-1A/N: Before we begin, this little ditty is set the very night Sirius decides to flee the nest, as it were. R&R as always.
James Potter sat alone in the family house. Godric's Hollow had never been a very captivating village, least of all at night, at it seemed residents delighted in nothing more than to flee its boundaries at every available opportunity. Mr. Potter had taken his wife to a Ministry dinner, to which his son was strictly not invited, partly due to the fact trouble tended to find him in even the most obscure of places, and partly because he would be bored to tears listening to the likes of Orion Black outlining his ideas for the department in coming months. James felt the latter was more a dramatised excuse than a reason, intended only to soften the harsh blow of the former somewhat, and in any case he didn't want to go to their stupid dinner, did he? He'd far rather spend the next few hours by himself, staring blindly out of the kitchen window into a passing storm with a look on his face that clearly said he couldn't care less if his parents wanted him or not. He wasn't entirely sure who such a look was supposed to benefit, for no one was around but the house-elf, and his brow was beginning to ache from being quite so furrowed; but he knew the second he let it slip, his father would return and be under the false impression he was somehow forgiven.
Rain beat down heavily on the old stated tiles of the roof, the occasional drop managing to bury itself in the loft through the hole Mr. Potter never quite got around to fixing, even with magic on his side. Three floors below, James now sat with a mug of hot cocoa, having permitted himself a break from the stand long enough to boil the kettle. It was around this time; in fact, just as the clock was striking out the hour of ten, that he first saw the strange blob drifting around between flashes of lightning. Said blob, upon closer inspection, didn't seem human nor animal, but a queer cross of both, crouched against the water and stumbling over tufts of uncut grass as if its feet were not connected to its legs. James, who had now not taken a sip from his mug in a while, removed his glasses and cleaned them, in case this travelling apparition was merely a spec of dirt upon his lens. When, on replacing the spectacles, the blob still remained and was now much closer, the youngest Potter squinted into the darkness. All at once, while he observed, the shape shuddered, fell into the wet lawn, then stopped moving all together. James was torn between leaving it be for fear it was something dangerous and rushing out to see if whatever it was was alright. Being the kind hearted, brave soul that he was, he decided fairly swiftly upon the second option, and fetched his overcoat from the hall before facing the frightful weather. Once outside, he found the intention futile, as he got just as wet just as quickly as he would have done without it; rain reaching places he didn't know were possible.
The shape was still not moving as he approached with the mildest of caution, and, as he neared, it made itself clear to indeed be human, and not only that, but that it was no older than himself. Finally, as he stood over the sprawled body, he made out a familiar mop of black hair and a pair of faded, holey jeans.
"P-Padfoot?" Bending down, shaking the wet hair from his eyes, he gently prodded at the body of his best friend. Thunder was now cracking overhead at regular intervals, the wind strong enough to carry his voice so even he had trouble hearing it. Sirius was dressed in nothing but an oversized jumper, now sodden, and James removed his own coat in an effort to keep him warm. Gently, he slid one hand under Black's head, the weight strangely calming as he pulled it across his lap.
"Wake up, Pads. Please wake up." Something like desperation had lined his wet skin along with the rain, the boy he called his brother walking on the plateau of mortality before his very eyes. Had he come here, to this house, to tell him something? Was he in trouble? James looked out into the darkness suddenly, seeing nothing to determine Sirius had been followed. He turned back to the fallen, adjusting himself to he could lay his mouth close to a cold ear. His lips brushed pimpled skin, slipping against raindrops while he was not embarrassed to let them stay there.
"Padfoot." He paused, before deciding for reasons he would not know or understand until much later to break the friendship and rebuild it elsewhere.
"Sirius." Below him, as his fingers snaked through hair and clothing, a pair of unfathomable grey eyes opened on his falling tears.
"I did it, James." His voice was breathless, one of his hands meeting Potter's against his own chest as relief brought them closer still.
"I'm free."