Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Year Six: Loose Jeans

Sirius could feel James's eyes boring into the side of his head, but he ignored them in favour of smoothing his hair down close to his head. Akin to a nervous tick, he would then fluff his hair back up, and repeat the process over again.

"Is it your parents?" James whispered into his ear, his left hand grabbing the material of Sirius's jacket as though afraid he'd run away into the sea of wizards and witches.

"No," Sirius replied, tugging away from him and shoving his hands into the large pockets of his jeans, which fell loose on his hips even with the aid of a belt.

Rather, they were James's jeans — despite Mr. Potter's letter to Walburga, he was sent none of his old belongings, clothes included, and was forced into James's ill-fitting wardrobe for the time being. Thankfully, James's parents had been kind enough to buy him his own boxers, but it'd come close.

"It's not Remus, is it?" James questioned, his voice sounding far more worried now than before. Sirius only scowled, turning away and giving James far more of an answer than he'd wanted to.

Now the eyes on the side of his head turned sympathetic, and Sirius wanted to throw something.

He didn't want a trunk full of James's graphic tees, the ironic text reading awkwardly when Sirius wore it. He didn't want everything he owned, albeit mostly unimportant, discarded by his parents. And he sure as hell didn't want to enter his sixth year with his best friend, (who'd recently become something more to Sirius,) hating him.

"You're gonna have to face him eventually."

Sirius's scowl deepened, and he thought he might've looked somewhat like his brother. "That's really fuckin' helpful, thanks"

James's face in response made Sirius feel as though he should apologise, but he ignored the nagging sensation in his gut. He was allowed to be bloody pissed, if not for the shitty situation with his parents, then for the shitty situation with Remus.

"Look, can we just not talk about it? We can cross that bridge when we come to it." Sirius trailed off, kicking his foot against the platform floor.

James laughed sardonically. "Sure, but I don't think you'll have as long as you think."

Sirius lifted his head in confusion, eyes following James's gaze across the station to Remus, where he stood mumbling idly to his father.

James turned to him in a flash, as if he was worried Sirius had gone rigid or turned white, but neither thing happened.

Instead, Sirius's gaze was caught on the deep, tawny bruises under his eyes. The bridge of his nose occupied a sweeping cut across the width of it; as though he'd been punched and the bruising bled out to his eyes.

"Sirius?" James said, because apparently his staring was no more reassuring to James than if he'd gone cold, and Sirius shook out of his trance in an instant.

"It's fine. Sorry," he mumbled, eyes falling back on him without his permission.

James just hummed, an interested sound leaving him as he watched Remus and Mr. Lupin. "What do you think they're talking about?"

Mr. Lupin had brought a hand to the top of Remus's hair, and he was whispering something intensely at Remus's forehead.

Remus, for all it was worth, looked like he was a second away from bringing his fist to his dad's face and giving him a matching set of bruises.

"I dunno," Sirius said slowly, and it wasn't until Lyall finally stepped back and gave his son a wordless nod goodbye, that Sirius wished he hadn't been watching them so pointedly.