Sirius sat on James's bed, wrapped in a thick wool blanket and one of James's Appleby Arrows T-shirts. His hair was still damp from the long shower he'd had to take to get rid of all the blood and mud before Mrs. Potter could bandage him up. His head was throbbing, and he felt more exhausted than he ever had before.
James ducked into his room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in hand. "My mum made this for you," he said, sliding it between Sirius's trembling fingers. "She still thinks we should take you to see a Healer."
"I'm fine," Sirius said, though he clearly was not. "I just need a good night's sleep." He took a sip of the hot chocolate, warm and milky with a hint of peppermint, and instantly he felt just a little bit better, as if the warmth of the chocolate had spread to every inch of his body. Mrs. Potter must have added some sort of healing tonic to it.
"I guess we'll just see how you're doing tomorrow." James settled himself on the bed beside Sirius, watching him closely. He was so different from the James Sirius had known a month ago, the James who'd refused to even look him in the eye.
Sirius took another sip and set down his drink. "I'll get out of your hair soon," he promised. "I can find somewhere else to stay until class starts again."
"Don't be a prat," said James. "You're staying here." He said it as if it were patently obvious, in a way that made Sirius feel even better than when he'd drunk the hot chocolate. "My parents won't mind—you know they can't get enough of you."
"Do you mind?" Sirius asked quietly.
James didn't answer. "What happened, Sirius? Your family, I'm assuming?"
"Of course." Sirius chewed on his lip. "It's Regulus. He's—Voldemort's given him the Dark Mark. I just found out today."
"Regulus?" James's eyebrows shot up. "Blimey, Sirius, you're telling me I'm going to have to play Quidditch against a Death Eater?"
"Seems like it," Sirius said darkly. "I bet half the Slytherins'll be Dark Marked by the end of the year. God, James; he's only fifteen. Fifteen. I've always known my parents were awful, but not quite that awful." He touched the gauze that James's mother has hastily wrapped around his chest wound. "They had Reg attack me after I yelled at them. Snape was there, too; my parents invited him for Reg's Death Eater initiation party, which means he's one-hundred-percent working with Voldemort like we thought he was." He drew in a breath. "Snape told Reg to use his curse against me—the same curse he used on me that…that night."
"Right," James murmured, glancing down at Sirius's wound. "Shit, Pads. I'm sorry."
"That's when I ran away. I just couldn't take it anymore; I'm used to my parents doing whatever they like to me, but not Reg, and not that spell…." He shivered, burrowing deeper into his blanket.
James slid closer to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You never have to go back there again," he said firmly. "You got it? Never, Sirius."
"I don't think I could even if I wanted to." He pictured his mother angrily burning his name off the family tapestry, as he was sure she had done as soon as he'd run away. "I just…. I'm not sure I can ever really get away from them, James. My parents, I mean. They messed something up inside of me that I don't think I can get fixed." He had never admitted it out loud before, not even to James. "That's why it was so easy for me to send Snape off to be killed, I think. Because of what's broken in me. And now I've lost everything…you, and the Marauders, and Remus…." Sirius had to stuff a fist in his mouth to hold back a sudden sob. "He's never going to forgive me, James."
"Hey." James shook Sirius's shoulders roughly. "Stop that. You're not broken, and you're nothing like your parents. Don't even say that, okay?" His voice shook a little with emotion. "I still have no idea why you thought doing what you did to Snape was a good idea, but I know you're not evil." He tilted his head at him. "And you didn't lose me, or the Marauders. We'll come back better than ever next year; I'll make sure of it. Nothing's going to keep us apart." He sounded so determined that Sirius was compelled to believe him. "As for Remus…you know how he feels about you, and how you feel about him. That's got to be worth more than one mistake—even if it was a really, really bad mistake."
Sirius squeezed the hand James rested on his shoulder. "I'm really glad you saved Snape that night," he murmured. "Really, really glad."
"I know." James squeezed his hand back. "I didn't just do it for Remus, you know. I saved him for you, too."
He was right, Sirius thought—James had saved him from himself, from his coldness and his brokenness. As long as he had James with him, and Remus and even Peter, maybe he could keep himself from giving into it. Maybe he would be all right after all.
He leaned back into James and let himself relax against his chest, feeling grateful for the millionth time that he had him for a friend.
