<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 0.7em;"><br/>(http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3622/3302756607_ca2590efd4.jpg)<br/><br/>I am tired, I am weary<br/>I could sleep for a thousand years<br/>A thousand dreams that would awake me<br/>Different colors made of tears<br/></span><br/>----</div><br/><br/>After deserting his family and childhood home, Sirius had happily passed much of the summer on a cot at the Potter residence, sifting through James’s collection of quidditch paraphernalia and discussing the bright potential promised by their sixth year at Hogwarts. But about a month before the start of classes, Sirius had thanked his gracious hosts, stuffed everything back into his trunk, and set off again—for adventure, for<del>sex</del>love, for self-discovery. He found some things and not others, but had returned to London with his belongings strapped to the back of his motorcycle. He parked conspicuously in front of a muggle shop, and tapped his wand against the Diagon Alley entrance to make his before-school purchases.<br/><br/>Unlike James, Sirius had mastered the art of muggle attire—a fact that would have severely shamed his parents had they known. He splashed through the streets with an umbrella propped against his shoulder, dressed in a worn leather jacket and faded jeans with frayed cuffs. Every footstep dashed cold water against his legs and he contemplated the store windows for a suitable reprieve from the miserable weather.<br/><br/>A particularly diligent Hogwarts owl had tracked him down a week ago in Dublin, swooping through the cramped hostel-room window to deliver his book list for the coming semester. His OWLs had been sufficient to maintain him on the course towards becoming an auror—a profession that, at the age of sixteen, seemed perfect to Sirius. It seemed to promise boundless action and exploration, all while hunting down wizarding lowlifes. Though perhaps he would take a few years off before pursuing such a goal. It was difficult to imagine being confined by any occupation and its regulations.<br/><br/>As he proceeded down the crowded lane, Sirius hardly bothered to look at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Of course, he enjoyed watching the sport, attended all of the matches at Hogwarts, and even owned a supportive banner or two, but Sirius had never been much of a Quidditch player himself. At the end of the day, he could never get fully excited about sitting on the back of a broomstick, chasing a ball. However, even as his gaze swept briefly over the window display, he caught the unmistakable silhouette of one James Potter.<br/><br/>Though James’s back was turned, Sirius could see the thin cascade of water wrung from his shirt, seeping into the thick carpet at his feet. With a low chuckle, Sirius pushed his shoulder against the door and darted inside. He shut his umbrella; the tines closed with a sharp snap and spattered raindrops onto the carpet and counter. He received a harsh and disapproving look from the sour woman at the register. With a shrug, Sirius propped the umbrella against his door, eyeing the plush snitch as she returned it to James.<br/><br/>“What’s the matter, Prongs?” Sirius leaned against the sales counter with a facetious smirk, “Needed something to cuddle and keep you warm at night?”<br/>