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James Potter is a very typical wealthy pure-blood wizard. He didn't smoke, get tattoos, drink alcohol, or use marijuana.

He had once thought he would always be like this, without a single blemish on his record—until a hand reached out from a dark alley and blocked his path.

James instinctively reached for his belt, but grabbed nothing. He was forced to hear the sound of his own head slamming hard against the wall, followed by a very light chuckle.

He quickly saw clearly, and then wished he could hit himself with a Obliviate. A face as pale as if it had been soaked for nights suddenly loomed large in front of James. It seemed coated in thick white powder, and what was even worse were the dark purple circles under the eyes, and the flaming red lips that smeared almost down to the jaw.

In contrast to the face, the man let out a soft hum. His clear and magnetic voice dipped slightly low as his gaze casually drifted downward, making James's face pale one moment and flush the next.

James's eyes followed downward, and his complexion truly turned awful. No—of course it wasn't what you think. Rather, he sadly spotted his beloved wand, though it would have been better if he could ignore that it was now in the other man's hand.

James prayed frantically in his heart: Please let this be a Muggle! Please let this lunatic mistake his wand for a mere stick—so he could seize the chance when the man was distracted and snatch his wand back.

The man raised an eyebrow. His grey eyes, hidden behind the thick makeup, tinted with amusement. Then he casually tossed it. The wand smashed heavily against the wall and fell with a thud onto the dusty stone surface not far away.

James's heart thudded and shattered along with it. He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm: "Mate, we've got no grudge between us, right? You don't have to pin me to the wall like this—it's kinda awkward."

"Hmm, we really don't have any connection." The man stared at him with great interest, as if marveling at James's twisted expression. "But I'm young and strong—putting in some effort for my career shouldn't be a problem, right?"

James didn't understand and looked up, meeting the smudged eye circles. His breath hitched.

He heard the sound of his own belt loosening.

James's eyelid twitched. He stared at him incredulously, and after a long pause, he gritted his teeth and squeezed out a few words: "I don't fuck men."

The other let out a "wow," his tone light: "Maybe you just haven't tasted how good men are? You've just never tried."

"No thanks, I’m not interested in tasting how good men are," James said coolly. But then, his eyes caught a slightly bulging pocket. They darted over quickly, and his tone shifted sharply: "But I still have to say, sellers should keep their word—you can’t force someone to buy or sell, can you?"

The man with the exaggerated makeup paused, tilting his head to indicate he should continue.

James's tone was flat and slow: "Let's open up and get to know each other. For example, how much?"

A roaring laugh burst from the man's throat. It was hard to believe a human could make such a sound—James preferred to call it a dog's bark. Dark eyelashes shaded the teasing in his grey eyes. James noticed that head of black long hair exuding a rare elegance.

"One thousand Galleons."

The man spoke lazily, completely unaware of how shocking his words were.

James  almost laughed in anger, staring at him with a fake smile: "Let me take a look at the goods first.'"

"For example..." James lowered his voice, his hazel eyes almost gentle. "Come a bit closer."

The man lowered his head. As if possessed, he didn't refuse. Curiously, he let James move, and then James hugged him—his hands strong.

An even clearer male voice lingered in his ear. James buried his whole head in the man's neck, his tone mild:

"Petrificus Totalus."

James pushed him away expressionlessly, fished his wand out of the other's pocket, and twirled it dashingly a few times. Surprisingly smooth.

James glanced unexpectedly at the wand he'd successfully plundered, his tone irritated: "Next time, hide your pocket better—you didn't even notice it being stolen."

The man laughed loudly. Even lying on the ground, unable to move, it seemed like the oxygen in his lungs was being squeezed out.

James disdainfully brushed off the cheek rouge that had stained his robes. His gaze shifted to that annoying painted face, malice flashing in his eyes: "Aguamenti."

James froze. For a moment, he really thought one thousand Galleons was quite a deal.

The watered-down rouge slid down to the jaw, revealing the true appearance. The man—Sirius Black—laughed wildly without restraint. The ends of his hair were wet and draped over his shoulders, soaking his collar. His heaving chest was faintly visible, but of course, the most eye-catching was that face.

He looked at James pleasantly, his voice exceptionally hoarse: "Nice one!"

Ten minutes later, in a certain café.

Sirius leisurely enjoyed this cup of emotional compensation, completely unbothered by the entire café's stares glued to him. Instead, he lazily looked at James: "What do you want to ask?"

James raised an eyebrow, as if gauging the other's reliability. A thousand thoughts flew by, but what came out was an unrelated question: "Why did you put on such ugly makeup?"

"Oh, this." Sirius said nonchalantly. "Because I have professional ethics. And I saw my colleague's sales double after putting on makeup."

He kindly added: "I did it myself."

James pressed down the cup lid. Maybe he should ask if the colleague Sirius mentioned was also a wizard? Do you need to pay taxes in this line of work? And why not go to St. Mungo's to get your eyes checked—where's the professional ethics?

But he chose to praise objectively first: "Your sales would be better without makeup."

Sirius sipped his coffee, tilting his head slightly, looking languidly at the people with heated gazes: "Like this?"

James stared at him and had to admit he was right.

"Hand out." Sirius pushed the coffee aside.
James extended it without hesitation, curiously watching the other casually scribble something on his palm.

"Sniffle."

So much so that he zoned out for a moment, then he irritably scratched his hair: "You didn't have to do that."

After saying that, he finally had time to enjoy the coffee. He absentmindedly took a sip, then suddenly looked up—unclear if it was anger or approval: "When did you switch it?"

"I should have captured your expression just now." Sirius said regretfully, then spread his hands. "From the beginning. Now my tongue is sweetened to death."

"Actually, if you're lactose intolerant, it's better not to drink beverages." James imitated a casual tone. He was very good at finding balance between provocation and joke, then sincerely said, "You're really interesting. Otherwise, I'd almost regret it."

Sirius quickly glanced at his pocket, where a stink bomb lay blatantly, emitting a foul smell.

He hastily cast a cleaning charm and said lightly: "You should regret it."

"And," Sirius looked at him with a half-smile, "All expenses during service are on you. I'm not responsible for that."

James pondered for a moment, then unceremoniously stuck the straw into the coffee opposite him.

Sirius looked at him in surprise: "I thought you were the type who minded these things."

James bit the straw viciously: "I'm the customer. I do what I want."

"Alright." Sirius said nonchalantly. "But I want French food."

James nodded.

The whole afternoon passed, and James confirmed that Sirius was the most interesting person he'd ever met.

Like his right hand, James sighed like this, then naturally pried for information about the other. He keenly noticed that Sirius disliked any fish.

James didn't ask aloud, just turned into another street, scanning the sparse surroundings.

The entire street was plunged into darkness. Every shop's doors were tightly shut. James pressed down his hat brim, revealing only his hazel eyes in the night: "Is this street usually this quiet?"

Sirius chuckled lightly: "Can't stand a bit of peace?"

James looked up, one hand in his pocket.

"Fine." Sirius quickly surrendered. "Your intuition is right—this place is abnormal."

His collar was slightly loose, revealing a small patch of fair skin. In contrast to his casual posture was his cold tone: "You probably haven't heard the widely circulated ghost legend recently, right?"

Sirius naturally lit a cigarette, his gaze terrifyingly calm: "Right here. In this period, there have already been twelve cases of victims dying on the street. Some victims showed fear on their faces, some had limb spasms, and some looked peaceful, completely unaware of what happened after death."

"And what's even weirder is the subsequent police investigation. No matter how many times they examined the bodies, they couldn't find a single wound—even on victims tortured into curling up, their bodies were undamaged, as if they suddenly lost their lives. Then drug tests and such—all came back clean. In the end, the officials could only classify it as a supernatural event."

Sirius extinguished the cigarette, exhaling a long breath. White smoke swirled, making his expression unclear.

James's face darkened: "Death Eaters."

"Correct answer. Gryffindor adds five points." Sirius lowered his head, almost able to see himself reflected in James's eyes. "But not accurate enough. Low-level Death Eaters—the trash who can't get favor from their lord and can only stir trouble in the Muggle world."

James tilted his face up, staring directly into the grey eyes that blended with the night. His expression was faintly visible in the shadows, and especially when his face was hard to read, his burning aura was almost overwhelming.

Sirius maintained the lowered head posture, like a swan drinking from a lake, his long neck bending into a perfect arc: "Are you wondering why I know this?"

"No, I'm wondering." James said muffledly. "When you sneaked anti-tracking charms on both of us without me noticing. I didn't detect a thing."

Sirius's eyes were innocent: "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever. By your logic, we'd already be corpses in the alley." James said casually. "Besides—"

"I think every word you just said is true." He paused, his tone softening. "I should say, I believe you."

For a long time, no one spoke. James couldn't help glancing over and found Sirius secretly chuckling.

"Merlin." Sirius wiped away nonexistent tears. "Have you really never been in love? Those words are so cheesy."

James kicked him: "No. Spending seven years chasing one person has exhausted all my energy. Now I'm her colleague."

Sirius laughed even louder: "Sounds like she has good taste."

James covered his face: "Shut up."

Sirius stared at the wand tucked in James's belt, his eyes curving: "You're like a fresh graduate boy."

James said faintly: "You're not much better, are you?"

Sirius didn't respond further, his gaze just falling on James's wand, his lips feeling dry: "Hey babe, have you ever killed anyone?"

...

James's brain was in chaos. All thoughts were tangled like a messed-up knitting project. He couldn't remember how this street brawl started, or fundamentally, why he kept getting involved in disputes, rushing back and forth into endless battles?
The only answer was his raised wand:

"Expelliarmus!"

Countless lights intertwined and flashed, all reflecting in his eyes, giving them a unique sheen.

A massive creature burst into view—not a goat, not a cow. As it charged, moonlight fell, and he saw clearly: it was a bear-sized black dog.

James saw the grey beast eyes embedded in the black fur. At first glance, he recognized it was Sirius. His first thought: Oh, so he's an Animagus too. What a coincidence.

Until the flames of battle gradually died down, Sirius tucked his slightly messy hair behind his ear, his gaze sharp. He bypassed the unconscious or dead wizards on the ground and walked unhurriedly toward the culprit curled in the corner.

The dark wizard was still trembling uncontrollably, but when that pale face saw Sirius, it twisted into a mad laugh: "Who do I think it is? It's you. Even after disappearing for years, no one suspects you've long become a pure-blood traitor. Right, SIRIUS BLACK ?"

Sirius raised his wand. The light from the tip was almost blinding. His expression looked terrifying.

The man soon stopped struggling, falling silently on the street—just like the innocent lives he'd harmed. He deserved it.

It was a beautiful silent Killing Curse.

James rushed up and grabbed his sleeve: "We have to transport the bodies and stunned dark wizards to the Ministry. Someone will take over!"

"Why not kill them?" Sirius narrowed his eyes, his gaze falling on the wizard hit by James's Stunning Spell. Of course, Sirius was faster and more decisive—more people fell under his wand, never to wake again.

James kept tugging at his sleeve: "Because it's too much to bear.The answer to your earlier question: I don't want to kill, especially when there are other options."

"I know you don't care what curse you cast—as long as it's efficient and useful. You don't like or hate it, and you don't feel a bit of pleasure." James stuffed a golden bag into his arms. "But I don't like it, because it would hurt the soul I love."

Sirius turned his head sharply, crashing into that amber. He was almost drowned in sincerity. After a long while, he turned away: "How to handle them?"

"Tie them together, then randomly put the bag over one's head. That way the Portkey activates." James grabbed the nearest leg and dragged it over.

"Don't you want to ask anything else?" Sirius let his hands hang, his tone flat.

James started dragging another leg, without thinking: "Actually, there is something I want to ask."

Sirius straightened his rumpled shirt. Under the moonlight, James dragging legs looked ridiculous. He couldn't help curving his lips, raising his wand and murmuring something.

Clang. The sound of chains hitting the empty stone pavement. James gritted his teeth: "Otherwise, why do you think I'm running around? Forget it—come help pack them in."

Sirius obediently did so. The bag mouth just touched a strand of hair, and the row of people on the ground vanished without a trace.

"You wrote 'Sniffle' on my hand earlier—that's the code name our enthusiastic informant always leaves." James took a deep breath, collapsing: "So does Dumbledore force Order of the Phoenix members to streetwalk for a living?"

Sirius burst into the loudest laugh of the day.

When he finally calmed down a bit, he said softly: "Formal introduction: Sirius Black."

James stared at him, retying his wand to his belt, his tone relaxed: "Grab me, Padfoot."

"I like that nickname." Sirius's eyes curved, and he hugged the other tightly.

After a whirl of heaven and earth, the two crashed onto a soft mattress.

James struggled to sit up at the foot of the bed, straightening his loosened collar. His tousled black hair was even brighter under the dim yellow light: "I've set a Muffliato in the room. You can speak freely."

"But before everything starts, I should clean myself up, right?" Sirius blinked. No one could refuse that face.

"...There are bathrobes and toiletries in the bathroom." James collapsed on the bed, looking world-weary.

After Sirius left, James gradually recovered, staring at the ceiling in a daze, falling into a new round of thought. He seemed to have turned into shimmering jelly, constantly swaying, with the buzzing of glitter collisions in his ears. He kept running, following others to the battlefield one after another. Only in rare idle times could he numb his painful nerves with retaliatory pleasure... Oh, and he met Sirius. Unbelievable—they'd known each other less than a day.

The sound of running water reached his ears.

Alright, James couldn't even think now. This inn's soundproofing was too crappy. His mind went blank. A 50-Galleon room wasn't cutting it—next time, 200 Galleons a night.

Sirius pushed open the bathroom door. His freshly dried hair fluffed down to his chest. He wore only a bathrobe, his heaving chest faintly visible, retreating all the way to the belt.

"Ask away. I'll tell you anything." Sirius sat beside him, heat transmitting through the fabric.

James looked at the person filling his entire vision, a subtle gleam in his eyes: "Are you Sniffle?"

"Yes, but I don't plan to join any side." Sirius said evenly. "You've probably heard the Black surname. I rely on having stayed in Grimmauld Place for a few years to occasionally pass intelligence. The reason is just that my family prefers the Dark Lord, and I hate them."

A hand gripped his arm tightly. Scorching heat seeped through skin and flesh, surging everywhere.

"Truly ruthless people wouldn't want to capture murderers who harm lives, nor bother being an informant when there are safer, easier ways. So you just think this is right." James cupped his face, his eyes suddenly brightening. "You have a judgment standard different from others. You don't care about many things—uninterested stuff can't catch your attention. But if you think something is necessary, you'll definitely do it. Nothing can stop you, and you don't mind extreme means."

"Are you planning to be a psychologist?" Sirius leaned closer, his pupils dilating. He clearly felt James's breathing slow.

"I only try to understand the people I love."James gently hooked a strand of hair, twirling it around his finger. "I might not figure out why, but I can seriously tell you: you're very important to me. Irrelevant to looks or talent. The moment you hugged me, I suddenly felt complete."

"Now I finally understand why.Because of your soul."

Sirius's breath hitched. He turned his face away.

"So do you feel the same about me?" James suddenly reached out and hugged him tight. The two fell together. "Sirius, you need me too!"

Sirius couldn't stop laughing, trembling with it: "I'd rather call you 'cute,' sweetheart."

"That's not a compliment." James said bluntly. "Alright, I have an aunt surnamed Black. The name is famous—on par with Malfoy, Zabini, etc.—but you're different. Alright, Aunt Dorea is a bit eccentric, but that doesn't stop me from loving her. Honestly, I don't care at all."

He reached out, pointing at Sirius's chest: "I just care about this—you yourself."

"Very cheesy. Kinda embarrassing." Sirius hummed lightly, changing the topic. "Aren't you curious why I don't touch fish soup?"

"Fine. Forgive me for having 'I'm curious' written on my face." James quipped, but the following words made his tongue numb, a chill rising: "I guess... your family?"

Sirius noncommittally: "Pretty much."
He didn't get up. His slightly curled hair ends tickled James's face. Sirius's voice seemed to come from far away, not quite real:

"My childhood was about what you imagine—of course, maybe worse. My mother was a typical pure-blood supremacist, wishing she could order all Muggles and Muggle-borns beheaded and have house-elves throw them in the opposite trash heap.

So forcing her kids to recite names on the tapestry wasn't unusual. But I wasn't that obedient. I do have a brother—he was cute as a kid, just not decisive enough. He used to cling to me, but later we chose our own paths."

James pinched his chin: "Need me to pity you? I don't have siblings—don't really get it."

"Come on." Sirius lifted his head slightly. That sculpted face was even more dazzling up close. "Shall I continue? You're curious about the result of rebellion?"

"Nothing special. Neither she nor I backed down. It ended with me thrown back in my room, and a very old house-elf coming to heal me. That guy was always nagging—I was annoyed, but sometimes she'd tell me adventure stories.

The deepest memory is probably one day, she looked proud, like a philosopher.
She said,

For a house-elf, death means being hung on the wall and then being with us."

Sirius mocked himself, no laughter in his eyes: "I was little then, didn't realize what it meant. Even before coming of age, I thought hanging dead house-elves' heads on the stair wall was normal. Because everyone around me did it."

"Then she died."

"It was only when I saw the inscription beneath the wooden board that held her head that I realized her name was Wretch."

"Then a new house-elf came, named Kreacher. I didn't like him at all."

"We gathered at the dinner table as usual, until I bit into a wrinkled piece of meat in the fish soup.

I vomited all night, until nothing came out, but my stomach still had that disgusting sticky feeling. I smashed everything I could reach, then went downstairs to question why she did it."

"But I didn't."

"Because I saw her wiping tears in front of Wretch's plaque."

He took a deep breath, intense emotions churning in his eyes, looking terrifying:

"Because it's honor, so she had to do it—for that ridiculous tradition. And if Wretch knew, she'd cry with gratitude, because for a house-elf, it's the greatest honor."

"Later I slowly realized she wasn't unloving toward us."

"But that love was too oppressive, and had to be on the basis of 'us together,' because we're family."

Sirius's tone was cruelly cold: "As for my father, honestly, I have no impression of him."

"That's all I have to say."

Sirius was expressionless, still exuding a vicious aura. His gaze calm, coldly reflecting the incandescent light, gradually losing warmth.

"There are plenty of meats besides fish—French, German, Chinese, etc. As long as you like, we'll eat around the world. Truth is, my wizard coming-of-age world tour got ruined by joining the Order. Later, you can make it up with me."

James flipped over and pinned him to the mattress, pupils slightly dilated, melting everything into that vast hazel.

"You'll always meet people who truly suit you." James blinked. Sirius could almost feel the breath hitting his face—hot and real. "Like... me, and many others. You'll like them."

Sirius said softly: "Alright, I change my mind. That girl's taste isn't great. You're not as naive as she thought."

James narrowed his eyes slightly: "Speaking of which, why did a certain pretend-mature guy disguise as a streetwalker to investigate the scene? No, no. Let me rephrase: Someone was bored, had a flash of inspiration, thought his idea was fun, so he went ahead, even teasing a colleague. Thrilling."

Sirius suddenly developed intense interest in a button on James's shirt, head down, fiddling with it.

Until he started fiddling with the zipper on James's pants.

"One thousand Galleons a night—you really not considering?" Sirius said slyly.

James said mournfully: "I'm afraid you'd bite off my balls, after all, you're really a dog."

Sirius swept aside the strands of hair from his forehead and teased: "I wouldn't mind spending time with Bambi."

James exclaimed: "You're really suited to be an informant. So how exactly did you find out?"

Sirius resumed his casual, nonchalant attitude, slowly circling the zipper: "Scent. Then I couldn't help running over. I was craving it."

"Sirius." James looked at him seriously, tone calm.

Sirius tilted his head up accordingly, crashing into the Haze reflecting himself.
James closed his eyes, as if this decision had exhausted all his strength:

"Fuck me."

The End

[Easter Egg]

James headache-ily covered his face. It took a long time to recover, recalling the absurd night with Sirius.

Alright, had to admit it was worth one thousand Galleons.

"Actually, it started okay—they both shyly explored each other (Sirius wasn't as wild as he seemed), until Sirius entered him, and then things spiraled out of control.

James's gaze was unconsciously drawn to the red marks on that fair back—he'd scratched them in a daze yesterday.

James rarely zoned out. His first thought: Gotta trim my nails when I get home.

"Still staring even after waking?" Sirius opened his eyes, gaze pleasant.

James shifted aside. Only then did he realize they were hugging. The blanket slid down with his movement, faintly showing some wetness.

James turned his head. He clearly remembered cleaning up last night—especially after turning on the shower, they couldn't help kissing again.

James's abdomen twitched slightly, a heat wave raging inside.

How Sirius called his name over and over, kissing lazily yet powerfully, and how he reached down with both hands.

James's voice was terribly hoarse: "What time did you wake?"

"Strictly speaking, I didn't sleep much." Sirius said lazily. "Then I just lay there and noticed... it's normalhappens to every man in the morning. I thought I'd help you out, but things got a bit... out of hand."

James pointed to his wrist: "What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon." Sirius waved his hand. Several puffs of smoke floated in the air, finally forming numbers that kept jumping.

James blinked, his brain too chaotic to fully react.

Finally, he tilted his face up. Sunlight illuminated his body, the traces from last night's soul fusion looking somewhat sacred.

"Here's one thousand Galleons." James placed a small bag on the nightstand.
Sirius tilted his head, staring motionless at James, then laughed, his gaze cool: "What do you mean?"

James leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth: "What do you think it means?"

"I mean, I'm a lot wealthier than you think. Even if you charged me a thousand Galleons every night, five hundred years wouldn't even make a dent."

The hazel irises shone in the sunlight. His tone solemn:

"I mean, Sirius, will you be my boyfriend?"

Sirius looked at him, as if hearing two hearts beating in sync through skin and flesh. He didn't hesitate anymore and kissed him.

"You're too eager... boyfriend." James took off his glasses, leaning forward, hands pressing on his knees.

The kiss was long and passionate. James actually preferred lazy kisses—wet lips moving casually, slowly arousing interest. Of course, that didn't mean he was dissatisfied now. Kissing Sirius felt great—he was floating, so much that he didn't notice the sudden silver-white appearance.

"James, Kingsley has handled that batch you sent..." The mild male voice cut off abruptly. The silver-white giant wolf's face stiffened, staring at the two making out on the bed.

James slung an arm around Sirius, then waved pleasantly: "Afternoon, Moony. This is my boyfriend. Handsome, right?"

Sirius casually nodded, taking it as agreement.

Then, he suddenly said seriously:
"Five hundred years, one thousand Galleons a night every day—you're not afraid of dying from exhaustion?"