Birthday wishes and ficlet for conspiratorsb
Happy birthday (((Sterretjie)))!
I hope you have the kind of day where your face hurts from smiling incessantly, and that your year ahead sees the realisation of many dreams. Your writing, your creativity in general and your dedication to pursuing your dreams have been an inspiration to me since I've known you. Thank you for being a fabulous, cheerful and encouraging friend.
Your parcel arrived yesterday - SQUEE! - and made me wish I had something more tangible to give you than my love and best wishes and the ramblings of my insomniated brain. But I hope you like this anyway...
Title: A Tale of Two Mirrors
Author: wickedevra
Rating: PG
Characters, pairings: Sirius, James - gen, implied James/Lily
Wordcount: 600ish
Disclaimer: The Harry potter characters and the world they inhabit are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. No infringement is intended.
Dedication: Happy birthday conspiratorsb !
Author's notes: Best Friends remains one of my favourite stories ever, which is why I wanted to write about Sirius and James's friendship for today.
Sirius sighed and poked the gelatinous remains of his treacle tart, in a manner which might - by the non-discerning observer - be interpreted as moody. Sirius was, however, neither sulking nor moping like that pervy Myrtle. Sirius was merely annoyed. And what (arguably) reasonable person could fail to be annoyed by the lumpy weight of a parcel poking him in the ribs all day long?
A parcel that happened to be the unclaimed property of an ungrateful pratt formerly known as James Potter. A parcel of which said ungrateful pratt was expected to have demanded receipt at precisely 05h00 hours on the occasion of his seventeenth birthday, following the obligatory four minute bounce upon the bed of his sleep-feigning best friend.
The mirrors taunted Sirius from within the lining of his robes. Shiny and seething with possibility. Vacant, missing the reflection of astonished glee in a bespectacled face.
Sirius had been forced to drag the wretched mirrors around with him the entire day, because the insufferable git had remained closeted in his four-poster bed until breakfast was almost over. Closeted with Evans and every single privacy and silencing charm known to Wizardkind - and a few that weren’t, judging by the iridescent mauve hue mysteriously inflicted on the hangings.
As if that wasn’t effeminate humiliation enough, there he sat spooning gloops of treacle into Evans’ mouth, staring at her with gooey eyes while Ravenclaws sauntered past snickering.
And the world teetered a little further off its axis, lilting dizzily toward the siren song of wedding bells, the whispered rumours of war and the knell of adulthood.
‘See you in a bit,’ Evans asserted, undulating to her feet with a kiss fluttered over James’ mussed black hair. She sashayed off, red hair swishing to the rhythm of her smug little hips.
James scooted across the bench - staring after Evans’ retreating form - until he landed opposite Sirius. ‘’Lo Padfoot.’
‘’Lo,’ replied Sirius, unenthused. He might as well hand over the mirror now. He wasn’t carting it around any more. ‘Happy birthday or whatever.’ So blasé. His voice was gruff as he shoved the parcel across the table.
James regarded him with questions in his eyes. Then he ripped off the brown paper. His expression blank for the four seconds it took for identification to dawn. ‘Two way mirrors! How did you...? When did you…? …How?’ he spluttered.
Sirius dismissed the barrage of incoherent unfinished enquiries, the long nights of actual reading in the library, the hours squinting over enchantments and scorched fingers, with a shrug. ‘It wasn’t much.’
James didn’t say anything, but the acknowledgment was there in his fingers tracing the glassy surface with reverence in their touch. Eventually, ‘thanks, Padfoot.’ He tucked one mirror carefully inside his robes, and slid its mate back across the table.
Sirius smiled. ‘Isn’t Evans waiting for you?’
‘I suppose so. You know, women can be very demanding.’ James attempted to assume such an air of worldly sophistication, and failed so abysmally, that Sirius thought perhaps not much had changed after all.
James extricated his long legs from beneath the table, and got slowly to his feet. ‘See you later.’ He turned to go. Then turned back, reached across the table and clasped Sirius around the neck in a clumsy, strangling hug. ‘You know we’ll always be best friends?’ His voice muffled by Sirius’ hair.
‘Course we will. Now gerroff me, you daft git,’ Sirius remonstrated, hugging him back. He watched James stride from the hall, one hand messing his black hair, the other touching the mirror inside his robes, making sure it was still there.