It's actually quite a sunny day, which makes it even more frustrating that he's spending it here, in the most boring woodlands known to mankind. Dappled sunlight breaks through the sparse canopy of trees, bringing some warmth to take the edge off the cool April air. They had found a patch of foliage to lurk in – he's no nature expert, somehow landing an EE in Herbology through fluke, quite happy to label something that's green and has leaves as a tree or a bush, less fussed on any more detail than that. The twisting branches – are they still branches, in a bush? No, he doesn't care – offer shelter from the elements, and combine with disillusionment charms to create the perfect hiding spot. In fact, if he squints, he can almost believe they're playing hide and seek in the grounds of Potter Manor at the age of twelve, instead of waiting for members of a creepy murder cult obsessed with blood purity to potentially stroll past.

"I'm dying."

James' neck clicks – that can't be a good sign – as he spins his head to look at his companion. Sirius leans nonchalantly against his rucksack, his wand twirling in his hand. His gaze skates over the surrounding trees as if this is all perfectly normal. "What?"

"I'm dying," he repeats, and finally meets his friend's anxious stare. James' heart seems to sink into his stomach, trying to find meaning here and failing miserably. That is, until – "To know how the wedding is progressing. It's been weeks since I've had an update, Prongs."

He draws in a slow, steadying breath, purses his lips, and leans in to land a heavy punch squarely on his friend's arm. "What in the name of all that is good and pure is wrong with you?" he demands. "Why are you – you – my closest friend?"

"Jesus Christ and all his carpenter friends!" Sirius glares at him, clutching his shoulder in typical melodramatic fashion. Ever since they had studied organised religion in Muggle Studies, his friend has thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to expand his expletive options. Another thing that should be annoying about Sirius Black, but, annoyingly, isn't. "How will you feel if I lose my arm out here in the wilds of…" He pauses, glancing around them. "Where are we, again?"

"Oxfordshire," James grumbles. "And you won't lose your arm from a thumping, Pads. A deserved thumping."

"Awfully testy today, aren't we," Sirius notes lightly. "Did we not get enough sleep last night?"

"We apparated in, you sat in silence for forty minutes, then said you were dying." James uncrosses his legs to give him a kick, just because it seems like the right thing to do. "You scared the living shit out of me."

Sirius scowls, rubbing his shin, but nods. "You'd think you'd be used to my linguistic quirks by now, Potter," he points out. "Since, as you so lovingly put it, I am your closest friend." He leans in, scowl replaced by a smirk. "Something I will be passing on to Pete and Remus, by the way. I like to keep them updated about the rankings."

James rolled his eyes. "Merlin knows how you get anyone to stay friends with you," he replies. "And the wedding planning is going very well, thank you for asking. Lily is currently deciding between roses and tulips." He pauses, pushes his glasses up his nose. "Which are types of flower."

Sirius snorts. "Where would she be without your level of forensic insight, eh?"

"I do plenty of things to help," he argues. "You know…moral support." He considers it a moment. "And I helped choose the food!"

"I thought Moony helped Lily with that," Sirius replies. "He's very excited about the sausage rolls, for some reason. Won't stop mentioning it."

"Moony was there," he allows, "but merely as a tie-break. I was instrumental."

"Mmhm."

"Shut up." He reaches to scratch at an itch on his back, sighing as he glances around again. "Are these berks ever going to show up, d'you think?"

"We seem to get the surveillance missions with the lowest success rate," Sirius points out, cheerfully enough. "So, probably not."

"What even is there round here for a Death Eater to do?" he wonders, fishing the map back out his pocket. "It's just fields, and trees, and a wreck of a cottage."

"A cottage in the woods," Sirius sighs wistfully. "Such a bucolic setting. The perfect place for a bit of light torture."

"We could wander over there," James offers, tapping the map with his wand and watching the tiny words that appear. "It's only about a mile off. We'd feel the magic, if there is any, way before we get close."

Sirius shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "Aren't I normally the one suggesting we do reckless and dangerous things without regard for our own personal safety?" he demands. "I didn't agree to switching roles, Prongs."

He sighs. "It can't be that dangerous, or they'd have sent Dearborn, or Gid and Fab."

Sirius reaches over and tugs the map out of his hands. "Stop it. You know I don't like being made to be the sensible one. It's unnatural," he states calmly. "We're not wandering off to find a torture cottage. I'm not going to be the one to tell Lily she can't get married because you've been composting the woodland floor with your own mangled remains."

It's a dirty trick, bringing up his fiancée. Dirty, and effective. "How is it, in this scenario, that I am blasted to pieces amongst the leaves, and you live to break the news to Lily?"

"I have reflexes like lightning," he shrugs. "Can't help it, I was born this way."

"Well, thanks for using those reflexes to save yourself over your oldest and dearest friend." James rifles through his bag, producing two chocolate frogs. "Here, not that you deserve it."

"Ta," Sirius wastes no time in tearing into the package and biting the poor amphibian's head off. "Plus, don't be daft. Of course I'd save you. You know I'd leap in front of an avada for you, dearest."

James smiles, watching his friend fondly. "And that's why you're my best man," he replies. "You absolute lunatic."

They chew in companionable silence for a few minutes; Sirius takes the time to read the chocolate frog card, before rolling his eyes and crumpling it into a ball. "Chocolate propaganda," he aims the ball at the top of James' bag, and gets it in easily. "What a world we live in."

James has been thinking of other things. "Do you suppose Moony minds?"

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Minds what? The relentless campaign of the confectionary world to sanitise the history of some of our most complex wizards and witches? I don't think he's given it much thought, to be honest."

"Minds not being best man." It's often best to ignore Sirius' diatribes – it's far too easy to get drawn in. "I think Pete does, a bit. He hasn't said as much, but…you know what he's like, dropping hints."

"Mm." Sirius turns, swinging his feet into James' lap as if they were on the sofa, and not amongst the mud and detritus of a forest floor. "Passive aggressive. He's probably waiting for you to apologise."

"Moony is?"

"No," Sirius heaves a sigh. "Pete. Moony is much, much harder to read."

"Isn't he," James nods. "He could mind very much, and I'd never know."

"He hasn't mentioned it, if that's what you're asking," Sirius shrugs. "I don't think he minds. And if he does, I think he's sensible enough to know that you can't really mind about stuff like that."

James hums his agreement. "Who'd be his best man, d'you reckon? If he ever got married?"

Sirius is oddly quiet at that, and James doesn't understand why. "You think it'd be you, don't you?" he asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You think you're Moony's favourite!"

Sirius laughs, but in a strange way that again, James doesn't understand. He shunts his feet from his lap and leans forward. "Am I wrong?"

"I don't think I'm his favourite," Sirius replies, after a short pause. It's not like Sirius Black to consider his words; James finds it disconcerting, to say the least. "I don't think he has favourites."

"What am I missing here?" James asks, and prods him in the ankle. "You're being all…squirrely."

"Well, what better place to do that," Sirius offers, "than in the woods?"

"Is Remus already engaged?" he wonders, frowning. "And you're already his best man, too?"

Sirius mutters something that sounds – really sounds – like 'I'm his best man, alright', but covers it with a chuckle. James feels utterly bewildered. "He's not engaged, as far as I know. Relax, mate. I just didn't expect you to want to drill down into who everyone's favourite friend is, that's all."

James studies Sirius' face carefully. It's true that in the year or so since they finished school, his friend has become harder to read. Not all the time, by any means, and he's usually an open book, letting his emotions and opinions fly to the wind. But every now and then – like right now, in fact – it's as if he's keeping something huge back from James. He doesn't like it.

"Alright," he agrees, eventually, knowing that he's not getting anywhere fast. "If you say so."

"I do," Sirius nods, and offers a smile. "You know how wise I am, Prongs. Ought to have a chocolate frog card of my own."

"Hm." James finally looks away, and decides that maybe Lily will be able to help him break through this mystery. There is no one so tenacious and relentless in pursuit of something, not even Sirius himself. "More likely to be a wanted poster than a frog card, mate."

Sirius cackles, and seems glad that the conversation is shifting again. "Oh I'm wanted alright," he replies, "can't walk down Diagon without someone trying to get in my pants."

"Why don't we go back to talking about you dying," James suggests pointedly.

"Why don't we," Sirius agrees, and shifts to lean against him with a cheerful sigh. "Just think, you could've been on surveillance with anyone."

"Literally anyone else," James mutters.

"You lucky bastard."

"Hm."

This is going to be a long day.