Abnormal ?James Potter?

Chapter 7: The Water is Fine

The corridor outside the Gryffindor common room was dim, the flickering torches casting uneven shadows along the stone walls. Sirius paced, his boots echoing against the floor, one hand gripping his lit cigarette like a lifeline. The other raked through his hair, tugging at the strands as if he could pull the frustration out of his skull. Smoke curled around him, dissipating in the cool air.

James emerged from the portrait hole moments later, hesitating when he saw Sirius. The weight of the argument still clung to him, heavy and suffocating.

You can still fix this. Just don't say the wrong thing first.

"Hey, Pads," he said, voice low, easy. Friendly, like nothing had been said between them earlier. Like Sirius hadn't called Evan a future Death Eater or thrown words that stuck like glass.

Sirius didn't look at him, his jaw tight. "If you're here to lecture me, don't bother. I've had enough of everyone's bloody opinion tonight."

James exhaled. His hand went to his hair before he could stop it—tugging, raking through the messy curls like he could tear the uncertainty out of himself.

"I'm not—"
He stopped.
Swallowed.
Tried again.

"I'm not here to lecture you, mate."

Silence answered him. Loud. Crushing.
James crossed the room in three steps, then stopped just short of touching the chair Sirius had decided to sit on. He didn't know if he was allowed to be close right now. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides.

"I just... I just wanted to check on you," he said, and hated how small his voice sounded. Like a kid again. Like he hadn't grown into anything at all.

I just wanted to fix it. I just wanted to know you weren't going to leave me too.

Sirius scoffed under his breath, low and bitter.

James flinched.

He shouldn't have. He knew that. It was nothing. Just a sound. But it hit like a slap anyway.

He could feel himself starting to unravel at the edges, the way he always did when Sirius was angry with him.

Like he couldn't quite breathe right. Like every second he stayed standing there made him more unbearable to look at.
James cleared his throat, searching for something—anything—to fix this.
"I didn't mean to make things worse earlier. I just..." He dug his nails into his palms. "I just didn't want us fighting over—over them. Over people who aren't even—"

"You don't get it, James," Sirius said sharply, cutting him off.

James bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
"You don't get what they're like," Sirius continued. His voice wasn't raised—it was worse than that.

Calm.
Final.

"You think you can save them. Save everyone. Like if you just believe in them enough, it'll make up for all the ways they were broken before they met you."

James's chest tightened, every word a needle threading itself into the rawest parts of him.

Sirius finally turned, his expression raw and defensive.

"I get it," James said, quieter now, trying to offer an olive branch. "But Remus wasn't defending Evan. He was just—he was trying to make sense of things."

Sirius's laugh was bitter, a jagged sound that didn't feel like it belonged to him. "Make sense of things? You want to talk about making sense? I'm the one who has to watch you become friends with someone who has no business being around us. Someone who—"