Work Text:
Sirius is a child, but he's not an idiot. He knows that, in addition to his parents being unhappy about his Sorting, Slytherins are unhappy about his Sorting. Gryffindors too. He's pissed off his parents-- and all the extended family-- a fair few times by age eleven, but it's something else entirely to have people his age upset. The adults in his family would get mad, but he knew exactly how to deal with that anger; the other students are cruel, and he's lost as for how to handle it.
Like he said, he's not an idiot. He knows that there's nothing he can do to make the other students like him. With his family, if he went to another room and waited half an hour, they'd be fine. With his peers, waiting doesn't seem to do anything except-- maybe-- make them think he's weak. He doesn't understand how trying to give someone space to stop being angry counts as weak, but when he gives them space, the next time they see him, it's twice as bad like they're having a contest with themselves.
The bright spot in all of this is James. They became friends on the Hogwarts Express, and when he Sorted into Gryffindor, it cemented their relationship as best friends. James is sticking with him and hasn't faltered, not for an instant.
When Sirius finds a massive nest of snakes in his bed, James helps him clean it up without a second thought-- though he, like Sirius, isn't thrilled about picking up so many snakes. They're both visibly nervous about it and pretending otherwise, and neither one pokes fun; if they both pretend that it doesn't bother them, maybe that makes it true. When ink explodes in his bag, coating everything in it and ruining his homework, James is right there beside him, telling the professors that he completed it and shouldn't be punished. When one shoe of every pair in his wardrobe goes missing, James lends him a pair of his own.
It goes on and on, these things charitably called 'pranks' by Professor McGonagall. Sirius thinks it's more mean-spirited than that, and while they don't talk about it, he knows James thinks the same. It's not happening to everyone. It's not happening to all the first years or all the Gryffindors, and it's not happening to all so-called blood traitors; it's just him. It's just him, and everyone's in on it except his dormmates, so no one even tries to hide it when they're the guilty party.
One day-- after cleaning up a bucket of bugs someone dumped on Sirius's head-- James turns to him with a grin, teeth glinting, and says, "I have an idea."
Two hours later, O'Connell and Smith scream and run out of their dormitory, sending Sirius and James into peals of laughter. They don't get detention for it, even when the two fourth years go to Professor McGonagall with their accusations; "It's a harmless prank," she says dismissively, and Sirius likes her more knowing that it's how she responds to everyone, not just him.
"Mission one was a success," James says, chest puffed out in pride of a job well done.
"Mission one?" Sirius asks. "Is this going to be a habit?"
"Of course. We can't let them get away with it, the arseholes."
Peter and some bloke named Remus are the only dormmates in the room with them, and it's obvious they're listening, though they are pretending not to.
"The first one went off without a hitch. We make a good team," James says, elbowing him companionably. "And there's eighty-one more people we need to get. Well- maybe more like sixty?" he amends. He pulls a sheet of parchment out from his bedside table and squints at it. "Some people are on here more than once."
"You kept track?"
"Of course."
He's endlessly charmed by that, by how James cares so much about him that he's been keeping track of this from the beginning and never once faltered in believing they'd get revenge one day. Sirius peers over his shoulder at the list; it's not just names. "You wrote down the date?"
"And the offense."
Ink. Shoes. Snakes in bed. Bed is underlined three times. Paint-- red. Maggots. Snake-- one, big. Paint-- black. Dead mice. Black bird. Paint-- green. On and on the list goes, some with details, like the colour of the paint or the location it happened. Sirius skims the whole list and can't think of a single one that's missing. "Wow."
"What do you think-- chronological, or by severity?"
"Random," Sirius decides. "I don't want anyone to know if they're next."
They share a grin, an expression that promises not just revenge, but a puzzle that needs solving-- what exactly they should do for each of these, what will make the punishment equal the crime. They don't have time to plan before supper, which is a shame.
Sirius has it in his head the revenge is how they're going to operate, so he's surprised when-- after a passing upperclassman 'accidentally' spills burning hot soup down his back-- James flings a handful of green beans at their face without a moment's hesitation. Then, apparently deciding that wasn't enough, James throws mashed potatoes, which make a comical splat as it covers their eyes. It's enough to have Sirius laughing, forgetting for a few moments the pain prickling along his back.
James gets detention for that-- so does the second year instigator-- but he's unrepentant and winks at Sirius the moment Professor Grubbly-Plank looks away. Warmth blooms in Sirius's chest, bright and resilient and addictive. He wants it to be like this for the rest of his life.