A/N: Hi, all. I'm ultra-aware that it's been six years since I've updated this story *hides face*. I know, I know. Wish I could explain how the writing muses work...and don't work. I felt as though I should give this story a shot again. Forever a Snape fan, I (oddly) always long for young James/Sirius/Remus character development and a glimpse into their motivations for their closeness...they're cruelty towards Snape...etc. It's a fun world to explore. If you're still following this one, hope you enjoy the next installment of In Grains of Sand. And if you're still following Mindful Eyes, that one is up next. :)

Part III: From Hearth to Hiding

Sirius

James had been picking at his eggs for twenty minutes. Sirius had watched him as he'd mowed the prongs of his fork through the soft white, stabbed at the yolk and let it weep, orange and thick, onto his sausage.

"You're not feeling ill, are you, love?" Mrs. Potter leaned over and slid her knuckles underneath James' fringe.

James frowned and turned his face away.

Sirius speared a stack of fried potatoes and shoved them in his mouth. "Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Potter," Sirius murmured once he had swallowed. "I really like the potatoes."

The woman's eyes lit up as she smiled. "Ah," she said warmly. "I shall remember that for next time. That's very sweet of you, dear."

James smashed a crisp potato with his fork: the sound of a beetle crunching under a rubber sole.

Mr. Potter twisted his lips around an amused mouthful of coffee. He shook his newspaper, lifted it.

Sirius stared at James. No appetite this morning, mate? Sirius wanted to say. How about a swift kick round the ankles?

Perhaps that would suit him. Apparently, leniency wasn't James' cup of tea. His dad was even smiling, for Christ's sake.

"May we be excused?"

Sirius stilled his fork in mid-air, flicking his eyes from James to James' mum…to Mr. Potter's newspaper face. Those were the first words James had spoken all morning and the berk had managed to be polite.

A genuine surprise, that.

Mrs. Potter smiled into her teacup. "Mmhm."

A twitch of newspaper. "You may."

Cleaning his mouth with his napkin, Sirius took another moment to assess the scene. As James shoved away from the table, his parents shared a twinkling side-eyed glance as though they had witnessed the most precious display on Earth.

James was standing at the kitchen doorway, hands shoved into his back pockets. He raised his eyebrows. Sirius snapped to, pushing his chair in with his foot as he carried his plate and juice glass to the sink.

James' untouched eggs sat in a chilly heap at the table.

The sun shone warm and blinding this morning as Sirius followed James into the grassy courtyard. Sprawling out on his stomach, James balanced on his elbows, pulling spears of grass out of the ground like he always did when he was thinking hard about something.

Sirius plopped down beside him, drew his knees up, and waited. James had pulled this same bit last October when he had finally admitted to Sirius, Remus, and Peter that Lily Evans was most definitely the fitbird of their year. And didn't the rest of them agree?

The lot of them had shrugged. Eventually had taken the mickey out of him. James had pouted at them to bugger off before commencing his plucking at the grass, saying nothing for the rest of the hour.

A bit like now.

Sirius considered his words carefully, played around with their fragility in his head, as though he were deciding how to balance rattling teacups on a rusty tray. He didn't particularly feel like digging up the previous night's events, since he, too, shared a massive part in that humiliation. But an attempt at humor while James was giving the lawn a bald spot might not be the best of plans either.

Sirius supposed he could always—

"He shouldn't have done that to you."

Sirius scooted forward a bit, squinting the sun out of his eyes. "Done what?"

"Hit you. Shouted at you."

Ah.

Sirius' cheeks pricked with warmth. He flipped his hair forward and tossed it back. Scratched at his scalp. Tried to scope out a few birds overhead. The sky was empty. "It didn't even hurt," he finally said.

"Bollocks."

Right. It'd hurt a bit. But not in the way James was claiming injury.

James was sitting up now. A handful of grass dropped onto his trainers. Drifted away in the gentle breeze.

"I told you we were going to get caught—"

"He never comes home before midnight." James hurled another handful of grass as though he were bowling a cricket ball. "Never, ever."

"You know as well as I do that getting caught is always a possibility," Sirius argued. "You always say that's half the fun."

"Oh, a right blast that was. Remind me to ask my dad to stick round the next time we decide to sneak out. Maybe my granddad, too. And Uncle Freddy…"

"Look, my man, I'm sorry the plan got buggered, and I'm sorry you got whipped—"

"I didn't get whipped."

The words froze in Sirius' mouth. He stared at James, unsure of what to say. He hadn't heard anything after he had been sent to bed last night but had still been almost certain after the way James, twenty minutes later, had let the bedroom door bash against the wardrobe as he stomped in and threw himself onto his own bed, squashing a stray pillow over the side of his face. Falling asleep like that.

Sirius squinted again. "Then why in the hell are you still angry?"

James' glasses flashed as he wrenched his head over his shoulder, looking at Sirius straight on for the first time since they had left Remus' house. "You're joking…"

"No, I'm not joking."

James wrinkled his forehead. Twisted around. "If he'd just let us use the Floo to see about Remus in the first place, we wouldn't have had to sneak out."

A snort. "Of course we would have! It's what we do, James." Sirius kicked his heel into the dirt, feeling his eyebrows pinch together. "And, anyway, Remus' dad said he was fine."

"I don't believe him."

Sirius let his arms hang over his knees. The birds he'd been hunting for a few moments ago were now chirping overhead, but he didn't bother to look up.

"I'm going back tonight." James dusted his hands together, flinging bits of grass. "Going to try anyway." He slapped his palms back and forth on his jeans before balancing on them, making to stand.

"Wait a minute."

James halted, still in a crab-walk position. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Sirius twitched his hair away from his eyes. "You want to make your old man even more pissed off by leaving while you're on restriction?"

"I'm not on restriction." The statement was simple. Flavorless. Like a bite of stale bread.

A pause. "That's a load."

"Is not." James stood now, brushing his hands together once more. "Ask him yourself if you don't believe me."

"Broom off limits?"

"No."

"Supper?"

James scrunched his nose. And then scratched it. "Of course not." He began to walk towards the house.

Sirius watched him go. "Then why are you upset?!"

A quick pivot. "I haven't said a word to him about it."

"Exactly!"

"Why aren't you upset?" James accused. "He's not even your dad, and he treated you like a sodding baby last night just as he did me. He acted a right bastard."

Sirius' face stung. He licked his lips; swallowed. The words had skittered away.

James shifted, plunging his hands back into his pockets. He glanced at the tops of the evergreens before flicking his eyes back to Sirius. "I just meant that—"

"You know what a cane feels like?"

More shifting. "What?"

"Do you know," Sirius slowed his words, his heart thudding in his ears, "what a thrashing with the cane feels like?"

"'Course not." It was James' turn to wet his lips. "Do you?"

"Then don't call your dad a bastard." Sirius glanced away, as if that alone would get the wobble out of his voice. "And shut up about sneaking off to Remus' again."

He brushed past James, toward the house, leaving his best mate staring at the bare spot in the grass.

James

Three quarters of an hour's worth of one-sided Wizard's Chess passed before James finally admitted it to himself.

Bastard was a mite harsh.

A pest, then, James mused, commanding his knight forward. That softened the blow, now, didn't it? A nag.

Ah ha.

"There," James whispered to himself, cracking a slight grin as he watched his knight joust a pawn to marble crumbs.

His father tended to nag a bit. That's all James had meant. And he did get punished sometimes. James felt his smile sag. Not in the way Sirius did, apparently. Twisting his lips together, pressing in his teeth, James sighed. He nudged his own king over with his fingertip, forfeiting the game.

Drawing up his knees, James rested his cheek against his arms. Thinking. The words hadn't come out of his mouth correctly this morning. What he had meant to tell Sirius was that his dad had cooled down considerably by the time he'd come upstairs, which had spawned his father into laying down a few warnings instead of launching right into a formal execution. He still didn't seem to understand about Remus. That was what had James so upset.

No matter now.

James had just started to imagine what Sirius' father's face probably looked like when it was angry when a soft knock sounded.

The parlor door creaked open. "Nearly tea time, sweetheart."

"All right, Mum." James began gathering up the jousted bits that had tumbled onto the carpet.

The gray hair stayed inside the door, watching as James shoved the wooden box under the sofa and even fixed the corner of the rug that had folded up.

His mum's skirt swished in whispers around her shins as she floated into the room as quietly as if she were wearing slippers. She chose a cushion, patted the one next to her.

"Tell me about this row between the two of you."

Plopping down, James focused on the tiny flames jumping around in the fireplace. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I see." She plucked a stray thread off of James' trousers.

He watched it float to the ground.

"Those eyes tell me that you want to talk about it very much."

Searching the soft lines on her face, James sighed again. "I don't think Sirius is very happy at home."

"Mm," she agreed. "I'm afraid you're right."

"Can he live here with us?"

She smoothed James' hair. "Sirius' family is one that values tradition more than each other's contentment."

"Why?"

"The Black family, for generations, have held themselves to a very high standard of pureblood wizardry, at least in their eyes…"

"Slytherins?"

A nod. "Starting out in Slytherin is expected. Most of them followed that path—not all."

James squeezed his hands between his kneecaps, understanding. "Like Sirius."

"Like Sirius," she agreed, "and his cousin Andromeda, though she was a Slytherin."

"That's why his parents want him to go to Durmstrang."

"Do they?"

James sat up at the alarm in her voice. He ran his fingers through the tangles in his hair, nudged up his glasses. "Don't tell him you know that, Mum. Don't tell him I told you."

"I won't say a word." A pause. "Is that why you're sitting here playing chess all alone and Sirius is pretending to read in the library? Did you argue about his switching schools?"

"Oh, no." James prodded at his specs again. "No, it wasn't that. It…it was just something stupid."

She smiled gently. "All right."

James stared at his trainers. "I'm sorry I frightened you last night, Mum. That wasn't very kind."

"Water under the bridge, love." She reached over and clutched his fingers.

"Dad still upset?"

"Daddy's not upset. He loves you very much, you know."

"…I know."

"Jamie?"

James glanced up. "Yeah, Mum?"

Leaning over, she kissed his forehead. "Go make things right with Sirius." She moved toward the door, pausing before she turned the knob. "He appreciates a good book about as much as you do during the summer holidays," his mum teased. "Rescue him, won't you?"

James grinned.

Strands of wavy hair curtained Sirius' face, stayed that way, even after James had knocked on the library door. As the door cracked open, Sirius had stretched his legs out on the sofa and had turned a page of the thick, gray-covered novel he was staring into, but he didn't speak.

James balanced his shoulder on the doorframe, feeling a snicker crawl up his throat when he noticed that, indeed, Sirius looked a bit like Severus Snape right now. James would have liked to tell him that—would have had to dart for the corridor, as Sirius would have chased after him.

A bit inappropriate at a time like now.

James rubbed his knuckles against his lips, wiping away the birth of a smirk. "Tea time, mate."

An eyebrow's twitch of acknowledgement. The book dropped closed over Sirius' thumb.

Pushing away from the door, James took this as an invitation; he reached the back of the sofa, hiking one leg over. "Oy, shove over."

"Piss off."

James launched himself over, right onto Sirius' feet.

"Damn you, Potter."

"I'll break your ankles, too. You'd better move." Spoken through the most insincere expression of James' life.

The book splatted against the floor.

Scooting into a corner of the sofa, Sirius tossed back a handful of hair, hooking an elbow around his knee; he blinked for a moment. The longer James' looked at him, the stormier Sirius' eyes became. Finally, he scowled. "What do you want?"

"You were right."

Sirius' frown melted. "I was right…"

"Mmhm."

"You're certain?"

James mussed his fingers through his hair, studying a row of books on the top shelf he'd never read before, mainly because he couldn't reach them. "Yeah…" He got up from the sofa, brushing past the funny look on Sirius' face; he stood on tiptoe, trying to slide his fingers onto the shelf.

Still not quite.

Returning to the sofa, James tucked his legs into a pretzel.

Sirius watched him. Sniffed with amusement. "You ever sit still?"

James thought about this. He shrugged. "Only when I have to." He paused, chewed the corner of his lip. "I shouldn't've called my dad that," he admitted, more explicitly this time. "I was vexed for a bit. But I'm over it now."

"Good to know," Sirius muttered. "I was considering smothering you in your sleep tonight if you didn't ease up…"

"I never sleep."

"No kidding." Sirius' eyes were gray and shining again. "You snore instead."

James' face split with a laugh. Of course he didn't snore. But Sirius could have this one. It was the least James could do. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room for a long moment.

James pinched at his bottom lip. Played with the cuff of his sleeve. "When did you get the cane last?"

Sirius' forehead turned pink. He drew up his other knee. Dipping his chin, he squirmed a bit.

"Sorry…"

"Nah, it's all right," Sirius croaked; he smoothed the shins of his trousers; they hardly needed smoothing. "I'm the one who brought it up."

James was surprised to feel his cheeks start to sting with warmth as Sirius looked out the window.

"It was on Boxing Day."

"Christmas? Really?"

"Yeah." Sirius pulled his eyes away from the window. "Well, the day after."

"Your dad?" The answer was obvious, but, for some reason, James needed to hear it.

Sirius nodded. "Only because Mum told him to."

"How come?"

Sirius' face had gone back to its original color. His shoulders loosened. "I called her a bitch."

"Blimey…"

"She is a bitch." A swallow rippled through Sirius' throat. "I hate her."

James hugged his knees as well. Didn't know what to say. Didn't need to.

"I don't get it very often, but when I do, it's always because she tells him to. And it's over the stupidest things," Sirius continued, his chest rising and falling a bit quicker. "She always starts the arguments. You know how the last one started?"

"Mm."

"It started over a bloody poster of The Beatles. The one that Janie Barnes left on my desk before we left for the hols in December…"

"That Hufflepuff girl?"

"Yeah, her parents are Muggles."

"Ah, yeah. She really likes you," James remembered. "That's what started the row?"

"That's all."

James' forearms sprouted goose bumps; the air in the library had seemed to cool. "Your mum make you take it down?"

"Couldn't." Sirius cracked a half-smile. "Put a permanent sticking charm on it."

"Cor…" James tried to smile, too. "Brilliant, that is."

"Anyway," Sirius continued, gliding past James' compliment, "all the shouting brought Dad upstairs, and he caught Mum taking her wand out…"

"Her wand? For what—"

"And that's when I called her that." Sirius sniffed again. "That's when I got it."

James could hear himself breathing. He repeated it: "What'd she take out her wand for?"

Sirius shrugged. "Who knows. Stinging Jinx. Knowing her, something worse, probably. My father won't let her, if he's home. But twelve with the stick? Excellent. Has no problem with that one."

"Twelve?!"

Another shrug.

"Bloody hell," James breathed. He watched Sirius chew on his thumbnail, study its ragged edge, and chew some more.

They both glanced at the mantel as the clock chimed the hour; it was five o'clock. The room seemed to hold its breath.

"Did it hurt?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No, it tickled."

James bit his lip. Right.

Finally: "Yeah…it hurt," Sirius said quietly. His hair drifted down towards his eyes again. "Bad."

A knock at the door made their shoulders twitch. This time, another gray-streaked head poked its way through.

"Your mother and Vera have tea all set on the table, boys. Let's tuck in."

They popped up in unison. His dad's smile lines creased at the quick obedience.

"She's put out French bread this time, Jamie, instead of the brown version you claim makes you choke—and two kinds of jam—so no more frown faces, eh?" His dad teased, holding his arm out to guide them through the doorway as James and Sirius came near.

Upon arrival, James paused. He leaned into his dad's side, smelling the cologne still on his sweater. James knew Sirius was staring at him. But, for once, he didn't care.

He felt his dad's arm tighten around his shoulders. "Chocolate biscuits, even."

Sirius

"Do it," James said for the fourth time. "C'mon. Have a go." He wiggled the broomstick under his dad's nose.

A chuckle. "I'm afraid not, son…"

"You could still do it last summer, remember?"

"I was still youthful then."

"You're the one who showed me how to do the Plumpton Pass, "James reminded him, even though he had already thrown the broomstick between his legs again and was hovering a meter above ground. But he kept at it. "Caught it in my sleeve twice in a row."

"And once in your trousers," Sirius chimed in, smiling as widely as James now. He bobbed up and down next to James. The handle of his Comet 180 trembled, ready to take flight.

The sun sparkled through the shadowy leaves as it continued to set lower and lower. The chilly breeze felt as cool as lake water against Sirius' hot face, drying up the beads of sweat at his temples. He loved it.

"Go get your broom, dad."

"Oh, belt up, would you?" Sirius choked down on edge of his broom handle.

The laugh came from Mr. Potter's belly this time. "That's the spirit, Old Thing."

James caught Sirius' eye, grinning. He hunched over. "Ready?"

"First one to make it round the tree and back," Mr. Potter told them, holding his pocket watch at the ready.

"What do I get when I win?"

"You wish, mate…" Sirius gripped his broom more tightly.

Mr. Potter cleared his throat. "Winner gets the first bath tonight."

"Oy," James complained, straightening up so quickly he almost lost his balance. "That's no prize!"

"On the count of three, boys."

Two pairs of shoulders hunched in unison.

"One….two…."

"Monty?"

Sirius turned toward the thread of a voice that seemed to have been carried over by the wind.

Mrs. Potter stood in the doorway, hugging her arms against the dusk chill. Her mouth was drawn with worry.

Sirius felt the soles of his trainers crunch the grass. The broom head thudded at his heels.

"You three had better come inside."

"Aw, Mum, we're only having one more race," James called back, hovering a meter higher on his broom.

Glancing over her shoulder into the house, she stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind her. "Your parents are here, Sirius," Mrs. Potter said. "They're waiting in the parlor." She flicked a quick look at Mr. Potter.

Sirius' stomach turned to ice. So much for being gone a fortnight. It was no wonder his parents didn't reply by owl. They must have decided to make a personal appearance instead.

The wind from James' landing fluttered Sirius' shoelaces.

He had been prepared on the train. He had been prepared for his mother's criticism of his wrinkled shirt and his too-long hair and the lace-ups she hated.

And his friends.

That is…if she were speaking to him at all.

He could deal with his father's stiff shoulders, his silence, and his nose that always seemed to point towards the ceiling. Hell, if his father smelt of Firewhiskey, Sirius could perhaps count on a pat on the shoulder.

His feet felt heavy and clumsy as he plodded through the grass, James right beside him, his Comet 180 dragging behind him. Mrs. Potter pressed her hand against the back of his head as he let himself back in the house.

"Jamie?" Mr. Potter spoke up from behind them. "How about a wash-up?"

James made a face over his shoulder. He continued heading towards the parlor. He travelled approximately three steps before jerking backwards a bit. Sirius paused, turning.

"James." Mr. Potter was still holding onto James' elbow. He wasn't smiling. "Broom in the closet, please."

James held his dad's eyes for an instant. Reaching over, he slipped Sirius' broom out of his grasp, bundled the two under one arm. He disappeared round the corner.

James' parents shared a glance over Sirius' head.

Pushing a few wavy strands out of his face, Sirius wiped his damp palms on the seat of his trousers and walked into the parlor.

His parents were speaking in whispers near the fireplace. They fell silent when they caught sight of extra bodies in the room. They weren't quite dressed in their best robes. But next to it.

His mother pinched her face into a raisin as she studied Sirius up and down, her gaze dwelling on his trainers, particularly on the one with the droopy, untied laces. His father's hair was oiled and shiny, and he had shaved all of the whiskers off of his face. Not a trace of Firewhiskey in the air. His mother's perfume stung his nostrils instead.

Sirius pushed his hands into his pockets, chewing on the insides of his lips.

"How did you find Bulgaria?" Mr. Potter piped up. "Was the weather pleasing?"

A stretch of silence floated over their heads like a cobweb.

Unsurprisingly, it was his mother who spoke first. "The weather was quite fair."

The politeness seemed to slosh around in her mouth, waiting to be spat out.

Mr. Potter cleared his throat. "The boys have just come in from playing and could stand a good soak in the bathtub." The man's smile was stretched too wide.

Maybe that was because his parents' smiles were nonexistent.

Mrs. Potter with the second attempt: "That would give me a chance to clean Sirius' clothes and help him pack."

"The servants can handle the washing," Sirius' mother said coldly, to no one in particular. "We are due for an important meeting in half an hour,"

Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows. "So late?"

Something brushed Sirius' shoulder. James was standing beside him again.

"Go change into proper attire, Sirius," his mother commanded, ignoring Mr. Potter's inquiry. "Your dress robes."

Sirius kept his hands in his pockets. "I don't have those."

"You have them." His mother's eyes narrowed. "I insisted they be packed in your school trunk in September."

Sirius' ribs clamped his chest like a claw. He stared at his mother. "Maybe I threw them away."

She eyed the Potters. Offered them a tight, embarrassed twitch of her lips. She glared at Sirius. "Go get changed. Now."

"I'm not going to Durmstrang, if that's what this meeting is about—"

"Enough."

Five pairs of eyes turned towards the gruff, quiet command.

"Your mother has given you an order," Sirius' father continued in the same hushed voice. "You will heed her." His face remained as still as granite, but his eyes pierced through Sirius'.

Sirius pressed his lips together, lowering his gaze. He could fire back at his mother all day long, but when his father used his cold steel voice, in front of other people, no less, Sirius felt a bit less of a gambler.

He could almost see waves of rage radiating off of his mother. She despised…how did she put it…airing their soiled laundry in public. Sirius' habitual defiance definitely qualified.

"James," Mr. Potter broke through the tension, "go on upstairs with Sirius and help him pack his trunk."

Without a word of protest, James pinched Sirius' sleeve between his fingers and tugged him out of the parlor.

His mother's hawk eyes followed them until they vanished out of sight.

James

Perching on the edge of his mattress, James watched as Sirius crumpled his pajamas into a ball and shoved them into the canvas rucksack he'd found in the bottom of his trunk.

A t-shirt and jeans followed.

Then a handful of wadded socks and underpants.

James pressed the heels of his hands into his kneecaps "Fancy a bit of help?"

"No." The reply was immediate. Sirius pulled another shirt out of his trunk and thrust it into his knapsack. He yanked the string so tightly that James waited for the thing to snap.

"Just refuse to go with them," James suggested. "Put up a right fuss."

"I'm not going with them."

"Brilliant." James sat up, drawing in a deep, happy breath. "I'll pitch a fit as well. Dad's in a bally good mood tonight. He obviously doesn't want you to go either….hang on…why are you packing your overnight satchel if you're not leaving?"

Throwing the plump bag over his shoulder, Sirius twitched his hair out of his face, looked straight at James. "I said I wasn't going with them, but I didn't say I wasn't leaving."

"Wait." James shot up, pressing a palm against Sirius' chest to keep him from moving. "Where are you going? Our parents are downstairs. The front door's right across from the parlor…"

"I'll go out the back, then."

James applied more pressure. "Hold up. What do you think you're going to do? Grab your broom and have a fly round London? It'll be pitch dark soon."

"Who's the one who was planning on popping off to Remus' again?" Sirius tried to wiggle around James. He failed. "Get out of my way."

"Try making me."

Sirius blew his breath out, shifting his satchel to the other shoulder. "Look. I know where I'm going. I've been there before. It's not far from here."

"Fine, then." James let his hand drop. "I'm coming with."

"No, you're not."

Squinting at the stupidity of it all, James snorted. "Of course I am."

"You're not!"

"Watch me."

Sirius' shoulders drooped. His satchel slid down his arm, thudding against the bedroom rug. "Listen." Sirius' voice scratched against his throat. "My parents aren't happy about my being in Gryffindor. They hate it, James."

Well, they're idiots, James wanted to say. But then he noticed a thin line creased between Sirius' eyebrows, and, for some reason, the words wouldn't come out.

A tiny voice: "Why won't you let my dad help? He'd speak up for you."

"Because…" Sirius looked away. "Because it isn't his problem. It's not his job to speak up for me. And it won't make any difference."

"Then just…just do what I said before." James kicked at the edge of the rug with his trainer. "Refuse to go to that meeting."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Or if they force you to go," James pressed on, "act an awful prat in front of the headmaster." A tiny smirk found its way to his lips. "Tell him about that Beatles poster."

The tilt of a smile. "Yeah, that'll go over swimmingly when we get back to London. 'Course, they might kill me first."

"But…" James searched his thoughts. "But you're complete pants at running away, mate. You didn't even pack your toothbrush…"

Sirius glanced down at the knotted bag. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Which," James concluded, "is exactly why you're not going alone."

"You want to guard my toothbrush?"

"Smashing." James scraped his fingers through his hair, mussing it at the back. "It's all settled." He knelt down to dive under his bed, hunting for his own knapsack.

"James…"

In the dark, he fished his hand through an old, wrinkled set of dress robes that no longer fit. Some crumpled paper. His stuffed frog.

"James."

A dust bunny.

"Found it! Ah, wait, no, I didn't—"

"James!"

James pulled his head out into the lamplight. "What? I'm busy."

Releasing the strap of his satchel, Sirius crouched down, sitting on his heels. "You honestly think your dad will just let it go this time if you come with me to my cousin's flat?"

"Your cousin?" James knuckled up his glasses. "Which cousin?"

"Shut up for a minute and listen to me." Sirius stole a peek at the closed door as if someone would barge in any second. "We're eventually going to get caught. You know that, right?"

"No…" James tried on his best mate's sarcasm for size. "I thought we might live forever in the forest with the fairies and the wood elves…"

"Sod off." Sirius smiled. He paused. Picked at the carpet. "I'm not running away. I just need to go to my cousin's house so that I won't have to go to Durmstrang."

"Which cousin?" James asked again.

"Andromeda. She married a Muggle-born."

James twisted his lips, thinking about this. "They won't accept you if they know that?"

"Maybe not. It's worth a try, anyway. They're all about pureblood wizardry, and I mean clean wizardry."

I'm "But how—"

"She's been blasted off the family tree," Sirius cut in, as though reading James' mind. "Every one that I know of. And I'm not allowed to visit anymore. My parents don't even speak of her. I doubt Durmstrang knows anything about her."

"So what will going to her flat prove?"

"Well." Sirius cracked his knuckles as he shrugged. "A recent photograph of us together can't hurt, can it?"

"You'll send that to Norway?"

"Yeah. And a letter from a 'concerned wizard.'" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Maybe a Lestrange. We can have a go at that copying spell you mentioned."

"Bloody brilliant," James whispered. "When did you think of all this?"

"In the library this afternoon…"

"Ha!" James rocked back on his heels. "How will we snag a sample of a Lestrange's handwriting?" He mused to himself. ""S'pose we could figure that out later—"

"But listen… no, seriously, shut up."

James sobered.

Drawing in a long breath through his nose, Sirius wetted his lips. "I don't know what my parents will do…when I come back. And your dad—" There he went. Bringing it up again. "—if you up and left a second time, you think your dad would let it slide? Really?"

James dipped his chin, considering this. He sniffed. The hint of a grin. "Not bloody likely."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "He's jolly keen and all that, but still…"

James scratched at his cheek.

"You'll frighten the wits out of your parents if you leave again, mate. They don't deserve that."

"Not if they know I've left for a good reason," James countered.

"Will they think this a good reason?"

"You're reason enough."

Sirius' eyes were round and gray again. The wrinkle dissolved from his forehead.

"It won't be like last night," James assured him. "They'll know right where we've gone."

"How're they going to know that?"

James dove under his bed again, knowing exactly where to look this time. "I'll leave them a letter. Give them clues." The words were muffled. Pillow words. He snaked his way out, brushing the dust from his fringe. He held up his two-way mirror.

"And we'll leave them this."

TBC…