PART I JAMES
The next few days are lonely.
In fact, James is fairly certain it's the most lonely he's ever felt in his entire life.
Sirius and Remus don't come back to the dorm but they do start coming to classes again. Sitting alone, away from James and Peter. Remus shoots James apologetic glances whenever they take the desks on the other side of the room. Sirius doesn't look at him at all. Doesn't come to the Great Hall or speak to anyone but Remus, at least not as far as James can tell.
It's all far too reminiscent of last year. The four of them broken up, not speaking, not even looking at one another. James hates it. He thinks about just going down to the shack and forcing Sirius to talk to him. Thinks about it a lot actually. About what he would say, and how they would yell and scream but by the end everything would be okay. He never actually goes of course. Remus asked him to give Sirius time so he does. He just wishes Sirius didn't need so much of it.
James floats between Quidditch practice and class. He talks to Peter—talks to Remus when he's alone—but other than that he mostly keeps his head down. Every night he lies awake in bed and feels the pull to go to Regulus. A few times—pathetic times—he pulls out the map to see if Regulus is there, in their room. To see if he's waiting for James despite everything. But of course he isn't. Regulus has too much self respect for that.
James doesn't know how to fix things. Not with Regulus, not with Sirius. And so the floating continues. James can't help but feel like he's fading a little bit. An empty version of himself, just going through the motions.
"I'm thinking about starting a chess club."
James blinks, coming back to the breakfast table and looking up at Peter while he chews thoughtfully on the bacon sandwich he's just made for himself.
"A chess club?" James asks, trying to make sure he's heard him right.
"Yeah," Peter says, wiping his mouth clean on the back of his hand. "Like, you know, you have Quidditch, maybe I could have chess?"
James refrains from explaining all the ways in which a chess team and a Quidditch team are radically different things.
"Sure, yeah, okay," he says instead. "I didn't realize you were that into chess?"
Peter shrugs. "Well, I'm not exactly. But I feel like I could be y'know? Like I'm never going to be a Quidditch star no matter how hard I try—"
"You don't know that," James says automatically, earning him a skeptical look from Peter.
"Uh, yeah, I think I do. BUT," he says before James can interrupt again. "I could be a chess star if I just put a little more effort into it. It might not be Quidditch but," another shrug. "A trophy is a trophy right?"
He looks at James hopefully and James can't bring himself to say anything even remotely negative. "Sure, definitely. I thinks that's—er—a great idea."
"Really?" Peter asks, looking far too happy about this.
"Er—'course."
"Maybe I'll put up posters yeah? See who's interested. Hold try-outs."
James has no idea what the hell chess tryouts would even look like.
"Hey, would you help?" Pater asks, eyes all big and hopeful. Fucking damnit Peter. "Since you've done it so many times before—tryouts I mean—you could give me some pointers?"
"Er—"
Luckily, James is saved from having to continue this conversation by the arrival of the post. Hoot choosing that moment to land gracefully on the table beside him, only narrowly avoiding stepping in a bowl of porridge. He very insistently starts nudging at James's shoulder with his beak.
