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“Prongs?”
It was two in the morning. Rain pitter-pattered against the stone walls surrounding them. Their dormitory seemed smaller and darker than usual.
“Yes?” came the tired voice of James, whose face was buried in the pillow he’d brought from his own bed.
“Do you think we’ll always be together?”
The sound of the rain could be the only proof there was something beyond the curtains of his four poster.
“Well, that’s a soppy as fuck question,” James lifted his head up, and furrowed his eyebrows.
“As if you never act like a cornball, you twat. And no one can hear us. All this shite’s got me thinking about what would happen if I die first, or something else awful like that…”
He could never speak into existence the horrific idea that James might get tortured or worse, but it went unsaid. Mr. Potter was in St, Mungo’s because a follower of you-know-who broke into their house. Being a family of prominent Blood-traitors had few perks and many disadvantages.
James shifted so they were face-to-face, or more accurately nose-to-nose, the bed was barely large enough to fit the two of them.
“Padfoot…you know I’ve never felt the way I do about you for anyone else. Not even Evans. It’s more than love. Maybe we’ll be separated by Snivellus and his creepy friends, but a bond like that can’t be severed. We’ll always be connected. I could never really leave you, even if I wanted to.”
Sirius looked away. He felt a tear well up in his eye.
Thunder boomed outside. Sirius winced.
“See, you’re even soppier than me, you pansy,” he said, though his voice betrayed his fondness.
James tapped him on the arm.
“You asked and I answered, ‘s not my fault.”
“Fair.”
James buried his face into Sirius’ shoulder.
Sirius shut his eyes tight, and let the rain rock him into the night.