Metaphors

James is in the common room, with Peter and Remus and assorted others, and things are good. Peter's reading, as per his usual, and, also as per usual, the book has been largely abandoned in favor of watching people. James and Remus are sitting at a table, and have just decided to give over their homework in favor of a game of chess, when a clatter of feet on the stairs announces the advent of the fourth in their quartet.
 
Sirius comes into the room with a bang, skipping the last several steps to land with a crash on the landing. He bows to his scattered and customary applause, and then saunters over to his friends. They invite him to stay, and are dismayed when he announces with a smirk that, sorry boys, he has plans.
 
His eyebrows, waggling deviously, pronounce these plans to be distinctly sexual, though he will name no names. He leaves in a swirl of cloak and laughter and hair far longer than is strictly allowed.

James doesn't understand his friend, some days. He goes for what he wants in love, picks his target and aims at it. That's how it was with Lily, and that's why there won't be another one after her: he makes the right choice, James, and does what he sets out to do. This sampling and testing is somewe's long ago accepted that he'll never know how Sirius works.

Remus seems confused as well, and when James asks him what's wrong, he shakes off the concern and abandons the chessmen, who boo and hiss. Watching him head briskly up the stairs, James turns to Peter, asks him if he knows what's wrong with Remus. Peter, shaking his head and muttering words of pity, is getting up to head after Remus, and stares blankly, incredulously, when the meaning of James' question processes. For once James understands what Peter must feel every time he can't understand the Potions homework. Pete's looking at him with an air of pity and a tinge of amazement, astonished that James doesn't get it. James doesn't like it, and he says at much.

"James...look. It's not really my place to tell you. Remus... he's not having the best time of it right now, and, well, Sirius just isn't helping things."
James doesn't see any connection. What does Peter mean, Remus is having a hard time of it? If anything were wrong with Remus, he'd know--they'd all know. That's the way they are. No, as far as he's concerned, Remus just ate something funny, or it's the moon, or... and Peter is rolling his eyes at him, and James demands to know why his theories aren't just as valid as any of this emotional mumbo-jumbo Peter comes up with. Peter's mouth tightens, and it takes James a moment to recognize that Peter is trying not to scream at him.
 
He's never seen Pete yell before, and he won't see it this time, but it's a close thing: Pete's voice is low and measured and calm, and for all this his words burn onto James' memory as much as any teacher's tirade ever did.

"Listen, James, you're my friend, and I love you like a brother, but you have no idea how people work, you know? You live on the surface, in Quidditch and school and Lily and pranks, and that works well enough most of the time, but this is one of the timto have to watch and think a little bit if you want to figure it out. Do you see what I'm saying? You're a great guy, don't get me wrong," conciliatory Pete back again, "but you really don't understand how people interact, not even us. I do, so trust me on this one."

And he heads up the stairs after Remus.

James sits and thinks about this for a while, and decides to prove that he can too understand how people interact.

A week later, he's come up with his understanding. It's a little messy, and not entirely coherent, but it works, and he's proud of it.

He's decided that their personal interactions are something like Quidditch. He is the Chaser, the captain and the leader. He goes out and does the day-to- day stuff, the important stuff. Not to say that his stuff can't be flashy and exciting, too, but it isn't necessarily glamorous. Mostly, it's just hard work and being dedicated and roping people into things. He's good with people, getting them to work with and for him. He gets most of the attention, and if sometimes he's eclipsed by Sirius, he's secure enough in his importance not to mind.

Sirius, then, is the Seeker. He's important, too, but in fits and starts, not all the time. He's always flashy and showy, the star of the show when he chooses to be. Occasionally, he helps his teammates, but mostly he's on his own, doing his own thing. He's the center of attention, a peacock, and he loves every minute of it. He's all over the place, flighty and with an attention span as long as that of a gnat.

Remus...this is harder for James. Remus, after all, doesn't really belong in sports, not with his analytical mind and his delicate bones. He's strong, of course--there could be no question on that count, with his situation--and yet there is a sense about him, as though he would never use the strength at his disposal for anything but the greater good. But after somethe referee. After all, Quidditch has hundreds of fouls, and the referee needs to know all of them, and that's Remus' kind of thing. He likes to know things, likes the certainty that learning brings. He's also a good referee because he's always somewhat on the outside--not excluded, but just somewhat distant. He breaks up their fights, helps them all see sense, keeps them out of trouble.

Peter was also hard to fit, but James figured it out in the end. Pete is Madame Pomfrey, only without the funny looking hat she wears. This is the perfect role for Pete, because he's so damned nice it's hard to believe he's real. He's supportive and kind and listens more than he ought. He's a constant; he's the one person on whom everyone can rely. He knows how they tick, understands their insides better than they do, fixes them up, gets them back on their feet...he keeps them going and keeps them whole. Remus may break up their fights and keep the peace, but Peter is the one to smoothe the ruffled feathers and to keep things contented.

They don't appreciate him enough, James realizes; they never realize how much they need him, because he's always there. That's what Pete was trying to tell him by yelling (almost) at him, even if Pete didn't realize it himself. James realizes he knows more about something emotional than Pete does, and congratulates himself as he hands his scroll in to Pete, who, hearing what it is, unrolls it and scans it with a small, sad smile.

"Perceptive, James. I take back what I said. Friends?"

But they always were, and both of them know it.

Peter has no need of metaphors, of course. He sees them as they are, understands their realities, and he does not need to simplify things for himself.