They Are Both Brilliant My Boys - Tumblr Posts

The Gift

For as long as he remembers, whenever he is given a moment alone, James will sketch and scribble, quill flying over scraps of parchment or the margins of books. Anything to get the ideas out of his head onto paper, whether they are small or big, useful or merely amusing, game changing or tiny tweaks to existing items.

He never thought much of this ‘gift’ as his parents called it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any clue how to bring his myriad ideas to fruition. And as he grew, he learns that his gift isn’t even particularly impressive, in fact mostly results in him being marked out as weird or silly by the neighbourhood children. Not like his humour or bravery or skill on broomstick, which never fails to make a good impression on his peers.

So, without much fanfare, James starts to hide away his drawings and notes, although the ideas never do stop coming even once he starts Hogwarts.

Overtime James becomes lax, he neglects to guard his scribbles as closely. Until one day in the middle of second year, he lends Sirius a book over the winter holidays forgetting to erase his scribbles in the margins before he does so.

James tries not to panic when he realises his mistake. Its too late to do anything about it, James is already at his parents’ house and Sirius already in London with his family. But he can’t help but chew his fingernails to the messy stumps with worry about it, regardless.

When Sirius enters their usual compartment for the train ride back to Hogwarts, James nervousness intensifies. Will he even still want to be friends with James after this. All James’s previous friends had found the behaviour odd and childish. The idea of Sirius feeling the same way hurts.

But Sirius greets him, Peter and Remus as usual and their conversation continues as it would on any other day. James begins to relax.

It is not until later that night, just before they turn in, Sirius takes the borrowed book out of his trunk to hand back to James. The nervous churning of James’ stomach returns.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sirius says, tone unusually cautious, before his releases the book back into James’ hands.

He thinks perhaps Sirius had vanished his doodles and scribbles himself therefore saving James the embarrassment of having Sirius read them. It would make Sirius a better friend then the neighbourhood children James grew up with, which obviously James already knows, but… James doesn’t feel as happy about the prospect of Sirius simply ignoring James’ scribbles as he thought he should.

In the safety of his four poster bed, James opens it, heart thundering in his chest.

Sirius hadn’t erased anything.

But he had added to it.

Lines and lines of elegant script: complex spells in latin, mysterious potions and rare magical herbs, exclamation points and question marks, jokes and asides.  

James loses hours to the pursuit of Sirius’s additions. Laughing at Sirius’s remarks and gasping at his brilliance. It is as if a fire has been lit beneath his own mind, his thoughts running a mile a minute building and building off Sirius’ work.

When James emerges from his bed the next morning, Sirius is waiting for him. After his long night, James is up later than usual and Sirius is already dressed for the day, his hair impeccable, his uniform artfully dishevelled.

“So?” Sirius asks. He stands stiffly at the end of his own bed as if unsure of his welcome in James’s space.

Words fail him, but his muscle memory doesn’t. James strides forward capturing Sirius in one of their not uncommon embraces, only this time James holds him tighter and more warmly than ever.

“You are brilliant.”

Sirius scoffs into his hair.

“I’m not the one who came up with it all. If anyone is brilliant here, it’s you.”

James squeezes him even more tightly to his chest, burying his head into Sirius’ neck. His eyes growing misty behind his glasses.

James might have once thought his gift was useless, but with Sirius’s practicality layered in elegant script over his messy scrawl, James can’t help but think, his parents may be more right than they are wrong when they called it a gift.

The Gift

For as long as he remembers, whenever he is given a moment alone, James will sketch and scribble, quill flying over scraps of parchment or the margins of books. Anything to get the ideas out of his head onto paper, whether they are small or big, useful or merely amusing, game changing or tiny tweaks to existing items.

He never thought much of this ‘gift’ as his parents called it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any clue how to bring his myriad ideas to fruition. And as he grew, he learns that his gift isn’t even particularly impressive, in fact mostly results in him being marked out as weird or silly by the neighbourhood children. Not like his humour or bravery or skill on broomstick, which never fails to make a good impression on his peers.

So, without much fanfare, James starts to hide away his drawings and notes, although the ideas never do stop coming even once he starts Hogwarts.

Overtime James becomes lax, he neglects to guard his scribbles as closely. Until one day in the middle of second year, he lends Sirius a book over the winter holidays forgetting to erase his scribbles in the margins before he does so.

James tries not to panic when he realises his mistake. Its too late to do anything about it, James is already at his parents’ house and Sirius already in London with his family. But he can’t help but chew his fingernails to the messy stumps with worry about it, regardless.

When Sirius enters their usual compartment for the train ride back to Hogwarts, James nervousness intensifies. Will he even still want to be friends with James after this. All James’s previous friends had found the behaviour odd and childish. The idea of Sirius feeling the same way hurts.

But Sirius greets him, Peter and Remus as usual and their conversation continues as it would on any other day. James begins to relax.

It is not until later that night, just before they turn in, Sirius takes the borrowed book out of his trunk to hand back to James. The nervous churning of James’ stomach returns.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sirius says, tone unusually cautious, before his releases the book back into James’ hands.

He thinks perhaps Sirius had vanished his doodles and scribbles himself therefore saving James the embarrassment of having Sirius read them. It would make Sirius a better friend then the neighbourhood children James grew up with, which obviously James already knows, but… James doesn’t feel as happy about the prospect of Sirius simply ignoring James’ scribbles as he thought he should.

In the safety of his four poster bed, James opens it, heart thundering in his chest.

Sirius hadn’t erased anything.

But he had added to it.

Lines and lines of elegant script: complex spells in latin, mysterious potions and rare magical herbs, exclamation points and question marks, jokes and asides.  

James loses hours to the pursuit of Sirius’s additions. Laughing at Sirius’s remarks and gasping at his brilliance. It is as if a fire has been lit beneath his own mind, his thoughts running a mile a minute building and building off Sirius’ work.

When James emerges from his bed the next morning, Sirius is waiting for him. After his long night, James is up later than usual and Sirius is already dressed for the day, his hair impeccable, his uniform artfully dishevelled.

“So?” Sirius asks. He stands stiffly at the end of his own bed as if unsure of his welcome in James’s space.

Words fail him, but his muscle memory doesn’t. James strides forward capturing Sirius in one of their not uncommon embraces, only this time James holds him tighter and more warmly than ever.

“You are brilliant.”

Sirius scoffs into his hair.

“I’m not the one who came up with it all. If anyone is brilliant here, it’s you.”

James squeezes him even more tightly to his chest, burying his head into Sirius’ neck. His eyes growing misty behind his glasses.

James might have once thought his gift was useless, but with Sirius’s practicality layered in elegant script over his messy scrawl, James can’t help but think, his parents may be more right than they are wrong when they called it a gift.