"Potter's mansion," Sirius said firmly, dropping the floo powder in a heap and tucking his arms into his sides. The familiar flames jumped to life, whisking him away as he spun like a top. His head seemed to be spinning faster than the rest of his body and he clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from throwing up in someone else's fireplace.

Mercifully, the terrible twisting sensation came to an end, though it was far more abrupt than Sirius remembered it. The world suddenly stopped spinning and the floor rushed up to meet his feet.

Then the floor rushed to meet his whole body as he toppled forward, just managing to get his hands out first to stop his fall. The meager bites of salad he had eaten what felt like ages ago rushed up next and he retched onto the Potter's pristinely polished floors.

"Oh my goodness! Sirius!" Mrs. Potter's voice called out in shock as she jumped to her feet, one hand flying to her chest, her heart fluttering wildly.

"James! James, get down here!" she called again, though she sounded further away. Much more distant. Almost like she was walking backward through a long tunnel… a long, dark tunnel…

Sirius was cold. That was the first thing he was aware of.

The next was that he was apparently shirtless, for some reason. Though he couldn't remember taking his shirt off.

He also didn't remember moving away from the fireplace that he had collapsed out of.

Getting more and more confused by the second, Sirius blinked repeatedly, trying to get his bearings before slowly pushing himself to his elbows. The task was much more difficult than he thought it would be since his elbows sunk in further than he remembered wooden floors allowing. Then it came to him.

He was on a couch.

And he could recognize that mustardy-beige upholstery in his sleep. He was on a couch in the Potter's main family room on the ground floor.

As if to verify Sirius' conclusion, James' head suddenly swam in front of him.

"Sirius? What the hell happened?" he asked.

"Hey James," Sirius grinned. But his grin slipped when his words came out slurred.

"What happened? Are you alright?" James demanded.

Sirius wished he would just stay still. His head kept on swirling and at one point, he could have sworn he saw three of James's.

"I'm cold," Sirius replied honestly. Then he promptly collapsed back against the pillow Mrs. Potter had set up for him.

"Did he wake up?" Mrs. Potter asked, walking into the family room, her slippers scraping against the floor.

"Yeah, but just for a second. Then he passed out again," James replied from beside the sofa.

When Sirius's luggage had first appeared, Euphemia had yelped at the commotion, drawing the attention of Fleamont who had quickly recognized Sirius's broomstick. The boy was rather proud of it, after all, and tends to show it to anyone who would sit still long enough to listen. James rushed down the stairs a moment later after Sirius had appeared, bloodied, bruised, and unconscious.

Fleamont quickly levitated him to the nearest sofa while Euphemia propped up a few pillows. They had managed to get Sirius out of his shirt that was determinedly stuck to his oozing gash and did their best to clean out his visible wounds.

"Did he say anything?" Euphemia asked, her arm automatically scooping through Fleamont's elbow.

"Just that he was cold," James said, still staring at the limp form of his best friend.

"I'll cast a warming spell, then," she said, reaching for her wand.

"I already did," said James monotonously.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter shared a look that conveyed a hundred words and with a nearly inaudible sigh, Eurphemia stepped out from her husband's arm to stand next to her son. She laid a hand on his shoulder and stared down at the top of his head.

"We don't know when he'll wake up, honey. We might as well get some sleep," she said weakly, already knowing what James would say.

And sure enough, "I'm not leaving."

"But you do need to sleep. I'll get a sleeping bag and you can stay down here for the night," Fleamont said from behind them both.

James nodded and pushed himself to his feet dejectedly. He caught the sleeping bag midair that his father had summoned and spread it out at the base of the sofa, promised his parents half-heartedly that he would go to sleep, and laid in it wide awake for the next hour, trying not to think of the horrors that Sirius had gone through to get such wounds. Well past midnight, James finally gave in to the tantalizing sleep that had been gently tugging at him and his eyes drooped heavily closed, his glasses still firmly pressed against his nose.

The next time Sirius returned to consciousness, he was far less disoriented. He awoke with the faint recollections of being at the Potters and the couch, but when he eased his neck to the side, he was only vaguely surprised to see James snoring quietly, his head lolling on the pillow. He smiled blearily, thanking his lucky stars that he had somehow managed to find a friend like James. Gently, he set his head back against the pillow and took stock of his body.

His jaw felt like it was splitting in two and his chest was verifiably on fire while somehow also itching like crazy. Though the gashes and scars were definitely the least of his worries. His whole body ached to the center of his bones, each vein singing a terrible song in agony. Every joint were frozen in their sockets, his stomach was sitting empty while roiling with waves of nausea, and his head throbbed with hammers hitting his skull from the inside. Somehow, noticing every ounce of pain and registering it like a grocery list calmed his racing mind.

With his brain slowing to a reasonable pace, he turned his head and eased one hand off of the couch's ledge. He prodded James' shoulder and whispered, "James."

The scrawny teen didn't move except for emitting a larger snore than before.

"James," he hissed slightly more loudly.

"James!" once more.

Finally, James' eyes flew open and he sucked in a deep rasping breath. He blinked rapidly and took notice of Sirius managing a painful grin from the couch above him. That sight sent a jolt of adrenaline through him and he bolted upright, the unzipped cover of his sleeping bag sliding down to his waist.

"Holy-"

"Language, Potter," Sirius warned with a more genuine smile.

"Sirius!" he stammered. "You're awake!"

"Nothing gets by you," he muttered as he slumped back against his pillow with a groan.

James flustered his way to his knees and turned so that he was kneeling beside the couch as if in prayer.

"What happened, Padfoot?" James pleaded, using his fist to push his glasses up against his face.

"It's a long story," he said, shutting his eyes again to avoid meeting his best friend's worried gaze.

"I'm free all day."

"Don't want to bore you with the details."

"I listened to Wormtail talk about his newest music obsession for an hour the other day. I guarantee anything that happens at Grimmauld Place is more interesting."

"What's his newest obsession?"

"Some band that will fade into oblivion by next week," James said, waving a disinterested hand through the air. "Why is your newest obsession avoiding questions and changing the subject?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Prongs. Isn't it obvious?"

"We've never kept things from each other, Padfoot! Don't start now," James demanded.

Sirius sighed and readjusted himself against the pillow. "Not right now, James. Let's just… talk about something else. How's your summer been so far?"

"You mean the mere two weeks so far where we've talked daily? I think you already know."

Sirius lay there silently on the sofa, trying to ignore his throbbing headache.

"Fine. It was great until my best mate showed up late at night grievously injured and won't tell me what's going on," James said with an accusatory eyebrow raised.

"Have the holidays really atrophied your mind that quickly? Are you telling me the infamous mastermind and self-proclaimed genius James Potter can't piece together what happened?"

James' mouth quirked up despite his best intentions. "Since you asked-"

"I didn't."

"-I'll give you my best guess. Ready? I think your dear mother, the veritible Angel on Earth, got mad at you for some reason or another and naturally, you didn't take it lying down like you are now. You argued, you fought back, and when you had both finally had enough, she used that favored curse of hers to bloody you up, more than usual it appears, and beat you into being a sensible and respectful child. But instead, you decided that you finally had enough and came here. How close am I?"

Sirius sucked in a deep breath and shoved himself to his elbows, tossing his long hair behind his shoulder as he turned to look at James. "Not too bad. Though she took it a step further than most times."

James cocked an eyebrow. "I can see that," he replied, eyeing Sirius' bandage-covered torso.

He shook his head with a wry smile and shoved his way to a sitting position. James jumped to his feet and helped Sirius swing his legs around so that he was sitting more normally, if not at an odd angle so that his torso was still stretched out flat against the cushions. Once he was settled, James sat gingerly next to him, afraid that his weight would disturb the sofa cushions and consequently, Sirius' comfort.

"So what do you mean by 'no'?" James pressed on.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb. I said that I can see that you look worse than usual and you shook your head. Why?" he demanded.

"Thanks for the compliment."

"Stop changing the subject! Come on, Pads. I'm worried about you. You've never shown up unconscious before with your bags packed, clearly intending on staying. It's about time for that, by the way, but that's beside the point."

"Don't be so worried, James. You know the lovely Walburga; she loves that curse that cuts deep but leaves no mark after a few days so that there's no trace or proof. I just have to wait it out," Sirius shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that went against every ounce of his body, all of which screamed at him to stay still.

"Fine. If this is truly no different than any other time, why don't you go make some tea? Because you know if I make it for you, you'll say I made it wrong with too much cream or not enough honey or whatever it is. So instead of complaining, why don't you just go make it yourself?"

Sirius glared at James and James glared back, just as stubbornly.

"You're really going to make your injured friend go make their own cup of tea?" Sirius demanded.

James shrugged and crossed his arms, turning away from him with his head up haughtily. "You said it yourself. The cuts will heal in a day or two no matter what you do now."

Sirius heaved out a sigh but made no effort to leave the safety of the sofa.

"What. Happened," James asked quietly.

Sirius broke. His strong facade shattered like delicate china and his shoulders slumped as he let out an involuntary sob. Alarmed, James laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, his eyes growing wider with growing worry.

"She didn't just use the same curse as usual," Sirius said slowly.

James furrowed his brow and scanned Sirius' body, but his search came up short. "I don't see anything else."

"You can't see torture, James," he whispered.

James opened his mouth and shut it closed once before falling back against the cushions. He ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. "She… the cruciatus curse?"

Sirius nodded mutely.

"Merlin's mustache," James swore.

"Not your most creative swearing choice," Sirius commented lightly. "I think you swearing on Merlin's right fanged incisor or his tormented hangnail was much more elucidating."

James ignored Sirius's jibe and distraction attempt. "She really crucio-ed you?"

Sirius nodded again. "But you want to know the worst part of it?"

"That's not the worst part?"

A tear leaked out of his eye, creating a wet trail that shone against his pale skin. "I… I lost Reg," he whispered. His voice broke and suddenly, like an onslaught of torrential rain, he was sobbing. His shoulders shook, the motion reverberating through his whole aching body, and his face fell into his hands.

James instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulders and whispered, "You lost-"

"I lost him, James. For good this time," Sirius said, his voice coming out muffled from beneath his fingers. "And it's all my fault."

"Oh Padfoot. That can't be true," James said back.

Sirius didn't respond. He couldn't respond. The tears had overtook his entire body, blocking every passageway so that all he could do was cry and sob and cry some more. He let himself be folded into James' arms. The pain of twisting slightly so that James could envelop him was nothing in comparison to the grief, the insurmountable grief, that was flooding his senses, longing for his younger brother who was lost in the maze of the Black family tree. Lost in the lies of pureblood mania and lost from all that is light and innocent.

Once Sirius's sobs subsided, he sniffed weakly and swiped one hand under his nose. "So," he mumbled, his voice thick, "can I stay here for a while?"

James let out a quick bite of laughter. "Like there's any way you're going back to that hell hole."

Sirius flashed a quick grin, but only because he thought it was the appropriate response. He felt no semblance of joy or inclination to smile himself.

"I'm sure your brother isn't as gone as you think he is. He's just young and impressionable. He's still got time to come around," James said consolingly, not really believeing it himself.

"No. He's gone. I'm not saying I've given up on him, but I have very little hope that anything I do will change things."

"What makes you say that?"

Sirius sighed and stared at his hands, fiddling his fingers around each other. "I gave him a choice, Prongs. A clear, definitive choice. And he chose them. He made that very clear, almost as clear as him blaming me for that choice."

James cocked his head, trying to wrap his mind around Sirius' choppy sentences. "I'm not following. Just start from the beginning. Tell me everything from when you went inside after we talked on our mirrors."

The mirrors. They felt so long ago, eons ago. Lifetimes ago. And though some part of Sirius wanted to hold out, to stop himself from reliving the pain and humiliation, to maintain his veneer of being strong and independent, this was James. And he was weak. He told him everything.

When his story was out in the open, hanging between the two boys like a storm cloud, enclosing them in its mist, James flopped back against the sofa cushion and gave a low whistle. Sirius leaned back much more gently and sighed dejectedly while mindlessly rubbing a hand over his throbbing side, feeling the scar through Mrs. Potter's bandages.

James let out a deep breath then got straight to business. "First thing's first. Let's start with the easiest thing to fix. What do you usually do to help those cuts heal or at least feel better?"

Sirius shrugged. "I usually just wait it out. Clean them and try not to move too much for the day or two after."

He pursed his lips, deep in thought, determined to find a solution to part one of his friend's suffering. "Well that won't work. One second. I'll go look through my Mum's medicine cabinet. She probably has some potion or something to help ease pain."

Without waiting for a response, James jumped to his feet and barrelled around the sofa towards the stairs at the back of the room.

"Wait!" Sirius called, groaning as he tried to sit up straighter so that he could look over his shoulder. "Just… don't tell your parents, okay? I can't stand being pitied."

James gave him a sympathetic look. "Mate, I think they're already going to pity you."

"Just don't tell them, okay? I know they deserve to know if I'm going to be staying here until I find my own place, but I want to be the one to do it."

"Fine, but don't think you're fooling anyone with that. You're staying here all summer and the school holidays too," James said decisively. "You're still a minor, remember?" Then he jogged up the steps, two at a time to disappear into his parent's room, no doubt waking them up with his ruckus. Sirius allowed himself a soft smile and once again, he wondered why he deserved someone like James Fleamont Potter.

Meanwhile, James threw open his parents' doors, knowing full well that they would be awake, despite the early hour. Sure enough, when he strode into the bedroom, his mother was sitting on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles with a book in hand and his father was propped in a nearby armchair with the newspaper held open before him. Both looked up at his entrance and his mother's face warmed immediately.

"Oh, good! You're up! We didn't want to go downstairs in case you boys were still asleep," she said, carefully setting down her novel and getting to her feet.

"We've been up for a bit," James replied honestly before heading into their bathroom, feeling the worn carpet turn to cold stone underfoot.

"What are you doing, honey?" his mother asked with interest, following him into the bathroom. The sound of crinkling newspaper drifted through the room and James knew that his father was watching them from the doorway.

"I'm looking for something for Sirius," James prevaricated, pulling open the cabinet under one sink where bottles stood in neat rows, their labels all facing out. "A pain potion or something."

"Do you know what curse was used? Maybe you should bring something else down to clean those cuts too," his mother offered, crouching next to James.

"No, the cuts are okay," James said, purposefully enigmatic.

"Then what do you need?" Fleamont asked from the doorway, his dark brow furrowed curiously.

"Not sure. What's the strongest pain potion you have?" James asked.

Euphemia shuffled the bottles around slightly, pulling some from the back up to read their labels before setting them down gingerly in place. Nothing made a sound except for the clinking of glass before she pulled one jar out completely with a noise of satisfaction. "This is a good one. It'll knock out most kinds of pain from magical injuries. The only downside is that it weakens the patient too, so they feel really feeble or frail."

"Can't use that one then," James decided. "He already feels weak enough as it is."

"Why? Those gashes shouldn't make him feel any weaker," his father commented suspiciously.

"Anything else, Mum?" James asked, pointedly ignoring the question.

"Try this one. Three drops in his tea and it should ease the pain, but it probably won't go away. It'll just make it more bearable," she said, handing the glass vial to James. "It's very potent though, so make sure not to use any more than three drops. Actually, I'll just come down and make you both some tea, just to be safe." She snatched the vial back and stood up, shutting the cupboard closed.

"Why does Sirius feel weak?" Fleamont asked again, more firmly this time and staring his son straight in the eyes.

"I can't tell you," James said.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Fleamont asked, looking down at James. Despite his latest growth spurt, Fleamont still had a few inches on him-a fact that James was eager to change given a few more months.

"Yes, but he made me promise not to tell you."

Fleamont simply nodded and uncrossed his arms, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his neatly ironed pants. Like his son, he was a man of his word and considered reneging on a promise to be one of the lowest forms of dishonor.

"I can tell you that he's going to stay with us for the summer and school holidays from now on and that he does plan on telling you both what happened at some point, just not right now," James offered as consolation.

His parents shared a look of concern, but nothing more.

"Okay," Euphemia said, tying her bathrobe around her middle. She promptly led them out of the room and back down the stairs where Sirius was waiting in the same spot, his head turned awkwardly over the pillows so that he could see them without having to move his limbs.

"Good morning, Sirius," Mrs. Potter greeted cheerfully, descending the stairs gracefully with one delicate hand trailing on the railing. James skipped down the steps behind her with Fleamont taking up the rear.

Sirius anxiously searched James's smiling face. James gave a slight shake of his head and Sirius visibly relaxed; he even managed to return Euphemia's welcoming grin.

Mrs. Potter took a seat on the sofa next to Sirius and her hazel gaze held his sternly on her face. "Now, James said you didn't want to tell us what happened," she started and for a split second, Sirius panicked before realizing that her tone was composed and understanding rather than cold or reproachful.

"And that's perfectly all right," she continued easily. "You tell us when you're ready, honey. But James also told us that you are in considerable pain, so I'm going to make you a cup of tea and put some pain potion in it to make you more comfortable. Though I know how picky you are with your tea, so I'll just bring the sugar and the honey and the cream and all that, okay?"

She said all this with a genuine, adoring smile stretched across her face while patting Sirius' hand gently. Sirius smiled in return and nodded, not finding any words sufficient enough to express his gratitude or love for this family.

"I'll get Lucinda and ask her to make us some breakfast and we'll have to break tradition and eat it in here today," Fleamont added on, walking to the kitchen where a door led to their house elf's quarters. "How about french toast this morning, Sirius? It's your favorite, isn't it?"

Sirius looked between Mr. and Mrs. Potter in awe, a gaping expression left on his face as Fleamont went off in search of Lucinda to make him his favorite breakfast, which he apparently knew by heart, while Euphemia went off to make his tea, knowing he was far too picky to even dare attempt making it herself. He didn't know what he did to deserve this, and part of him thought that he didn't deserve any of this. He was a burden. A disappointment. A failing of a son that was forcing his presence among another family that was too good for him.

But then the smell of cinnamon wafted towards him and his best mate hadn't left his side since they returned, lounging comfortably on the sofa.

James smiled knowingly and gently nudged Sirius's shoulder, saying: "Welcome home."