People make mistakes. Most of the time, James thinks, you should forgive them. If they're sorry. If they mean it. He himself has made some questionable decisions in his life. Some missteps. Everyone is just trying their best.
People make mistakes.
But they also make choices. It's important to him, that difference. He does his best not to confuse the two.
The night that Sirius shows up on James's doorstep he's barely able to stand. He has his wand. That's all. He's not even wearing shoes.
"Didn't have time," he tells James, words slightly slurred. Sirius smiles when he says it, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes-cracking at the corners of his mouth. Before that night, James had never fully understood what it meant to want someone dead. But he could have killed them. All of them. Anyone who had ever touched Sirius.
"Bit predictable aren't they?" he finds himself saying as he slips a gentle arm around his friend and starts leading him inside.
"What, shoes you mean?"
"Well yeah, everyone wears them don't they? Where's the fucking spontaneity? I look down and know just what I'm gonna get."
"Bloody Shoes."
"Exactly!"
Sirius's smile is a bit more genuine this time, though James can feel him trembling under his hands.
"Fucking fascists," Sirius mutters, just as James's mother comes down the stairs, wand lit, feet slippered.
"James what-oh," she stops there, halfway down the steps, and for a moment something painful flickers across her face. But then it's gone. "Sirius, love, it's good to see you-James, the den please."
James nods, slowly walking himself and Sirius towards the sofa. Sirius's breath is laboured and every once and a while James feels him suppress a wince.
"Sorry about just turning up," he says, his voice straining as James lowers him onto the sofa.
"Don't be daft," he sits beside him, hand still on his arm, unwilling to let go.
"You're always welcome, you know that," Mrs. Potter adds as she comes into the room behind them, a cup of hot tea following beside her. She levitates it gently onto the coffee table. "Cream, four sugars," she says, making Sirius grin.
"You remembered."
"Hard to forget a bloody toothache in a mug," that earns James a pointed stare from his mother but Sirius only laughs, head resting on the back of the sofa like he hasn't got the energy to hold it up.
"What can I say, I like 'em sweet," he winks at James who grins in return. Sirius would flirt with a lamppost if he was bored enough. Or scared. Sirius wraps charm around himself like armour.
Euphemia kneels in front of him, her hand reaching out to gently cup his cheek. Sirius is pale, even in the dark James can see that, can see the circles under his eyes and the blooming purple bruise on the side of his jaw. If her frown is anything to go by, James would guess his mother sees it too.
"I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell love," she says softly, thumb grazing his cheek. "Is that alright?" There's a pause, a slight tightening at the corners of Sirius's eyes. He nods.
Euphemia takes in a breath, pulling her hand away and casting silently. James can feel her magic-warm and sweet, like cinnamon. Sirius's eyes flutter closed for a moment, arm going stiff under James's hand so he gives it a squeeze. I'm here, he hopes it says. I'm here. I'm here. After a few seconds Sirius squeezes back.
