Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is property of JK Rowling. The title is taken from I Knew Prufrock Before He Was Famous by Frank Turner. No infringement intended.

The Only Thing That's Left To Do Is Live

A flurry of movement from the Forest caught his eye. Hundreds of birds covered the horizon, chased out of their treetops by some unheard, unseen entity. They weaved and dived as one, caught up in a mesmerizing dance and for the first time, James wished he had any sort of respect for clichés. He could see it so clearly in his mind's eye – Summoning his broom and speeding off towards them. They would scatter on his arrival and once again, the peace that he so desperately longed for would be snatched from him. He watched as they melted into a dull sort of grey that added another shadow to the sunset and continued to watch until their shadow was nothing more than a thin line that underlined the clouds.

There was nothing to distract him now from his thoughts and so fiercely, pathetically, he wrenched his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead there, determined to concentrate on the individual threads that made up his trousers. Determined to concentrate on not actually thinking anything of significance. It wasn't working tonight. He was getting so fucking good at this, too. James Potter, third in his year, and an expert on acting as though everything was just stellar. Joking with his friends in the Great Hall every morning whilst making paper aeroplanes out of the Prophet (he couldn't bear to cancel his subscription, but he could hardly bring himself to read the newspaper after that, could he?), casually pulling another string of Os out of the bag in his classes, and still finding time to Captain his Quidditch team. How was it he could do all of this in spite of all of that and yet here he was, unable to control his thoughts from wandering into a distinctly morbid direction.

Because those thoughts were creeping in. More and more often, he could feel them, edging their way to the forefront of his mind. And it was getting harder to bat them away. Even now, the threads of his trousers had somehow managed to remind him of those eyes that had glared at him in consternation during their last breakfast together.

He rubbed frantically at his hair.

'Fuck's sake.'

He scrunched his eyes together urgently and knocked his forehead against his knees, revelling in the slightly dazed feeling that swarmed his brain.

The shadows had closed in, carpeting the grounds and making him feel enclosed. He felt calmer now. Darkness hides a multitude of sins. And so, he let the first tear out. The dam burst. His shoulders heaved and his vision swam, and finally, finally, those eyes disappeared from his trousers but it wasn't enough. The pressure was building in his chest and he was too shitting terrified to let it out. He was seventeen. He shouldn't be crying like this. This sort of crying was reserved for children who were separated from their parents or for people much, much, much older than him who had lived through terrors and experienced pain and had nothing left to do but to let their grief howl its way through their bodies. He was seventeen.

The grass huffed in protest next to him. A gruff arm tugged his shoulders but James held firm. Sirius shuffled closer to him. They didn't say anything. What could they say? Sirius had never felt anything like this before. James was willing himself not to sob.

Somewhere a bird sang. Night had sneaked up on it and rather than surrender to the unfamiliar dark, it sang sweetly, defiantly. James closed his eyes. If he was thinking things like that, it was definitely time to stop indulging himself. He raised his head.

Sirius hadn't moved. His arm, now stiff and painful, still hugged James' shoulders, and seeing that James was back, he pulled James a bit closer to him in a comfortable squeeze.

'We've got to stop meeting like this, mate. People will talk.'

James snorted. 'How did you find me?'

His hands patted his trouser pocket and the Map rustled in response. Sirius didn't miss any of this. He laughed shortly.

'You're ridiculously predictable, Prongs,' was all he said.

They returned to silence again. Both of them tracked the progress of a bat over the pitch.

'Can I have my arm back?'

James smiled. It felt uncomfortable wearing one, and something remarkably like guilt churned in his stomach, but James Potter was an expert on acting as though everything was just stellar so he sighed heavily and said, 'I wouldn't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, Padfoot, my dear. I was raised to be a gentleman.'

Sirius clapped his shoulder as he reclaimed his numb arm. 'And I thank my stars for that every day.'

It was funny really. All day, James threw himself into activity, never stopping for a second and always wishing he could be alone. Every evening, he retreated to the space underneath the Quidditch stands and longed for someone to find him. It had to be Sirius, James thought. He was glad it was Sirius. He may not look like he'd be any good at sitting silently still for hours, but if you need a good brood, you'd find no better company than Sirius. Remus had those concerned eyes and Peter had that awkward sigh and even Dumbledore couldn't stop twinkling in an understanding way that made him feel completely patronised.

'I'm cold,' Sirius told him.

'Me, too.'

'And my arm's completely dead.'

'Sorry.'

'It's nothing a shot of Firewhiskey won't fix.'

James stood up slowly, taking time to stretch his legs and crack his knuckles.

'You've got a wonderful way with words, Padfoot,' he said sincerely.

Sirius stood too and turned back to the castle. They made their way out of the stands and back across the grass. The warm light that escaped from the many windows eventually illuminated their path and Sirius risked a glance at James.

His eyes were red and hard. His lips were tightened into a grimace but his walk was purposeful.

Sirius elbowed him lightly in the side.

'You ready?'

James laughed, coughed, rubbed his eyes. 'Not in any way.' He ducked his head. 'Come on.'

It was gone eleven so the corridors were clear. Miraculously they made it to the Portrait without coming across any prefects or professors. It probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. James was passed caring right now, and he wasn't sure if Sirius had ever really bothered to begin caring.

Of course their luck wouldn't hold out. Of course not, James snorted bitterly as the Portrait swung open and they climbed through to their Common Room. Because of course the Common Room would be crowded. It was a Thursday after all, and the weekend was in sight. And of course, the only person who would pay any attention to the fact that two people were only just returning to the Common Room at eleven o'clock at night was Evans.

'Oh for...' James sighed as she made her way over to them, her eyes confirming the time on her wristwatch.

'Just go, Prongs,' Sirius urged.

'Too-'

'Late!' Evans hissed. 'You're so unbelievably late. These rules aren't just in place to annoy you, you know. They aren't just some kind of irritating barrier between you and your pressing social lives. Have you got any idea what's going on outside the castle walls at this moment? Do you think you're protected from that?'

James closed his eyes. Sirius clenched his jaw. Evans brought her hands up to her mouth, closing it just a second too late.

'Yes, Evans. Believe it or not, I am fully aware of what's going on outside the castle walls at this moment. And no, Evans. I don't think I'm protected from that.'

James moved past her tiredly.

'Potter,' she floundered. It was oddly disconcerting, watching her struggle. So he didn't. He moved to the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories and began to climb.

'Potter, I-'

'Evans, I say this with all kindness and sweetness,' Sirius said in a pleasant voice. 'Fuck off, alright? Just... yeah. Just fuck off.'

'I'm so sorry, James. I can't believe I just... Merlin. I'm sorry.'

James walked backwards, back to her. He spoke before she broke in with a fresh round of apologies. 'No problem, Evans. Really. Sorry we're late.'

'You're sorry?' Sirius spluttered.

'Padfoot, don't we have an appointment with a shot glass?' He turned and walked back up the stairs, not bothering to see if Sirius followed. As he reached the first floor, he heard Evans groan and hiss, 'Christ, I'm such a dick.'

He laughed quietly and shook his head.

'I can't believe her sometimes.' Sirius was muttering somewhere behind him.

'Oh, come on, Padfoot. She didn't mean anything by it, did she? She never thinks before she speaks. She never bloody thinks.'

They reached their dorm and Sirius opened the door and ushered James inside.

Peter looked up from his position on the floor. Sirius looked infuriated, bemused, exhausted, sad. James just looked beyond it all. Looking from his friends to the glass in his hand, Peter shook his head. He held the glass up to Sirius and said with a heavy sigh. 'Christ, take it, Pad. You look like you need this more than I do.'

There was no hesitation in Sirius' movements as he grabbed the glass and tossed the contents back in a practiced manner.

Peter passed a glass and the bottle of Firewhiskey up to James who poured himself a healthy measure and knocked it back quickly with a relieved sigh.

Sirius slid down to sit next to Peter, his back leaning heavily on the bed behind him. Remus tugged the bottle out of James hand and poured four drinks. He distributed them and settled himself on his bed.

'To Charlus Potter,' he said in a clear, strong voice.

'Charlus,' they replied and all four glasses toasted the air.

James took a sip, lowered his glass and opened his mouth to speak. But then his eyes clouded over and his glass raised itself to his mouth and the whiskey was gone in a moment.

'Let's just get rat-arsed, alright?'

Remus passed him the bottle.

Edited 15th September 2011