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Euphemia never made him do chores in her house, but this time Sirius would be happy to offer his help in weeding her garden.
And all for the simple reason that James had a silly habit: once a day he would go to the garden, pick a chamomile, sit on a bench under an apple tree and start to tell out loud, tearing the petals of the flower:
- Loves, doesn't love, loves, doesn't love, loves, doesn't... damn! - he throws the flower to the ground in frustration.
And this's what happens every time. For some unknown reason, the last petal always ends with the words "doesn't love". James looks at the remains of the chamomile with betrayal, and then he looks at Sirius with resentment.
It's like it's Sirius' fault that Lily Evans isn't in love with James.
And yet, despite his jealousy, Sirius can't watch his best friend's mood get ruined by stupid chamomiles for too long. It's summer. It's a time for fun.
No, he's had enough of James flirting with Evans at Hogwarts. James belongs to Sirius in the summer!
As soon as Potter angrily throws the torn-off chamomile on the ground again, Sirius sits down next to him. He smiles slyly, with promise.
- Forget those silly chamomiles, Prongs, - he smiles. - I know much more effective ways of divination.
James looks up at him, his eyes filled with anger, sadness, and resentment like a summer storm.
- Me too, - Potter says through gritted teeth.
Before Sirius can try to comfort his friend, he's grabbed by the shirt and pulled into a passionate kiss.
It takes Sirius a few seconds to respond with equal fervor.
When they pull away, both flushed and equally breathless, James looks at him from under his eyebrows.
- So loves or doesn't?
Sirius' heart races.
- Loves. LOVES! - he laughs, pulling James in for another kiss.
Now Potter will be his not just for the summer.