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"Almost done?" asks Sirius, observing the infinitesimal decline in the speed of James's food consumption.
"Mphf," is James's reply.
Sirius puts down the toast he's been pretending to nibble at for the past quarter of an hour, since they entered the Great Hall to grab a quick late breakfast. "Walk you down, then."
James nods his agreement, and shoves another bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Sirius watches, with a trace of bitter resignation, the way there isn't even a smidgeon of surprise in either of them at his correct interpretation of James's actions and mumble. He suppresses the feeling though, and just smiles faintly as he gets to his feet and James follows.
The walk to the pitch seems to take forever.
"See you after!" Sirius calls. It is different from his usual parting shot of 'See you in the air!' but James is so excited that he doesn't seem to hear — after all, though, it's the final match of his Hogwarts career, it's outcome will decide who gets the Quidditch cup, and they're playing Slytherin thanks to "complications" earlier in the year.
Since Sirius is ridiculously proud of James for those same things, he doesn't blame him. He wouldn't want to, anyway, as James's distraction is rather convenient.
With one last look at the pitch, Sirius reluctantly, determinedly turns and walks in the opposite direction, toward the lake.
It's going to be a long day.
The crowd of students at the pitch are making so much noise just twenty minutes later that they're a dull roar, one which can be heard even under a particular tree next to the lake — which is where Sirius is sitting. The announcer's magically magnified voice will reach him loud and clear. As it should, since that's why he chose this particular spot rather than squirreling himself away somewhere in the castle, where he'd have no idea regarding the game's progress.
The game starts basically like every other game since their second year, with Sirius paying more attention to James's name than any other — so of course he catches it when the announcer notes, somewhat amusedly, "Gryffindor captain Potter seems to be confused — the way he's gaping around the pitch certainly makes it look like he doesn't know where he is! I hope he remembers how to play, folks!"
Sirius can't stop himself flinching, visibly if there were anyone to see it.
"And they're off! Slytherin's Hardigan with the Quaffle to start. Potter still looks confused.— Hardigan passes down the field to Parkes, but— what? The Quaffle is intercepted by Potter, and people, that is not the flying of a confused man! Look at him go!"
If the rest of the game is going to go this way, Sirius reflects sourly, then clearly someone, somewhere, in some position of authority must really hate him.
"Potter scores!! Two minutes in, and Potter's made the first goal of the match!"
Make that a very long day, Sirius grouses to himself.
Four hours later, his prediction is proving depressingly accurate.
"This is unbelievable, folks. Potter has just been all over the Quaffle today, I don't think it's left his possession for more than five minutes at once, not even his teammates have had it for very lo— And now Potter is approaching the Slytherin hoops again, will he— I DON'T BELIEVE IT, HE'S SCORED AGAIN! 120-0, GRYFFINDOR!"
The roar of the crowd is practically deafening, even from where Sirius sits.
"The energy from him this match is just staggering…" the announcer continues, getting steadily more awed, even though he'd passed the point of credulity about forty-eight minutes ago by Sirius's count. "… and he's got the Quaffle again, ladies and gentlemen. This is just… astonishing!"
Leaning his head back against the tree, Sirius curses the fifth year Hufflepuff doing the announcing this match for his enthusiasm, and silent roots James on through five more goals, and about eight collisions with Bludgers and opposing players, before someone spots the Snitch. He doesn't really pay attention to which team catches it, but it doesn't really matter anyway, because—
"AND THEY'VE DONE IT! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
Sirius, imagining the smiling, whooping spectacle James must be putting on at the moment, ready to celebrate with anyone who'll come close enough to share his enthusiasm, tells himself that he's glad to be sitting here by the lake, instead of standing out on the field with his housemates. How could he take that?
This is a good thing, Sirius thinks, bitterly, trying to convince himself that he isn't desperate to stand up, run to the pitch, pretend he'd been there the whole time and embrace the triumphant James. This must be a good thing. If I were there I would ruin this, ruin us, ruin everything. I can't let him see— I can't give in to this— it is better this way. This must be a good thing.
"I've never seen a performance like that in my life!! That show Potter put on today — every single goal — by Merlin, if he doesn't play for England someday, I'll eat my bloody hat! And everyone else's too!"
"So will a lot of people," Sirius murmurs dryly, welling with half-reluctant pride for his best friend.
Sirius can picture the likely scene at the pitch so vividly that it almost hurts, and he can't get it out of his head. There's obviously cheering, and yelling, and there must be smiles and palpable joy — and James, windblown and ruddy, is probably beaming and hugging everyone in sight, looking so delicious that Sirius is half-convinced it should be criminal. Just like James looks after every game. Just like he looked after his last game, when Sirius came within inches of grabbing him and snogging him breathless… and realised he couldn't keep subjecting himself to that and stay safe.
The memory of that image, and the realisation that came with it, makes Sirius's chest ache.
So he sits far away, where he can resist temptation, until the sound of cheering retreats into the castle then fades entirely, and it starts to get dark out.
Then he goes for a run around the edges of the Forbidden Forest. A nice, long, hard run, so that it's good and late before he heads back up to Gryffindor Tower.
The common room looks empty when Sirius cautiously slips through the portrait hole. Feeling relieved, yet inexplicably let down, he moves toward the boys' staircase, not sure whether he's hoping or fearing that his dorm mates will all be asleep already.
He doesn't even make it halfway there.
"So, what was it?" demands a voice from the shadows, near the fire. Recognising it immediately, Sirius stops and turns, his heart speeding up and sinking a little at the same time.
James is slouched over in an armchair, his arms crossed, staring hard at Sirius. One of his eyes is blackening, there are a few bruises scattered across his skin where it's exposed on his arm and neck and there are probably quite a few more on the rest of his body — minor injuries from the game that he apparently didn't see the need to have Madam Pomfrey heal.
They make Sirius feel like a toerag.
"What was what?" asks Sirius, knowing James is about to ask his reason for not attending the match, and not sure what he's going to say in response.
James raises an eyebrow. "The emergency." He pauses. "Since you weren't at the game." Another, longer pause, while Sirius tries to think what the hell he can say to that. "There was an emergency, wasn't there?"
Sirius considers being evasive — he's good at that — but eventually decides that it's James so he can't.
It's James.
"No, there wasn't," he mumbles.
Abruptly looking incensed, James snarls, "Right, well, you just missed the best game of my entire life. Thanks for that."
Sirius flinches as if he's been struck, but he doesn't say anything.
"And," adds James, getting to his feet, "you also missed the House party."
Unable to continue looking at him, Sirius averts his eyes and stares instead at the fireplace. "I'm sorry," he says, still a mumble.
"Sorry? You're sorry?" James demands. He sounds so furious that Sirius wants to sink into the floor. Glaring, James advances a few steps. "Fucking hell, Padfoot, is that all you've got to say for yourself?"
"I'll never do it again?" he offers. His voice, by some miracle for which he thanks Merlin, is quite steady.
"There's never going to be an 'again'!" snaps James. "This was our last game, Sirius! My last game!"
"I know!" Sirius realises he's raised his voice and, swallowing, lowers it again. "James, I have no excuse. I just— I— Look, I'll make it up to you, I promise."
James keeps scowling. "How?"
"I don't know," sighs Sirius, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "But I will."
James hesitates, obviously wanting to remain angry, but not being able to sustain it while faced with a weary, regretful Sirius. He clears his throat.
"Do you have any idea how it felt?" he asks, his voice low. "Not seeing you in the stands?"
Sirius winces. "I was hoping you wouldn't look."
"Yeah, well, I did." A pause. "I always do."
"I'm sorry," mumbles Sirius wretchedly.
Ignoring him, James takes a step forward. "Do you know how that felt?"
Sirius shakes his head. "No. I can imagine, though. It's… probably not a nice feeling."
"No," James agrees. "It's not."
There's a moment of silence.
"Do not ever make me feel like that again, Sirius," James eventually announces coldly.
I would make you feel worse if I told you the truth, Sirius thinks, and nods solemnly. "I won't, I swear."
James gives him a cool stare for a long time, before he nods. "Good," he is all he says, and that's that.
Too good to you, Sirius's brain screams at him, but all he does is smile sheepishly at James.
"You look like hell," James announces, after another moment of silence. "You've been running in the Forest, haven't you?"
Sirius nods, his smile fading but not disappearing. "I know we shouldn't be doing it by ourselves, but—"
James sighs, a look on his face exactly like his mother's when he and Sirius have done something foolish that they've been warned about but which didn't actually hurt them this time. "Get up to bed before I punch you for being stupid."
Foot on the bottom stair before he finishes speaking, Sirius pauses, looking over his shoulder at the unmoving James. "You coming?" he asks softly.
James heaves another sigh, a tired one this time, and runs a hand through his hair. "I'll be along soon. I'm just gonna sit by the fire for a bit longer."
"You sure?"
"Go on, Padfoot."
Sirius goes.