When James landed on the hill, the snow was glinting eerily in the moonlight, still cracking underfoot. The wind was louder than usual tonight, echoing through the hills with an emptiness that sent chills up his spine. Sirius should be arriving soon, as the patronus had said—it was nearing midnight, and usually he was punctual.
Of course, James hadn't known before that it was him, that it was Sirius behind that mask, but he could recognise it all now—all the little patterns that he should've recognised, patterns he'd seen in Sirius back at Hogwarts, or in the order, or in his own fucking house, all those years ago. Now, he wasn't sure who it was who was going to apparate to the hill, but he was determined to find out.
He could still hear the desperation in Regulus' voice, the way he'd begged him to—not. Don't, he'd said, and that was all he could've said. It was simply too little for James to really listen. He shouldn't have woken up, was what it really was. James had been so careful, so quiet leaving the tent, and Regulus had still somehow woken up, as though James' absence in itself was different enough for him.
There was a crack as Sirius appeared into existence, his black robes standing out against the white of the snow, a dark shadow amongst the emptiness.
James clutched the knife low, unsure as to whether he was truly going to use it. But he did know that deep in his chest, there was still that ache, that desire, every time he imagined Sirius' face in that ministry cell. He could imagine it, just as bloody as Halloween night.
Instead, he stayed still, waiting for Sirius to approach him first. He still wore the mask, gunmetal and gold.
"Hello?" His voice asked, reaching out across the hill.
"Here," he said, keeping his voice low. The wind whistled around them, and James felt a bit swept away, heart rate increasing higher, and higher, and higher. In his hand was Regulus' knife, familiar in his hands—not the duplicate he'd made that'd faded days ago. This was the real thing, strong and muggle.
Sirius took a step forward. "You sent a patronus again."
James kissed his teeth. "Well—there was a lot that happened yesterday."
"Right," said Sirius, coming to a stop, again.
"I think we have a few things to discuss. To say the least," James said.
Sirius nodded, his head only a shadow in the darkness. "The Ministry."
Until Regulus brought up the Ministry, earlier that day, it hadn't even been on James' mind, too consumed by learning of the Raven, by the way he and Regulus had argued, the way he'd been too overwhelmed with emotion to even control himself.
"Sure. The Ministry."
His eyes flashed back. Or at least—James imagined they did. He'd known Sirius for so long, he could practically picture each reaction, as though having a conversation with someone half filled-in from memory.
"What else, besides the Ministry?" Sirius said, after a pause.
"Yesterday."
"Right. Yesterday."
It was as though the two of them were dancing, skirting around the topic, and yet the two of them knew exactly what the other was talking about. A conversation within a conversation.
"You left, before the meeting started. But you'd been there for the meeting. No?" James asked. "Unless there was another reason you went to Grimmauld Place."
He could feel every second, drawn between the two of them, each moment longer than the next.
"I had other things to attend to."
