Warnings: James' obscene love for Quidditch, Sirius' sentimentality, girly conversations

Pairings: Lily/James, Remus/Sirius

Sometimes James thinks it borderline obscene how much Sirius likes to shop. Oh, James likes to shop too, alright. For manly things. Manly things like Quidditch brooms, and Quidditch Weekly, and Quidditch supplies. And on occasion, he also shops for a copy of Witches & Snitches, his favorite…gentleman's magazine. Not that he needs it often, mind; he does have Lily after all. But to James, it seems almost blasphemous not to monetarily support a company so deeply invested in sharing with the world two of his favorite things—Quidditch and tits.

So yes, he likes to shop. For manly things.

Sirius likes to shop for things like hair products, bath oils, and Muggle clothes. He claims it's because he cares about his appearance; James claims it's because he's an absolute girl. But Sirius is still his brother, so James tolerates it as best he can.

He may have reached his limit, however, as he walks back into Beauty by Belladonna to find Sirius trying to decide between three different kinds of conditioner—the same three kinds he was trying to choose between when James left him twenty minutes ago.

"Just fucking pick one," James whispers harshly, reaching out to just do it for him.

Sirius moves them out of James' grasp. "Just because you don't understand the finer points of conditioning," he begins, throwing a look at James' unruly hair, "doesn't mean that my hair should suffer because of it. It's a big commitment—buying a new bottle. And I would appreciate you not rushing me."

James rolls his eyes. Big commitment? Buying conditioner? Snatching one bottle from Sirius' arms and receiving a loud "Oi!" in response, he marches over to the till where a young witch—one wearing entirely too much in the way of cosmetics—is talking animatedly to her friend. She looks a little love struck at his approach, but James pays her no mind and instead places two sickles on the counter.

"Keep the change, love."

Taking a rather perturbed looking Sirius by the arm, he drags him through the door of the tiny shop all the while threatening Sirius with the Cruciatus if he doesn't hurry his errands up. His sanity wearing steadily thinner by the moment, James knows he's never going to make it through the afternoon without a headache. And especially not with the defiant glare Sirius is sending him.

"Would five more minutes have really killed you?"

"Yes," James grumbles, forcing the conditioner into Sirius' hands.

"Lavender?" Sirius exclaims, horrified. "You bought me the lavender scented one?"

"You were the one who had it in hand."

"Well yeah, but I wasn't seriously going to buy it. Now I'm going to smell like a bloody poof!"

"I've walked in on you with a cock up your arse, Padfoot. You are a 'bloody poof'."

"Doesn't mean I want to smell like one," Sirius mutters.

James starts towards the shops that sell various robes and other sorts of clothing, leaving Sirius to sulk where he stands if he doesn't want to come. James came to the Alley for a reason, invited Sirius along for a reason. This reason is Lily, or more precisely, their approaching one year anniversary, for which James needs a gift.

One year. It feels like only yesterday to James. It's still hard to believe that he finally snagged Lily Evans, that he got the girl. What's even more difficult to believe is that they get along smashingly—spending dinners laughing together, curling up and watching the telly at Lily's flat, having exceedingly satisfying bouts of sex. It's good to be James Potter.

And he wants Lily to know how spectacular she makes him feel, how brilliant she really is. That's where Sirius comes in—or should have come in—because Sirius knows how to impress someone with a gift. He plans these things out months at a time, devoting hours to finding that one special present. James has seen him in action and the results of his hard work. Sirius once made an ex-girlfriend cry she was so happy with his gift.

Sure, James knows that he should probably be the one to pick something out. It doesn't mean as much if it's all Sirius. But it's not all Sirius. He's contributing; he's the one making the final call. Sirius is simply…giving his opinion. Yes, that's right. And James has no reason to feel guilty for that.

"So where are we going next? Quality Quidditch?" Sirius asks, finally catching up to James. "New Nimbus model is due out next month. Preorders start today, and I intend on spending some of the good old inheritance on one."

"As do I. I can't forget about Lily's gift, though."

"And have you had any bright ideas since the singing cabbage, Casanova?"

"It wasn't a cabbage. My drawing was just a little…off."

Sirius laughs. "It was a fucking cabbage, Prongs."

"It's a rare flower—"

"—cabbage—"

"—that Turkish wizards used to present to their witches when proclaiming their love. It's very rich in romance and history and culture—"

"—'cept you're not Turkish, so it's not your history or culture—"

"And you're just jealous that you didn't come up with it! Moony would appreciate it. He would understand the symbolism."

"If I brought that bloody thing home to Moony, he'd ask what I was making for dinner."

James bottles up, momentarily fuming. He loves Sirius and his ability to torment and laugh. It's just a lot easier to appreciate when it isn't directed at him.

"So," James begins after a moment of tense silence, "do you have any ideas then, you uncultured sod?"

Sirius shrugs. "I have to stop by the jewelers in a bit. You might as well see if something strikes your fancy there. Not entirely unexpected—jewelry, but you may be able to find a piece that's really impressive."

"What are you going to the jeweler's for?"

"A ring."

"Don't you have enough jewelry as it is?" James asks, tugging at the chain dog-collar around Sirius' neck—the one with "R.J.L." inscribed on the tag—as if it make his point.

"Not for me. For Moony."

"But Moony doesn't wear jewelry."

Sirius stops abruptly, receiving a few disgruntled looks from passersby. James pauses as well, seeing the hesitance written all over his best mate's face, and wonders what's going on. It's not like Sirius to keep things from him, yet he has the distinct impression that that's exactly what's transpired.

"Padfoot?"

"I'm going to ask him to marry me, James."

He hears the words perfectly, but they don't sound like they should go together and certainly not when coming from Sirius. So, James runs them through his mind again. And again. And again. They still don't make sense, though.

In his confusion, James gives a sort of befuddled laugh. "What?"

Sirius is suddenly on the defensive—chin raised and eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare think that I can't commit to someone because of my family issues."

Fear pierces James, having been completely taken aback by Sirius' accusations. Immediately, he begins to backpedal for fear of incurring the Black temper. That's not at all what he meant. Hell, his mind hadn't even made it that far. It was just a stupid laugh, but James realizes that Sirius is already insecure enough as it is without him doing unintended, insensitive bullshit.

"Sorry, I… That's not what I meant by it. Honest, Sirius. It's just you can't—"

"Don't fucking think I don't know that," he mutters, bumping shoulders violently with James as he walks past. "Pillock."

James hears the pain in Sirius' tone, which he immediately hates himself for being responsible for. He knew Sirius had it bad for Remus—had known it for years—but James was completely unaware that it had gotten to this point. Perhaps it's a testament to what happens when two best mates don't live together any longer, or perhaps it's a testament to his utter lack of keen observation skills. It might be a mixture of both. Who knows.

What he does know is that it's strange to think of Sirius wanting to commit to someone so wholeheartedly. Sirius can't commit to a bottle of sodding conditioner without thinking it over for half an hour. And in the past, Sirius had always gotten out of relationships that were getting too serious too fast. Perpetual bachelorhood just seems to suit him, and James was never aware that he wanted anything more than that.

Maybe he should have been aware; maybe James should have seen it coming. Sirius never had a family to amount to anything. Isn't it only natural that he would want to make that for himself someday? Sure, James always imagined that if Sirius had settled down, it would have been with some nice, pretty witch. There would have been cousins for James' children to play with. A big house with a big backyard. Probably a makeshift Quidditch pitch somewhere.

But the point is, James never imagined Sirius wanting that life—the house, the sprogs, the dog—with a bloke. And especially not with Moony. It's still a sometimes foreign concept—Sirius and Moony. It shouldn't be, not after as many times as he's walked in on them. James feels guilt for that too. He's not disgusted or even unsupportive. He just didn't…know.

"I'm an arse," James announces as he reaches Sirius' side.

Sirius doesn't even bother to look at him, mouth drawn in a firm line. "Could have told you that. Saved you the breath."

"How long have you known?"

"That you're an arse? Since we were twelve."

"Not that. Remus. When did you figure out that he's, you know, The One?"

"Summer after sixth year," he answers solemnly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denims. "When all that shite blew up in our faces. It's funny how you never know it's happened when things are going good. No, it's always smack dab in the middle of a…I dunno…fucking Dementor's kiss or something. You just wake up one morning and realize, 'fucking hell, so that's why I can't fucking eat anymore, or sleep, or look my soddin' reflection in the eye'."

Oh, James should have known. Summer after sixth year. Summer after The Prank. Summer of Sirius' engagement. Summer of Remus' silence. If he's honest with himself, that was the summer when James thought that the Brotherhood of the Marauders was over. He always wondered when and if it would happen, always suspected that if it did, it would be because of some chit. James never suspected their Yoko Ono would come from within the Brotherhood itself, though.

But it makes sense. Absolute sense. Because that's when Sirius really left his family, when his family finally abandoned him. Sirius hated being a Black, but he never hated the money or entitlement that went with it—not that James could blame him. To give all that up, to tell his mother and father to shove their name up their arse—it would have taken something huge to move Sirius to that. Something huge like falling in love with a werewolf.

"'Course, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know from experience," Sirius adds.

"Pardon?"

"Red," he clarifies, his tone so easily tacking on the obviously at the end. "Unrequited love and all that. You've loved the bird for years."

"No, I… It's not like that. I don't… Love is a really strong word, you know. I'm not sure I see a white picket fence and pudgy babies in the offing with her." James looks at him hesitantly. "Is that…normal? Not seeing the fences and stuff, I mean."

"Sod the picket fences. The sprogs are another thing." Sirius pauses, reflectively. "I bet Remus would make brilliant babies. Did you know he had ginger hair when he was little? Think of it: a little, ginger haired Moony."

James shakes his head and thinks about saying something akin to, "no, and I didn't know you were ovulating either," but bites his tongue; he does owe Sirius for saying those stupid things earlier. But Sirius' apparent desire to bear Moony's babies aside, James wonders if there isn't something wrong with him. Because Sirius is right: he had once gone around spouting his love for Lily to anyone who was willing to listen (and even to some who weren't). What had changed?

Well, so much had changed, he guesses. They're not children anymore; they're not safe. This is the real world now, and somehow that factors in incredibly when he considers his feelings for Lily. Does he love her? Will he ever L-O-V-E her? Or, are they destined to dates and snogs forever without taking things further? Does he want to take things further?

Love is bloody confusing.

"What is it about him?"

James asks because he wants to know if Sirius can give him any insights into what it is about her. He watches as Sirius bites his lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. He fails though, and thinking about his answer, Sirius' face lights up.

"There's nothing in the world like him. Nothing."

As James begins to open his mouth, Sirius cuts him off.

"He doesn't want me for my money, James. Or for the prestige of my name. That makes him different from anyone else I've ever fucking met. In fact, I think he hates that I'm not a little more average. And do you know what that feels like? To be treated like a bloody human being for once? To be yelled at by your boyfriend because you're being a prat and fucking deserve it?"

"So you like to be put in your place?"

"No, I… I like that he's willing to put me in my place." Sirius gives him a look. "You have to know what I mean. Don't think for a second that you fancied Red for as long as you have because she is sweet tempered. You like her because she stands up to you."

As James thinks about it, there is some truth to Sirius' words. The Potter name, to most people, brings to mind wealth and power. It's not so different as the Black name, in that sense, though it isn't so tightly associated with the Dark Arts. And girls… well, they had sought him out because of it. But Lily didn't. Lily saw him every time their eyes met—not his name, or his Galleons. She didn't know about his past or his family; she's Muggle-born, after all. And even when she did learn about his family, all she saw was privilege—an attribute she saw no merit in.

Maybe that's what drew him to her, what made her so special. She made him feel special first, despite the fact that it hadn't been her intention.

"I guess I do get it."

Sirius nods, stopping in front of the entrance to Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Don't take her for granted. You won't find anything like her ever again."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" He sighs. "I'm saying that we're living in the middle of a war. People are dying every day, so don't miss your chance to let her know what she is to you. It doesn't have to be love or picket fences or sprogs. Just...if you died tomorrow, wouldn't you want her to know that she made a difference in you?

"Look, I know it sounds sappy, but I love Remus. He saved my life in a way. Yeah, we can't have a big, gay wedding. No, we'll never be recognized as each other's spouse in the eyes of the Ministry. It's a load of bullshite, but it's the way it is. I owe it to him to ask him anyway, though. So I'm going to at the right moment. And when I do, I expect a big party for me and your brother-in-law, you lazy git."

Sirius gives him a hard clap on the shoulder and walks into Quality Quidditch Supplies. James is left standing there, struck deeply by Sirius' words. He didn't know Sirius could be so sentimental, so right when it came to matters of the heart. Probably because he has a notorious track record of fucking things up right and proper when it comes to love.

He hadn't fucked this up though. And maybe when Sirius went to the jeweler's James would go with him. Maybe he would look at rings. Maybe he would buy one for Lily. A ruby on a gold band—Gryffindors forever. And red like her hair. And fiery like her personality.

Maybe it isn't L-O-V-E.

But maybe it is.

And if it is, he'll have the ring.

You know, just in case.