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James was twenty-six when he became an Auror. He avoided it for years, ignoring the whisper in the back of his head that the only way he would put Sirius Black in Azkaban was to put the chains on him himself. He denied it. He promised himself that he could be satisfied hiding with Lily and Harry until Harry turned eleven, but the damned stories in The Daily Prophet and magazine covers that lauded the most eligible bachelor in the country persisted in mocking him until he finally gave up and told Lily he was getting a job.
By that time, Lily was already working from home as a freelance enchanter, fixing and strengthening charms on magical objects for a repair shop in Diagon Alley. She told him with a cheeky grin to get his lazy bum out of the house.
It took several brutal years of training to become an Auror, and he quickly understood why so few people were admitted to the program. But James was clever and his experience with the Order of the Phoenix propelled him to success; he was satisfied that each agonizing trial and stage of his education brought him closer to bringing Sirius Black to justice. The obsession drove him to wake up early and study before Lily stirred; it compelled him to stay late in Frank Longbottom’s cubicle, rifling through old files and cases, memorizing the history of the department until he knew better than anyone how dark wizards came to power. He traced Black’s long history from his great grandparents to his involvement with two Ministers for Magic and a little-known scandal with a witch from The Daily Prophet who claimed Black tried to pay her off when she dug too deep into his business. She eventually retracted her accusation and left her career as a journalist and refused to talk to James about it.
Before he was an apprentice, he thought he would have to hunt for Sirius Black once he became a fully qualified Auror. He imagined chasing him through seedy clubs or breaking into old country houses, but it became very clear that Black would eventually come to him.
Black was a frequent visitor to the Ministry. He slithered into the offices of department heads, spilling Galleons from his palms into the hands of tired bureaucrats who simply wished for the whole war to end so they could go back to delegating instead of handling one disaster after another. Black eased their troubles. He was so generous and helpful with his robust understanding of wizarding politics and clever insight.
James recalled seeing Black in action for the first time when he stumbled upon a very pleased Sirius Black shaking Wilmot Blevins’ hand the day after Blevins was made head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Black had turned to James, his smile broadening with delight.
“James Potter,” said Black. There was a feral look to him that made James too furious to consider its implications.
“What are you doing here?” James demanded, looking between Black and Blevins.
“Mr. Black is very kindly congratulating me on my new position,” said Blevins. His long, face appeared dizzy with admiration and he was perspiring slightly beneath his shining fringe of blond hair. “I was telling Mr. Black that I look forward to working with our most prominent families to ensure I serve our community to the best of my ability. Input from exceptional wizards like Mr. Black keeps our institutions functioning.”
“It was a well-deserved promotion,” added Black. “Don’t you think, Potter? Mr. Blevins has proven to be an incredibly valuable and cooperative component of this governing body. Wouldn’t you agree?”
James wanted the pale, colorless eyes to turn elsewhere but they were observing him with keen interest.
“Yes. Congratulations, Mr. Blevins,” said James, gritting his teeth. Of course, he did not think so at all. Blevins was a half-blood who desperately pretended his mother’s pure blood made up for his father’s muggle heritage. No doubt Black was falsely promising a place for the greedy Blevins among the notable families.
At this, Black smiled again, but somehow, his teeth appeared sharper and whiter.
“Was there something you needed, Potter?” said Black.
“A signature,” said James, locking eyes with Blevins. “It’s about—well, Auror Moody should have sent a request this morning about the matter. I’ve come to confirm your approval.”
Blevins looked uncomfortable as Black’s expression slipped into something neutral.
“Er—well, I’m afraid, Potter, I won’t be signing that just yet.’
“Oh,” said James. “Er—why not? I mean—er—is there a reason? I apologize, sir, I mean, what should I tell Auror Moody? He was expecting this to be signed—”
“Tell him I have not had adequate time to investigate whether or not an entire Knight Bus is necessary for this sort of thing,” said Blevins. His eyes shifted from Black back to James. Assured by a flickered look from Black, he straightened and looked down his nose at James. “Assure Auror Moody I am taking the matter very seriously. The trouble is, as much as I would like to help, I’m afraid my hands are tied. I will do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”
James heard the dismissal in his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Blevins. I’ll let him know.”
He left, avoiding the smirk on Black’s aristocratic face, hoping the humiliation wasn’t evident on his own. He left quickly, hearing Blevins apologize to Black for the interruption. Had he heard the clink of gold exchanged? Maybe he’d imagined it: Black wasn’t that brazen.
Moody would be livid—he’d warned everyone that Blevins was trouble, but James insisted he could get Blevins to approve their request, and now he was returning to his department with his tail between his legs. It was Black’s fault.
He waited for the lift, breathing deeply. Lily told him to count to ten whenever he had a run-in with Sirius Black. Now that they were no longer in school and James was an Auror, the consequence of James attacking Black would not be detention and points from Gryffindor. It would be foolish to blow all that he had done to become an Auror.
“What a good little errand boy, you are.”
James went rigid.
“Three years of training, a year of apprenticeship, months of excruciating exams…” said Black. “All that so you can obey the petty commands of an old codger who should have died twenty years ago. I’d be disappointed if I were you.”
James gripped the unsigned, rolled-up parchment as Black made a pitying sound beside him. Don’t look—don’t dignify that with a response. Just do your duty. Ignore him, Potter.
Black sighed. “I suppose you must regret rejecting all of those recruiters for Quidditch teams while we were at school, don’t you? Imagine—you nearly played for Puddlemere United. You could have been Captain. I reckon you might even have played for England in the World Cup this summer. Personally, I find it rather disappointing that you didn’t. I would have liked to buy kit with your name on it.”
“What were you doing in Blevins’ office?”
“Welcoming him to his new position.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t on your knees.”
To his surprise, Black laughed. “No need for that with Blevins. He was practically foaming at the mouth when I came in. I suppose we’re lucky you didn’t catch him on his knees.”
“Blevins would suck off anyone with pure blood.”
“Yeah, reckon he might.” Black bent forward, trying to catch James’s gaze. “He’s not propositioned you, has he, Potter?”
James nearly responded with a quip he knew would make Black laugh again, but he ground his teeth. It made him furious. Although they hadn’t spoken in years, there was an ease between them that was almost irresistible.
“Of course,” Black went on when James was silent, “I wouldn’t expect you to take him up on the offer. Ugly bloke, isn’t he? Bit of a downgrade from what you’ve already got at home.”
“What?” James snapped his gaze to him.
Black grinned. “Oh, I meant, I am sure you would much prefer to watch Evans and her pretty little mouth suck you off than Blevins’ ugly mug.”
The lift doors opened suddenly and Black slipped inside, disappearing amongst the throng of passengers.
It was full of people, so much so that James had to squeeze his arms to his sides to wedge himself between them. Like everyone in the lift, he turned and faced the doors, gripping the handles overhead as he quelled the waves of rage that were slamming down on him. Black loved to taunt James about Lily—he’d always done that, long before Lily admitted she had feelings for James.
The lift took off, and James, distracted by his fury, lost his grip and stumbled backward into someone. A strong pair of hands squeezed his hips, steadying him.
“Easy, Potter.”
The shock of Black’s hands on him, carefully keeping him from falling over, dispelled rationality. His mind scrambling, James lurched with the lift, still unable to find his footing; he felt Black curl fingers over his wrist to guide James’s hand back to grip the handle above him.
“Don’t touch me,” James hissed.
The damned lift jerked to a halt, and he staggered again into Black’s hard body. There was a low rumble of laughter in his ear as the doors opened, and people streamed in and out, all of them oblivious to the way his heart palpitated so loudly, the sound of it lost to the shuffle of feet and murmured greetings. He felt like a complete idiot. He was not some bumbling fool, but Black was directly behind him, breathing down his neck, the smell of tobacco leaves and bergamot suffocating and intoxicating all at once, and when the lift doors closed and more people pressed inside, James was shoved firmly against Black.
Heat pooled in his face as he stared at the back of a witch’s coarse, silvery head, pretending he did not notice or care that he could feel Black’s body flush with his. Around them, memos fluttered aloft, and people gazed dully at the lift doors, waiting for their turn to get out. Everything was so ordinary. This was simply another day at work. James pretended to feel the same even though Black’s heart was thudding against his spine.
It felt like provocation even though Black said nothing at all. Hatred and excitement were welling inside of James as he felt Black’s chest expand and release. Something about the soft, warm breath skimming the damp sweat of his neck made James clench the handle overhead. The body behind him was a comforting threat. It electrified him.
When at last the doors opened to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, James wriggled out between people, eager to leave the stifling lift behind. As he cleared the throng of people, he chanced a surreptitious glance at Black.
Black slid his gaze to him from beneath eyelids that seemed heavy as if looking upon James was an arduous chore. His clear, pale eyes swept over him with disinterest. Then the lift doors closed, and James hurried to find Moody and tell him the bad news, desperately trying to forget the brush of Black’s breath against his neck.