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Every Other Tuesday And Also On Bank Holidays


That night, Sirius Black threw another party to celebrate the epicness of James Potter’s patronus’s magnificent appearance.

The common room was a ruckus of noise and song, dancing and little paper versions of everyone’s patronus strung about the walls. Sirius was like a ringmaster, standing upon the table once again, shouting and making poor Remus blush with very public displays of affection, hauling his poor, shy boyfriend up on the table and dancing against him in a provocative manner when Wild Thing came on the stereo. “IT’S OUR SONG, MOONY!” he bellowed, already several cups of firewhiskey deep, clutching the neck of the bottle as he flung himself about Remus Lupin’s shoulders, his eyes bright with life, “I LOVE YOU MOONYKINS!!!”

Remus had been torn between amusement and disapproval half the night as Sirius got drunker and drunker from the whiskey…

James had no desire whatsoever to partake in any of the merriment, sitting in a chair off to one side, wearing grey joggers and thick socks to stay warm, a bit of parchment on his lap as he jotted down ideas for how they might be able to track down Harold Minchum, sort of talking points for the meeting the next day. He stared down at that, pretending not to notice as Frank Longbottom got up on the table to do a perfect jig, slamming the heels of his shoes against the smooth wood as several students clapped a beat for him.

Suddenly Sirius Black flung himself into James’s lap, tossing his arm ‘round his neck, legs over the armrest of the chair, sitting upon James like a girl might to do. Sirius’s face was flushed and his eyes slightly unfocused as he slurred out, “JAMES PPPPPPPPPPOTTER! Don’t be a downer, why aren’t you coming and ddddddddancing with meeeeee?” he drawled out the words as he spoke, the smell of firewhiskey so thick on his breath it was nearly enough to intoxicate James just breathing it in. “COME DANCE WITH ME, POTTER-YOU-ROTTER!”

“Dance with your boyfriend,” James suggested, “I’m busy.”

“YOU ARE MY BOYFRIEND, JAMES!” Sirius said and he ran his fingers into James’s hair in the back.

James raised an eyebrow, “Does Remus know?”

“Remus is okay with it. Remus knows he’s my king. You… you’re my harem.”

“Oh is that how that works?”

“Yes.” Sirius laughed and patted James’s cheek. “You’re a sexy little concubine.”

James rolled his eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”

Sirius leaned in, laying his head against James’s shoulders. “We’ll only be able to be together on every other Tuesday and bank holidays. The other days, I belong to my Master Moony. Is that alright with you?”

“I’ll add it to my schedule.”

“Excellent,” Sirius breathed deeply, still stroking James’s cheek with his fingertips, even as he fell asleep.

“Remus --?” James looked around, trying to spot Remus, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. He sighed. “Anyone seen Remus Lupin?” he asked, looking ‘round at the couples snogging in the chairs ‘round the fireplace. “Oi… Maw.” He kicked Jackson Maw’s trainer with the tip of his own, making Jackson look up from the girl he was kissing, also clearly only a few minutes from chundering all over the floor. “You seen Lupin?”

“Went with that firstie that was steaming. Wastson or Wendell or --”

“Wally?” James guessed.

“Mmm,” Jackson nodded, “That’s the bugger. Now… excuse me… bit busy here.” He turned back to the girl on his lap.

James sighed, “Alright then, Padfoot, guess it’s time for me to perform my first boyfriendy duty, then. And it isn’t even a Tuesday. Or a bank holiday.” He inched forward and reached ‘round to took the bottle out of Sirius’s hand, putting it down on the floor. It had a replenishing charm set upon it so it was still full as he dropped it and it tipped over, spilling a bit of the whiskey to the carpet. James struggled to get up, scooping Sirius with him as he went. “You know, for such a smurf of a lad, you sure are heavy. Probably you drank twice your weight in alcohol.”

James carried Sirius up the stairs to the dormitory and unceremoniously dumped Sirius onto the bed and climbed onto his own bed, throwing himself back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Downstairs, the music was still blasting and he could hear people chanting Frank Longbottom’s name. James lay there, thinking about the way Lily had stared at the stag, at the way her doe and his stag had bumped noses… at Severus Snape’s sick expression… In his mind, Lily had that other worldly glow like she’d had when they had woken up in the library…




Lily sat in her dorm, alone, listening to the music thumping through the floorboards from the common room, doing her homework. She pushed her hair over her shoulder, hooking it over her ear. The stereo started playing Joy to the World and she paused, lowering her quill, her face flushing as she thought of James Potter. She bent and pulled the old Gryffindor sweater out from under her bed - James’s - the one he’d given her out in the Shrieking Shack the other night. It still smelled like him. She let her homework slide across her lap and onto the mattress, tucking her legs up to her chest and lay the jumper over her knees, running her palm over the Gryffindor patch. She sighed and glanced at the wall of photographs and smiling faces, sorely lacking James Potter’s face, and then down to the snowglobe, where the stag and the doe inside were nibbling grass and walking slowly about.

Lily brought the sweater to her nose.

How could she have let this happen? Five years of trying not to notice him and he’d somehow managed to slip into her head with his stupid crooked grin and his big eyes and that glorious messy hair. Why couldn’t he just be that person she’d seen him be in his most candid moments? Why did he have to always be jabbing at Severus Snape?

Because he’s right about Severus Snape, a little voice said. And he has every right to seek revenge if he’s been picked upon first.

Lily lowered the sweater from her face.

He can’t be right. Sev’s been your best friend for years and years. James Potter’s been… been very James-Potter-y.

Lily grabbed her homework from the bed and quickly tugged it onto her lap, picking the quill back up, determined to stop thinking about James Potter.




“So here’s where the party’s at,” Remus’s voice interrupted James. Woke him up, rather. James snorted and looked up at Remus, who had undone his tie and was tossing it over the back of his desk chair. “How’d you two end up up here?”

“Sirius fell asleep,” James said, “I’m apparently his concubine.”

Remus paused, then turned ‘round to look at James with an eyebrow raised. “Say what?”

“Yeah, Sirius declared me a part of his harem. But don’t worry --” James said as an expression of surprise came over Remus’s face, “You’re still the king and I only get him on every other Tuesday and on bank holidays. So… you know, it won’t be that inconvenient.”

Remus thought about it a moment, “I have to admit, it would be rather nice to have somewhere to shove him off to when I get sick of him.” He smirked.




Sirius woke during the night, his stomach wrenching like a corkscrew and he folded over the side of the bed, grabbing the nearest thing he could find -- Peter Pettigrew’s cauldron -- and hurled into it for several long moments, dumping every ounce of his belly out. His fingers shook as he clutched the cauldron’s edge. He closed his eyes a moment, dizzy from the firewhiskey, which he could feel burning up his throat.

“Merlin’s left tit,” he groaned, as he rolled out of the bed, glancing back over his shoulder at Remus, who was face-down on the bed he was vacating, his face pale from the nearing of the moon once again already. Sirius caught hold on one of the desk chairs and leaned into it, taking deep breaths, trying to level off the twist of the whiskey. He pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it, hunkering over the desk.

Behind him, Peter snorted out a series of snores and rolled over.

Sirius turned and stared at Peter a moment, then turned back to the desk with a sigh.

“Oh Peter, you’re the lucky one, aren’t you?” he muttered, and he leaned back, “S’long as you’ve bloody got a full belly and a bit of chocolate beneath your bed to stuff in your wide mouth hole later, you’re ready to snooze, ready to dream away the night…” He rubbed his eyes, his head throbbing. “Fuck.” He leaned forward again, reaching for the desk drawer, tugging it open. He sared into it for a few moments, at the folded parchments and envelopes that filled it. After a long pause, he swung his leather jacket ‘round from the back of the chair and dug into the pocket, pulling out the latest letter and shoved it into the drawer with all of the others…

He shoved the drawer shut.

Sirius got up, spinning on his heel and walking, pacing really, from the desk to the opposite end of the room and back again, running his hands through his hair. He looked across the three other boys, asleep in their beds, and he wished they were awake, wished he knew how to talk to any one of them about the letters. He had no idea how to even start to tell them about them, about the terrible things they said.

He could hardly even think of them himself.

He wished he could go a day without thinking of them.

That’s what was so damned appealing about the firewhiskey, after all. Drink a few cups and the forgetting would start and he’d feel better, freer, further away from the blasted dementor in his chest. More like the Sirius he’d always been before. He stopped walking, staring out the window over the grounds of the school.

That was when James stirred, murmuring something in his sleep as he rolled over. Sirius glanced back at his best mate and thought about how blasted lucky he was that James was a part of his life. If it wasn’t for James, he didn’t know if he’d have become even half the person he was now. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been brave enough to tell the hat he wanted to be Gryffindor, if he’d have learned to laugh quite the way he had… He loved James Potter. Not the way he loved Remus, obviously, but just as deep.

He smiled.

James shifted again in his sleep… he was having a nightmare of some sort.

Sirius transformed into Snuffles and turned over, climbing up onto James’s bed and licking his face.

James shifted, waking, and stared up at the lolling tongue of the big shaggy black dog. He blinked for a few moments. He took a moment, then said quietly, “Bleedin’ hell, Padfoot… it ain’t Tuesday nor a bank holiday.”

Sirius let out a low, quiet woof at James and licked his face again, then snuffled and turned and laid down in the crook of James’s arm, resting his head against James’s chest. James brought his arms ‘round the dog, thankful for the company.