snape sitting rim-rod straight, face pale, eyes unwavering on the Headmaster. James separates them from Moony, whom he sneaks glances at every few seconds. But Remus’s face is unreadable. Wiped clean of the pain of this morning. And while he understands why, part of James wants to tell him to drop it—let them see, let them see how much f@ck@ng damage they’ve done.   	As much as he was dreading the arrival of the parents, it’s almost a relief when McGonagall opens the door. The tension was starting to make his skin itch. 	“Boys,” his mum is the first one through, dressed in muggle clothing—she usually is when she’s at home—blue jeans, white floral blouse. He’s sure Snape will be bringing that up at some point. 	“Mum,” James doesn’t know if he should stand up or not, but his mother doesn’t really give him the chance. She’s almost instantly in front of them.  	“Remus love,” she kisses the top of his head, “alright?” she asks softly. 	James can see him swallow. “Yes, Mrs. Potter.” 	“It’s Effie darling,” she kisses his head one more time before moving on to James, the other parents still filing in, somewhat less determinedly than Euphemia Potter. She takes his face in her hands kissing him as well. Of course. On the forehead. The cheek. The top of his mess of hair.	“Mum,” he says, exasperated. Except that, the truth is, he’s so glad she’s here. Now that he can feel her and see her. Glad that someone else can take control of the situation, because James honestly doesn’t know what to do with it. 	His mother presses here forehead to his. “You’re okay?” she asks, in the same soft voice she used on Remus. James wonders if it’s actually some kind of spell, the way it calms him down  instantly. 	“Yeah—yeah, I’m okay.” 	She nods, forehead rubbing against his as she pulls away. James isn’t sure if he was expecting Walburga to come or not, but she isn’t there. Snape’s mother is—a mousy woman with brown hair and nervous eyes. And the Lupins, coming to stand at their son’s side, Hope looking nervous, whispering something in Remus’s ear, Lyall looking—tired. James assumes Fleamont is at work. 	“Oh Sirius,” he hears his mother coo, turning to see her crouched in front of his best friend, trying to meet his eye. It takes James a moment to realize that Sirius is crying and trying desperately to hide it. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. We’ll sort it out, I promise.” 	Sirius just shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath as he quickly wipes his eyes on his sleeve. James is angry and sad at the same time and he isn’t at all sure what to do with that. Mostly he wishes his mother would stop acting like all Sirius did was break a dish or cheat on a test. Instead of put two peoples lives at risk. 	Dumbledore clears his throat and Euphemia stands, moving to stand behind their chairs, one hand on Sirius and one on James. 	“You’ve all been informed of what transpired last night,” McGonall is standing beside him. 	“Does the Minister know you keep a werewolf at this school?” Mrs. Snape has a high reedy voice, and James clenches his teeth. 	“They don’t keep him Eileen,” Euphemia answers before Dumbledore can. “He’s a student, he attends Hogwarts just like everyone else.” Her voice is light but there is an undeniable sharpness to her words. 	“Leave it Effie,” James hears Lyall mutter beside them, which almost makes James angrier. Remus looks as though he’s trying to cave-in on himself. 	“It would seem,” Dumbledore presses on, “that Sirius and Severus took a game of chicken a bit too far.” 	“I didn’t know there was going to be a werewolf in there,” Snape says sulkily. 	James thinks if someone refers to Remus as “a werewolf” one more time, he’s going to lose it. 	Dumbledore’s cool blue eyes fall on the Slytherin. “That’s true. You did know, however, that both the willow and the shack were off-limits, correct?” 	Snape scowls. “Yes.”	“And, do forgive me, but while Mr. Black did not tell you exactly what you were walking into, I do believe he made it clear that it wasn’t a surprise party, correct?” 	Snape doesn’t answer this time, just glares. 	“Therefore you did make the decision to enter into a dangerous situation, even if you were not entirely aware of how dangerous it was in order to—prove yourself to Mr. Black?” 	Snape scoffs. “I don’t need to prove anything to him.” 	Dumbledore smiles. “To satisfy your own curiosity then. Either way, while Mr. Black certainly enticed you, he did not force you to do anything, or am I mistaken?” 	There are several long seconds of silence before Snape finally answers, “that’s correct.”	“I am glad we can all agree,” there is something slightly off about Dumbledore’s cheerfulness—something dangerous—that makes the hair stand-up on the back of James’s neck. “Then you will understand why I have decided to take a hundred points from Slytherin,” Snape’s mouth literally falls open, “and give you detention with Professor McGonagall every weekend for the rest of term.” 	“This is ridiculous!” his mother sparks up again. “That thing attacked my son!” she points a bony finger in Remus’s direction. 	James moves to stand, ready to take this woman apart, but his mother pushes him back down. 	“I’ll kindly ask you not to refer to my students as ‘things’ Eileen,” McGonagall says coldly. 	“And I’ll ask less kindly,” Euphemia adds, earning her a barely repressed smirk from McGonagall.	“Yes, I think you will find this is still my school Mrs. Snape,” Dumbledore seems unfazed by all of this. “If you disagree with my methods, feel free to remove your son from the premises.” 	James sees the sudden fear in Snape’s eyes and he grabs hold of his mother’s wrist just as she opens her mouth to speak again. “Leave it mum, please, it’s fine.” 	She looks down, seemingly startled that her son has spoken to her, and then back up at Dumbledore. “Fine,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I want it known that I think it is absolutely barbaric that—“ 	“Yes, yes, we’ve noted you,” Euphemia cuts her off. “You’re outnumbered Eileen, bow out gracefully.”	James thinks there is a very good chance that Snape’s mum is going to combust. Her face somehow manages to grow even more pinched, her high cheeks flushing a bright and unattractive red. 	Once again, Dumbledore appears unbothered by the squabbling. “Excellent,” his gaze moves onto Sirius. “Now, Mr. Black, this whole situation does seem to start with you, doesn’t it?” 	Sirius says nothing, head still down, which makes James somehow angrier. He shoots a a worried look over at Remus, who’s sitting with his shoulders rolled in, like he’s trying to pull as far away from his parents as he can without actually getting out of his chair, eyes very determinedly on his hands. James hopes Dumbledore puts them all out of their misery soon because this was really the last thing Moony needed. 	“It has been decided that you will remain at school—“ 	“I’m not being expelled?” Sirius croaks. The first words he’s spoken. 	“No,” Dumbledore says softy, “but you will be removed from the Gryffindor quidditch team.”
That hits James surprisingly hard. Maybe because he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Thought of what the day to day was going to look like after this.	“And you will be serving detentions for the remainder of the term, like Mr. Snape, with Professor McGonagall. I will also be taking a hundred points from Gryffindor,” Sirius swallows, nodding along to all of this, face pale. “And you will be moving dorms.” 	“What?” Sirius looks like he didn’t mean to let the word out, and James’s eyes shoot to McGonagall who gives him a slight nod. 	“After the events of last night is has been deemed inappropriate for you to continue to share a dorm with Mr. Lupin, so Frank Longbottom has agreed to switch with you.” 	James does his best not to be bitter about the fact that this means Sirius will be getting his own room. The alternative would be Moony switching with Frank and, if he’s honest, the last thing he wants is for Remus to be isolated. 	“I have to leave my room?” Sirius says, somewhere between dazed and heart broken. 	James makes a scoffing noise that earns him a squeeze from his mother’s hand but he doesn’t care. He feels Sirius’s eyes on him but refuses to feel bad. Moony could have died. He could have killed Snape—which honestly, for Remus, would have been worse. 	“Yes,” McGonagall answers Sirius after a brief pause, “for the safety of everyone involved.” 	“You think I’m unsafe?” Sirius’s voice breaks. 	“Surely, that isn’t necessary,” Euphemia speaks up. 	“The hell it isn’t!” 	“James.” 	But he’s had just about enough of listening to a bunch of people who have no idea what they’re talking about, acting like they have any right to decide what happens here. 	“He put Remus at risk—he could have been hurt, Snape had his wand on him when I got there,” James feels something slightly hysterical clawing at his chest, like everything he couldn’t feel last night is bubbling to the surface. He’s always loved the way his mother takes care of everyone, the way she protects Sirius. But there are things that are unforgivable. Maybe James doesn’t hate Sirius, but he sure as hell doesn’t like him very much. 	“These are peoples’s lives we’re talking about,” he looks at Sirius for the first time, and the other boy stares back, eyes wide. “They aren’t f@ck@ng toys—they don’t exist for your amusement.” 	“James—“ his mother tries again, but it’s too late, he’s on a roll. 	“I mean, house points?” he turns to Dumbledore. “Detention? This is a f@ck@ng joke.” 	“What would you suggest James?” Dumbledore asks calmly. 	“Anything—something—this isn’t—this is a crime. You can’t just allow them to treat people like this.” 	“James—“ Euphemia tries to calm her son down for the third time. 	“You weren’t there!” he’s never shouted at her before. “You weren’t there, you didn’t have to—“ his voice falls to pieces in his mouth. “You weren’t there.” He closes his eyes for a second, trying to get a hold of all the feelings forcing their way to the surface. Trying to rip his skin apart. 	“It must have been very scary for you,” Dumbledore says eventually, “to find your friend in such a vulnerable position.” 	James exhales, and after several seconds forces his eyes to open again. “You know what was scary, Professor?” he says, as flatly as he can manage. “Watching my best mate smile while he told me what he’d done.” 	A pained noise comes from Sirius but James ignores it.	“McGonagall was right, it is safer for all of us if he’s on his own.” 	His mother squeezes his shoulder but doesn’t bother objecting again. There’s an eery silence now, and James almost regrets freaking out on everyone, except that he can’t quite shake the feeling that they deserved it. 	“The Lupins have agreed not to press charges,” Dumbledore goes on eventually. 	“They’ve decided not to press charges?” Eileen interjects. “It’s MY son whose been attacked here.” 	“As we already discussed,” Dumbledore goes on in an extraordinarily patronizing tone. “Since your son quite knowingly put himself in danger, you would hardly have a case.” 	She makes an affronted noise but Dumbledore’s attention has already returned to Remus. 	“Given all that has happened, we’ve told your parents that you are more than welcome to go home for a period of time, to rest, recover.” 	James sees Remus stiffen in his chair. “No,” he says almost too quickly. “I— I want to stay. I want to be here. Please.” 	Hope worries her bottom lip, fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. “Are you sure Rem? It might be good for—” 	 “He said he didn’t want to,” Lyall cuts his wife off, sounding more tired than anything else. “Stop fussing over him and leave it be.”  	Dumbledore is still focused on Remus. “You’re sure that’s what you want?” he asks him.  	“It is,” still without hesitation.   	“Very well, then the last order of business is to collect the memory from James.” 	James blinks. “I—er—what?” 	“The Ministry, while agreeing to allow us to handle this internally, needs confirmation that the events occurred as we have described—that Mr. Lupin was in fact safely secured,” James sees Remus flinch out of the corner of his eye. “And that there was no unprovoked attack, and no mauling of you or Mr. Snape. Since you are the only witness to the entirety of last nights events, your memory is needed.” 	Remus, once again, curls in on himself. James grits his teeth. 	“Okay. Fine. Whatever.” 	His mother squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll be right here,” she says comfortingly.	“The rest of you are free to go, Professor McGonagall will show you out.”	  James hears the others shuffling, chairs being pushed back, floorboards squeaking, but he isn’t looking at them. He’s looking at Dumbledore, who pulls out a vial and places it on the desk in front of him. Now that the room is empty, there is suddenly space for James’s fear, and he feels it creeping up his spine, pricking his heart. 	“Will it hurt?” he asks, eyes still on the vial. 	“No,” Dumbledore says calmly. 	James nods, getting to his feet and walking forward, he can feel his mother following behind him as he picks up the glass tube, cold in his hands. 	“Will they be able to hear my thoughts—what I was thinking when it happened?” the thought makes a vaguely sick feeling wash over him—a bunch of Ministry lackeys listening to him run around, terrified. 	“No,” Dumbledore says again. “They will view the memory as third party observers. The perspective change is part of what makes the pensieve so useful.”	James swallows, throat dry as he pulls out his wand. He looks up at Dumbledore one last time. “Will I forget? Once it’s out of me?” 	Dumbledore takes his time now, eyes running James over. James used to think that those blue eyes were kind, safe, but these last few hours he’s looked at them too many times to believe that anymore. There’s something underneath the playfulness. Something cold and calculated. It makes James shiver. 	“Would you like that?” he asks finally, not answering James’s question. 	“Albus,” he hears his mother warn from behind them, but Dumbledore doesn’t take it back, his stare doesn’t falter. 	“I don’t know,” James answers truthfully. “No, I guess. I wish it hadn’t happened, but since it did, I’d rather know.” 	Dumbledore smiles softly. “Ignorance is peace, but knowledge is freedom.” 	James stares back at him blankly and eventually Dumbledore chuckles to himself. 	“You won’t forget,” he goes on. “It may—fade slightly, feel less vibrant, but it will still be there.” 	“Okay,” James brings the tip of his wand to his temple. “Good.” 	It does hurt. 	Dumbledore is a dirty liar. 	Or maybe it isn’t the spell. Maybe it’s just the memory. 	The night before runs through him at double speed. And he feels every second of it. Every scratch. Every crack in his heart. Every scream out of Moony’s mouth. It tears itself from him violently, and unwillingly. Claws digging in as he attempts to pour it into the vial, his hands shaking. 	I told him how to get past the tree. 	Please, please. 	A werewolf? The freak is a werewolf? 	James. 	James.	James please, please I—I just wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.	  	He nearly drops it, gasping as the last of the night bleeds out of him. His mother instantly steps forward, placing the vial on Dumbledore’s desk before wrapping James in her arms. 	“It’s okay my love, you were so brave,” she murmurs into the top of his head, placing kisses between her words. It’s not until then that James realizes his cheeks are wet—that he’s been crying. 	“I’m okay,” he says, though his voice is all over the place when it comes out of his mouth. 	“Thank you James,” Dumbledore places a stopper in the top of the vial before sliding it into a small wrack on his desk. “Very helpful.” 	“Oh well,” his mother say bitterly. “As long as he could be helpful to you.” 	Dumbledore doesn’t respond to her and James wonders if she speaks to him like this often. If this is what they’re like, when they close all those doors in his face. 	“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Dumbledore says eventually, stepping out from behind his desk, indigo robes fluttering behind him. “Feel free to take as long as you need.”	Euphemia is still holding James, he should probably feel embarrassed by that but he doesn’t. He should probably step away but he doesn’t do that either. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this until now. 	“I’m okay,” he says again, though he doesn’t know who he’s trying to comfort. 	“I know baby,” she gives him another squeeze before pulling back enough to hold his face, thumbs wiping away the tears he doesn’t remember shedding. “I love you, you know that?” 	James nods. “Yeah I know, I love you too.” 	“Good,” she pulls him forward, kissing the top of his head before letting go. 	They stand still for a minute, James wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t know if I can forgive him for this,” he says finally, voice rough. 	His mother nods sadly. “I know you don’t.” 	“And I don’t know how you can brush it off.” 	“I’m not brushing it off,” she says firmly. “It was horrible what he did James, I know that.  But I also know a broken person when I see them. I can’t imagine me shouting at him would have done much.” 	James isn’t sure he agrees. “Where’s Walburga?” he asks instead of arguing. 	His mother looks surprised. “Walburga? Why would she be here?” 	“She’s his mother,” James says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. 	Euphemia watches him for a moment before nodding, slowly. “She is. But she’s not his guardian. Not since last summer.” 	It isn’t surprising. James doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “You and dad?” 	“Yes.” 	A beat of silence. “Did—how did you do that?” 	His mother lets out a sigh, leaning back against Dumbledore’s desk. “We asked for custody and Walburga and Orion gave it to us.” 	Another fact that shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. “They just…gave him away? Just like that?” 	She grimaces. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put it to Sirius like that, but yes, more or less.” 	“I’m not talking to Sirius,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say, his stomaching squeezing at the idea that anyone could treat their child so casually. Like they were disposal.  	“Right well, when you start to again—“ 	“You’re so certain I will?” his voice sounds sharp even to his own ears, but she only smiles softly at him. 	“Yes. I am,” and when James only scowls she goes on. “I’ve watched you two since you were eleven years old James. You fit together so well—so beautifully. Oh and when you came back after first year,” she smiles more fully now. “The looks on your little faces when you had to say goodbye. You cried the whole way home, do you remember?” 	“I was a kid. I cried over loads of dumb stuff,” he says defensively. 	Euphemia shakes her head. “Not like this. As soon as we got home the first thing you did was write to him. Wrote to him every day that summer.” 	James runs a hand through his hair, not appreciating this particular walk down memory lane. “We aren’t those people anymore.” 	“Maybe,” she allows, “but it wouldn’t hurt this bad, if you didn’t love him.” 	His mother, he firmly believes, is an expert in Legilimency. The way she cuts right through everything. Striking at your core.   	“Sometimes,” James’s voice breaks but he forces himself to go on; “I feel like I’m lying to everyone.”	“Lying about what?” she asks softly. 	He almost laughs. “Everything. People look at me like I’m supposed to know what I’m doing and I have no idea. I want to do—you know—the right thing. Mostly. Most of the time. And I used to be so sure I knew what that was, but now…” If you had asked him a day ago if there was anyone on the planet he trusted more than Sirius Black he would have answered without hesitating. No. No one. 	He’s the best person I know. 	The bravest. 	The strongest. 	No. 	If you had asked him a day ago if Sirius would ever use Remus as a prop—to get back at Snape or because of some petty b@llsh@t some guy said to him in a fight—he would have had an answer for you too. No question. 	And he would have been wrong. 	“Mostly,” he goes on, after a long pause. “I feel like I’m just treading water, like I’m barely keeping my head above the tide. And I keep waiting to grow up. Everyone wants me to. To be better. And I want that too, I do. So I just—I wait. Wait for the day that I don’t feel like everything is too big. Cause somehow life got so big, and I still feel so f@ck@ng small.”	“Oh honey,” his mother reaches out, brushing a hand though his hair, “the truth is, no one knows what they’re doing. We’re all just trying our best. I’m afraid that feeling never really goes away.”	James lets out a dry laugh. “Well, that’s depressing." 	“Yeah, a bit,” she admits. “But it also means you can cut yourself some slack. You’re only fifteen James. And you’re doing wonderfully, considering the circumstances.” 	“Pretty sure you have to say that, as my mum.” 	She smiles, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t, actually. If you were being a little sh@t I’d let you know, believe me.” 	James snorts into her shoulder, squeezing her back, trying to soak up as much comfort as he can. 	“Thank you for coming,” he doesn’t know why he says it, like she wasn’t summoned, like she had a choice. Still, he means it. 	“I’ll always come for you James,” she says, chin resting on the top of his head. “I promise.”  	When he walks into his dorm room everything is just as it was when he left. It’s not surprising, nothing happened here, there’s no reason for it to be any different, and yet it feels insulting almost, that it should be so untouched when everything else is unravelling. 	There are no lights on, the blue of the summer evening the only thing lighting the space, and so it takes him a minute to realize that, actually, everything is not exactly the same. Sirius’s clothes have gone from the floor. The trunk missing from the end of his bed. The records his uncle gave him gone. James stands, frozen, staring at the empty holes now suddenly so painfully obvious to him, and feels a wave of mourning crash against his ribs. 	“You’re back.” 	He looks behind him and finds Remus standing in front of the washroom, door closing behind him. 	James nods. “Pete?” 	“Great Hall.” 	“Sh@t, is it dinner already?” 	Remus nods, walking slowly forward to stand next to James, both of them at the foot of Sirius’s bed. Like a blackhole in the centre of the room, drawing them in. All James can think is—it was never supposed to be this way—which just drags all his anger back to the surface. Because f@ck Sirius. F@ck him for doing this to them. 	Beside him Remus lets out a shaky breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. James looks over at him but Remus keeps his eyes on the bed, even when he starts speaking. 	“He kissed me,” those words are big. They have weight. They take up space. 	He watches Remus for a few more seconds before moving to sit on the end of the bed, facing him. Listening.	“He was upset,” Remus goes on eventually. “You’d been hit by the bludger, you were still in the infirmary and he was upset and I was trying to comfort him and he kissed me,” Remus screws up his face, pulling his mouth to the side, and James can tell that he’s trying not to cry. “And I kissed him back,” those words are barely a sound, so quiet and delicate James worries if he listens too closely they’ll break. “I took advantage of him.” 	“Remus,” he says softly, but his friend shakes his head. 	“I should have stopped it, I should have pushed him away but I just—“ his mouth hangs there for a moment, words unable or unwilling to come out. “I just wanted him—I’ve wanted him for so long.” 	James wonders how it is that he never noticed it, not until this year, not until everything started to fall apart. How could he have been so clueless? So self involved that he couldn’t see what was growing between two of the most important people in his life? 	“He didn’t—react well,” Remus says finally, voice choked. “We stopped talking…for a bit.” 	“I noticed.” 	Remus nods, still talking more to the bed than to James. “But then things, recently, they’ve been…better. He’s been so—“ his voice cuts out again and it’s several moments of silence before he gets it back again. “I don’t know, affectionate?” 	James nods. “Yeah. I noticed that too.” 	Remus makes a noise, something between a laugh and a sob. “Good, I’m glad someone else did,” he closes his eyes briefly. “Worried it was all in my head.” 	“It wasn’t.” 	He nods slowly, a grimace shooting across his face, like he’s in pain. “Do you think—“ his voice is thick, eyes still closed. “Do you think that’s why he did it?” 	It takes a minute for the full meaning of Remus’s words to hit him, and when they do they’re a punch to his gut. 	“No. No, Remus, no way.” 	“You didn’t see his face—after we kissed—you didn’t see,” he takes in a shaky breath, opening his eyes, wet and shinning in the dim light. “No one’s ever looked at me like that before,” a horribly sad laugh comes out of his mouth. “And I’m a werewolf.” 	Every word pulls and yanks and drags James down low. 	“Or maybe that was it,” Remus’s voice is steady, but James can see the tears making their way down his face. “Maybe he wasn’t upset that he’d kissed a boy. Maybe he was upset that he kissed a f@ck@ng wolf.” 	“Stop,” James says—begs. “Remus stop, none of that is true. He doesn’t think like that,” even as James says it he can so clearly see Sirius lying on this bed, smiling. 	We have a f@ck@ng werewolf. 	“You sure about that?” Remus looks at him properly for the first time and it aches. 	“Yes,” because two days ago I told him I was seeing a boy and he hugged me and said I was his brother. Because I saw the pain in his eyes when you walked away from him at Christmas. Because I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, when he thought no one else could see. 	James leaves too much unsaid. He knows it. But for some reason none of those words can make it out of him. 	Remus opens his mouth at the same time that there’s rustling at the door. He quickly brings his hands to his face, scrubbing the tears away before he turns back to the bathroom. 	“I’m going to take a shower,” he says over his shoulder, the door to the dorm room opening.	“Remus—“ but it’s too late, he’s already disappeared into the other room, shower humming. 	James sighs, running a hand over his face, turning around, expecting to see Peter and instead finding Frank, dragging his trunk with one hand and holding a box of stuff in the other. 	“Oh,” James says dumbly, staring at the older boy. 	“Hello to you too.” 	James quickly jumps out of his way as he struggles over, dumping his box of stuff onto Sirius’s bed. He huffs, hands on his hips as he looks around. 	“Bit dark in here isn’t it?” 	James smiles grimly, moving to sit on his own bed. “Yeah, a bit.” 	Frank flicks his wand, lighting the lamps, eyes trailing over the beds surrounding him. “Well, privacy was nice while it lasted.” He shoots James a look as he bends over and starts riffling through his stuff. “Heads up, Alice will be coming up here from time to time.”	 James snorts, this conversation feeling so out of place after the one he was just having. “Just close your curtains yeah? And use a silencing charm or something.” 	“Obviously, we’re not barbarians.” 	James barely manages a smile. Sitting there watching Frank unpack—putting his pictures on Sirius’s nightstand, his clothes in Sirius’s drawers—some childish part of himself wants to throw a fit. No don’t touch that, it shouts, it’s not yours. 	“Hey, thanks for doing this,” James says eventually, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his  neck. 	Frank sends him a sidelong look as he places his jumpers neatly in a drawer. Remus will at least get the orderly roommate he’s always wanted.	“I said no at first,” he says eventually. 	“Oh yeah?” 	Frank nods. “Told McGonagall it was a lost cause. That you’d tear the school apart before you let someone take Black from you.”	James tries to swallow but his throat has grown too tight. “What changed your mind?” he croaks. 	“She told me it was your idea,” he pauses in his unpacking, eyes meeting James’s. “That’s how I knew.” 	“Knew?” 	He nods, “That whatever happened, it was serious.” 	They’re still for a moment, and James waits for the questions that ought to follow that—the what happened? What could be so bad? What did he do? But they don’t come. Eventually Frank goes back to his unpacking. 	“I figured, if something that bad happened, that was probably more important than me having my own room.” 	James has always looked up to Frank. As an only child, he had no older siblings to emulate, to chase after. There was his dad, but, that was different. Plus, Fleamont had a tendency to go places James couldn’t follow. Then he came to Hogwarts and he met Frank. When they were first years he was a third year, which at the time felt like a big deal—felt old. He was one of the youngest members on the Gryffindor quidditch team and even then he had been bl@@dy brilliant. James remembers watching him and thinking—me, that’s going to be me, I’m going to be just like that. 	On top of that, Frank was just…nice. He was always there, if you got lost or forgot the password, he never seemed frustrated or exasperated like some of the other older kids. Even before he became Prefect or Head Boy, he would go out of his way to help people. He never made a show of it. Frank didn’t want attention, never seemed to know what to do with it once he got it.    	“Thanks,” James finds himself saying again. 	Frank looks up from the trousers he’d been folding. He pauses for a moment, before finally speaking. “Of course, if you—you need to talk James, you let me know yeah?”  	James nods, stomach tightening because he knows that he can’t—couldn’t—even if he wanted to. “Sure,” voice strained, he coughs, trying to clear it away; “Sure, yeah, I will.” 	He waits for Remus, but when he doesn’t come out of the bathroom after an hour James takes the hint and goes down to the Great Hall alone. He wonders if this is what it’s going to be like from now on. The three of them orbiting around each other, polite but distanced. He wonders if there are things that can’t be fixed. If change actually isn’t gradual but fast and sharp and violent. He wonders if he should have just let Sirius wipe their memories.  	When he walks into the Come and Go Room Regulus is sitting on one of the sofas. It hasn’t been that long since they last saw one another but it feels like ages and James’s heart does something weird in chest as he stops by the door, grey eyes holding him still. 	“Listen,” Regulus starts, that familiar determination in his voice. He stands up but doesn’t come closer, a full room between them. “I know you’re angry about what happened yesterday.” 	James almost laughs. Because, of course, Regulus has no idea what happened yesterday. 	“I know I went too far, I do,” he goes on, and for the first time in hours, James feels his body relax. Because he’s here, with Reg, here in their space. Because Regulus’s voice is steady and familiar and he’s been craving it all day. Desperate to find something to ease the anxiety growing in his stomach. And here it is. Because of course it is. Of course it’s him.  	“—and Evan and Barty,” James blinks, realizing that Regulus has been speaking this whole time. His face is scrunched, serious, “they were out of line—way out of line. They’re @ssh@l@s honestly, but, their parents are friends with my mum so I can’t really—it’s complicated.” 	It isn’t that he's not mad. About all of it. About everything that happened in that hallway. It’s just that he can’t feel it right now. Doesn’t have the space for anymore anger or betrayal. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept at all or because everything in his life seems to be falling apart, but all he feels when he looks at Regulus is warmth and home and it’s so…nice. After everything that’s happened, he just wants to hold onto that. 	“James?” Regulus asks, bringing James’s drifting mind back to the present. He really does need to get some sleep. “I am sorry, I didn’t—I mean he followed be into the corridor and I swear I tried to walk away but he wasn’t having it. He just kept—” 	“I love you.” 	Regulus’s mouth abruptly slams shut, eyes growing wide, the room suddenly very quiet. There’s a long moment of stillness, in which neither of them seems quite able to deal with what James has just thrown into the middle of the room, but eventually, the older boy breaks. 	“I don’t want to fight with you,” his voice is scratchy when he speaks again. “I’m tired and I’m—I’m having a really, really sh@tty day and I just—I need you,” he tries not to wince at the whine in his voice. “I just need you—is that—is that okay?” 	Regulus is staring at him, stalk still, grey eyes blinking. “Say it again.” 	James laughs roughly. “Which part?” 	“You know which part.” 	He swallows, he doesn’t know why he suddenly feels nervous when he’s already said it. “I love you Regulus.” 	It surprises him when Regulus moves, closing the space between them in record time. Suddenly his mouth is on James’s and he can’t hold back the noise that it pulls from him. Needy, is the only word that comes to mind. Regulus has his hand on the back of James’s neck, bringing him to his level, mouth opening him up, warm and sweet and…safe. When James regains control of his body he wraps his arms around Regulus, pulling him closer, until there’s no space between their bodies, and still, somehow, it isn’t close enough.	His hands move down, down Regulus back, his sides, slipping under his thighs and lifting him up, Regulus’s legs wrapping automatically around his waist. 	“Stupid jock,” Regulus mutters into his mouth and James laughs. It feels good. It all feels so f@ck@ng good, and he’s starving for it. For something that doesn’t ache. That doesn’t feel like treading water. When Regulus’s hands are on him he can breathe. 	He stumbles towards the bed, spilling Regulus onto his back and holding himself above. The other boy blinks up at him, eyes bright and reaching into him, pulling on his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. It isn’t new, feeling overwhelmed by this. By him. But James is raw tonight, and all of the sudden looking at Regulus under him is too much. Because he wants him. He wants him here, like this, always. 	Except didn’t last night prove that he can’t have that? That you can’t keep people—they’re too hard to hold. That everyone slips through your fingers eventually, no matter how much you love them.  	“James?” Regulus says softly, reaching up to press his hand to James’s face. 	“Sorry,” his voice is ragged. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess right now.” He drops his head, forehead resting against Regulus’s. 	“Good to know you’re human.” 	James goes to laugh but it gets trapped in his throat. 	“You wanna tell me what happened?” 	“Yes,” he’s whispering, like that’ll make it easier, “but I can’t.” 	Regulus’s thumb brushes against his cheek before his hand slowly trails down to James’s chest, gently pushing him down onto the bed. They lie facing one another. 	“I’m sorry,” James says again but Regulus just shakes his head. 	“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to James’s mouth. Sweet. Innocent. It makes something in James sing. 	They just lie there for a minute, James trying to work out what the hell is going on with him, and Regulus just waiting. Eventually the younger boy reaches out, running his hand through James’s hair and James closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. 	“Sirius—hurt—someone,” the words are choked when they finally come out of him. Because he has to tell someone. Someone who isn’t directly involved. Because it’s eating him up inside. 	Regulus’s hand stills. “Did he hurt you?” 	Yes, James almost says, because it feels true. But there’s an edge in Regulus’s voice that gives him pause. He opens his eyes to look at the boy across from him. 	“Would it matter?” 	“Yes,” he says without hesitating. “I’d kill him.” 	The thing is, James thinks he might be serious. 	“Don’t think that’d help, but I appreciate the offer.” 	Regulus’s eyes narrow. “James—“ 	“No,” James says quickly. “No. Not me. But someone…important.” He sees Remus’s face, standing in their darkened room, the pain in his eyes. He hears him begging Snape to leave. He hears him screaming. 	“F@ck,” James hisses, rolling onto his back and bringing his hands up to his face. “I don’t know what to do. He—it was bad Reg. It was so f@ck@ng bad.” 	There’s stillness, everything is quiet here, like the rest of the castle doesn’t exist. 	“Do know why he did it?” Regulus asks eventually. 	James lets out a humourless laugh. “Merlin, I don’t know. He was upset but—all he’s said to me is that he wasn’t thinking.” Even saying that out loud makes the anger boil his blood again. 	“He wasn’t thinking,” Regulus repeats slowly. And then, all of the sudden, he’s sitting up. 	“Reg?” James asks, a little startled, propping himself on his elbows. 	Regulus’s legs are crossed, his expression distant. 	“Hey,” James reaches out, tugging lightly on his shirt. “Sorry, do you not want to talk about—I realize he’s your brother and things are—“ 	Regulus shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” and then; “Listen, I don’t know what happened,” he runs a hand nervously through his short curls, “but he might not mean what you think he does when he says he wasn’t thinking.” 	James’s brows draw together. “I’m going to need you to explain that.” 	He nods, clearly expecting it. “You remember how I said that sometimes I have to lock parts of me up? That I can’t…feel everything?” his eyes are focused on some distant point on the bed. 	“Yeah,” James says slowly, “I remember.” 	“Sirius was the one who taught me that trick.” 	James feels his eyebrows raise. “Trick?” 	“We were—I don’t know—Seven and eight? Maybe he was nine, I can’t remember. I was bawling my eyes out because our mother had gone on one of her rampages and he was just…fine,” Regulus shakes his head, an almost rueful look on his face. “He was always fine, even though he got the brunt of it, put himself in her line of fire every time. He never cried, I was so jealous of that when I was a kid.” 	He pauses, James watching him pick at the blanket in front of him, trying not to think about Sirius in Dumbledore’s office today, trying to hold back his tears. 	“So he told me,” Regulus goes on eventually, “told me that he just took all the things he didn’t want to feel or think, that he didn’t want our mother to see—“ 	“To see?” James interrupts. 	“Yeah,” his voice goes a little wonky. “Walburga is very good at Legilimency. It’s hard to hide things in that house.” 	James can feel the horror on his face. “Jesus Christ.” 	Regulus flashes him a grim smile before he goes back to staring at the bed. “Yeah, anyway, you can kind of—hide things, inside yourself—we used to practice. We got good at it. I don’t know if it’s proper Occlumency or not, but, it works,” he takes a deep breath. “Thing is—when you hide things from yourself, feelings, thoughts, it makes the rest of the world feel kind of far away and … I don’t know, pointless,” he looks up again and holds James’s gaze this time. “You can do things you wouldn’t normally.”	And James has no idea what to do with…any of that. The idea of Sirius and Regulus hiding out in Grimmauld Place teaching themselves how not to feel is heartbreaking, and he wonders, not for the first time, how either of them survived it. 	“I’m not saying that to excuse whatever it is that he did,” Regulus goes on. “But when he says he wasn’t thinking, it’s just, it means more coming from him, that’s all,” he smiles weakly. “He’s the best of us, really. Even when he was a kid. Always stood up to her. And they made him pay for it,” he chews on his bottom lip. “They’re still making him pay for it.” 	James feels his eyes go wide. “Are you—do you think Sirius is right? About your uncle? That they had him killed for reaching out to him?” 	Regulus shrugs. “I don’t know, but, I wouldn’t be surprised. You don’t just get to walk away from the House of Black. That’s not how it works.” 	It’s all too much. How do people handle these things? What are you supposed to do? Because James has no f@ck@ng idea. He pulls himself up to sit properly, bending his knees on the mattress and hanging his head for a minute. 	He doesn’t want to talk about Sirius anymore. 	He can’t. 	It’s too confusing. 	It hurts too much. 	“Do you still have to do it?” he asks instead. 	“Do what?” 	James looks up, Regulus’s eyes on him. Every time, he thinks, every bl@@dy time he finds that stare his insides catch on fire. 	“Hide things from yourself?” 	Regulus looks at him for a long time. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I had to hide you.” 	“Me?” 	Regulus nods and then looks away. James can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s part of the reason I was such a wreck when I came back. You—“ he laughs sadly. “You take up so much space in me, that when I had to feel it again—it was too much. So much more than it had ever been before. I couldn’t bear it—well, you saw.” 	 James watches him, eyes running over the ends of his hair, the tip of his nose, the way his lips quirk. He tries to breathe through everything going on inside him. Tries to hold it all. 	He reaches out, makes sure Regulus can see, makes sure he goes slow enough that he could pull away. 	“C’mon here,” he says roughly, linking their fingers together and giving Regulus a light tug. He comes, the pair of them failing back onto the bed, Regulus in James’s arms, face burrowing in his neck. 	“Je t’aime,” Regulus whispers, kissing behind his ear, “je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.” Every word is punctuated with a kiss—quick and sweet. Under his jaw, along his neck, Regulus’s breath warm against his skin. James’s eyes flutter closed. 	“English,” the word punches out of him. “Just once. Say it in English once.”	Regulus stills but doesn’t pull away, lips still brushing against James in an accidental way that sends shivers down his spine. Eventually Regulus props himself up on his elbows, looking at James like he’s the only thing in the world, and James can barely stand it. Regulus leans down and brings their mouthes together, slow and purposeful, ripping a gasp out of James when he pulls away. 	“I love you,” Regulus says, stare determined even as his voice shakes. “I’m sorry.” 	James doesn’t understand that, doesn’t know how to make sense of it over the blood rushing in his ears, the heart beating in his chest.  	“Don’t apologize,” he lifts himself up to Regulus’s mouth. “Don’t ever apologize for loving me.”
  
  

    
      
        
        
          Hello lovelies! Remus is heartbroken and James has basically divorced Sirius but Regulus said I love you so it all evens out in the end, right? Honestly, I always find the fallout from The Prank so stressful. Because I, like Euphemia Potter, am a firm believer that James and Sirius belong together (platonically but also they are soulmates) Thank you for your wonderful comments! Always appreciate it!'
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