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spectersgf · 6 months ago

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oh i have never been so excited for a fic. this is everything to me already.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter One.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: Language, mentions of broken bones, blood, physical violence.

I can't believe it's finally here. Enjoy, lovelies :)

James Potter

There’s five minutes left in the final period. Gryffindor are down by one and James refuses to start the season on a loss. He’d settle for a draw. But he will not allow his team to lose to Slytherin. Call him superstitious but losing the first game of the season is a grey cloud of doom that will follow them all year long and there’s nothing James Potter wants more than to bring Gryffindor to their fourth frozen four win in a row. Especially in his first year as captain. So, call him hell bent. James prefers motivated, competitive.

They’re due a line change. Sirius is losing steam and Remus has been favouring his left skate a little too much for James’ liking. Five seconds and the juniors will switch them out. But James has the puck, is trying to keep Mulciber as far away from his coat tails as possible, but Sirius can’t keep up. His eyes are on Remus, further up the ice, chasing Snape who’s making a break directly for James.

James bangs his stick against the ice, calls Sirius’ name. But it’s too late. Mulciber’s stick collides with the side of his skate at the same time Remus and Snape crash into him from the front. It’s an illegal play and the Slytherin’s know it. But it doesn’t stop the yell Snape lets out the minute he’s back on the ice, demanding the ref penalise Remus for shoving him into James. Sirius is there in a second, gloves dropped to the ice and his fingers curled around Snape’s cage. “That was illegal, and you know it, Snivellus.” Sirius grits out, pushing the Slytherin player back by his head.

Snape tumbles, the ref watches closely. James’ eyes fly to the board. They’re about to line change, the buzzer has paused, but if Sirius doesn’t play this right, he’ll still be in the sin bin by the time the buzzer goes. They need him for that final minute. “Pads, relax.” James warns his best friend.

Sirius Black is notorious for being The Loose Canon of the NCAA. It’s a strength and a weakness, James supposes. A lot of the lesser teams in the league give him a wide berth when playing Gryffindor. Between Sirius, Remus, and James, they have their routine for winning down-pat. But with Slytherin, it’s always a coin toss. They know how to rile Sirius, have him bench riding for the majority of the game. It’s what they’re doing now. James realises he might’ve been the one to get floored by Snape and Mulciber, but that attack was aimed specifically at Sirius.

Sirius who was supposed to be protecting James. Sirius who was too busy looking at Remus.

“Should’ve been keeping a better eye on your captain, Black.” Mulciber antagonises. His smirk is knowing, goading. James sighs and accepts his fate a mere second before Sirius is on Mulciber, helmet skittering across the ice.

There’s an evil crack from Mulciber’s nose. Blood seeping over the white ice like some sort of sick omen for the rest of the season. James looks around him, watches as the rest of the Slytherin’s approach, locks eyes with Remus. There’s an understanding there. They’re fucked. Royally. So, they might as well give Sirius a hand. James screws his eyes shut, gives himself a single second to prepare for the reaming Coach Moody is going to give him, then grabs Severus Snape, Slytherin captain, by the neckline of his jersey and punches him so hard he crumples to the ice like an empty water bottle.

The ref blows the whistle repeatedly, the team members on each bench cheer and bang their sticks against the boards. The crowd roars. And while James registers this is definitely not how he wanted the season to begin – fighting off Slytherin’s because of Sirius Black’s short fuse temper – he’s still so glad to be fucking back.

Alistor Moody isn’t a pleasant man to look at. He’s burly, with thin strands of straw-coloured hair and a glass eye that seems to swivel of its own accord. As though it’s come loose. The rumour is that the captain of his high school’s rival hockey team jabbed his stick into Moody’s eye. He lost his scholarship, his career, and he’s been living up to his name’s sake ever since. The man is moody. An old grump who James looks up to because his experience and no-excuses-attitude have helped James’ team win three Frozen Four trophies. So, the idea of letting him down sits heavy on his chest. Regardless of his loyalty to Sirius, he regrets punching Snape in the face.

If only because his coach hasn’t stopped screaming for twenty straight minutes and James really needs to get to his Econ class. Moody hadn’t said anything after the game. Had been unnervingly quiet and the anxiety of such a reaction from him has sat heavy in James’ chest ever since. He’d known this was coming. But he wishes he’d had more time to prepare. Or, at the very least, warn Professor Flitwick that he’d be late.

Sirius is nonplussed. Has been since the fight. It should irk James. Should annoy him that they’re seniors and Sirius is still pulling the same shit he’s been pulling since they were in little leagues. But he cuts him the slack he needs. Always has. Always will. Sirius isn’t as simple as most people think he is. He comes from a shitty home with even shittier parents and a shitty fucking past. So, he’s quick to anger? James allows it because it’s how Sirius copes. But he’s really over the reaming it’s landed him from Moody.

“I’m serious, this shit ends now.” Moody points a finger at them. Sirius sniggers into his fist. A tale as old as time, that he’d laugh at such a sentence. Their coach chooses to ignore it, carries on with a defeated sigh. “Dumbledore wanted you benched for the season. I talked him down to community service.”

“That’s bullshit.” Sirius’ voice sounds bored, and James knows he’s already coming up with a million ways to avoid doing such a thing.

“No, Black. What’s bullshit is that you’re still pulling this shit as a fucking senior. You’re meant to be setting an example to the freshmen! And you’re starting fights for no goddamn reason.” Moody slams a fat hand down on the desk and James flinches.

Community service of any kind is a hockey player’s worst nightmare. Especially at their level. They spend all their lives training, have barely any social life, and the time that they are allocated to actually have a life, now belongs to whatever sad sack community outreach programme needs their help. It’s bullshit, Sirius is right. But James doesn’t feel in any sort of position to argue with Moody, not when there’s the threat of a suspension on the line.

“The snakes started it! Mulciber could’ve broke James’ leg with that swipe.”

Sirius has always been someone to argue with authority. James admires his passion, but it’s clear they’re not getting out of this. Moody confirms his thoughts with a plain, “Regardless. You threw the first punch in an illegal fight. Started an all-out brawl. Your community service leaders will complete a sign in sheet each week. You miss a session; you’re benched at that week’s game.”

James allows himself to let out a long, suffering sigh. He’d started his senior year determined to actually put effort into his degree, as well as his captaincy. Now, he’s unsure how he’s going to balance everything. Fucking Sirius. “What’s the damage, then?” He asks.

The grin Alistor Moody gives Sirius and James is nothing short of pure evil. He’s cynical. James’ stomach sinks. “Black, you’re headed to the library. There’s a student writing a thesis paper, needs help citing books and the likes. You’ll help with that on Tuesday afternoons and Thursday evenings.”

Sirius slumps in his seat, unimpressed. “Fun.”

“Potter, you’re co-coaching mini-skate. Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings.” There’s something in Moody’s voice. Like he already knows what James’ reaction is going to be, that he feels somewhat guilty about it.

The room spins, James feels like he’s going to throw up. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his heart races. Even Sirius sits up in his seat, eyes wide.

“Moody you can’t make him do that. Let us switch.” Sirius begs as he leans forward.

The coach winces. “I tried. Dumbledore chose them specifically for each of you. I’m sorry.”

James’ mouth is too dry to talk. Not that he can think of any words to say, anyway. All he can think of is you. Your face when you find out who your new co-coach is. The way your heart will probably plummet like his did. He feels nauseous, too warm, too cold, he’s not sure. Last he saw you, you were crying in the passenger seat of his car, telling him how much you hated him. How you never wanted to see him again. He can’t say he blames you. The thing about James is that he’s an idiot. He doesn’t think things through. Lives in the moment, acts before he thinks because it’s what his hockey obsessed brain is trained to do. He ruined your trust and broke your heart because he’s an idiot. And now you’re being forced to co-coach with him.

He stands abruptly, excuses himself into the hallway outside Moody’s office. Let’s the cool wall press against his too warm back, slams his head against the concrete. Sirius closes the door behind him, toe tapping anxiously against the linoleum. “Good?” He asks.

“Next time you start a fight, Sirius, remember this moment. Remember how uncomfortable this is going to make her. Remember that I can’t not be your back up. You’re my best friend and I’ll always have your back, no questions asked. But this? Please don’t put me in this position again.” James tells Sirius.

Then, he turns and walks away. Down the hall, out of the sports administration building and towards his truck. All the while thinking about how much of a fucking idiot he is.

Sirius Black

Remus is running late. Not that Sirius minds, he’s grateful for the time alone. The time to think, to get his head straight. To digest James’ words. His best friend, his captain. He let him down epically and he regrets it. He wishes he hadn’t, but it’s not like he can help it. There’s something wrong with him. With the way his brain is wired. It’s the in the blood that runs through his veins, that dark and twisted Black temper. It’s a grey cloud over him, the itch in his bones. It never falters, never dulls. He’s so angry all of the time, always on edge.

He wishes he weren’t. He’s trying not to be so much of a fucking mess. It’s hard. To shake that darkness when it’s surrounded him so wholly for a lot of his life. He wants to be better, to do better. But there was something in Mulciber’s words at the game. An insinuation that made Sirius’ skin burn. He doesn’t want to dissect it yet. Maybe he’s not ready to. But he does know that if he doesn’t get his act together, he’s going to go from the NCAA’s biggest loose cannon to the NHL’s biggest loose cannon, and the Cannon’s will kick him faster than he can skate a lap. The irony isn’t lost on him, with that one.

Sirius catches sight of Remus weaving his way through the car park and starts his car’s engine. He’s trying not to show his limp. But whether Sirius wants to look into it or not, he’s acutely aware of how much he notices everything about Remus Lupin. He’s point zero for Sirius. He’s always tuned into him. Notices all of his winces, all of his tics, his moods. Even when they’re not obvious. It’s always been that way. Sometimes Sirius wonders if they share a brain simply because he acts without even having to think. Will grab the ice pack for Remus before he asks, turns the heat up on the heating pads without any comment from Remus. Knows if Remus hasn’t taken his medicine, knows when he’s in pain. It’s like a sixth sense.

He tries not to think about it, too much.

Sirius leans over and opens the door for Remus before his fingers can even brush the handle. He smiles as he climbs into the car, sets his backpack on the floor at his feet. Sirius’ heart returns to a normal pace. A pace he wasn’t even aware was missing until Remus got into the car, a peaceful thrum of his heart. “Doctor Holme said Hey.”

“How is my favourite Doctor?” Sirius asks as he pulls out of his parking space. He’s never met Doctor Holme, but he communicates with her solely through Remus on the days he picks him up from his weekly check-ups.

“Adamant I’m going to need a knee replacement if I don’t cool it with the extra training hours that I’ve been putting in.” Remus grumbles, eyes following the ramp onto the highway as it speeds past.

There’s a lot of pressure on Remus. He was an early draft, before he even really left high school. He’s a record holder. A big hockey name. Chosen before the full extent of such a demanding career took its toll on his body. Since freshman year, Remus’ muscle mass has deteriorated. He won’t have as long of a career as the average person in the NHL, but he’s determined to have what he can. Lately, it’s not looking like much. Not that Remus will tell Sirius exactly how bad it is. No, everything Sirius knows, he knows through observation. Or Lily.

It’s not in Sirius’ nature to let other people’s lives affect his own. But he’s noticed that the idea of Remus’ illness getting worse makes his chest feel tight and his brain kick into problem solving mode. There are many open tabs on his laptop outlining rehabilitation therapy options, bone marrow transplants, clinical trials. If Remus saw them, he’d go crazy. He prefers to live in denial. It’s the bane of Sirius’ existence.

“He might have a point.” Sirius tells Remus as he flicks his blinker on, merges onto the highway.

St Mungo’s hospital is twenty minutes out from Hogwarts but it’s the best hospital within a hundred miles. So, Sirius drives Remus back and forth to his appointments when he can. When he can’t, James takes him. Or Lily. It’s an unspoken agreement between the four of them. Remus had once tried to hide his appointments from them. It hadn’t ended well.

Remus scoffs. “I know he has a point, Padfoot. But if I’m not at the top of my game next year, how is that going to look?”

There’s an edge to Remus’ voice that alerts Sirius to danger. They’re similar, in a lot of ways. Nasty tempers and even nastier words. Except, Remus keeps his temper off the ice. Sirius has no control over his.

“Moody gave us community service.” Sirius switches the subject with ease as he switches into the lane closest to the exit ramp for Hogwarts.

“James told me, yeah.” Remus nods, shifting to face Sirius.

He swallows thickly. Of course, James called Remus after their meeting this morning. Of course, he needed someone to talk it through with. A reasonable source of advice. Because Sirius is aware he has no advice of value for the situation James finds himself in. The situation Sirius put him in.

“I feel like shit. He looked like a kicked puppy.” Sirius hates letting James down. Sure, he’s his captain and that should be enough. But James is Sirius’ best friend. His soul mate, his safe space. The person he’s been running to since he could run. James is strong and safe, he’s loyal down to his fucking bones. What had Sirius expected when he started that fight? For James to watch it happen?

He should have known. After all this time, he should have fucking known.

“James is a big boy; he knew the consequences when he punched Snape.” Remus speaks softly to Sirius. Like he knows the shame spiral he’s in and wants to help pull him out. James isn’t the only protector Sirius knows.

Where James is fair in his protectiveness, Remus often throws caution to the wind. He’s fierce in his loyalty. Sometimes to a fault. Like Sirius.

“You know James as well as I do. I jump, he jumps.” Sirius sighs, defeated. “I should have let it go. I knew they were trying to get me on the bench, and I still let them get to me.”

Remus hums, nods his head in a fair agreement. Sirius looks over at him for a second. Just one second before his eyes return to the road. His eyes are sweet and understanding. A sticky honey colour that Sirius finds he likes a lot.

“Maybe.” Remus mumbles, fingers reaching up to rub at the scar above his lip. A tic. A nervous one, born from Sirius’ eyes on him.

Sirius laughs. “Maybe?”

Remus laughs too, head tilted back, and the sound is so light and easy it breathes fresh life into Sirius’ lungs. Lifts the residual anxiety sitting heavy in his chest as they pull up to the house. “Okay,” He breathes, “You definitely should have walked away from that fight. But you didn’t. So now you just have to get on with it.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He looks over at Remus.

Remus smiles. It’s quick and fleeting, a smile that Sirius knows is reserved only for him. It warms his cheeks as he smiles back.

“You want dinner?” Remus asks as they pull into the empty drive.

James isn’t home, his parking space void of his stupidly oversized truck.

“Depends, what’re you making?” Sirius grabs Remus’ bag from the footwell, climbs out of the car.

Remus laughs, “A phone call. For pizza.”

Sirius moans from behind Remus, who’s fumbling with his keys for the front door, “You know how to talk dirty to me, Moony.”

Remus scoffs, “You couldn’t handle my dirty talk, Black.”

And, well. Sirius doesn’t think he has an answer for that.

You

You shouldn’t be surprised, in all honesty. You’ve been expecting him to attempt some sort of damage control since you’d spoken to Madame Pince, this morning. That conversation had gone over like a lead balloon; the exact reason you’re still skating. Two hours after your training ended. Even though the Zamboni guy is giving you a look suitable to someone who kicked his cat. Even though your ankle is throbbing, and Medic Pomfrey would chastise you for not taking a break. You’re technically not out of the woods yet, as she likes to remind you every chance she gets. Your ankle might be healed but you still have a lifetime of physiotherapy, it feels.

Skating is an out. It’s peace. Makes you feel free, like flying. It’s rare, these days, to skate for fun. For the enjoyment of the feeling that it gives you. You’ve been skating since you could walk. Competing since the minute you were old enough, talented enough. Eventually, skating for fun became a rarity. You love the sport with every bit of your beating heart. But it’s nice to stop the constant ebb and flow of anxiety, of competitiveness, and just exist on the ice.

James is sitting on the team benches, watching. There’s a sadness to him that you’d like to punch from his stupidly handsome face. So, you ignore him. Keep to the far side of the ice until your ankle is screaming at you to stop. James stands when you approach the bench, hands your water bottle over the board. It weighs heavy on you, the feeling of normalcy that such an action would once hold. It feels like an age ago that he would watch your practices, cheer for you even when he was the only one in the crowd. You snatch the bottle from his hand, take a drink while you wait for him to say something.

“Pince told you.” He states. There’s a hesitance on his face, readable in his body language. He’s flighty, unsure of how you’re going to react.

You hate that he’s unsure of how to act around you. Hate even more that it’s warranted. You’ve changed, over the summer. Made promises to yourself that no one will ever make you feel the way James made you feel, ever again. That breakup cost you nationals, last year. The heartache was a distraction. One that could have cost you your career. You refuse to let it happen again.

“She did. You’re here to do damage control, right? Tell me that you didn’t get to choose your community service. Tell me that Sirius started that fight, and you had no choice but to finish it. That you’re sorry, that you don’t want to make me uncomfortable. If you’re feeling extra sorry for yourself, you might even offer to take the suspension if it makes me more comfortable. That sound right?” You ask, face bored, arms crossed.

Hurt flashes in James’ eyes. Big and hazel coloured and stupidly kind, even now. “Sounds right, yeah.” His voice is thick, quiet.

James is usually the loudest voice in the room. Filled with laughter and a boyish charm that sunk it’s hooks into you and never quite let go. It’s odd, to hear him so quiet.

“Save it. Be on time, on Wednesday. We’ll figure it out as we go.” You tell him, gesturing for him to pass you your skate guards.

He does, wordlessly. Let’s you put them on and pass him through the box. You’re almost out of the plastic rink door when he calls after you. Every bone in your body tells you to keep walking, that nothing good will come from the desperation in his voice, the plea of your name. But you stop, turn. His gaze is burning, creates a lump in your throat that feels impossible to swallow. Your skin itches, your eyes water. The thing is, it’s still fresh. It’s easy to tell yourself that James is a person of your past when he’s not standing in front of you looking like a kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry. For everything.” He speaks.

“No, James,” You sigh, “You’re sorry that you feel like shit.”

He doesn’t respond. Looks like maybe the words have gotten lost in his throat. So, you leave him there, wet, hot tears falling down your cheeks the minute you’re gone from his line of vision. He doesn’t call after you, this time.

And you hate the small part of you that wishes he would.

Lily is at the kitchen table when you find her. Not that it takes you long. Your apartment is the size of a shoe box, the maximum you could afford as close to campus as it is. It’s a mismatch of your décor and Lily’s, an eclectic mix that somehow works. There are books crammed on every surface, picture frames on every wall, odd, contrasting ornaments collected over the years. It’s a home, despite its small nature. A safe space where you can both leave the stress of your chosen careers at the door. Rare, is that the case, though.

Your skates thud against Lily’s recent thrift shop find; a cream and maroon rug that you’d call nothing short of an atrocity. The red head looks up from her laptop at the noise, blue light glasses halfway down her freckled nose. There are papers, pens, books, and cups of tea scattered all around her like some sort of tornado passed through the apartment. She, at least, looks apologetic about the mess. There’s no need, though. You’re both aware of the stress Lily is under this year.

“Have you eaten?” You ask, collecting the discarded mugs from around her and placing them in the sink.

Lily thanks you but shakes her head. She’s prone to forgetting she’s human and, in fact, needs food to survive. If she could, she’d survive off of tea and coffee, alone. You flick the kettle on to boil, pull a fresh mug from the cupboard. It’s one of Lily’s finds, a quirky handmade mug covered in oddly painted strawberries. She has a soft spot for the odd finds, the things someone once loved and then left to rot in the back of a thrift store. You think she should investigate that, psychologically. Lily claims she will, just when she has a spare minute.

“You want a sandwich and some chips? Something that won’t go cold when you inevitably forget it exists for three hours.” You offer, throwing a decaf tea bag into the strawberry mug and praying your best friend won’t notice.

“You’re so good to me. Yes, thank you.”

“Oh, I know.” You smile.

Lily doesn’t say much during the first couple bites of her sandwich. Judging on how it goes the opposite of forgotten, you assume she hasn’t eaten all day. If this is her at the beginning of the semester, you dread to see her during finals.

Her laptop discarded to the side; she picks at her chips. “Remus called a little while ago.” Her voice is laden with guilt.

You sigh, push your half empty plate towards one of her discarded textbooks. “Let me guess, it was a welfare check.”

Lily scoffs. “More like an SOS call. He wanted to know how mad you are at him. Told him you were a couple hours late home from practice so, like, astronomically mad.”

“Not at him.” You protest, rather childishly.

“No, not at him. I told him as much. You know what he’s like. He worries. He’s trying to balance it all. We all are.” Lily tells you softly, a crooked smile that reassures you she’s not mad about having to do it.

You wish things weren’t as awkward as they seem to be, currently. Lily and Remus grew up together, much like Sirius and James. Remus knowing both Lily and James is how you met your ex-boyfriend. You were a group. Close knit as can be. And you’re all still trying to figure out how to navigate that now things have changed. It’s exactly what you feared when you and James started dating. It was silly to believe his promise that nothing would ever change. That you’d never lose him.

Lily reaches a hand across the table, freckled fingers wiggling until you place your hand in hers. Her eyes soften, head nodding to show she’s listening.

“He came to the rink.” You tell her.

Surprise passes across her face. “Is that why you were so late?”

“No,” You shake your head. “No, he came right as I was leaving. Was planning on taking the suspension if it meant I’d be more comfortable and wouldn’t have to coach with him.”

Lily scoffs, “Classic James.”

You nod in agreement. For all James is an idiot who doesn’t think things through, he’s incredibly selfless. You think that’s why your breakup hurts so much. Because you want to hate him, it’d be so easy to hate him. But he’s a genuinely good guy who sometimes fucks up.

“I wish he’d stop putting everyone else first. Sirius flies off the handle and James chases right after him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. And I get it, he feels responsible for Sirius. It’s complicated. But I wish he’d just let Sirius deal with his shit on his own, for once.” You feel guilty for saying it as soon as you do, but you know Lily gets it.

Everyone does. Even Sirius.

His past is mostly privy between James and Sirius. But you know the gist.

“I know. They won’t get away with that shit in the League.” Lily agrees.

You sigh, long and suffering. It’s not your problem. At least, it shouldn’t be. If the fight that started this hadn’t landed James right in your lap and made it your problem.

“What’re you working on?” You ask, “Anything I can help with?”

Lily chuckles lightly, hands you a heavy stack of paper. “You could highlight all the paragraphs detailing anything to do with cell breakdown. But be warned, it’ll bore the shit out of you.”

You shrug, reaching over to grab Lily’s standard green highlighter. It’s her signature. Like Banksy. “A welcomed distraction, Lils.”

“Fair enough.”

And you both get to work.

#my wittle jam pot #rory recs #i love u hockey player james potter

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