Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related works belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliated companies, not me.


There's an expression—I don't know if you've heard it—that Mrs. Potter used to say to me, on every first of September. It was, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.'

And it was true, really—at least in the case of going to Hogwarts. I mean, if Mrs. Potter's famous bone-crushing hugs are any indication of how much she missed me.

I think they were—an indication of how much she missed me, anyway—but that's beside the point.

Well, in the case of this fight, the expression certainly didn't relate to me and James.

I don't remember any other time when he just…shut off. He went out of his way to avoid me. He left for breakfast before I woke up. I'll always remember seeing his neatly made bed empty.

The thing that scared me was that Prongs was NEVER neat. And when I say never, I mean NEVER. Our room could be compared to a pig sty that a tornado's hit. There were always empty butterbeer bottles, random candy wrappers, robes, underwear, my shampoo, whatever, sprawled out on the floor.

We'd gotten into the habit of being very good about not tripping over anything, actually. But that's not the point.

James now cleaned his portion of his room, folded his robes, ate breakfast early, and paid attention in class.

If he didn't still look the same, I probably wouldn't have recognized my best friend of nearly seven years. And although I hate to admit that anything scares me—well, that got about as close as anything ever has.

You have no idea how it is to pass your best friend in the hall and to see him look away from you and hurry on.

This went on for awhile—this sick pattern. James getting up early, studying himself to exhaustion, and coming back late.

I think James was slowly beginning to forgive Lily—as it turned out somebody had spiked her punch. But it was only just beginning, I often saw her pleading with him, or having soft, serious conversations in the remote corners of the common room.

I hadn't seen them kiss at all, which was normally something they did regularly. For some reason, this alone made me feel like the worst person on earth.

I mean, they'd been so in love…snogging every spare moment… in between classes, while doing homework, in the common room, basically wherever they could squeeze out a few seconds. I mean, I know we'd always advised them to get a room, but now I felt terrible for just…wrecking it all.

My heart felt as swelled and heavy and sad as a water balloon destined to land and burst on a Slytherin's head.

Yes, I know, my analogies are rather creative.

I figured he needed his time, and so I didn't apologize yet. I was afraid, afraid of what he'd say to me…afraid he'd say he didn't want me as a friend any more.

This person, who'd I'd spent so much time with for nearly seven years with, now, I felt like barely knew him. He hovered only around the edges of my life. I talked to Remus and Peter, and they talked to James too.

I felt like we were on separate sides of a battle, and that was a horrible feeling too. I mean, actually, that whole fight was a horrible feeling.

We wouldn't even talk at mealtimes—save statements like, "Pass the gravy?" or things like that. He, expressionless, would eat, usually going to the library to study afterwards.

I think he didn't know what to do with himself, really. So he studied himself to death. Everyone was so shocked—James Potter himself, Marauder and legendary trouble maker, doing his homework? Answering questions in class, staying out of trouble? Getting no detentions? Nobody understood it.

And nobody understood the sudden rift in our friendship.


Weeks passed. Lily and James were slowly regaining trust with each other, although not exactly back at where they were before this whole mess. I still hadn't seen them kiss in public, which made me, again, feel terrible.

Remus and I were sitting in our dormitory one night. He was diligently doing his homework, and I could hear the consistent scratching of a quill on parchment as I stared into space and fidgeted with the blankets on my (unmade, needless to say) bed.

I tapped my feet lightly and bounced unhappily on the bed, still fidgeting.

After a few moments, Remus put down his homework.

"Sirius." He began. I knew this couldn't be good, he sounded very serious and as if he was going to lecture me.

"Yeah?" I asked.

He sighed.

I waited.

"You've got to talk to him, you know that."

"But hoooowww?" I whined, bouncing a bit more on the bed.

"Tell him how you feel, Sirius. You two have been friends for too long to just give it up." He replied, sensibly as ever.

"What should I say?" I asked.

"An apology would be a nice start." Remus replied dryly.

"Well, obviously." I replied. "But what to say IN the apology? How to say it?"

"By him a bouquet of roses, Sirius." Remus said sarcastically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the romantic gesture."

I did a very good imitation of his sigh. Remus chuckled slightly, which caused me to scowl, but I didn't say anything.

"Just apologize. You know, make it come from the heart and all? For the sake of all of us."

So, I listened to good old Moony's advice. I tried to practice what I'd say all day. I felt about as nervous as if I was about to propose to a girl. Frustrated, I threw out all my mental apology lines.

I went through the day as any other—seeing James be this other, different person. Not at all the James I knew. I watched in wonder as he took notes in History of Magic. NOBODY, I tell you, takes notes in History of Magic—except, perhaps, Lily. But NOBODY else—and here James was, taking notes?

I really couldn't believe it.

At night, I sat on my bed rather impatiently, waiting for James to arrive so I could attempt to apologize to him. It was eleven, then eleven thirty...Moony bid me good night, and Peter went to sleep a bit after. I stayed up, bouncing on my bed a little for good measure.

Time passed slowly…it was 12 at night, and I began running over all of the possible responses he could say to my apology in my head. Needless to say, not the most calming thing to think about, but my mind was so restless and racing.

It was 12:30, and James still hadn't come back from wherever he was. I was beginning to get a tad tired, but I was determined to stay up and apologize.

I took to staring at the white painted wall a few feet in front of me. Just as it was fuzzing off into blurry white dots, I heard the soft noise of the dormitory door opening.

I snapped out of my reverie, and watched as James staggered in.

He was carrying a large stack of books in his hands, obviously he'd been to the library. He stumbled a little under the weight, and his face looked—different. Almost haggard. He bore the same, uniform expression of those who stayed up all hours of the night, studying.

He placed the books beside his bed, and then he noticed me, sitting on my bed. He glanced at me, gave me a funny look for a second, then turned back to finding something to wear to bed.

I figured this was the right time to speak up, and so I cleared my voice. I think this shocked James. We hadn't spoken to each other—much less been in a one-on-one conversation—for at least three weeks, maybe more.

"James?" I said.

He stopped dead from where he was rummaging about for clothes. I think he was really shocked. Anyway, slowly, he turned around.

It was the same old James, and I nearly cried from relief that he hadn't—I don't know, put gel in his hair to smooth it down--to fit his new "model student" image.

"Yeah?" he said. It was the same old James voice, the same one I'd heard since I was eleven.

"I—I—I…I…" I started. He looked at me oddly, a t-shirt and pajama pants balled up in his hand.

I just couldn't seem to say it.

"Yeah?" he asked again, staring at me fixedly.

I'd never, ever stuttered in my best friend's presence before. We'd always been so…well, so open and everything, with each other. At least, I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't been.

"…nothing." I replied, looking into my previously best friend's face.

It was sad, to see that enclosed look in my best friend's face where you once saw everything—so many possibilities. He was shut off now.

"Okay." He said, looking at me oddly, still.

"Well, er, 'night." I said.

"…'night." He replied slowly, still looking at me in a way that made me feel as if I was being observed under the eye of a microscope.

And I stayed up later as he climbed into bed, wondering, wondering what I could do, and how everything had gone so hopelessly wrong that I couldn't even look my best friend in the eye any more.

Things happened, time passed, people loved and lost.

And I'd lost something most precious of all—a friendship.


One day I went to talk to Lily. Strange, we hadn't really talked after the "incident" either.

It was after class, and we went out into the hall, busy students rushing past us. I wondered what they were on their way to. I wondered if they had gotten their hearts broken or lost their best friends.

I was broken from my wonderings by a small cough from Lily.

She stood about a foot or so from me, as if she was too afraid to get overly close. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair (a familiar habit), and wondered where—and how—to begin.

She crossed her arms across her chest, and I felt like I was being warded off—like I was a vampire, or something.

Next thing I knew, she'd probably be hanging strings of dried garlic from her robes. Anyway, moving on.

"…erm…" I began brilliantly. She looked just as at lost as to where to start.

"…yeah…" she added.

"…so…erm…" I said, feeling as stupid as I probably ever had.

"…I…"

"Wow, this is awkward." I said, running my hands through my hair again. Lily laughed slightly, which reassured me a bit. I mean, maybe she didn't think I was THAT much of a vampire.

Which is a plus, I guess.

Anyway.

"So…about…erm, Lily. Please tell me your drink was spiked?" I asked almost pleadingly.

She laughed again, and I saw those dainty freckles and those brilliant green eyes that I knew so well.

"Yeah, it was." She said. "I peg it up to Simon." She said, naming a very trouble-making sort of boy in our year (although nobody, and I mean nobody, can beat the Marauders in the complicated trouble-making field.).

"Yeah, probably was him." I said, chuckling a little.

"So..." she said.

"So…all's good?" I asked unsurely.

"Yeah." Lily said. "I'm, er, really sorry." She said, looking down, as if the floor had suddenly become really interesting.

"No problem, I know no woman can resist me." I said loftily, joking.

She laughed again, and it suddenly felt like old times, just me and her and no complicated fights or shots or kisses or cheating or anything.

"So…how've you been?" she asked.

"Ah, could be better, could be worse." I replied.

"Oh...you're still not talking to him, are you?" she asked.

No need to ask who 'him' was.

"I tried to apologize…but I don't know, I couldn't do it." I said.

"Give it time. You guys have been best friends forever practically." She said , echoing Remus's statement.

"I suppose." I replied. We fell into step as we walked to charms, our next shared class.

"So how's quidditch season going?" she asked.

And as we fell into easy, friendly chatter, it really did feel like third year again.


It was, I think, the worst chapter so far in the book of me and James's friendship. We no longer talked, and his excessive studying became part of my daily regimen.

I would always try to muster up the courage to apologize, but it was difficult. It was odd, unsettling to see the strangeness, the unfamiliarity in his eyes.

It was as if a different person was sleeping in the bed next to me, an imposter. Somebody who hadn't been there before.

I was just losing hope—when I hatched my brilliant plan.


I can't say I've ever been much of a crafts-project kind of person, and I don't think that I ever will be.

That I made that present for James was full proof of how much I needed my best friend back.

I worked on it for hours, before James came back from the library each night. I kept my hangings closed and worked with various materials.

He'd better appreciate all this, I'm even waking up early on weekends for this, I thought dryly as I worked on it.

I spent a large slice of my spare time on that project. Every night, I would work on it for a few hours at a time, diligently.

I don't think I'd done anything so diligently up till then, except maybe play quidditch.

I met a girl in my year around then, in Gryffindor—Dorcas Meadowes—for the first time, one day. She was very pretty—big blue eyes, absolutely teeny (4"11!) with a very slim frame, and a cheerful nature. She had brown hair that lay silky down her back too, but what amazed me about her were her eyes. They were the bluest things I'd ever seen, and I felt oddly as if I'd been struck by lightning when I looked at them. (Not in a bad way). I could have literally stared at them for ages if I'd wanted to.

However, I'd probably appear as an obsessive stalker if I did that, so I refrained.

We talked often about nearly everything. We looked hilarious walking along together—her, miniature and small at 4"11—me, nearly six feet and with a Quidditch beater's muscular body.

I felt like I could say practically anything to that girl. We'd talk for hours about anything and everything.

"Sirius, do you think I'm pretty?" she asked one sunny day, as we were walking around the lake.

I was a bit shell-shocked, after all, this wasn't the sort of stuff we normally discussed.

"Of course!" I responded as we made a slow circle around the large lake.

"What's your favorite feature of mine?" she asked.

This was another weird question coming from her, but I tried to, you know, roll with the punches or however that expression goes.

"You mean physical or non physical?" I asked.

"Physical." She said, eyes dancing.

"Your eyes." I said truthfully, glad that I could at least partially attest to my obsession over her eyes.

"Oh yes?" she asked, playfully linking her arm through mine.

"Yes." I replied.

"Not my feet?"

I smiled at that one. We had a running joke about the size of her feet, which were quite teeny. She'd tried on my shoes once, and her feet literally swam in them. She looked quite comical in them; when she attempted to take a step, the shoe fell off and she tripped.

I then tried her shoes on and discovered I could fit about half of my toe in.

"No, although I like those too." I said., referring to her feet. "But why do you ask all this?"

"No reason." She said as we walked.

"So, Dorcas, do you think I'm pretty?" I asked in an airy, girly voice, fluttering my eyelashes girlishly. She laughed appreciatively.

"Pretty's not the word. But, sure, if you want to explore your feminine side, be my guest." She said.

"Just call me Siriusina." I said, taking on the girly, breathy tone. "Now, what is your favorite feature of mine?" I continued in the girly voice.

"Hmmm…" she said, eyes twinkling.

She turned so she was stopped in front of me, and she had to look up to see my face. She studied it for a moment. I was acutely aware of how close she was to me, how small and dainty and pretty and how her eyes got bigger and bluer when she came close up…

She pecked me softly but quickly on my mouth, and ran away to her homework. "Those. Toodles!" she cried over her shoulder, cheerfully.

I don't think I'd ever stayed in one place, totally confused and in dream-land, massaging my lips for such a long time.

Finally, I realized that she liked my lips best.

It took me a while.

Merlin's beard, I don't know what went on in that head of Dorcas's.


I'd finished it—the project for James—after two strenuous, working-on-it-all-day weeks.

It was done, completely, and I stood back and admired my handiwork.

It was perfect.

Embossed on the red leather cover (I'd purchased it at a small crafts store in Hogsmeade) was Prongs's Album, in gold curly lettered script. When you pressed it, the words slowly came together and morphed into a small picture of a golden stag, mid-gallop.

That charm had taken me practically an hour to figure out.

(On the bottom right corner of the album was written: Made by Padfoot in the same curlicue gold script letters).

Anyway, once you pressed the miniature golden stag, the thing sprung open.

To reveal…

Pictures.

Tons of them.

The first picture, carefully secured in its little golden frame, was of James and I, our first meeting, on the train. James's mom had wanted James to take a picture on his first day on the Hogwarts express.

We both have bunny ears up behind each other's heads, and James is waggling his behind my head. James is still missing a tooth—his hair is really messy too, and it spikes around his head.

I'm smiling just as toothily—except, well, with more teeth. My teeth had already all come in by that point. You can see, in the picture, the compartment's window. You notice landscape flashing past, and periodically the train jolts, and you can see us falling over and laughing our heads off.

We promised, on that train ride, to be known as the greatest pranksters the school has ever seen.

Remus had a hobby of taking pictures back when we were younger, so there's a lot of pictures from that time period.

I flipped through the pages, glancing and smiling at each picture in turn.

There's one of James and I, in our first quidditch game—Moony had captured the sky quite well, and you can see James zooming about in the stormy sky, looking for a glint of the snitch. I'm currently whacking a black bludgers towards a random slimy Slytherin, and the game's in full speed.

Another one—a few months before Lily and James got together.

It was a snow fight—for some reason, we'd all stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas.

You can see James chasing Lily with a snowball in his hand. She lookslike a puffball in her heavy winter coat, topped with carrot-colored hair. She shrieks happily and smiles, her cheeks pink with cold.

James stuffs a snowball down her back, onto her skin, and she shrieks and half-angrily, half-flirtingly, stuffs a snowball down his shirt as well.

Finally, James wrestles her to the ground where they roll about, trying to stuff snow at each other, for a while.

They both look exceedingly happy at this turn of events.

There are small snowflakes fluttering daintily down—in the background, if you squint a bit, you can see me, building up a snow fort for the Marauders.

Ah, I remember that. With my and Moony's combined efforts, we achieved a merry, crackling fire in a grate (for roasting marshmallows, obviously), several luxurious reclining armchairs, and a nifty stash of chocolate and butterbeer.

I smile, remembering, and turn the page.

I've got the funny sweater picture, too. Mrs. Potter made a copy of it—upon my request—and sent it to me.

There's a picture of—well, it's quite funny, albeit a bit embarrassing—of when James, Remus, Peter and I were playing truth or dare in the fifth year.

(They'd dared me to put a pair of pink underwear—with unicorn embellishments on it, no less—James had conjured it for me—and walk down to the common room, and snog the first girl I saw).

Remus accompanied me to make sure I completed the dare, and, funnily enough, the first girl I laid eyes on was a third year, Sally Hingens. She's not bad looking—pretty, in fact, with curly blonde hair and brown eyes.

Anyway, Remus brought along his CAMERA. I sort of pulled my arms around Sally, snogged her for a few second, let go.

She looked at my hair rather oddly, but otherwise looked as if she were fit to swoon. She smiled at me widely, and ran off, giggling, to her friends.

Anyway, Remus snapped a photo. So here we have it, me and Sally Hingens snogging. She has the expression of utmost surprise on her face—her mouth is open in shock—and I am snogging her whilst having pink unicorn underwear on my head.

I shake my head, chuckle slightly, and move on.

I flipped to the next page. It's Lily's birthday—she's blowing out a candle in near darkness, the flame flickering and flashing in the picture. You can only see a dim view of her face in the almost-total darkness.

James is about to kiss her on the cheek, but he's not made it quite there yet, which gives him the expression of a fish.

I turned to the last page, the last picture.

It's all of us, all who matter anyway. Peter sits on the floor, up against the couch, smiling. Remus and Annie are snuggled up together on the large couch, looking happy and grinning.

Dorcas and I were fooling about, and so, for fun, I'm lifting her up like a weight lifter. As part of the joke, my face is wrinkled in concentration, and I look hilarious. I'm gripping Dorcas's back and ankles, and she's laughing and shrieking happily to be put down, her blue eyes twinkling like always.

James and Lily sit next to us, the perfect picture of the perfect couple, arms around each other smilingly.

There are also—this is what took the longest—pensieves. Under certain pictures, there's a golden sheet of metal with a label of what pensieve it is, written in red curling letters.

(For example: snowball fight, as one is labeled.)

If you open it up, there's a small amount of silvery pensieve. It took forever to get the correct pensieves, and to put them in the little containers.

Anyway, you can experience a particular picture or memory. It took me four hours to figure out how to do the first one.

Four bleeding hours!

All I could think about when the whole thing was completed, was: I SO had better get an apology for this.

But I was desperately afraid that I wouldn't.


A/N: So…yeah.

There will be one…maybe two…more chapters to this story. IT'S NOT OVER YET.

I had fun writing Dorcas. Um, I really hope you liked it. I shall write more, but how fast I do depends how much you REVIEW! HINT, WINK!

(As you may be able to tell, I am about the most unsubtle person ever to walk the universe).

Okay, maybe not that extreme, but whatever.

Thanks to all my amazing reviewers!

JadeGreen14, mrsbillehboyd, crazy turtle, ms dumplings, Rebel Rose, Sunny, taniita, watervolleyhp