A/N: This fic is a standalone, but it does incorporate some elements of how I treat the aftermath of the prank in my longfic Legacy, although it's definitely not 100% compliant with the events of Legacy (Peter's characterization is really different here, for one thing). Just a heads up in case you've already read Legacy and recognize the similarities!
Warning: some usage of homophobic slurs.
xx
The thing is, Peter doesn't side with James because he thinks James is right. Peter doesn't even really see why James is so pissed. It's not like Snivellus deserved to die or get turned down there, but, well, when has James ever shown any regard for Snivellus's well-being before? And with the number of times Snivellus has called Peter a faggot, as far as Peter's concerned, it would have been fine for them to go on treating him like the trash he is—like he doesn't deserve a livelihood. He's a Black Magic-loving piece of shit, anyway, and a bigot to boot, and Peter actually thinks the prank had the potential to be pretty funny, if James hadn't overreacted.
But James did overreact, and Peter stuck by him when he did, because that's what Peter does: he sticks by James no matter what. With the way Peter feels about him, it's not like he's got much of a choice.
At first, Peter sends up a silent thank-you to the gods that Sirius did this and Remus forgave him—because it means that, for the first time in over four years, Peter gets to keep James all to himself. Sure, it's not like they're alone together all the time: they still hang out with Mary and Patricia and Florence, and James still loses his head every time Lily Evans walks in a room. But Peter is an old pro at dealing with James fancying somebody who isn't him, and it's even easier to tolerate now that he knows for a fact that Peter is the only person James trusts enough to confide in about the thing with Sirius—that Peter might be the one person left whom James trusts most in this world at all.
Nobody's as pissed as James is—nobody else knows the full story—but word gets around pretty quick that the hundred points Gryffindor lost this week were Sirius's fault, even if they don't know why, and it leaves him basically a pariah within their house. Plus, Sirius has gotten himself kicked off the Quidditch team, and with only two days to find a replacement before the team's game against Hufflepuff, James is pretty hard pressed to find a decent replacement Keeper; the rest of Gryffindor seems to take every single goal that Hufflepuff scores this weekend as a personal insult.
Suddenly, Peter and James are sitting together in every class and at every meal, and they've claimed the common room as theirs in the evenings, leaving Sirius and Remus to slink up to the dormitory in shame every night after dinner. Admittedly, when Peter and James do eventually go up there to sleep every night, it's a bit of a war zone. That's the one hard part of all this: Peter isn't mad at Sirius or Remus—in fact, he's pretty grateful to both of them for landing them in this position—and he has to keep remembering to act pissed and hurt and rude every time he's around them or every time that James brings them up, and it seems like one or both of those two things are constantly happening.
The way James keeps asking Peter what could possibly have possessed Sirius and Remus to do what they've been doing, Peter has to keep tapping into what he imagines the two of them have been thinking and feeling, and he wishes he didn't have to—it makes it so much harder to be happy about the way this has all turned out. James is Peter's priority, but it's not like he doesn't care about Remus or Sirius. He knows Sirius has been a guilty wreck of self-loathing, and he knows Remus hates himself just as much for needing Sirius too much to walk away from him. And the more Peter's forced to imagine what they're going through…
Because Sirius and Remus have taken over the dormitory in the evenings, Peter hasn't really got anywhere private to talk to James. They end up going for a lot of walks around the castle and the grounds, just so that nobody's within earshot to hear their full conversations, but it means they've got to keep their voices low in public when they're planning pranks or when James is stressing about Remus and Sirius. "We did the right thing, leaving them, didn't we?" he frets now, kicking up dirt as they wander the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. He rakes an anxious hand through his hair. "Sirius almost bloody murdered someone, and Remus—he's just fine with it. It's like he doesn't even care that Sirius almost made him an accomplice to murder—or turned him into the very thing that made him a werewolf in the first place."
Peter carefully studies James's tired face. "We did the right thing," he agrees, but not for the same reasons as James's.
"I just—I miss them so much, Pete. It feels like somebody took my soul and bloody—ripped it out."
"It'll be okay, James, I swear. You've still got me."
This, at least, is the truth—the whole truth. Peter's not a very good person—he knows he's not—but at least James can always count on him. Peter is nothing if not predictable.
xx
To understand why Peter is in love with James, you need to understand that James loves nothing if not a project. With Sirius, it happened the very first day they met: one of the first things James learned about Sirius was that his family was full of abusive Slytherin purists, and he made it his mission to give Sirius a proper home and a relationship that was solid enough to replace the crumbling ones Sirius had with his parents and brother. Remus took longer—James was perfectly friendly to him in the beginning, but he didn't really start to take an interest until he started to worry about Remus's monthly disappearances.
Peter was the last roommate James noticed. It's not like they weren't friends—they shared a dormitory, and they started researching Animagi together with Sirius after they figured out that Remus was a werewolf—but James only really kept Peter around because he was there and, maybe, because Peter stroked his ego. They weren't really close until second year, when the rumors started.
He can still remember the exact look on James's face the first time James heard Mulciber call Peter a fag. "Pete's not—I don't—he's not even gay, are you, Peter?" he spluttered with his arms crossed and stiff.
"I, uh…"
James looked at Peter then, and Peter just wanted to melt right through the floor—until James's expression cleared, and his back straightened a little, and he said, "Well, it doesn't matter. I don't care if you're gay, and neither should you," he added, turning back to Mulciber. "I don't care if he's the most flamboyant gay to ever walk this castle. If I hear so much as a rumor that you or any of your little Death Eater wannabe friends ever calls him a slur again, I'll curse you so hard it'll make what I do to Snivellus look downright friendly. Do you bloody understand me?"
He got a little protective of Peter after that—pointedly sitting next to him in the common room and offering to do his essays early (instead of blowing them off until they morning they were due like he used to) together with Peter so that he could help him whenever Peter was struggling. The one time Peter clumsily asked James why he cared, James just shrugged and said, "It's the same thing whether people are gay or Muggle-born or whatever, isn't it? People all deserve to be treated with respect. You deserve respect, Pete."
Respect. Peter certainly had never had it for himself, so getting it from someone as cool and clever and beautiful as James was—a thrill. He was still stupid and unfunny and, biggest of all, a follower, but James thought he was better than that—James actually wanted him around.
It was all over after that—Peter was hooked.
xx
On Wednesday morning, Sirius oversleeps. Peter doesn't know how, exactly—they all share a dormitory; they all are there to hear James's alarm going off at twenty minutes before sunrise—but when it's three minutes to and Sirius is still out like a light, Peter looks nervously at James and says, "We should get him up, right? It wouldn't be right not to get him up."
It's not that Peter wants to get Sirius up, but—doing the Animagus chants every day at sunrise and sunset isn't for Sirius's benefit; it's for Remus's, and whatever James has to say about him, he obviously isn't so angry that he doesn't think Remus deserves some animal company on full moons anymore. If he were, he never would have taken up his own chants in the first place, and he's been doing them religiously, hasn't he? As if he thinks that someday they can forgive and forget and go back to whatever passes as normal. Either way, if James hasn't let go of Remus enough to let go of the idea of becoming an Animagus, Peter's not going to be the one to go there first—doesn't want to do anything to chance James suspecting that Peter is a little too eager to let their two other best friends go.
James looks absolutely torn for a moment, and old jealousy flares up in Peter's gut, but then James says, "You do it. I can't stand to even look at him."
So Peter crosses to Sirius's bed and unceremoniously yanks the covers down to its foot. Sirius startles awake, his hand going straight for the wand he always sleeps with under his pillow. "Whassa matter?"
"Sunrise in two minutes," says Peter simply. "You're going to have to do it here."
And then Sirius seems to remember that they're in a fight. He nods and wipes crust out of his eyes and drags himself upright.
It's weird, doing their chants with Sirius. The prank happened on the night of the full moon when Peter collected the dew and got all their potions ready, but he hasn't actually seen Sirius perform his twice-daily Animagus spell until now: he always goes off alone and finds a bathroom or whatever to do it in privacy. Peter crosses to the window to stand next to James, who's opened the glass, stuck out his head, and craned his neck so that he can check for the exact moment the sun goes up.
"Okay," he says when it's time, and Peter steadies his wand in his hand, taps his heart, and mutters the incantation.
It feels wrong to hear Sirius's voice alongside James's and Peter's own. This is supposed to be something that Peter shares with James—just the two of them, as it should be—and with the way James keeps looking at Sirius—
That's the thing: Peter can stand the way James looks at Evans, like she's a hot piece of arse he'd like to get his mouth on, but he's never been able to survive the way he looks at Sirius, like they're equals. James has never seen Peter as his equal, but that's just the tip of what Peter's always wanted from him.
Peter knows he's not special. He's a talentless groupie with no brain of his own—he knows that, and he knows that James knows it, too. James is never going to idolize Peter the way Peter idolizes James, and if ever Peter tried to kiss him the way he imagines every night, James would probably be totally disgusted with him. But just because Peter can't have things doesn't mean he can stop himself from wanting them.
xx
They're in the common room when Evans does the unthinkable and comes up to talk to them without a sneer on her face. "Is it true?" she demands. Her voice sounds stilted, like she doesn't know how to form words that don't have a furious tinge in front of either of them.
"Is what true?" says James in the deep, low, mature voice he always adopts when Evans is talking to him. Peter has to stop himself from fondly smiling.
"It's going around the whole school—you know, that you saved Severus from whatever's down underneath the Whomping Willow. So is it true? Did you really save his life?"
"'Course it's true," he replies easily. "The whole school, huh?"
"Yes, but funnily enough, nobody seems to actually know the details of whatever happened down there."
"And you want to know."
"Of course I want to know. You hate him. Why would you save him? How did you save him?"
James exchanges a significant look with Peter. "It's more than my life's worth to share that secret, Evans," he says smoothly. "It's not mine to tell, you see."
Evans narrows her eyes. "I would have thought you'd have jumped at the chance to brag about how you rescued your 'Snivellus' from—whatever it is you rescued him from."
"Looks like you don't know me as well as you think you do, then."
She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. "Well, thank you," she says finally. She still sounds pissed, but less so than usual. "For whatever you did. If I'd lost my best friend back there…"
"But let me guess: you still won't go out with me, even after everything I've done for him." It's not a question.
When she marches away, Peter can't help himself but ask in an undertone, "What exactly did you do to save his hide down there? You've never told me."
James casts a look around the common room and lowers his voice, too. "Let's get out of here. I'll tell you outside."
So they go outside. It's the middle of February, and it's freezing out, but Peter is with James: he's never felt warmer, more secure. Remember this when they make up with Remus and Sirius, he tells himself: he's going to want to be able to recall the exact chill of the wind on his cheeks, just the way James's eyes glint when he adopts his storytelling voice and launches into his speech. If Peter were telling it, it would be just a sentence long: James rushed down the tunnel as fast as he could to find Snivellus cowering against the wall of the Shrieking Shack behind a failing Shield Charm; he blasted the wolf enough times that he fell back, until he was able to drag Snivellus back up and out of there. But James drags it out for a whole five minutes, probably embellishing the details, knowing him.
"Bet it feels good to know that Snivellus is in your debt," Peter snickers at the end of it.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It, uh… it just feels sort of hollow without Sirius and Remus to enjoy it with, you know?"
That's the thing Peter loves most about James—his loyalty—even if he hates it when James directs it at anybody other than Peter. "You don't need them. They're just selfish, James."
"Yeah. Selfish," James echoes.
And Peter doesn't know what possesses him to do it, exactly. Maybe it's the way the moonlight falls across James's face; maybe it's the way James's hand accidentally bumps Peter's own and sends sparks shooting down his arm; maybe it's just that Peter's been in love with James since before he even knew what love was, and he's finally reached his breaking point.
"James?"
"Yeah?"
"I, um…"
"Peter—"
But Peter doesn't let James finish his thought before he dives in and leans up and plants his lips on James's. James—doesn't react, just stands there limply with his hands at his sides and his mouth still underneath Peter's, and Peter thinks this might be worse than if James were trying to punch him. He pulls away.
"What?" says James blankly.
"Sorry. I—"
"What?"
"I—nothing. Forget it. I know you're not gay. I just—"
"No, it's okay," says James with big eyes and an open mouth. He takes a couple steps back and clenches his head in his fists. "I just never thought… but I guess I should have, huh?"
"James—"
"I can't give you anything," James whispers wildly. "I act like I've got my shit together, but I don't. I'm a wreck. I just need you to understand that before I…"
Leave, Peter's expecting him to say. James wants Peter to understand why he's leaving him before he does. So it catches him completely by surprise when James fists his fingers in his own hair, lunges forward, and rams his mouth against Peter's.
xx
Sirius's actions Peter can understand. It's not the first time Sirius has enacted a poorly thought-out plan without any consideration for its possible consequences, and anyway, he's been living on the edge for years now—Peter can see the violence behind his eyes every time they pass his brother in the corridors. Remus, on the other hand, is more of a mystery. Sure, Peter knows his reasons, but that doesn't mean he understands them—at first.
When the whole ugly story came out in the Hospital Wing the morning after, Remus didn't say anything for a long time. He just sat there in bed with his eyebrows furrowed and his hands clenched in his blankets, staring clench-jawed at Sirius at the foot of the bed, until he finally snapped himself out of his stupor and said it was fine, that they'd get past it because he needed to get past it—to keep Sirius in his life. James had flipped out at that, totally unable to accept Remus's feeble explanation that it wasn't that he wasn't angry: he just didn't know how to walk away.
But—then James and Peter walked away from Remus, and he accepted that just fine. Sure, he may not have been happy about it, but if Remus's priority here is to keep his friends together, why would he sacrifice two of them for the third? It doesn't add up, literally.
When James and Peter get back to the dormitory that night, Peter's lips are still tingling. The hangings on Sirius's bed are shut, but Remus is still awake; James shuts his own curtains immediately, leaving Peter to plop down on his bed and avoid making eye contact with Remus.
Eventually, he can't stand it anymore: as glad as Peter is to have James to himself, he misses Remus and Sirius, the simplicity of having friends he's not in love with. "Why did you do it?" he finally asks once James's snores join Sirius's. "Why stay with him? He tried to make you an accomplice to murder. We were going to get split up anyway, and when you picked Sirius, you lost me and James."
"You don't already know? I thought that you, of all people, would get it."
Peter's glad it's too dark for Remus to see him blush. "Tell me," he says, skipping over the part where he's apparently too thick to figure it out on his own.
"It's just—haven't you thought about the way you would feel if it were you and James? If you had the furry little problem, and James sent Snape down there after you, would you be able to walk away from him after? I mean, even if it killed you to stay—even if you hated him—wouldn't you want him more badly than that?"
"Oh," says Peter. "Right." He's so busy worried whether this means Remus has figured him out that he forgets to consider what Remus might have just revealed about himself and Sirius.
xx
Suddenly, being constantly with James is more of a curse than a blessing. He's acting completely normal, like Peter didn't lose his shit and make out with him in the Forbidden Forest, and it's almost worse than if Peter had made things weird and messed up their friendship. At least that way Peter would know that what they'd done had some impact—any impact—on James. Like this, it's as if James doesn't even care what Peter feels for him, and while Peter is glad James hasn't secretly been a homophobe all this time, it still kind of hurts that kissing Peter was apparently so inconsequential to James.
When they're around other people in classes and the Great Hall and the common room, Peter just wants to get James alone, but whenever he does, he feels like the tension is stifling him—even though all of it, apparently, is all in Peter's head. Is this what going crazy feels like? Being surrounded by people who think everything's normal when, for you, it's the furthest thing from it?
But he can't be crazy—because the second time, James kissed him. It can't be in Peter's head: that was real. He swears it was real—he'll go to his grave believing it was real.
And then—then they get back to the dormitory one night to find Sirius crying like a little girl.
Remus doesn't seem to have noticed—his curtains are drawn, and Peter can hear him breathing heavily below Sirius's sobs—so Sirius probably didn't start up until after Remus fell asleep. He's not entirely surprised: Remus tries to stay awake late with the big boys, but thanks to his lycanthropy, he's usually pretty out of it by around eleven o'clock each night, ten if there's a full moon coming up soon. Besides, once Remus is out, he's out, and there's no waking him until morning.
Peter casts a nervous look toward James, who has frozen in the doorway. There's a long moment where Sirius looks at them and sniffles and wipes his face with his sleeve, and then James says in the coldest voice Peter's heard him use all month, "That's right, crybaby. Everything's ruined, and everyone but Lupin hates you, and it's entirely your own fault."
"You think I feel sorry for myself?" Sirius whispers. "I don't spare myself any pity, James. I just—it's my brother."
This catches Peter off guard: Sirius hasn't spoken to or about his brother in months. "What about him?" says James. He seems like he's trying to sound harsh, but a note of concern leaks in there, too.
"He's joining the Death Eaters," says Sirius emotionlessly. "He's going to be a murderer soon, and—I'm just as bad as he is."
That appears to give James pause. It certainly does Peter—in fact, it's the first time all month that Peter has felt a whit of guilt for leaving Sirius behind. "You're nothing like your brother," says James, but haltingly, like he doesn't quite believe himself. "You haven't killed anyone yet. You still have time to…"
He gulps for words and casts Sirius a look so desperate that it's like Peter isn't even in the room. This isn't new, Peter reminds himself. This isn't unexpected. What he's gotten all month from James—it's been more than Peter's deserved, and he can't give James the equal partnership that Sirius can.
And all of that is true, but—
—but Peter's gotten comfortable these last few weeks cozying up to James like it's only ever going to be the two of them from now on, and it hurts. James may be straight as a ruler, but he's looking at Sirius in a way Peter's never seen him look at anybody else before, and that closeness—that trust—was supposed to belong to Peter.
He thinks about the way the night air tasted on James's mouth and promises himself—no more. Peter will find a way to move on even if it kills him.
(What he doesn't realize is that Peter isn't the one it's going to kill.)
