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Some mornings, Sirius woke up and it felt like his very skin was stretched across his bones wrong. It was tight, and uncomfortable, and Sirius had learned over the years that even pain potions didn’t loosen the feeling. It was often paired with the peculiar sensation of the air around him holding slightly less oxygen than usual. He often found himself, with his skin stretched across his bones like a twin sized sheet on a queen sized mattress, having to take bigger, more frequent breaths on these days; just to give himself the oxygen needed to function.
He’d had days like this for as long as he could remember, with no discernible cause. He used to assume they were growing pains, and that his organs were trying to catch up to the rest of him, straining to match the inches in height he gained year after year. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He tried not to dwell on it; not willing to acknowledge the possibility that he could have days like this for the rest of his life.
It had been easy enough to endure at Grimmauld Place; he had often felt like he was suffocating there even on the days where his skin fit comfortably over his bones and the air held a surplus of oxygen. On the days where he was a little more withdrawn, a little less outspoken, when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, Walburga and Orion hardly noticed. If anything, they preferred it. Regulus noticed, and he’d always stay a little closer to Sirius on these days, but they were kids; they hardly had the words to explain.
When Sirius started at Hogwarts, it became harder to hide. Not that he was even trying to hide it, exactly; he wasn’t sure what to do about it at all. He usually spent his day miserable, going through the motions, only looking forward to sleeping that night, as that seemed to be the only thing that helped ease the sensation.
One spring morning in their second year, Sirius grudgingly opened his eyes, consumed almost immediately by the tension in his body. He let out a long, defeated groan.
“Sirius?” he heard through the gap in his curtains.
Sirius took in a breath, wishing it felt the same as yesterday’s air. “Yeah, James?”
“What’s the matter?” Sirius loved this about James; he never hesitated to say what was on his mind. Some people thought him blunt, or even callous at times, but Sirius found the honesty refreshing; he’d spent his entire childhood reading between the lines and guessing people’s intentions, and he relished never having to do that with James.
“Nothing,” Sirius replied rotely. It really was nothing, just an annoying feeling that would pass sooner or later.
James huffed and poked his head through the curtains. “It didn’t sound like nothing.”
Sirius considered the boy in front of him, with messy hair and lopsided glasses with a smile to match. He was so earnest in asking, and it was this that made Sirius want to answer.
“Just…I don’t feel good.”
James looked sympathetic. “Like you’re sick? We could pop down to Pomfrey for a pepper up potion.” Then his eyes lit up and he said, “oh, wow, say that five times fast! Pop down to Pomfrey for a pepper up potion, pop down to--”
“No, not like I’m sick,” Sirius cut him off, but then he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he just stared back at James, who looked expectant.
After waiting 2 seconds for Sirius to respond and getting nothing, James pushed through the curtain and sat on his bed. “Well, then, like what?”
“It’s like…” and Sirius really thought about a way to explain it. After a moment, because James was fidgeting like mad waiting for him to finish his thought, he settled on “my skin feels all wrong.” As soon as the words left his mouth he cringed at how silly it sounded, but James merely nodded.
“Hmm,” James replied, “not sure what to do about that to be honest.”
Sirius smiled slightly. James made everything, even not knowing, so easy.
“I also feel like I can’t really breathe right,” Sirius admitted, and James' eyes widened slightly at that.
“No don’t look at me like that,” Sirius cut in quickly, “it happens a lot. I’ll be fine, it passes.”
James frowned. “But you feel bad right now? And you just…what? Wait for it to go away on its own?”
Sirius shrugged. “Something like that.”
James looked appalled. “That’s…just…that won’t do at all!” and his absolute outrage at Sirius settling for anything less than happy made Sirius laugh.
“Well, healer James,” he responded, “what do you suggest?”
James brought his finger to his chin and tapped in an exaggerated show of thinking hard, but Sirius could tell that he really was trying to think of a way to help Sirius.
“Well,” James started off slowly, “whenever I don’t feel like myself, I like to go flying. So…let’s do that.”
Sirius wanted to point out that James went flying whether he was happy, sad, angry, or tired, but this seemed like a moot point.
“Alright, I’m game; I’ll use a school broom.” Sirius didn’t think it would make him feel better, but he did know that it would make James feel better, so he agreed.
So, they woke Peter and Remus up hours before they usually woke up on the weekends, explained their brilliant plan, and the four of them set off for breakfast and a morning of flying. Well, James and Sirius would do the flying, Remus and Peter would sit in the stands, still attempting to wake up fully.
Even though James wasn’t on the Quidditch team yet, everyone knew that he would be this time next year, so no one batted an eye as he approached the pitch, broom in hand. He and Sirius spent the next two hours zipping through the air, laughing and throwing a Quaffle back and forth and racing to the goal posts.
They landed in time for lunch, sweaty and out of breath, and James beamed at him. “So?”
Sirius laughed, “yes, James, I admit; you won the last race. But next time I demand--” but James cut him off.
“No, Siri, I mean you. How do you feel?”
Sirius took a moment to think about this. He felt windswept, and a bit tired, but there was an electricity thrumming through his veins that made him feel alive. And most important of all, his skin felt totally normal; oxygen had been restored to the air.
Sirius gaped at James. “I feel brilliant,” he responded honestly, and the statement definitely held a touch of disbelief.
James’ grin grew even wider. “Good,” he said, “that’s great. Really great.”
Peter and Remus met up with them on the pitch then.
“Ready for lunch, you maniacs?” Remus asked, regarding them both with an expression that spoke to exactly what he thought of their stunts in the air.
Sirius beamed, “you betcha, Remus!”
Peter sniffed the air. “Could you at least shower first? Don’t know how I’m meant to have any sort of appetite with the way you two reek.”
And Sirius shoved Peter, then, but they were all laughing as they traipsed back to the castle.
This became their routine. Sirius would wake up, with taught skin and a weight on his chest and a general sense of unease, and he’d wake James up and with nothing more than a look James would be pulling on his gear. This became easier once James was on the Quidditch team, as they knew the practice schedule and were almost always able to work around it. Sometimes Remus and Peter would come and spectate, and sometimes James and Sirius generously allowed them to sleep in, but it became their shared routine.
One dreary, cloudy morning in fifth year, when Sirius awoke with all the telltale signs, he didn’t hesitate in waking James up, despite the dark grey clouds that threatened rain at any moment. James, bleary eyed, had peered up at him, processed who it was, then immediately pushed himself out of bed.
The first thing out of James’s mouth was, “good thing Evans helped me perfect that rain-repellant charm last week. Knew I’d need it for something!”
Sirius had smiled fondly in spite of himself, and watched James disappear into the bathroom to get ready. He heard movement behind him and turned around to see Remus blinking at him groggily.
“You’re going out?” he asked tiredly, “in this weather?”
Sirius nodded, the feeling pulling at his skin and making him feel defensive; a shorter fuse than his usual short fuse. He almost wanted Remus to be aggravated; wanted a fight. “Yup,” he replied, popping the “p”, daring Remus to object.
Remus, to Sirius’s disappointment, only continued to stare, either still half asleep or at a loss for what to say.
James poked his head out of the bathroom, then. “We’re not made of doxy floss, Moons, we won’t melt.”
Remus huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pushing himself out of bed. The fight drained out of Sirius as quickly as it had entered him.
“You don’t have to come--” Sirius started quickly, but Remus cut him off.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not letting you two morons go flying in this weather unsupervised.”
Despite the words chosen, and the unease swirling in his stomach, Sirius found himself smiling. “Aw, Moony, you do care!”
Remus blushed furiously, “yeah, well, I’ve no idea why that is at the moment.”
This didn’t dampen Sirius’s grin, though. A ghost of it stayed on his face all through their descent to the Great Hall, and their breakfast, and their long trudge down to the Quidditch pitch. They were the only ones here, as they were the only ones with questionable enough sanity to fly in the drizzle that had started on their walk down. James had charmed their gear and his glasses with the rain-repelling charm, and it felt to Sirius like any other day flying. Remus was decked head-to-toe in the rain-repellant charm as well, and he had an enchanted umbrella in the air next to him to protect a comically large book he’d brought to read.
After one more reproachful look, Remus set off for the stands, and James and Sirius were left to their own devices. They kicked off, flying in spectacular loops, constantly trying to one up the other. The wind and rain picked up as well, but James never complained, and now that Sirius had found something that helped so much, he was unwilling to give it up over a couple drops of rain.
It was late May, but despite the spring season, Sirius’s fingers ached with cold wrapped around his broom, brought on by the windy, rainy conditions. He almost relished in it; another sensation to focus on that wasn’t the pulling of his skin or the tension in his bones. It was easier to gulp down lungfuls of air up here, somehow.
Sirius and James had just begun a new game, seeing who could dive closer to the ground without hitting it, when the wind really started to become an issue. Sirius had just finished a rather glorious dive of his own, and he hovered a few feet above the ground waiting to see how James attempted to outshine him.
James was poised a dozen feet above Sirius, hair wild and eyes gleaming. “Watch this!” he yelled, and Sirius could barely hear him, but he threw him a thumbs up nonetheless.
James shot another few feet in the air, performed a tight loop, and then began to fall.
Sirius watched with bated breath as James hurtled towards the ground like a comet tearing through the atmosphere. His eyes were glued to James; this is how Sirius noticed the exact second the wind picked up, colliding with James with a force James hadn’t predicted and couldn’t counteract.
James hit the ground with a sickening thud, taking the brunt of the impact with his shoulder and then his face. His unbreakable glasses flew off his face, landing several paces away in the grass. And then, James Potter went entirely still.
“JAMES!” Sirius screamed, forgetting he himself was in the air and hopping off his broom, hitting the ground harder than he’d expected to; the shock vibrated up his legs but he barely felt it.
The last time Sirius had hit the ground that forcefully Walburga had cast a bodybind on him for speaking out of turn at dinner; she’d let him careen onto the hard stone floor--
He sprinted towards James’s crumpled form, adrenaline surging through him.
The last time Sirius had run this fast, he’d heard Regulus screaming in his father’s study. He’d burst through the doors, earning himself every punishment in Walburga’s repertoire, but it didn’t matter, because she’d stopped looking at Regulus--
“JAMES!” he shouted again, not in control of his own mouth, and he rolled James over to assess his injuries and that was when he saw the blood. James’s nose, it appeared, had broken on impact, and his face was now covered in blood. Sirius gasped, terror striking him like a bolt of lightning.
The last time he’d seen this much blood was when Walburga had hit him with an unexpected Cruciatus; Sirius hadn’t had time to prepare himself, and had fallen backwards into a glass coffee table. His skin had been shredded by the fragments of glass, and he’d spent the next week drinking multiple blood replenishing potions per day at Regulus’s insistence. Regulus had quipped that he’d spent too long patching Sirius up, and didn’t want to see him get worse; as that would mean Regulus had wasted his time.
Sirius shook away the memory violently; James needed him right now.
“Okay, nous devons arrêter le saignement,” he said to himself, not even aware of his slip into French, no one around to hear.
He didn’t have his wand on him, Remus had volunteered to hold them on their flying excursions to avoid the risk of snapping them with a bad fall. He looked at James clinically, watched for the rise and fall of his chest. Once he confirmed he was breathing, he knew the next priority was to stop the bleeding.
“Je vais juste... euh... mes robes,” he continued to talk to himself, ripping the arm off his robe and gently wiping the excess blood from James’s face before applying pressure to his nose. James’s eyes still remained closed, Sirius had never missed the dark brown of James’s eyes as much as he did right now.
“C'est bon, James, c'est bon, on va t'arranger,” he murmured while he worked.
“SIRIUS,” he heard behind him, but he couldn’t turn around, too focused on the problem at hand. Remus appeared next to him in seconds.
“Remus, son nez,” Sirius said, distracted by the blood and the anxiety thrumming under his skin and the goddamn pulling of his skin.
Remus glanced at Sirius for a moment, calculating something, before he shook himself and said “Pads, we need to get him to Pomfrey, can you levitate him with me?”
Sirius scoffed, why wouldn’t he be able to do that? “Oui, très bien, allons-y,” he agreed, standing up and holding his hand out for his wand. Again, Remus looked like he wanted to say something, but getting James to Pomfrey was the priority. So he handed Sirius back his wand, and the two made it back to the castle as fast as the conditions would allow them to.
They burst into the Hospital Wing and Remus took over, quickly explaining to Pomfrey what had happened. The whole time, Sirius’s eyes were glued to James’s body; his feeling of guilt large enough to swallow him whole. The mediwitch looked very unhappy with Remus’s explanation, and quickly pulled the curtains around James’s hospital bed before attempting to usher them out, promising they could see James later, once he’d been healed and rested. Remus had protested, not finished with his explanation, and Pomfrey had allowed him to continue. Sirius couldn’t take it anymore, and he’d left without a backwards glance.
Once outside the hospital wing, Sirius was overwhelmed by just how quiet it was. He hadn’t noticed the comfort of ambient noise before; the squelching of their feet as they’d run from the Quidditch pitch, the howling of the wind, the echoing of their footsteps in the stone corridor, the hustle of the hospital wing, Remus’s rapid stream of words to Pomfrey. Now that was all stripped away, and it left Sirius alone with nothing but his thoughts.
And his memories, vying for his attention like bloodthirsty hounds from hell, clawing their way across his conscience and digging into his brain.
Sirius had fought against the bodybind, but it was no use; it never was. Walburga’s curses always held fast, as if the vitriol she cast them with increased their ability to stick.
Regulus had been screaming, some unspeakable curse left him standing on wobbling knees, tears painting tracks down his pale face. He’d looked at Sirius, dropped his typical indifferent mask, and stared at him with pure, unfiltered terror.
When Sirius had laid among the shards of glass, after-effects of the Cruciatus shaking his body in time with his heart beat, Walburga had peered down at him, seemingly checking if he was still alive. He might have imagined her look of disappointment that came next, but either way, it was ingrained into his memory.
The sound of Sirius’s own name broke him from his thoughts and he spun wildly to face Remus.
“Okay?” Remus asked, taking in Sirius’s wide eyes and rapidly expanding ribcage.
Sirius only nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to confirm this.
Remus looked entirely unconvinced. “What do you need, Pads?”
Sirius felt hot tears stinging at his eyes now, but he refused to cry. Blacks did not cry, and they certainly did not cry in public. He just stared back, trying to communicate with his eyes that he didn’t even know the answer to that. Nothing felt right at the moment.
Remus continued to stare at him, pursing his lips, clearly debating what to say next. “Alright, well, I want to show you something.”
Sirius was too distraught to even consider objecting as Remus led him away from the hospital wing, back down the stone corridor they’d carried James through moments prior, and up several moving staircases. Finally, they came to a stop on the seventh floor, in front of a large tapestry.
Sirius stared in disbelief. “You…dragged me up here…to see trolls in tutus?”
Remus ignored him, pacing back and forth in front of the tapestry.
Sirius’s panic, and tension, and stress swirled together like a tornado, and rapidly spun into blinding rage. Anger was always easier for him to feel; it was easier to control, and wield, too.
“Remus if I wanted to waste my goddamn time I could’ve done that sitting downstairs! At least I’d be closer to James who, if you’d forgotten, is in the hospital wing unconscious right now!” The because of me he left unspoken. “What are we even doing, critiquing the art?” It wasn’t even about the art, not really, but it felt good to have something to direct his anger at. “Should I mention how ridiculous that guy in the clearing looks? How hideous the trolls are? How shit the artist was at illustrating it all?”
Remus paused his footsteps in front of the tapestry, and regarded Sirius once more. “It’s Barnabas the Barmy,” he replied calmly.
Sirius could’ve killed him. “Excuse me? What?”
Remus motioned back to the tapestry. “The man dancing for the trolls. He has a name.”
Sirius opened his mouth to say something biting that he would undoubtedly regret, when he was distracted by the formation of a door on the opposite wall of the tapestry.
“Come on then,” Remus said mildly, as he opened the door and stepped inside. Sirius stormed in after him, not done with being angry.
They were in a spacious room, much bigger than anything Sirius had been expecting from the outside. In the room was a wide array of abandoned furniture in varying conditions. It reminded Sirius of a thrift store, which he’d visited for the first time last summer with James.
“What are we doing here?” Sirius asked bluntly, too confused to inject his words with any anger.
Remus began advancing towards an old dresser and Sirius followed him unbidden. “Lily showed me this room at the end of last year,” he began, “I like to come here sometimes when I’m angry to blow off steam.”
Sirius turned to look at him. “You? Angry?”
Remus chuckled dryly. “Just because I don’t make it a habit to take out my anger on other people, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”
Sirius bristled and his face heated up immediately. Remus held up his hands placatingly, a silent apology in his eyes. “Enough talking for the moment, I think,” Remus said, and Sirius knew at that moment that Remus Lupin was the only person he’d honor that request from.
“Here,” Remus said, throwing Sirius a polished wooden cylinder, “take this.”
Sirius held it in his hands, it was heavier than he’d been expecting. “What is this?” he asked Remus.
Remus grinned. “It’s called a baseball bat. Muggles use it in one of their sports.”
Baseball bat, Sirius mouthed to himself. “What does it do?”
Remus’s grin grew wider. “In the muggle game, they use it to hit a ball and then they run around and score points. But we have a different use for it here.”
Sirius opened his mouth to ask what that use might be when Remus brought the bat high above his head, shot Sirius one final look, then brought the bat crashing down in one fell swoop.
The old wood splintered immediately with a satisfying crack, and Remus beamed at Sirius. “Well? Want to give it a go?”
And Sirius really, really did. He approached the wooden dresser and copied Remus’s form: brought the bat high above his head, locked his eyes onto the target, and swung. Crack.
Sirius let out a laugh in spite of himself and Remus looked proud.
“Try the plates next, that’s my favorite,” Remus suggested, and Sirius shifted his gaze to a stack of old, chipped ceramic plates in the corner. He practically ran to it, grabbed the top plate, and hurled it at the wall as fast as he could. It was thrilling, watching the plate spin wildly through the air, stopped by the immovable force of the old stone wall where it explored into a fireworks display of ceramics. Sirius threw one, then two, then three; relished in the crashing sound they made.
He turned to survey the room on his own, eyes locking on a large vase that resembled one at Grimmauld Place. He quickly made his way over to it, wound up his bat, and swung with all his might. The vase cracked with a resounding sound and Sirius hit it again and again and again until it was merely dust before him. That felt good.
“I used to struggle with this,” Remus admitted as Sirius beat the shit out of a set of ceramic dolls, “taking my anger out like this. Made me feel like I was giving in to the monster in me, so to speak.”
Sirius paused his assault of the dolls at this. “Remus, you know that’s not true.”
Remus nodded. “I know that now, but it’s still a feeling I had at one point. I’m mentioning it because I know what it feels like, Sirius, to try to keep everything inside. One of two things will happen, in my experience. Those feelings will either eat you alive, or it’ll fester until it boils over and you take it out on someone else.”
Sirius stared, entirely at a loss for what to say, but Remus continued. “You’ve got to find a way to let it out, yeah? I’m just showing you one that works for me.”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah, Moons. Thanks.”
Remus grinned at him, and Sirius turned his attention back to the pile of ceramic dust at his feet. He turned to survey the room once more, eyes stuttering on the biggest item of all. An old muggle car sat abandoned in the corner, clearly in disrepair. Sirius approached it, drawn towards it by an invisible, inescapable force. He raised his bat once more, and with every ounce of strength he had, brought it down on the hood of the vehicle. He hit it over, and over, and over, denting the metal beyond repair; the huge dents resembling craters on the moon’s surface. Not even proof of the damage he was causing could get him to slow down, and he still continued to whack the car.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Finally, he paused to catch his breath, arms aching in the best sort of way. He stretched his arms, cracked his neck, and realized that the destruction he’d caused had somehow managed to make him feel better. He flexed his fingers, grinning, and sighed loudly. He was suddenly aware that Remus was watching him from beside the dresser. He turned to face him, and Remus looked very pleased with himself.
“Better?” he asked, one perfect eyebrow raised.
Sirius huffed a laugh. “I’ll say. What the hell is this place?”
“It’s called the Room of Requirement. You stand outside, and think of something you need, and the room creates it for you. I just thought about a room with a lot of breakable shit.”
Sirius grinned. “Been holding out on us with that one, yeah?”
Remus laughed, “can you blame me? I fear what your evil minds will concoct using a room that can create virtually anything for you.” Then his smile softened, “but you needed it today, Pads, so of course I shared it. I’m just glad it could help.”
Sirius kicked his foot, looking down for a moment. “Yeah…well, thanks.”
Remus sighed and crossed the room to meet Sirius. “You know it’s not your fault right?”
Sirius blanched. “What makes you say that?” he asked, instead of answering.
Remus regarded him for a moment. “Because I know you,” he said after a moment.
Sirius sighed. “Yeah, well, he wouldn’t have been out there if I hadn’t dragged him.”
Remus shook his head, “he’s a big boy, Pads; he can make his own decisions.”
Sirius frowned. “Yeah, but he only did it for me, Re.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t make it your fault. Accidents happen.”
Sirius huffed again. “I still feel awful,” he admitted, “even if I’m not the one that pushed him into the dirt.” He shuddered as the collision replayed in his mind, running towards James, all that blood--
“Hey,” Remus said gently, stepping right in front of Sirius’s face, and Sirius realizes belatedly that he’d begun breathing too fast again, “he’s fine, Sirius. No need to worry.”
“It’s not that I just--” and then he abruptly cut himself off. Since when did he talk about Walburga’s cruel hand so freely?
“Just what?” Remus asked, unaware of Sirius’s hesitation.
Silence hung between them and Sirius couldn’t leave it there; he had to speak. “Just all that blood reminded me…of…” and he trailed off, unwilling to provide any more detail, but Remus always was clever.
Remus waited another moment to see if Sirius was going to elaborate further, and when he didn’t, he filled in the blank. “Oh,” he said simply, softly, and that one word held the weight of an entire conversation.
“Yeah,” Sirius responded, not sure what else to say.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asked.
And maybe it was the echo of Remus’s words from earlier in his mind, but he found that he sort of did.
“I guess I’ve just had so many injuries myself that it’s hard to see my friends get hurt and not be reminded of something that’s happened to me,” Sirius joked, entirely unsure of how to treat the situation seriously.
Remus, however, was entirely unamused. “Merlin, Pads,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then, visibly steeling himself for the answer, Remus asked “she’s pushed you off a broom?”
“No, no,” Sirius responded quickly, “I was just thinking about the time she…uh…caught me by surprise and I fell into a coffee table.”
Remus’s eyes narrowed at Sirius’s obvious omission of part of the story, but didn’t press it. “You fell into a coffee table?” he asked, clearly not understanding how that related to James’s broom incident.
“Yeah it was a uh…glass coffee table,” Sirius elaborated, “so when I fell into it I sort of…got some cuts. From the glass.”
Remus’s eyes widened in a way that would’ve been comical if it was for any other reason. He took in a big breath, blinked hard, then resumed looking at Sirius. “That must’ve really hurt,” he said softly.
“Yeah, it did,” Sirius agreed, “but Reg was able to patch me up pretty well.”
Remus’s nostrils flared, and Sirius knew this was because he thought it was terrible that Sirius and Regulus didn’t have access to “trained healers” or “experienced mediwitches”. As if Walburga and Orion would open themselves up to that line of questioning.
“Well I’m glad you’re okay now,” Remus said. He pushed Sirius on a lot of things, almost never relenting; but he knew that the dynamics of Sirius’s home life were not up for debate.
“Yeah, me too,” Sirius agreed. Then, “think we can go see James now?”
Remus hummed thoughtfully. “I doubt it’s been as long as Pomfrey would like, but that’s never stopped us before.” And so they went.
As they exited the Room of Requirement, Sirius casted his gaze meaningfully towards the troll tapestry. “I’m sorry I called you ugly,” he said solemnly, “I was in a bad mood and that’s hardly your fault.”
Remus snorted, clearly amused. “Come on, Pads, before those trolls hop off the tapestry and attempt to avenge Barnabas.”
Sirius faux-gasped. “Barnabas? The Barfy?”
Remus laughed again, “no, Pads, the Barmy. It means crazy.”
Sirius’s grin widened, “Oh, I know one of those. Walburga the Barmy, they called her.”
And Remus’s loud laugh echoed down the stone corridor.
They walked down to the hospital wing with quick steps. Other students were milling about now, as it was late enough in the morning for them to brave the Great Hall for breakfast. Sirius and Remus passed them all by, on a mission to make it to James’s bedside as quickly as possible.
If it had been up to him, Sirius would’ve burst through the doors with a loud announcement and a dramatic wave of his arm, but Remus restrained him. So they entered without any fanfare and made a beeline for James’s bed. The curtain was still pulled tight around his cot, and before Remus could suggest against it, Sirius pulled it back forcefully.
James was in the bed, lying atop the covers, and grinning from ear to ear. “I heard you coming, mate; you walk like an elephant.”
Sirius spluttered immediately. “Oi, I do not!” he protested, “I walk gracefully, like a…Remus, what’s a graceful animal?”
Remus thought for a moment. “A gazelle?”
“Yes, that, a gazelle!”
James’s smile didn’t dim. “So you’re feeling better then?”
And Sirius suddenly remembered why they were here, and his face fell. “James, look, I’m--”
But James cut him off. “Nope. Not hearing it,” he said loudly, “you didn’t drag me by my ear down to the pitch and onto my broom, so, it’s not your fault.”
Sirius opened his mouth to protest again, but James beat him to it. “Look at me, I’m completely fine. I’d argue even better, look, Pomfrey even healed that pimple that was forming on my nose,” and he leaned towards Sirius, placing his nose far too close to Sirius’s face, which made Sirius laugh.
“Fine, fine, okay, you tosser, I won’t apologize,” Sirius relented, mostly relieved James was already back to acting so much like himself.
“So you’re alright?” James asked, “even though our time got cut short?”
And Sirius found himself nodding emphatically, “yeah, James, you’ll never guess what--” and then he cut himself off, eyes finding Remus before he spoiled his secret, but Remus merely nodded encouragingly, so he continued, “Remus has been holding out on us!”
And James’s eyes lit with mischief. “Oh really, Moony, is that so?” he asked gleefully, but Sirius continued talking before Remus even had a chance to defend himself.
“Yeah, get this, there’s this room next to a portrait of my mother--”
James looked horrified so Remus cut in “it’s not his mother, James, it’s a troll in a tutu--” and they were all laughing now, and Sirius marveled at just how lucky he was to have friends like them.