Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Year Six: Broom Cupboards and Firewhisky

Sirius bit distractedly at the cuticles on his thumb, watching through glassy eyes as an owl soared away from the owlery and dove with purpose through the Forbidden Forest. Sirius lost sight of it the moment it curved behind a tree, and he went to staring at the clouds instead.

"Hey, mate," James greeted, shutting the dorm door behind him as he exited. He bounded down the steps and settled himself beside Sirius on the window bench, their knees knocking together as James got comfortable. "You ready for presents?"

James wasn't speaking to him in an overly chipper way, which Sirius was grateful for. Ever since the news about his brother had come out, Sirius drew himself away. He spent more time isolated now than he had in the aftermath of the Prank, speaking not even to Marlene, who he'd grown fond of over the previous months.

It'd been a week, and Sirius still hadn't turned Regulus in. He didn't know if he was ever going to.

The part of himself, the biggest part, the part that befriended James and left his own family behind, knew he should. Wanted to. He was a Gryffindor at heart, which meant being brave; he could save lives by ratting his brother out, and he'd be a hero.

But the other part of himself – small, fragile, and purposefully overlooked – the part that took Regulus's punishments for him so he wasn't hurt, knew he wouldn't. He couldn't let his little brother serve the rest of his life in Azkaban; not when he was only a child. Not when there was still hope for him.

"You can just tell me what you got me," Sirius drawled, gaze trailing a cloud which covered the sun.

"Don't you want to see for yourself?" James asked hopefully, a tight smile curving over his teeth. Sirius said nothing in response, so James just sighed, "Me and Peter got you clothes."

Sirius turned his head now, staring at James's long eyelashes; they brushed the glass of his circular frames with every patient blink. His eyes then travelled to the word Happy appropriately plastered across his forehead. James, however, wasn't looking at him anymore, either too worried or too frustrated to watch Sirius.

Despite Sirius's desperate need for comfort, he told no one of Regulus's crimes. James prodded at first, but when it'd become clear Sirius wasn't going to elaborate on the newspaper they read, James gave up. Sirius thought James probably figured it was Regulus who'd gotten those muggles killed, and if he hadn't at first, Sirius's moping would've been what clued him in. But James couldn't turn Regulus in over a hypothesis; so Sirius said nothing.

"I've got plenty of clothes, James," Sirius replied, curling his arms over his knees, almost hugging them. Sirius had on a bright red sweatshirt belonging to James, and the sight of it against his blue jeans made him feel queasy.

James rolled his eyes. "We got you clothes you like, idiot. You won't ever be forced to wear blue jeans again."

Sirius nodded, figuring as much, but feeling decidedly argumentative. "Right. Thanks."

James's cheeks went unexplainably pink. "Also, er, Remus..." he looked to the side uncomfortably. "Well, I don't think he was expecting to have to get you a gift..."

"I got it," Sirius said shortly.

He didn't want to celebrate his birthday. He didn't want to think of how Remus and him were still awkward around each other, and he most certainly didn't want to think about the fact that Remus hadn't gotten him a present. He wanted to be left alone.

James had other plans, however. Although Sirius was making his frustration known, James passed him a bottle enthusiastically. "Evans'll be turning up any minute," he'd said, before going to stand and camp out the portrait hole.