Harry Potter Oneshots ✨🏳️‍🌈

When Moony met Juney

by: dark blue dark on AO3

Sirius stumbles onto the Hogwarts Express from the deserted platform, exhausted and achy and trying hard not to think about why he lost Padfoot several hours ago and had to walk the last, oh, ten kilometers or so to Kings Cross as a human–- or, well, in human form. Luckily, he's been running and then walking all night, so he's still arrived early enough that there is nobody on Platform 9¾ yet to see him shuffle, wincing, onto the train. He throws himself wearily onto the bench of the nearest compartment and succumbs almost immediately to unconsciousness.

His dreams are a heaving roil of fever and fresh trauma, a nightmare roulette of his aggressors in no logical order–- Orion, Greyback, Bellatrix, Walburga, a crowd of unfamiliar weres whose screams rise into howls–- and, worst of all, the stony silence of Regulus.

"Padfoot, Padfoot! SIRIUS!!"

The dreams fade reluctantly, resentfully away, and Sirius cracks open an eye to the blurry but welcome sight of wire-framed glasses and that distinctive Potter hair. Not to mention the intense but familiar smell of Prongs: it soothes something inside Sirius that he doesn't want to think about too closely right now.

"Prongs," he moans.

"Hey, Pads," says James. "Bad one?"

Sirius moans again.

"Here, come sit up-–" James reaches out to help (Sirius must have fallen to the ground at some point) and all other thought but pain disappears as Prongs' hand closes around Sirius' shoulder.

He screams.

James lets go instantly but the damage is already done; Sirius is all but sobbing and James' face is oscillating between sheer panic and that intrinsic leadership that's started to spark up in him ever since he became Quidditch Captain this year.

"Hey, hey," Prongs murmurs soothingly. "Sorry, Pads, didn't know you were hurt there."

Sirius whimpers in response, though he hopes it sounds somewhat forgiving.

"Can you sit tight for a minute or two though? I've got a great big bag of pain potions for Moony stored in my trunk, and I made sure to bring extra just in case Walburga lost her temper again?" He finishes that thought as if it's a question, which Sirius' repeated whimper seems to answer. "Alright then, I've just gotta nip back to the compartment Wormy and I found, but don't you worry, we'll be right back in a jiffy, yeah?"

Sirius nods and even manages not to whimper this time.

"And then Moony'll be done with the Prefects' meeting soon and he'll come find us too, yeah? Right. Sit tight, Pads, there's a good lad."

He walks carefully but purposefully out of the compartment, leaving Sirius alone on the floor. The absence of James from the room feels unusually tender, as though he was some intrinsic part of Sirius and they belonged together-- which is how their friendship has always felt, in a way, but not like this. Luckily, he doesn't have to think about it for too long because Prongs returns soon enough, and Sirius feels right again-– even better, in fact, because Peter's there too, and he smells familiar and welcoming and-– oh.

Pack.

Sirius pushes aside that revelation to stew over later and blearily watches Prongs rummage around in his trunk.

"Rough break, mate?" Peter asks conversationally.

Sirius nods half-heartedly.

"Shame, that. You'll never guess what--"

"Fucking hell, Wormy, this is not the time," James interrupts, pulling out a handful of vials filled with familiar greyish-blue pain potion. He reaches instinctively again for Sirius' shoulder, and only stops when Sirius recoils, hard. "Right, sorry mate," he says gently, leaning back on his heels to watch Sirius slowly push himself up to a sitting position on the faded beige carpet of the Hogwarts Express. Once he's upright and more or less done swaying, James hands over three vials to Sirius. "Can I see what she did to you, at least?"