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He and James are friends. Sirius knew this always – even when they bickered and fought in first year, James calling him a prat and a snob, him calling James a pleb; they were pals. Mates. And yet, Sirius has never had this relationship with someone before. He and Pete are friends, yes, and so are he and Remus – but James is, has always been, a different kettle of fish entirely.
Sirius twigged this difference early on. They were friends always, but not brothers. In all honesty, in first and second year Sirius was James’ friend, but also the first to admit he was a bit of a twat. It takes one to know one, after all. Crude, lazy, arrogant; sometimes downright spiteful – James was your standard twelve year old who’d had a few too many hugs from mummy dearest, if his lavish weekly care package was anything to go by. Sirius loved him, but almost ironically, in the way that one loves the one-eyed cat that bites and scratches; they were used to one another, in an affectionate sort of way, and Sirius was a twat also, so it balanced out.
In third year, true to form, they soon grew bored with Remus’ excuses every month. Bored, then interested, then nosy. Every time Remus left the dormitory – invariably white and flashing harried, trembling grins as he dashed out the door with his suitcase – Sirius would ask the dormitory at large, “Do you think Lupin is up to something?” and Peter and James would either shrug, or theorize. Mostly nothing came of it, until by some twist of fate, James happened to be reading when this ritual occurred.
James watched a werewolf mercilessly claw the shit out of Martin Miggs, Mad Muggle, and snorted. “Maybe he’s a werewolf.” Sirius and Peter laughed, and Peter set himself on fire, which distracted everyone suitably, but Sirius’ interest was piqued. He started to take a little more notice of Remus’ activities every month; he wrote down the dates; he “surreptitiously” (read: in a disturbing and confusing fashion) questioned Remus about his mother at every opportunity. He even – heaven forbid – made a visit to the library. A brief one. Four months after suggesting it, mortified, he ran to find James, a large book in hand. He burst into the dormitory to find James alone, and all but bowled him over, flapping the book’s pages.
“He’s a werewolf!” He gasped. James pushed him away.
“What? Who is?”
“Remus!”
“Don’t be daft.”
“He is!” Sirius tried (and failed) to breathe more slowly. “Hear me out. He’s gone every month, he’s always tired and pale when he comes back, and whenever he goes, it’s the full moon! Lupin’s a monster!”
James looked at him and Sirius quietened, the book dangling. He expected the usual – a joke, a plan, a way to use this for their own gain. James frowned. “Do you think there’s a cure?”
Sirius let the book hang in his slackened grip. “I dunno. I don’t think so.”
James nodded, face drawn deeper. He looked at a spot past Sirius’ ear fixedly. “Do you think we could find one?”
“I dunno.”
“Well. We have to try. Don’t we?”
Sirius stared at him, mystified by his response; by the worry and anguish in his voice. He felt, for the first time, like James was a person, rather than the savage he’d previously thought. He breathed in. “Well, if you think so.” And like that, in a strange way, they were brothers first. They were brothers second a long time after.
***
The baby fast arriving, James, Remus and Sirius sat at the former’s dining table, reminiscing. It had only been a little over a year since they’d left Hogwarts, but already it seemed eons ago. After a brief silence, James started to look purposefully at them – or rather, at Remus, as Sirius was beside him.
“Lads, I just want you to know that I’m alright about you two – not having kids.” Met with silence, he forged on. “I mean, you can borrow mine and Lily’s any time. If you feel like it, I mean.”
Sirius laughed, misjudging his tone. “No need to write us off quite yet, Prongs,” he glanced uncomfortably at Remus, who wouldn’t meet his eye. “We’re only twenty!” Remus said nothing, turned towards James.
“I’m not writing you off.” James said carefully, looking at Remus still, his hands folded on the table but moving with one another. “I’m just making sure you understand.”
Sirius looked between them, baffled. Remus coughed gently, nodded at James. “Have you thought of a name, yet? If we borrow it, we can’t be calling it ‘baby’, still.”
“Harriett.” James’ eyes crinkled behind his glasses as he smiled. “Lily says it feels like a girl, and I agree. She’ll be Harriett.”
***
Later, Sirius folded his arms around himself, cold in the air, having forgotten his coat. He nudged Remus with his shoulder. “what was that about? Borrowing the baby? Why were you being so weird?” Remus chuckled.
“Not one for subtleties, are we?” He kissed Sirius quickly, but not before checking for observers. Sirius grinned at him nonetheless and walked closer to him, so their sides touched. “He meant that he’s alright with this.”
“With what?”
“With –“ Remus gestured. “You and me. You know Prongs; it’s hard for him to be candid when it’s something serious. To be honest, I’m pleasantly surprised he was so supportive.”
Sirius, finally understanding, shrugged and put his hand briefly in Remus’, pulling it into the large pocket of Remus’ overcoat. The air was cold when they walked, their breaths in clouds, everything blue-filtered and lit by orange streetlight. “I’m not. Not really.” And he told Remus the story of how they became brothers. And he thought how James was still a twat sometimes, but the kind of twat Sirius wished, every day, he could be.