What Friends are For

"A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down."

It was one of those summer days that usually saw them high upon their brooms and in the midst of an exceedingly energetic game of Qudditch, a game that more often than not involved too many fouls to count and even fouler language (they were each keen to profess their own excellence and the others ineptitude at the beloved sport). They would finish hours later sweaty and still good-naturedly arguing about who had committed the most fouls (Sirius, of course) and then they would lounge around (no doubt being loud and annoying to other occupants of the house) and try to hide the bottle of Ogdens they had managed to sneak from his father's office…but despite the fact that the weather was perfect for Qudditch (not too much sun, just the right amount of wind) they were, for once, not up in the air.

In fact, the two boys, James Potter and Sirius Black, inseparable since the day they had shared a train compartment, were for once, neither laughing nor talking to each other; it could be called a product of growing up but it could also be seen (and probably was) merely the after effects of a betrayal of friendship, forgiveness, and a sick Black family. Whatever it was, it formed the reason for James Potter trudging through the dense mass of trees behind his house, his eyes uncharacteristically fixed downwards and his shoulders slumped (Lily Evans would have been shocked into silence) whilst Sirius Black sat crouched in a cave (more than likely highly inebriated).

This was not them; this was not the Sirius Black and James Potter that everyone knew, not the James Potter and Sirius Black they themselves knew- those two boys would have been flying high in the sky making the most of the rare British sun…But they had fought, fought more times in the past month than in the past five years altogether and well, it had led to this.

James still fighting his way through trees went over the latest of these arguments. It had not been nice and it also had not been his fault; he was resolute in that belief. Sirius should have come to him, Sirius should have knocked at his door at twelve, or two or four in the bloody morning and told him what had happened- he should have known James would not question or judge, he should have known that he would be welcomed…but he had chosen the cave and he had had the damn nerve to think James would not figure it out, would not turn up demanding just what the hell he was doing…

There had been some shouting James remembered and maybe a punch or two. He flinched slightly at the memory; that had been three days ago, three days in which he had worked up his courage and beaten down his ego until he could make himself go and do the right thing because, well, the truth was, they were both to blame really, weren't they? And even if he thought the balance of blame lay more toward Sirius he would fix it; they were friends, brothers for Merlins sake and nothing would change that.

And yet entering Sirius's newly adopted home James could not help but feel his hope dwindle. He was hit, as he walked in, by the overpowering stench of strong whiskey and the musty scent that only a damp cave could give; but that was not what made his stomach churn in a mixture of shock and anger. No, that privilege lay with the person sitting in from of him- a person he barely recognised; shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, head bent over, was Sirius. Only it couldn't be Sirius. It wasn't Sirius. It wasn't the boy who had flooded the sixth year dorms with him when they were just eleven, it wasn't the boy who had teased him about his crush on goody two shoes Evans or the boy he had gotten drunk with for the first time; they had walked, or staggered more like, down the Hogwarts corridors, arms around each other and belting out the worst magical songs in history. He nearly smiled at the memory before he remembered that that was then and this was now.

And now was so much different.

And so much goddamn harder that he wanted to scream for the clocks to go back, to shout and kick and put up a fuss so that time would rewind, just rewind to a time when things were...simple. He gritted his teeth, resisting once again overwhelming urge throw a five-year olds tantrum and demand that things would just be OK.

Swallowing, he glanced back at Sirius waiting for his friend to acknowledge him but Sirius seemed fixated on the glass bottle in his hand and James doubted whether he had even heard him enter. For some reason however rather than annoyance this thought brought comfort; he was relieved he realised, relieved that he wouldn't have to face Sirius now, not yet. Because even if he had acted as though he was ready (he had staggered in with his usual confidence), or told himself he was ready (there was a mental chant inside his head) he wasn't sure he was. He wasn't ready to understand just what was going through Sirius Blacks head, to know just how bad it was and he most certainly wasn't ready to get thumped again just for trying to help…So yes, maybe it was best if Sirius didn't notice him just yet.

The guilt set in after that; his friend needed, well, he wasn't sure what Sirius needed but he needed something and here he, James, was more worried about himself; about how he would handle it, how he would react… whether he would end up with another bruise. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair (tiredly for once instead of with his usual arrogance) and turned to examine his surroundings, smiling slightly as he did so. They had found the cave together, he remembered, in the summer after first year when Sirius had been too afraid to go home. He hadn't said as much (Sirius never would) but James had known and the opportunity to save his new best friend from a summer with a strange family (whose letters always seemed to leave him miserable) was something he had leapt for. They had caused havoc that summer; playing pranks during his mother's dinner parties, sneaking out into the woods behind the house at night and then they had found this place, their cave. It became the place where they snuck into to escape his boring ministry parties, filled with old people who liked to pinch his cheeks, the place where they played spin the bottle with Remus and Peter and (when they were older) the place where they had gotten drunk on his father's expensive two hundred year old Muggle wine...

"We're not going to win"

The voice was rough and cracked and nearly made him jump up in fright, thankfully he didn't; Sirius would never have let him live it down.

"We're not going to win" Sirius repeated; "The war, I mean" he added at James confused face; "we're not going to win" he smirked; "It doesn't matter what daddy says" his voice was taunting; "it doesn't matter that you believe there's enough good in the world. We're not going to win" when he finished he gave his friend a twisted smile that held such a resemblance to Bellatrix Black that James nearly flinched.

They were silent then for a moment, both looking as though they were measuring the other up before James finally shrugged; "maybe"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, then snorted and clumsily stood; "I'm serious Potter, they're gonna win." He took a large swig from the bottle in his hand. His new best friend, thought James. "You wanna know why?"

James didn't answer.

"Be…cause..." He dragged the word out before breaking once more into a smile; "because they're all fucking twats, but clever fucking twats and they don't give a damn about you, and they don't give a damn about destroying souls, or...or" his hands shook slightly as the bottle was raised to his lips again; "if the Malfoy's really did shag Muggles back in the day...they don't give a fucking damn! All they...all they bloody care about is themselves!" He lifted his hands up in triumph before turning to face James completely; "They're not like you, Mr Noble" he pointed shakily towards James; "they don't care about anybody but themselves, it's moi, me, me, me when it comes to them 'cause, 'cause there selfish twats, ok?"

He nodded to himself before continuing; "so they, they don't care if they bloody hurt someone or if, if someone dies because of them or if, if anybody else has to...to risk…risk their damn life because of their stupid, stupid mistake…" his voice cracked and James frowned as pieces of Sirius's drunken speech pieced themselves together. He opened his mouth to intervene but Sirius, now on a role, beat him to it; "they just don't fucking care! And you know how I know? Because I'm, I'm bloody like them!" He grinned at James; "I'm a Black, Potter! I'm a bloody Black"

He laughed slightly before waving his wand at his hand; a small cut appeared oozing dark red blood. Sirius held it up proudly; "this blood is a Blacks blood. I'm just fucking like them; selfish, sick, twisted. I'm still a bloody Black!"

And then the laughter started; harsh and manic, nothing like the laughter of the Sirius Black James knew. No, this laughter wasn't the careless laughter that came from teasing Peter, or the triumphant laughter that came after yet another successful prank, no, this laughter…this was something else. It was filled with hurt and anger and James realised suddenly, self-hatred. He clenched his jaw, for once in his life not knowing what to do or say; no quick joke would make this ok, no amount of times telling Sirius that yes, he had been forgiven for that night would make everything be like before…

Time seemed to freeze for James as he sat on the hard cold stone watching his friend scream with manic laughter. A torrent of emotion was overcoming him, drowning him and despite his efforts he seemed unable to do or say anything to calm his friend. James Potter was a person who smiled a great deal and laughed even more, and he had had never as much anger as he felt in that moment. He was angry it seemed at everything and everyone. He was angry at Sirius for betraying their trust in the first place, angry at himself for letting it happen, angry at Sirius's parents for fucking him up so bad, angry that Sirius still thought he was like them, angry that Remus had to suffer as a werewolf, angry at Snape for well, being Snape. And then there was the guilt, guilt for not being able to stop Sirius, guilt for taking so long to forgive his friend and guilt that it had taken Sirius to run away from home and hide in a cave before he had intervened…

Eventually the laughter died out and it was only then that James could bring himself to look up; Sirius now lay asleep awkwardly and undoubtedly uncomfortable on the hard and cold floor. James sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and finally stood up (bending slightly as he did so- he was no longer a midget eleven year old and the cave was not the biggest). Slowly he made his way over to Sirius, waving his wand at the small cut on his best friends hand and waiting till the skin slowly sewed itself back together. He then set to vanishing the pile of empty Firewhiskey bottles, the sheer quantity making him wonder just how Sirius was still alive after three days of only alcohol consumption. Sighing once more he turned to gaze at his best friend; Sirius was sprawled gawkily, his head resting on the cold and undeniably hard floor- for a moment James contemplated transfiguring a rock into a pillow to ease his discomfort but just as quickly discarded the idea. Yes, he felt guilty and yes, angry at himself but Sirius himself was not guiltless and James couldn't help but think that he deserved some punishment.

Smirking slightly, he reached over for the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, took a rather large gulp and sat back down intent on trying to make sense of just how they had ended up here. How had things got so bad? He knew the answer, he realised. It had been his fault. That night, that night, Sirius had been on edge- it had not been surprising; any encounter with Regulus left Sirius in a fit but the difference had been that on that night Snape just had to be there and so naturally just had to rile up Sirius and then, well… Sirius had made the biggest mistake of his life, hadn't he?

He had betrayed them all.

James shuddered as the memories rushed back; running through the grounds, the scratches of claws on his back, the stench of blood…punching Sirius to the ground; "what the fuck is wrong with you?" he had demanded and that had started the three weeks of silence and feelings of betrayal and anger that left him incapable of thinking of anything else. He had thought that would be the end; the end of the Marauders… the end of James&Sirius, Padfoot&Prongs, friends, brothers, master-mind pranksters…

Forgiveness had come with summer.

Perhaps it had been the cruel headlines of The Prophet that had brought the forgiveness- each another reminder of the shortness of life, or perhaps it had been because he knew everyone made mistakes (and no, not everyone nearly got a fellow classmate killed but Sirius had always been a bit more dramatic than everyone else, right?) or perhaps, perhaps it was because it was Sirius Black and he knew him, knew he could be messed up and moody and haughty but more than anything knew he needed someone to pick him up… and knew that when the day came when he needed to be picked up, needed a harsh awakening, or a forgiving friend Sirius Black was the one who would be there. But forgiveness alone had not been enough; he may have forgiven his friend but he had not been there; he had not forced Sirius to explain the bruises on his face when they had used the mirrors, he had not read between the veiled words or understood just how bad things had become in the Black home. He had let Sirius down. He understood that better than anything else because if he hadn't let him down, if he had done or said the right thing Sirius would not have ran to a cave in the middle of the night, he would have come to him, James, he would have knocked on that door and with a smirk demanded a place to stay but he hadn't. He had chosen a cave rather than telling him, James, what had happened. And that said a lot didn't it? That spoke volumes and truthfully made him feel like shit…

He swallowed and looked up to find Sirius awake and watching him.

"You're awake"

"Way to state the obvious Potter"

They looked at each other then, both opening their mouths as though to say something before they both promptly looked down allowing silence to fall once more; it was strange considering they were Sirius Black and James Potter; they caused ruckus and havoc and could make more noise than a banshee if they wanted but today…today there was only silence.

"You were wrong, you know" James finally said, looking determinedly at his scuffed trainers.

Sirius paused in his examination of the rocks behind James, anger bubbling at the surface (that was happening a lot lately); "Merlin, Potter don't you think it's about time you stop being such an optimistic fucking..."

"You're not like them" James cut over; "You're a git, and sometimes a bit of a twat and you can throw a hissy fit that'll put Margery Wells to shame but you're not like them." He spoke quickly and to the floor before he finally met Sirius's eyes; "You might have their blood but bloody hell Padfoot, you are nothing like that bitch Bellatrix or your psycho mother or Regulus. You're not like them"

Silence fell again and then after a moment James resumed his examination of his trainers; "You're not like them" he said again, though quieter this time. Sirius stared, trying to desperately to get rid of the lump in his throat, before slowly nodding. James looked up and gave him a slight grin before once again turning his gaze to the floor.

Silence fell again (it really was a record for them).

But the truth was nothing could be said now. James was slowly coming to the terms of the fact that maybe they had both not been the greatest of friends lately. Perhaps when he had said he had forgiven he hadn't, not properly; perhaps that explained the insomnia that had been haunting his life for the past month and the fact he had laughed less than ever before…perhaps, he had been punishing Sirius by not letting things just snap back to the way they were…punishing himself too. And Sirius, well, he hadn't come to him but maybe it had just been too hard- maybe he really believed he was like them. He glanced quickly at his friend in worry, biting his lip; would just saying it, telling Sirius the truth (because it was the truth) that he was nothing like the people he shared his blood with, be enough?

Sirius Black never cried and believed he would never cry but strangely just a couple of words from James Potter and suddenly there was a strange lump fixed in his throat. He turned to stare at his friend; James, he realised, meant what he said; he had been friends long enough with the Prat to know when he was lying and James had meant every damn word…And somehow that made him feel...stronger. It was like, well, a match being lit, he supposed…because for the first time in a month he felt like… himself- he felt the familiar determination to prove them wrong, to prove them all wrong; he was not a Black. He grinned; maybe he was mental or just too damn naïve but James Potter really believed that he, Sirius Black, was nothing like his family and Sirius suddenly realised he would do anything to make sure his friend never had to doubt that; a month ago he had made a mistake, a gigantic one that possibly didn't deserve forgiving but, he vowed to himself, it would be the first and last of its kind.

It's a strange feeling having someone believe in you and for Sirius Black, stranger than for anyone. His family, no, his blood relatives had sought to make him accept that he was like them for all his life, Peter was too scared of him to really believe he was different, and whilst Remus might have believed it before, Sirius knew that his friend would never really trust him again. Mr and Mrs Potter were kind enough but he was not blind to the curious and wary looks they sometimes sent his way. Nobody truly believed he was different to his psychotic family. No-one but James Potter…

"Thanks" his voice came out hoarse; "for y'know…" he shrugged slightly; "thanks for everything…for coming here the other day and telling me what a git I've been" he smirked slightly; "and I'm sorry for the…"he nodded towards James jaw where a faint bruise could be seen.

James waved a hand; "what? This" he touched his jaw lightly; "didn't feel a thing!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow and James grinned; "Good to have you back, Padfoot" he stepped forward to hug Sirius and for the first time in weeks Sirius smiled; "Really Prongs, thank you" he cleared his throat and stepped back quickly- things couldn't get too emotional, after all.

James smiled back; "That's what friends are for, right?"

Sirius nodded slightly; "Want a drink?" he nodded to the final bottle of Firewhiskey, looking particularly lonely according to him but James shook his head fervently; "No! Not until you get a shower, honestly" he shook his head wincing; "you stink worse than Eric Quinn after the rooster feather accident…"

It is hard to regain faith in yourself after you've lost it and it is harder to forgive yourself when you feel you do not deserve it. Sirius had betrayed Remus, he had betrayed the Marauders and somehow betrayed himself- "I forgive you" was not enough for him to regain the strength to move on and was not enough to stop the questioning of his identity but somehow, in some strange way, James Potters few words allowed him to begin to believe that no, he was not a Black.

They did not speak about what happened in the cave after that and gradually it faded from their minds. There were other things to preoccupy them; the war, for one, and NEWTS (because no matter what either of them said, they did care), and then there were pranks and being young; enjoying themselves and making mistakes; starting relationships that were damned before they had even begun, preparing for Quidditch matches, getting drunk at the celebration parties afterwards, complaining about hangovers the day after…

They lived and laughed and forgot.

James would never voluntarily remind his friend of the time when he had been at his worst and Sirius determinedly hid his worst fears behind smirks and a cocky persona. The first time he relived the memory he was eighteen and it was snowing. The soft flurries of snow was slowly basking the park in white as Sirius sat on the park bench, fag in hand and head in a mess. They were part of the Order now, supposedly making a difference. James was in a house two streets away, unconscious and recovering from his new battle scars. Sirius had been there, by his side, swearing at any one he could to help his friend, shouting at them to just take him St Mungos…who gave a damn about the questions… In the end they had banned him from the house; more havoc then help he was, said Emmeline and so there he was, on a park bench in the snow, smoking and thinking about the war that was slowly pulling their lives apart.

He knew James would pull through, his scars may have been serious (they were at the hand of Voldy, after all) but he also knew that James was tough; he had seen worse, he would make it.

He let his mind wonder over the battle; the masked figures, the smoke, the dead bodies…he shuddered and felt the familiar hatred ignite within him but this time along with anger there was…fear. Not of death. Sirius Black had no intention of dying yet and the thought of his life ending filled him with more curiosity than fear, so no, that was not the cause of the sudden cold filtering through his body.

He was scared because, well, he could have been just like them…he almost was. He was born a Black, he remembered, a Black and who knew that maybe if he hadn't sat in that compartment when he was eleven he would have ended up just like them, maybe if he had never become friends with the annoying eleven year old Potter (who had never shut up) he would end up just like them, or maybe if he had never been forgiven….or never been told that he was nothing like them then maybe, just… maybe he would have grown bitter and self-destructive and found himself eighteen and hiding behind a mask on the wrong side of the war. He shuddered again at the thought and took a long smoke. James Potter had saved his life he realised, even if neither of them had realised it at the time, he had given him…hope and that had been enough to make him pull through.

He would never be like James he knew, he would never be a saint; noble and selfless, but he wasn't all that bad. He was fighting on the right side and for every mistake he made when he was younger he spent a day now fighting to make a difference and perhaps right the wrongs. His friend, brother really, had saved him and he had never done anything to repay him; never helped him in return. James Potter was not the type to have a life crisis like the rest, he had his life sorted and sorted everyone else's out, and as much as Sirius was happy and proud and grateful for that, he also couldn't help the disappointment that he would never be able to do something for James Potter, just like the boy in question had done for him.

But nobody is perfect. And although eighteen year old Sirius Black had thought James Potter would never need saving, six months and a death later, he was proved wrong.

A.N: Hello! This was written Morning Lillies' Yellow Rose Bowl friendship competition. I really hope you enjoyed reading it because even though this was one of those fics that went through so many changes that it's nearly completely different from what I originally planned, I really enjoyed writing it. I have a university interview tomorrow (fingers crossed it goes well!) but if I get home early and it hasn't drained all the energy out of me, part two should be up!

Please review :D