It's weird. None of them is talking to Sirius about what happened, and they're hanging around each other all day cracking jokes and casting hexes like nothing happened, but it did happen. It happened, and Peter doesn't know if James or Remus can ever look at Sirius the same again.

That's not to say that Peter looks at Sirius much differently. He's aware that he should. Sirius frigging almost turned Remus into a murderer without his knowledge or permission, and it's not like Peter can't understand why that hurt Remus or horrified James enough to go down there and risk his life to save Snape. It's just—would the world really be so much worse off if Snape had gotten what's coming to him? He's a loser and a creep and will probably turn Death Eater and kill a bunch of people someday anyway, so why not break the cycle early and take him out of the equation?

Peter's also aware that his own lack of empathy here ought to be disturbing, but he brushes it off. There's always been something sick and twisted and wrong about Peter's loyalties—his morality. He knows it, and he's had plenty of time to accept it.

James and Remus, on the other hand—they're not like Peter. When you look at James's behavior—his bullying, his ringleading—he might seem like he's worse than Peter, but he's not. Peter knows firsthand how cruel his best friend can be—hell, James is the one who encourages it in Peter—but James has a code. There are lines he doesn't cross, and—

Peter's never seen James cross his own lines, but he's seen Sirius do it, and he's seen James's reaction to that. He can see it now as the four of them sit together in the dormitory, Peter's feet flat on the mattress and his knees drawn up to his chin as he looks avidly from James to Sirius and back again, watching the way James laughs at all Sirius's jokes. There's something else in James's eyes that wasn't there a month ago, something guarded, something cold. There are plenty of people in the world that James is cold to, but Sirius was never one of them, not until now.

As for Peter—he wouldn't say James has ever been cold to him, exactly, but he knows what he means to James, and it's not what Sirius does. Peter could only dream of having the kind of relationship with James that Sirius did before all this—that he still does today, even after everything.

James thinks Peter doesn't know. Hell, James probably doesn't even know himself. But Peter can see it. Peter has always seen everything, even if nobody realizes that he does.

The difference between James and Peter is that James thinks he's bad when he's not and hates himself for it, but Peter really is bad and doesn't give a damn about it. He didn't ask to be broken, and he certainly didn't ask to have to feel the way he feels—to carry that around with himself every day.

He's not talking about being evil—like he said, he's made his peace with that—and he's not talking about hating himself. It's not himself that Peter hates. He can't blame himself for protecting himself the best way he could all these years.

But it's fine. All of it is just fine.

xx

Peter wouldn't exactly call Remus his best mate. It's more like James and Sirius pairing up all the time means that Peter winds up hanging around Remus a lot by default. He's a little resentful of it—it takes him away from James, after all—but it's not really Remus's fault, so it's not really fair to blame him for it.

Of course, that's not going to stop Peter from blaming him. Peter doesn't really give a damn what's fair and what's not.

So that's how they wind up in the library together on Thursday night, where Remus drags him after James and Sirius go off to the Quidditch pitch to practice. James is the only one on the Gryffindor team, but Sirius, unlike Remus and Peter, knows his way around a broomstick, so the two of them end up spending a lot of time nicking balls from the broomshed and tossing them around as Remus and Peter—study, usually. You end up doing a lot of studying when you're shoved together so often with Remus Lupin.

To be fair, Peter could use the study buddy. His grades aren't great, and it's mostly thanks to Remus that he's passing his classes at all. It just feels to Peter like, if it were really worth it to spend hours in the library every week, he should at least be getting marks higher than Acceptable or, occasionally, Poor.

True, it's nice of Remus to be willing to tutor Peter so much of the time. Too bad for him that Peter doesn't really value niceness when he's weighing a person's worth.

Peter's about ready to give it up for the night when he's saved by—surprisingly—Sirius, who traipses into the library with his robes splattered in mud. "Hey, man. Where's James?" says Peter. Like usual, he hates the way his voice sounds when he says it, but that can't exactly be helped.

"Showering, probably. He's planning on half-arsing Slughorn's essay in the morning, but I figured I'd knock it out tonight with you lot. I'd rather stay up late than wake up early to finish it."

"You two have fun with that," says Peter. "If I don't understand this stuff by now, there's no point torturing myself with it much longer."

"Peter—" Remus tries to protest.

"It's cool, Moony. Thanks for your help."

They let him go after that, which is just as well. Peter doesn't usually get a lot of alone time with James, as much as he would like to, and he's willing to knock a letter grade off his Potions essay if it means a one-on-one with James while Remus and Sirius are in the library.

He knows objectively that James isn't so amazing or anything. He's arrogant and self-righteous and smug, and he puts other people down just because he can, just because it's easier that way. But it's because of James that Peter has any friends at all in this school, and it's because of James that people leave Peter alone, and it's because of James that Peter stays distracted enough by pranks and friends and Animagus transformations that he doesn't have to live inside his own mind so much—so, yeah, Peter would say all that makes James pretty much his favorite person. He knows the feeling isn't mutual, but that's fine. It's whatever.

James is still in the shower by the time Peter gets up to the dormitory, so he plops down in bed and occupies himself practicing Transfiguring his quill into a porcupine. You'd think it would be straightforward enough—they've both got sharp, pokey things on them—but something goes wrong, and the porcupine's got a bunch of feathers sticking out of its back by the time James emerges, toweling his hair dry and snorting at Peter's spellwork. "Do you need a hand with that, mate?"

"Nah," says Peter. He tries to reverse Transfigure it back into a quill, mostly effectively, though the thing continues to wriggle a little where it's lying on top of the bed. "If I wanted to work on my magic any longer, I'd still be with Remus and Sirius in the library."

"You think they'll be down there a while?"

As he plunks down on his own bed and flings his towel onto the floor, James's voice sounds weirdly high-pitched, like he's trying a little too hard to sound casual, and a bunch of alarm bells starting dinging in Peter's brain. "Dunno. I don't think Sirius had even started his essay yet, but Remus might not want to stay down there with him long, considering… er… considering. Why?"

"Nothing. Well, it's something, but—there's just something I wanted to ask you."

James says this smoothly enough, but Peter knows him well enough to know better. He doesn't call James out on this, though. He never calls James out on anything. "What's up?"

Whatever James wants to say to him, he seems to be second-guessing it. He starts twisting his hands (anxiously?) in his lap, then seems to catch himself in the act and stops. "I was just wondering, um… I thought I'd ask…"

"Prongs?"

They're going off-script here. James never shows any insecurities in front of Peter, which means Peter doesn't know how he's supposed to act around James now that he's finally doing so for once. Peter wishes James could just snap back into character already and make this easier on both of them.

Fortunately, James seems to be thinking the same thing. His cheeks are red, but he clears his throat, and his voice comes out deeper, suaver, when he changes tack and says, "You've never shagged anybody before, have you, Pete?"

Not a lot of things surprise Peter these days, but this turn of events surprises him, maybe even more than Sirius nearly getting Snape murdered did. "What?" His voice comes out in a stupid, embarrassing squeak.

"Shagging. Well? Have you ever done it?"

"I—of course I haven't. We live on top of each other every day. You'd know if I had."

Given how red his face and neck are by now, James's voice stays impossibly smooth. "Well, you never really know about a person, do you? If what you said were true, you'd already know about me and Sirius, but I'm betting you don't."

Peter's breathing is shallow, and his mind is delving into a million different corners at once. James and Sirius? Peter knew they were best friends, but he definitely didn't know they were gay for each other, and what ever happened to just being best friends, anyway? Can't anybody have close attachments without having to fall in love with them, too?

Even as he's thinking this, something dull and ashamed is pinging the back of his brain, but he ignores it. "No," he says. His voice sounds all mangled, and he takes after James's example, clears his throat. "No, I didn't know about you and Sirius."

"It's not what it sounds like," says James in the same slick voice. "We just don't like being celibate, and it's easier to hook up with a mate who wants the same thing than to go chasing after birds you don't even want to date who probably won't even give it up. You can understand that, right? Like, if you had the choice, you'd rather have sex than not, wouldn't you?"

He gets the feeling that James's words have been carefully designed to dissuade any discomfort in Peter—so why is his chest clenching tighter? "Yeah, probably. I mean, I reckon so."

Something flickers in James's portrayal of cool confidence. "It's been a little rough the last month," he says coyly, "ever since Sirius…"

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't need to.

"We haven't done it since before that happened, and I'm starting to get pretty antsy. I'm used to it now, you know. I don't like going without if I don't have to."

It occurs to Peter exactly where James might be going with this—but there's no way. There's no way. Peter isn't that thick; he knows there's nothing desirable about him, not to girls who are actually interested in boys and certainly not to James Potter, who's perfectly gorgeous and apparently can get some whenever he wants it from his equally gorgeous best mate—but he hasn't gotten any in a month, isn't that what he just told Peter? Why would James be telling Peter all this if he didn't want—?

The next thing that occurs to Peter is that his reaction ought to be repulsion. Why wasn't his first reaction to be repulsed? Why is he sitting here weighing his options as if James wants him like that—as if he wants James back?

"You wouldn't be up for helping me out, would you, Wormtail? We are still best mates, aren't we? You trust me, right?"

"Yeah, I trust you," echoes Peter helplessly. "It's just—I'm straight."

James shrugs. "So are Sirius and I. It doesn't have to mean anything we don't want it to mean."

Everything about this is a terrible idea, but James is getting off his own bed and crossing over to Peter's, and Peter can't stop. He can't stop. "How would we do it? I mean, how did you and Sirius—? I mean, where would we—do—that?"

As he sits carefully beside Peter on the bed, James chuckles low in his throat. It sends shivers that Peter doesn't want to understand down his spine. "Padfoot and I would do it in here if we knew you and Moony would both be out for a while, or else we'd grab broom cupboards—empty classrooms—the loo. Wherever, really."

"We should lock the door," Peter mutters. "If Padfoot or Moony gets back early—"

In a flash, Peter can see the real James—the insecure James—peeking through. "Sirius can't know about this," he says quietly as Peter roots around the nightstand for his wand. "You have to swear to me that you won't tell him."

Peter takes a breath—nods—locks the dormitory door.

And James—