Hey guys! I don't own Harry Potter, yah? So fugehtabout suing me. Anyway, here's a little Sirius/James. Slash, so don't read it if that offends you (but nothing explicit here). Here's the fic; hope you enjoy!

Thirty-seven seconds: that was how long it took Sirius Black to decide that James Potter was going to be his friend.

Not that he knew who James actually was at the time. He was simply the short, skinny boy who was hanging his head out of the window in an otherwise empty compartment on the train and screaming.

Sirius stood in the doorway and watched for a few seconds before walking over and sticking his head out the window right beside the other boy. It was a little tight, but he fit—just.

Sirius tapped the other boy on the shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, yelling to be heard over the thundering train.

"I don't know!" the boy yelled back, his black hair flapping forward and hitting Sirius' eye. "Who're you?"

"Sirius Black!" Sirius screamed in return, beginning to feel a bit ridiculous. He wrenched his hand out the window into the space between them, and the other boy did the same.

The other boy stared at his hand for a moment, confused, then smiled and managed to tug his own arm into the open air. "James Potter!" he yelled, and they shook hands, ignoring the bits of sediment that pricked their bare wrists. Sirius gave a delighted bark of laugher and tilted his head back. When he opened his eyes, James was watching him curiously.

"Wanna go back in?" he called. Sirius nodded, and tried to pull back. He was stuck.

He wriggled backwards, tucking one of his feet around his trunk; which was still on the floor, and trying to use that for traction. His shoe slipped off.

"I can't get in!" Sirius yelled.

James raised his eyebrows. "I'm shorter," he said. "Let me try." James braced himself against the outside of the train with the arm he had brought out to shake Sirius' hand, and began to push himself backwards. Sirius, wanting to help, used his hand to push backwards against' James' chest. All that happened was that both of them turned an alarming situation of reddish-purple.

Sirius was suddenly struck by the humor of the situation. He collapsed sideways laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks. James watched him dubiously for a few seconds before giving in and laughing as well.

Professor McGonagall found them fifteen minutes before the train left back for London: two sets of legs and two arms hanging out the back of the window.

And, as she always insisted to the staff, they were arm wrestling at the time.


Fraying black fabric that let light in around the edges: that's what Sirius Black looked at while he waited for the Sorting Hat to announce to his cousins, and the teachers, and James, and the rest of the hall that he was a Gryffindor.

The walk from the front of the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table was long. He felt his cousins' disappointed eyes on his back, but James Potter waved to him as he sat down at the end of the table.

The chair he sat in creaked when he knocked it with his shoes, but Sirius didn't notice. He watched as the hall watched him; the little Black boy, preceded by his reputation but utterly defying it. The second-year Sirius was sitting next to scooted away.

James Potter was watching Sirius, too. But all he did was smile.


Dirt encrusted shoes and glasses left on the floor: that was what Sirius thought of James by third year.

Sirius decided that thirteen must be when life began. He stayed with the Potters that summer, and he and James were allowed to go to Diagon Alley on their own. They snuck into Knockturn Alley and came out of a shop screaming. Sirius had lost his shoes and the feel of warm cobblestones under his bare feet was enough to turn the adrenaline in his veins to joy.

When they were done shopping, they walked. James dangled his shoes by one hand from the shoelaces, and carried some of his books in the other. Sirius, who had managed to get sopping wet in the Apothecary, tugged a wheelbarrow full of everything else behind them. They walked and kept walking. The ground was rough under their feet, but their soles were callused and tough, and they were thirteen (it was enough).

They found something that might have been a dirt path or might have just been a patch of thinning grass. Whatever it was, Sirius wanted to explore, so they left their wheelbarrow and books a few feet away from the road and began to make their way down the path. There wasn't room for two, but they didn't want to go single file; so they were pressed together as they tromped together down the narrow path. Sirius felt James' arm against his bare skin and couldn't decide if he was drowning or flying.

They were friends, and they were happy.

The path led to a pond. They rolled up their jeans and threw off their shirts and dove in. The water was cool and their skin as warm and Sirius thought he could slip out of his body and become part of the water.

They burnt in the sun, brown and pink and itchy in their skin. They sprawled out beneath an oak tree. Sirius had his back to the trunk, and James had his head on Sirius' knees and his hand on Sirius' feet. Sirius smiled and lazily tugged at James' hair.

James was his best friend.


Bright blues and greens and ridiculously alive: that's what kind of day it was when Sirius left his family.

He took the Knight Bus with his last few sickles. He hadn't had time to pack a trunk or even grab his broom, but he had money left over in his robes, and his wand in his pocket.

When Sirius finally made it to the Potter's doorstep, they weren't home. He sat on their stoop with his head in his hands and pictured his brother's face in the window, watching him make his way away from home and wondering what would become of anything.

He heard James before he saw him. He was racing two other boys down the street, broomsticks in hand, shouting insults. "Come on, you wankers, you can do better than that!" James' voice was loud and deeper than it used to be (he was still James).

He saw Sirius and grinned and ran even faster. He was up the stairs and tugging Sirius to his feet before the other two had even reached the house.

James hugged Sirius delightedly. "Sirius!" he yelped happily. "This is Laurence and Theodore Abbot. They live a few blocks down.

Sirius nodded quietly, and James looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Can I stay?" Sirius asked. "I left home."

James stared at him for a minute more, and then tugged him into the house without another word. The house was cool, and Sirius sighed with relief. James led him to the couch and pushed him down onto, sitting beside him. "What happened?"

Sirius shrugged and stared at his feet. "I want to tell you," he said. "But…later. I just want to get some sleep now, if that's okay."

James face was white. "Yeah," he said. "You can have my bed."

Sirius was tired, and James hand was on his shoulder as he walked. He leaned into it, maybe a bit more than he needed to. But he did need to feel that hand on his shoulder. He needed someone, and he wanted James.

James sat on the edge of his bed after Sirius had gotten into it. "Thanks, James," Sirius said quietly, closing his eyes.

James smoothed Sirius' hair back from his face. "You don't need them," James said, wanting to help and not quite sure how. "You've got me. I'll…I'll be your family now."

Sirius smiled sleepily and leaned into James' touch. "You always have been."

James was not quite sure what he was doing as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sirius' forehead before he left the room.

He did know that he loved him, though.


Cranberry sauce and turkey and just a bit more Firewhiskey than strictly proper: that was what Sirius tasted when James kissed him after the Christmas feast in sixth year.

It wasn't the way Sirius usually kissed, demanding and impatient, and it wasn't the way he imagined James usually kissed, either. Just soft, pressing lips, hesitant and wondering and giving.

James pulled back and his eyes were bright but his face was scared. His chin was trembling.

Sirius knew that he could stop this now. He knew he could laugh it off, treat it as a joke, and James would go along with it. Maybe even start believing it, in the end. He knew their friendship would continue the same; because they were Sirius and James, and a kiss wouldn't stop them. He knows it won't hurt.

Instead, he touches James' trembling chin with his own (shaking) hand. He cups his face and says aloud, "I'm not scared." Like he has to prove it to someone (maybe he does). So he kisses James, because he wants to be closer, and he wants to be everything to James (he already is).

And he feels the beginning of a tear in himself.

It's going to hurt when he breaks.


A square peg in a round hole: that's Sirius Black.

It doesn't fit.

"We can't do this, Sirius," James whispers into his neck.

They're Sirius and James.

They can do anything.


Red hair and green eyes: that's what Sirius remembered every time James came to him.

"You're married," he would say sometimes, his lines in a fight they'd fought too many times.

"I don't love her," James said. "I haven't touched her since she got pregnant."

Sirius turned away. "That's not it," he said. "Lily."

James kissed the soft spot behind his ear. "I love you," he whispered.

Sirius was not going to cry. He wasn't some stupid pansy-girl.

"I'll leave her," James promised. "Once this is all over. Once things calm down. Once it's safe. I'll be yours forever."

Sirius wasn't sure he believed him. But he wanted to.

James kissed his mouth, and Sirius smiled.


Thirty-seven seconds: that's how long Sirius was at Godric's Hollow before he saw the crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs.

He didn't look at it. It couldn't be important. It was probably just a cloak that had been thrown by the Potters in their hurry to leave.

It wasn't there. It couldn't be.

Finally, after five minutes of standing without breathing, he moved to the cloak and lifted it back.

It was James.

His glasses had fallen off. Sirius carefully put them back on him after rubbing the soot stains away.

And then he broke.


Ironic: that's the only thing this can possibly be.

Sirius doesn't want to be alive at all, and he doesn't deserve to be. He is completely and terribly alive, and he can't stop himself from breathing.

He used to love irony, but that all slips past him as he weeps in the corner of his cell.


Warm: that's what it's like to finally be dead.

"I waited," James says. "What took you so long?"

Sirius shakes his head and is embraced by James Potter.

"I still love you," he says, like a warning.

"Me too," James says, grinning like a hyena. "That's why I'm here.


Here I offer up my standard bribe of chocolate. You will recieve the finest chocolate imaginable if you review. What do you have to lose? Besides, you made it this far; might as well take a few more seconds and share your thoughts.