Chapter Text
Part III. And Back Again
He likes kissing Remus.
In the empty Charms classroom that Remus pulls him into before breakfast, in the broom closet before and after Transfiguration, the second floor boys bathroom, over Remus’ books in the library, rolling around on the grassy knolls, pushed up against the greenhouse tool shed, and once in the middle of the hallway after hours during Remus’ prefect patrol (much to Remus’ (mostly feigned) chagrin and Sirius’ (definitely not feigned) delight).
If Remus’ laugh is like sinking in quicksand, kissing Remus is like being swept up in a cyclone. Sometimes he feels like he’s in the eye of the storm where it’s just him and Remus and Remus’ wicked mouth, all soft lips and calloused scar, and Remus’ amber eyes, dancing and shining, and it’s lovely. But then sometimes he feels like he’s very much caught in the midst of the chaos —ferocious rains and battering destruction— like when Justin had almost caught them making out against the library’s Ancient Runes section. Luckily his nose had been so stubbornly stuck into a book that he had walked right past them without even glancing up. Him and Remus had laughed about it later, but at night Sirius had lain awake in bed, staring at his ceiling, something close to fear pulsating in his veins and keeping him from sleep. What would Justin have done if he had looked up and seen Remus’ hand up his shirt and Sirius’ tongue down the other boy’s throat?
Kissing Remus is equal parts thrilling and absolutely terrifying.
But he likes kissing Remus.
Sometimes he can’t even help it. Like right now. Remus is sitting there in his rumpled sweater that tugs at his collarbone, honey freckles dusted on his nose, forehead wrinkling as he reads his book, his lip between his teeth. And Sirius can’t help it, there’s something bright and warm whirring in his stomach —something like desire. And he can’t help it, he leans forward, a hand on Remus’ book for leverage, and closes the distance. Remus lets out a surprised little noise before reacting in earnest. When he pulls away Remus gives him a dopey little grin before returning to his book.
“Today’s my last day with Pince,” Sirius says.
Remus hums, still scanning the passage of his book. “Oh, is it?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow Everett comes back.”
“Ah, finally. A dreamboat that one is. Tall, dark, handsome, well-read...”
“That’s not funny, Remus.”
Remus looks up from his book, amber eyes burning. “Sirius Black,” he whispers, “no one compares to you.”
Desire —it’s definitely desire— rolls in his stomach, comes off of him in waves. He narrows his eyes. “Hmm, that’s better.”
Remus rolls his eyes and returns to his book, but his hand reaches across the table and covers Sirius’. Sirius stares down at it. He’s on a precipice, staring down at the vertiginous drops to the rocky coastline below. Roaring waves on rocks, seizing, gripping and always, always retreating. “Will we still hang out? Even when I don’t have an excuse to come to the library?”
Remus, eyes still on his book: “You don’t need an excuse to come to a public library, Sirius.”
“Remus.”
Remus sighs and looks back up. “Sirius,” he says, smiling slightly, “you’re going to have a hard time keeping me away from you, library or not. And, ” he adds, eyes shining, “I can be your excuse. I know how you like watching me read, you voyeuristic scoundrel.”
“Shut up,” Sirius mutters, kicking Remus under the table. Remus chuckles, low and deep, and Sirius feels it buzzing in his bones.
“Do you go to Hogsmeade?”
Remus looks at him with amused bafflement. “Yes, I suppose I do go to Hogsmeade occasionally.”
Sirius kicks at him again. “That’s not— I meant do you want to go to Hogsmeade? With me. And my friends, I guess. This weekend?”
Remus smiles slyly. “You want me to meet your friends, do you?”
“Uh— yeah, I guess— or well, they already knew who you were before I did, but yeah, yeah I guess.”
“What?” Remus says, eyes dancing, “Do you have a crush on me or something?”
Sirius kicks at him.
“Sirius, I’d love to,” heart soaring , “but,” and plummeting, “I promised my mam I’d come visit her this weekend.”
“Oh,” Sirius says, trying not to sound too disappointed, “that’s fine.”
“Next weekend?” Remus asks, squeezing his hand.
“Yeah. Next weekend.”
***
Peter brings the Hufflepuff girl from his chess club to Hogsmeade. They hold hands on top of the table at The Three Broomsticks. Sirius stares at their clasped hands, out on the table for everyone to see. And he thinks of kissing Remus tucked away in a broom closet or hidden behind a bookshelf.
James is talking animatedly about the last Gryffindor quidditch win against Ravenclaw. James thinks Gryffindor has a real shot of winning the quidditch cup this year and how great would that be!
“James wants to play on a professional quidditch team after graduation,” Peter says to Gillian (this, Sirius learns, is the Hufflepuff girl’s name).
“Not just any team,” James says fervently, “the Montrose Magpies! They’ve won the most league cups.”
Gillian’s eyes widen, she quickly looks over at Peter, clearly overwhelmed by James’ impetuous passion.
Sirius hides a smile behind his butterbeer.
“That’s quite ambitious,” she says.
James squares his shoulders. “I can do it.”
“Oh I didn’t mean to doubt it,” she giggles, “Lily did say you were very stubborn.” (Being in the same year and the same house, Gillian and Lily were roommates.)
James’ posture instantly softens, eyebrows raising, mouth slacking. “Did she really?” he asks with poorly hidden excitement.
“I— yeah?” Gillian says confused.
James looks over at Sirius with wide, ardent eyes. Sirius gives him a thumbs up and then laughs into his butterbeer.
Gillian, for her part, looks as confused as ever.
“Don’t mind James,” Sirius tells her, using the back of his hand to wipe the frothy foam of his butterbeer from his mouth, “he has been plagued with love sickness.”
Gillian’s eyes dart back to James, a bit surprised. She leans forward. “Your secret's safe with me.”
“Oh don’t worry,” Sirius laughs, “it’s not a secret.”
“Least of all to Lily,” Peter says, letting go of Gillian’s hand and instead wrapping his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer. Sirius watches the casual sign of affection. Peter’s fingers idly drawing circles on Gillian’s upper arm. For everyone to see. He downs his butterbeer.
Thirty minutes later James announces he’s going to head over to Dervish and Banges to check out their quidditch wares and asks if anyone would like to join him. When neither Peter nor Gillian make to move, or rather —unravel— themselves, Sirius jumps up.
As they walk over to the shop, James ponders whether they will have any tail-twig clippers in stock. His, evidently, had worn dull. Sirius nods absentmindedly, only half paying attention to James and only half paying attention to his surroundings. Consequently, he nearly collides into Lily, who had been walking, rather hurriedly, out of the flower shop next to Puddifoot’s with a bundle of daffodils grasped in her hand.
“Sorry,” Sirius says at the same time James chirps, “Lily!”
“It’s alright,” Lily says before sending a hesitant nod —and an even more hesitant smile— in James’ direction.
“Those are beautiful,” James says.
“Oh,” Lily looks down at the flowers in her hands like she had forgotten they were there, “Thanks.”
“For your room or—?”
“Oh, uh, no. I was just on my way to visit a friend in the infirmary.”
“Oh? I hope they’re okay,” James says.
“Oh! No, they’re fine. It’s, well, it’s Remus, but,” Lily looks warily between James and Sirius, “he’s alright, just feeling a bit under the weather, I think.”
“Remus?” Sirius says, “I thought he was visiting his mum this weekend.”
Lily turns to Sirius in surprise. “Oh, well maybe he was planning to before he got stuck in the infirmary. I’m not really sure.”
Lily then quickly makes excuses to leave and James ushers her along. “Tell Remus that I hope he feels better!”
As Lily walks off, James turns and continues on to Dervish and Banges. A poster in their front window prompts him into a monologue on the merits and drawbacks of the Nimbus broomsticks. Sirius listens, humming occasionally when appropriate, and follows James around the store as he looks for a tail-twig clipper. But Sirius’ hands are restless at his side. He keeps eyeing the store’s front doors, itching to rush out and make haste to the infirmary.
***
It’s half past five by the time Sirius makes it back to the castle and comes up with an excuse to slip away to the infirmary. Lily is gone by the time he makes it there. The daffodils in a vase at Remus’ bedside table are the only sign she was ever there at all. Remus is fast asleep when he arrives, his arm in a sling, a bandage on his forehead, his chest floating softly up and down as he breathes. Madam Pomfrey had come just short of threatening Sirius with death if he woke him, but with a reluctant sigh she had agreed to let Sirius sit by his bedside on the off chance he woke up on his own.
It’s half past six by the time Sirius falls asleep in the chair by Remus’ bed, his head cradled awkwardly in his hand. Pomfrey shakes her head at the two sleeping boys, but lets them be.
It’s half past seven by the time Sirius wakes to a pair of amber eyes blinking at him cautiously.
“Sirius?” Remus’ voice is hoarse.
“Remus,” Sirius croaks. He winces and clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”
Remus shrugs his bony shoulders. “Been better,” and then, “What are you doing here?”
“Lily told me you were here.”
Remus worries at his lower lip, but doesn’t offer a response.
“What happened?” Sirius asks. He hates how small his voice sounds.
Remus is quiet for a few moments. When he responds he doesn’t meet Sirius’ gaze, he just stares down at his hands. “Fell down the stairs.”
Sirius eyes Remus’ slinged arm, his forehead bandage, his pale complexion, the dark smudges under his eyes. “Must have been one hell of a staircase.”
“The stairs here do move,” Remus says with amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Remus attempts to sit up in his bed, but he slumps back down with a little grunt of pain. Sirius is instantly at his side. “Are you okay? Should I get Pomfrey?”
“I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus sighs.
“But—” Remus shoots him a glare and Sirius instantly recoils, returning back to his seat.
“Here,” Sirius says, reaching into his pocket, “I brought you this.”
Remus looks over and grins at Sirius’ outstretched hand. “Chocolate?”
Sirius shrugs. “Chocolate always makes me feel better.”
“Cheers,” Remus says, reaching over to grab it.
They’re silent as Remus eats his chocolate and Sirius stares out the window.
“What are you looking at?” Remus asks.
“The moon. It’s full.” Sirius, eyes out the window, doesn’t see the way Remus flinches and shrinks at his words.
“The full has passed,” Remus says quietly, “It’s in the waning gibbous phase now.”
Sirius turns to Remus, a smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Ravenclaw nerd,” he teases.
Remus throws the balled up chocolate wrapper at him. Sirius catches it, unraveling it and flattening it out on his thigh. “I thought you were going to visit your mum.”
“The stairs had other plans.”
Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come sooner.”
Remus shrugs. “You were going to Hogsmeade with your friends.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Sirius,” Remus sighs roughly, “maybe I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me like this and have you look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything—” Sirius starts.
“Yes, you are!” Remus exclaims tartly, “You’re looking at me like I’m broken.”
Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Remus is already speaking again. “I don’t need someone doting over me. I already have Pomfrey for that.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.”
Sirius huffs. “Sorry that I care about you,” Sirius spits crossly.
Remus scoffs and turns sharply away from Sirius. He winces as his arm is jostled in its sling. Sirius is instantly at his side, eyes wide.
Remus looks over his shoulder at him.
“Are you—” Sirius starts.
“Stop it,” Remus snaps. Sirius flinches. Remus has never once raised his voice at him, never once gotten angry with him. Remus has always been careful and gentle and reassuring. Sirius is confused.
He’s scared.
“But–”
“Go.”
“Remus—”
“Go.”
And Sirius goes.
***
The next morning Remus isn’t in the Great Hall for breakfast or in the library. Sirius surmises that he’s probably still in the infirmary.
Three times he makes it to the infirmary doors before turning around and retreating. He’s not sure what to say to Remus. And he’s also pretty sure Remus doesn’t want him there, that is what he had said, right? But he’s also really worried about him. But he’s also aware that him being worried about Remus is exactly what Remus doesn’t want. But he doesn’t know if he can walk in there and see Remus laying in a hospital bed and say anything to him that doesn’t sound like a disguised, “I’m worried about you.”
He’s not sure what to say to Remus.
His thoughts work in circles like this as he trudges his own circular path through the castle; to the infirmary doors and then back to the Great Hall and then back to the infirmary doors and so on until he admits defeat —what a Gryffindor he is, he can’t even build up the courage to open a door— and veers off to Gryffindor tower.
James is the only one in the dorm room. Peter is probably off with Gillian doing Merlin knows what. Probably making out on top of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for everyone to see, Sirius thinks bitterly.
“What’s wrong with you?” James asks when Sirius slams the door behind him.
“Nothing,” Sirius says automatically and James rolls his eyes.
Sirius throws himself onto his bed and stews in silence for a few minutes before flipping over to face James.
“James,” he says quietly, “can I ask you something?”
James looks over at him warily, clearly confused by the sudden change of tone. “Yeah…” he says carefully.
“How did you know you liked Lily?”
“Oh,” James sounds surprised, “uh, I don’t know, I guess I just found myself wanting to hang out with her all the time. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the thought of being alone with her scared me, made me sick to my stomach sometimes, but it was also, I don’t know… exciting? She makes everything feel more exciting. And when I read something interesting or hear a good song or a funny joke I find myself thinking, ‘what would Lily think of that?’ And sometimes I just look at her and feel overwhelmed like, ‘wow this person exists at the same time I do.’”
James looks over at Sirius, suddenly hesitant, “I don’t know, you probably think that all sounds disgustingly girly.”
Sirius slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says softly and then, “James?”
“Yeah?”
“I think— I think I might like someone,” he says quietly.
“Daisy Hookum,” James says, nodding knowingly.
“What?” Sirius laughs, “No. She hates me! Haven't you seen the death glares she sends me?”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you…”
“Oh Merlin, I forgot who I’m talking to, of course you think she’s in love with me.”
“If that’s a slight against Lily and I, I’ll have you know she’s warming up to me.”
“Impressing her with your cleaning skills, are you?”
“Actually, yes, just yesterday she said I was an impressive mopper.”
Sirius snorts. “Mate, I’m pretty sure that’s a ploy to get you to do all the mopping so she doesn’t have to.”
James tilts his head thoughtfully before shaking it clear. “So,” he says, “you like someone…”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s not Daisy Hookum?”
Sirius snorts. “No.”
“Who then?”
Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. Somewhere the second hand of a clock is tick, tick, ticking. “You don’t have a guess?”
“Daisy was my guess.”
Sirius absentmindedly pushes back his cuticles. The second hand pauses, time freezes, Sirius breathes. “It’s not a girl.”
Sirius holds his breath as he looks up and studies James’ reaction, but there’s no flash of disgust, no repulse in his eyes. James looks unphased, lost in thought. “It’s not— is it me?”
Sirius grimaces. “Ew, no, definitely not.”
“Hey!” James says, throwing a pillow at him, “I take offense to that actually.”
Sirius catches the pillow. He lays it on his lap, fluffing out the edges so he doesn’t have to look at James. He breathes. In. Out. “It’s Remus.”
When he looks up, James is already looking at him. “You like Remus,” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
James nods once. He looks like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “And do you know— does he like you?”
“Yeah, I think so. Or, well, I’m not sure anymore.”
James furrows his brows. “What does that mean?”
Sirius hesitates only a couple seconds before telling James everything. From the first day in the library to the blowout in the infirmary. And James listens.
When Sirius finishes, James is silent for a couple minutes.
“Sirius, everyone fights. It’s not—” he shakes his head, “He was probably just embarrassed or something. You should talk to him.”
“But what if I try to talk to him and he tells me to go away again?” Sirius looks down at his hands. “I don’t want him to tell me to go away again.”
James gets up from his bed and walks over to sit next to Sirius on his. “Sirius,” James sighs but it’s not out of frustration or annoyance, it’s gentle and solicitous like a comforting rub on the back, “One fight doesn't mean he doesn’t like you anymore. You can’t let your worries about how he might react stop you from actually talking to him. You have to talk to him.”
“I know,” Sirius says, voice small.
“Soon.”
“I know.”
James pulls him in, tucks him under his arm, squeezes. Sirius lets himself sink into it.
***
The next morning Sirius wakes up determined. His plan is this: He’s going to march right up to the Ravenclaw table and demand Remus talk to him or if Remus isn’t there, he’ll march to the infirmary or, if he’s not there, the library or, if he’s not there either, the Ravenclaw tower, where he’ll stand outside the door until someone lets him in because there’s no fucking way he’s solving that fucking riddle. But he’s going to talk to Remus. And he’s going to say something that will make it all better. He’s not exactly sure what that will be yet. He hasn’t gotten that far in his planning.
But he doesn’t even make it to the Great Hall before a hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him into an empty classroom. The door shuts behind him and Sirius looks up to find Remus. His arm is no longer in a sling, but there’s still bags under his eyes, and there’s a fresh scar on his forehead where the bandage used to be.
When he realizes he’s staring, he quickly looks away.
“I’m sorry,” Remus blurts out.
Sirius startles. His eyes snap back to Remus. Sure, he hadn’t gotten very far in his planning, but this is not at all how he had expected it to go.
“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I just— I don’t know, I guess I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
Remus shakes his head. “I don’t know if scared is the right word. I just— I spend a lot of time in the infirmary, hence the scars. And my ex, Dirk, used to make me feel bad about,” he shakes his head, “about the scars. And I woke up and you were there and I was just scared.”
Sirius steps forward. “Remus, I wouldn’t—”
“I wasn’t saying you would,” Remus cuts him off hurriedly, “and it’s not an excuse. I’m just trying to explain. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Remus protests.
Sirius isn’t sure what to say to that so he reaches out to grab Remus’ hand. He rubs his thumb softly across the scar on the back of Remus’ palm.
Remus stares at their hands for a beat before looking back up at Sirius. “Do you still want me to meet your friends?” There’s something akin to hope in Remus’ voice.
Sirius bites his lip to keep a stupid smile from spreading across his face. “Yeah,” and then, “I told James about us.”
“Us?” Remus’ eyes dance.
“Yeah.”
Remus smiles mischievously down at him. “What did you tell him? That we hang out?”
“Yeah, or, well, no. He guessed that a while ago. I told him that I— that I like you.”
Remus lets out a small laugh.
“What?” Sirius tenses.
“Nothing,” Remus smiles, dropping their clasped hands in favor of reaching out to tuck a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear, “I just can’t believe you told James you liked me before you told me you liked me.”
“Well, you never—” Sirius shuts his mouth, blushing at the assumption he was about to make.
Remus hums. “Good point,” he says, moving forward and walking Sirius backwards until his back hits the wall with a small thud. “Sirius Black,” Remus whispers, “I really, really like you.”
Sirius shivers all the way down to his toes.
***
The next weekend before going to Hogsmeade, Remus joins Sirius, James, and Gillian as they watch Peter’s chess game. It isn’t exactly riveting, but Sirius gets a kick out of the queen using her chair to absolutely deck the other pieces. “Totally barbaric!” Sirius whispers enthusiastically into Remus’ ear. Remus continues to look straight ahead, watching the game, but he smiles, tongue in cheek.
Under the table, Sirius and Remus hold hands. It’s not the same as holding hands on top of the table, but it still makes all the nerve endings in Sirius’ stomach fire off in one fell swoop.
In the end, Peter wins and all four of them whoop and cheer, James by far the loudest of the four. By how hard he’s cheering you’d think they’d been watching the Quidditch World Cup and not Peter’s monthly chess championship.
Gillian kisses Peter on the cheek, congratulates him, and then rushes off to work on her Charms project. Peter watches her go and once she's out of sight James claps him on the back and says, “Alright, first round’s on me.” And they all start heading over to Hogsmeade.
Sirius is a little worried about how Remus will fit in; whether Remus will feel discluded, whether Peter will find it odd that he invited Remus, whether James will overcompensate out of worry that Remus might feel left out and instead direct all his attention on to Remus and make Remus feel overwhelmed. But Remus fits in easily. He matches their repertoire. He’s lively and bright and unsuspectingly witty and he makes them all laugh. It’s like they had all been friends since first year. And the smile on Remus’ face as he talks to his friends causes something warm to erupt and burrow itself deep within Sirius chest, like a cracked yolk over his ribcage. Sirius squeezes Remus’ hand under the table. Remus squeezes it back.
“So,” Remus says, putting his drink down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m guessing you two are responsible for the portraits singing dirty pub songs since Sirius was with me when it happened.”
Sirius looks over at Peter. He still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to him about Remus. But it’s as if Peter didn’t even hear the end of Remus’ sentence, since he just smiles slyly and looks over at James.
“Yeah,” James says, “I now know more about singing charms than any wizard would ever need to. And it’s not even useful anymore because what could beat making all the portraits in Hogwarts sing?”
“Making all the gargoyles sing?” Peter offers.
“All the ghosts,” Sirius says.
“The giant squid.”
They all turn to look at Remus, jaws suspended.
“Mister Prefect,” James says slowly, in awe. Sirius smiles up at Remus. There’s a pop and crackle sensation in his stomach like there’s a fire growing in the pit of his gut.
Peter sets down his drink and licks his lips. “So,” he says, “how long have you two been dating?”
Sirius spits out his drink. His stomach drops with a whoosh, the fire blinking out.
“Peter!” James cries, scandalized.
“I’m sorry. Was that not— Was that supposed to be a secret?”
“You knew?” Sirius splutters.
Peter shrugs. “Not for sure. Well, until now. But it was kinda obvious.”
“Obvious?!” James and Sirius cry at the same time.
Peter shrugs again. “Yeah, I mean you guys have been acting weird, like at Lily’s party. And Sirius is always looking over at the Ravenclaw table and fretting over Remus and ‘Is it just me or does he look more pale to you guys too?’ and ‘Is that a new sweater? I don’t think I’ve seen that sweater before.’” Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Peter continues. “And you two are totally playing footsie under the table right now. Sirius kicked me in the shin trying to get his ankle around Remus’. And this whole time Sirius has been looking at Remus like he hung the moon or something.”
“Am not!” Sirius protests, looking over at Remus, who is looking down at him with a smirk and glittering eyes, the smug bastard.
“I didn’t know until a few days ago,” James says, completely defeated and to no one in particular.
Peter claps him on the shoulder. “Well mate, you are pretty oblivious.”
James shrugs off his hand, muttering incomprehensibly.
Sirius looks over at Peter tentatively. “So,” Sirius says, voice quieter, “you don’t care?”
Peter looks over at him, a bit surprised. “No. It doesn’t make a difference to me whether you’re g—”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sirius quickly cuts him off. “I just—” his eyes flicker over to Remus before returning back to Peter, “I just know that I like Remus.”
Under the table, Remus squeezes his hand reassuringly.
“That’s alright,” James says quickly.
Peter nods along. “‘Course.”
“Alright,” Remus says, hands slapping the table as he stands up, “next round is on me.”
As he walks away, James leans in conspiratorially, “I like that one,” he says pointing at Remus’ retreating figure. Peter nods in agreement.
Sirius feels his cheeks heat up.
James smiles as he leans back in his chair. “Giant squid,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head, still in awe.
***
“We’re going to be late to Transfiguration.”
“Don’t care,” Remus says as he moves forward to crowd Sirius against the shelving of cleaning supplies in the second floor broom closet.
“But you’re a prefect.”
Remus rolls his eyes. He takes another step toward Sirius, closing the little space left between them. He presses against him, one leg nudging Sirius’ knees apart.
Sirius looks up at him and meets Remus’ dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Sirius feels a shiver travel down his spine like dominos on his vertebrae, tick, tick, tick , until they land in a heap in his stomach, until his stomach gives out and his legs too, until he’s putty on the floor, waiting for Remus to scoop him up.
“Don’t care,” Remus mumbles against his lips. His hand comes up to slide under Sirius’ dress shirt and— fuck, his hands are cold . Sirius jerks back, his head hitting the shelving. A box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease clatters to the floor. Sirius looks down at it and laughs.
Remus pulls back, but only enough to look down at the box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease. When his eyes flicker back to Sirius he frowns at him. “What's so funny?”
Sirius shakes his head, stifling his laughter. “Your hands are cold,” Sirius breathes.
Remus’ eyebrows pinch together. His hands start to fall from Sirius’ waist. Sirius quickly uses his own hands to pull them back up. He leans forward and tilts his head up to press his mouth against Remus’.
Remus is caught off guard. It’s just lips on lips. But then Remus breaks, a stifled sound escaping his throat and his hands snake around Sirius’ naked torso to grip his lower back and pull their bodies flush against each other. Remus opens his mouth, hungrily. Their tongues slid over each other. Sirius feels dizzy. And his hands reach up to wrap around Remus’ neck, steadying himself.
The bell rings to indicate the end of break, but Remus leans forward, mouth warm and insistent, his hands crawling further up Sirius’ back, completely unbothered by things as inconsequential as the class bell.
“Merlin,” Sirius pants as he breaks for air, “you are a terrible prefect.”
“You never shut up, do you?” Remus ducks down to nip at Sirius’ lip as his leg nudges Sirius’ knees further apart. And Sirius whimpers, he fucking whimpers.
In the end, they are late for Transfiguration. But only by a few minutes. Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes at them and frowns, taking in their rumpled hair and hurriedly tucked in shirts, and flushed cheeks, which are only getting redder under her scrutiny. She lets them off easy though, just an extra six inches added to their homework assignment. Sirius already can’t wait to work on it with a Remus in the library. And wow, that’s a sentence he never thought would cross his mind.
***
“My middle name is John,” Remus whispers. His boot knocks against Sirius’ from where they are sprawled out on the grass.
“I can speak fluent French.”
Remus turns his head to look at him through the blades of grass between them. “That’s hot,” he says.
“Plus sexy que ton deuxième prénom?” Hotter than your middle name?
“Yeah,” Remus sighs, the blades of glass swaying with his breath, “I’m definitely gay.”
“Was that your turn?” Sirius asks cheekily, “Because I already knew that. Tu peux faire mieux que ça, mon beau.” You can do better than that, my beautiful one.
“Fuck,” Remus mutters. Sirius laughs and rolls himself over so his upper body is on top of Remus, his elbows propping himself up on Remus’ chest.
He leans down, his black hair cascading around Remus’ face. “Tu aimes quand je parle français?” Do you like it when I speak French?
Remus splutters incomprehensibly. “My favorite color is green,” he finally manages to spit out.
Sirius ducks down to laugh into Remus’ chest. Remus grins down at him, carding his fingers through Sirius’ hair.
It has become their thing; swapping non-secrets while rolling around on the grassy knolls, electricity flowing through them at charged glances and the hushed tones of whispers and reverberating laughter and the brushes of exposed ankles and elbows that send shocks up their extremities.
It’s just them, hidden behind the greenhouse walls; a secret alcove carved out for the two of them.
Or at least it was.
“Sirius!”
Sirius groans. He looks over his shoulder at James running towards them, cloak billowing in the wind behind him. The downside of having his friends know about Remus was that they knew where to find him on lazy afternoons.
He looks back down at Remus. His face is scrunched up. His eyes are closed shut. “You okay?”
“Mm,” Remus mumbles, “just a headache.”
Sirius frowns down at him, but doesn’t get a chance to inquire more.
“Guess what?” James puffs, finally reaching them.
Sirius looks up at James, squinting at the afternoon sun glowing behind him. He bites his tongue to keep from snapping at him. “What?” he says evenly and with an impressive amount of self control.
“Hufflepuff just beat Ravenclaw! The whole thing was over in like ten minutes. Ravenclaw didn’t even get a single point. They were totally annihilated!” James smiles zealously down at them before grimacing and hesitatingly looking over at Remus. “Sorry, mate.”
Remus waves him off with the hand not currently buried in Sirius’ hair.
“And you came all the way down here to tell us that because…” Sirius trails off.
James looks at him incredulously. “Because, ” he says, “the last quidditch game of the year is tomorrow, us versus Slytherin. And Ravenclaw was our biggest competition for winning the quidditch cup, but they just blew it.” James winces. “Sorry,” he says to Remus, who again waves him off. James turns back to Sirius and continues, “And Slytherin has two of their best players benched for foul play and we only need 50 points to surpass Ravenclaw and win the quidditch cup!”
“Okay…” Sirius drawls.
“So we're throwing a victory party after the game tomorrow.”
Sirius perks up at that. He does love a good party. But still, he can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to already be planning a victory party?”
“Did you not hear anything I just said?”
Sirius rolls his eyes in place of an answer and James eagerly turns his attention to Remus. “You’re coming, right, Remus?”
“What? To celebrate Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw?”
James’ face pinches. “Well—” he starts and gets nowhere.
Sirius snorts.
“Just messing with you,” Remus smirks, “I’ll come.”
James smiles sheepishly at him before turning back to Sirius, demeanor back to business. “Right, so we are gonna need booze and lots of it. Peter has chess club so I’m gonna need your help tonight. I’ll do it, but I’ll need you to sneak me out of the tunn—”
Remus jokingly covers his ears. “I must warn you, I am a prefect,” he says.
Sirius turns to him, a devilish grin on his face. “It wasn’t very prefect of you to sneak me into the prefect’s bathroom last night.”
Now it’s James’ turn to cover his ears. “Gah, I’m leaving, I’m leaving. See you tonight,” he calls to Sirius over his shoulder as he scampers off.
Sirius sinks back down onto Remus’ chest, his hand reaching down to trace the patterns of Remus’ sweater with his fingertips. “Bon, où en étions-nous?” Now, where were we?
***
During their six years at Hogwarts, James, Peter, and Sirius have found several secret passages within the castle.
The one that leads to The Hog Head’s storage room, however, only opens from one side. They had learned this the hard way when, during their first trip, they had to walk all the way back through the tunnel, sneak out of the storage room, walk back to Hogwarts, and slip back into the castle. Luckily they had James’ invisibility cloak and thus weren't caught roaming the Hogwarts grounds at two in the morning. But now one of them always stays back to open the passage.
Therefore, since James left an hour ago, with a pocket full of cash (they always paid, leaving money in the tip jar or tucked between bottles on the shelves), Sirius has the job of meeting him to open the fourth floor mirror where the tunnel leading to The Hog’s Head begins.
Sirius is running late though.
He's speed walking underneath the invisibility cloak, practically running down the halls, when he comes to a sudden halt. There's whispers from around the corridor. Cautiously, he walks forward, much slower than before.
The voices get louder as he makes his way to the grand staircase and when he rounds the corner next to the second floor girl’s bathroom, he recognizes Madam Pomfrey in her red dress and white cloth cap standing further down the hall. But her back is to him, so he can’t see who she is talking to.
Slowly, so as to not be heard under the cloak, he approaches them. His plan is to just slip past them and continue on to the fourth floor mirror. He’s already running late and if he turns around now and takes the long way, he’ll be really late and James is likely already worried that he has forgotten about him.
“There’s still a few days before the full,” he hears Pomfrey say as he inches closer, “Usually your symptoms don’t start till the day before.”
“Everyone gets headaches, Madam. It probably has nothing to do with the moon.” Sirius stops short. That’s Remus’ voice. What are they talking about? The full? Symptoms? The moon?
Pomfrey hums. “Still, I wish you would have told me when the symptoms started. Not hours afterwards.”
“Sorry for waking you. I didn’t—”
Pomfrey turns on her heel and starts walking away. And if he wasn’t sure before, he is now. There’s Remus. In a rumpled sweater and messy curls and face alarmingly pale and a hand rubbing at his temple. “None of that, Remus. Come on, let's get you some pepperup potion.”
Remus hurries to catch up with her. “Thank you, Madam.”
“Remus, I tell you every month. Call me Poppy.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” is the last thing Sirius hears them say as they disappear down the winding hallways. He stands there in the empty corridor watching the vacant space he had last seen their retreating figures. It’s a minute or so later before he remembers James.
“Where have you been?” James huffs when Sirius finally opens the passageway.
“There was an obstacle.” His voice comes out distracted and far away.
James looks at him through round, wire-framed spectacles. “You okay?”
“Course,” Sirius says, “I had the cloak.”
James' eyes flicker back and forth, searching Sirius' face. Whatever he's looking for he doesn't find. He nods once. “Right, well you’re holding this,” he passes Sirius a bag sagging with the weight of a dozen or so bottles, “it’s bloody heavy and I can’t risk hurting my shoulder before the game tomorrow.”
Sirius rolls his eyes, but he takes the bag and they both walk back to Gryffindor under the cloak.
***
Gryffindor wins and no one is more ecstatic about it than James.
He’s three drinks in and has taken it upon himself to greet everyone at the party, with a jaunty, “Gryffindor!” The liquor in his cup sloshes precariously, some escaping to dot the carpet, as he raises it up in a toast and then winds himself around the crowd to greet the next person.
Sirius watches him from the corner where he and Marlene are heading a beer pong tournament. Marlene and Daisy are winning. Mary, Sirius’ partner, is terrible at aiming, but excellent at downing beer, so there’s that.
At some squeaks and the sound of shoes skidding on the floor, Sirius looks up to find James pushing his way through the crowd to the portrait hole door where Lily has just walked through. “Gryffindor!” James shouts loudly, right into her face.
Lily’s eyebrows shoot up, but she smiles up at him. Shaking her head, she carefully takes the cup from his hand, takes a sip, and walks off. James follows her eagerly like a lost dog. And that’s when he spots Remus ducking through the portrait hole.
“I forfeit,” he says, dropping the ping pong ball on the table.
“Boo!” Marlene shouts, but Sirius is already across the room. Mary shrugs and picks up the last cup left on their side and downs it.
“Hi,” Sirius says when he reaches Remus.
“Hi,” Remus smiles at him and the beer —and maybe something else— sloshes warmly in Sirius’ stomach.
“Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
Sirius grabs a hold of Remus' wrist and guides him through the maze of people. “This way,” he says, “Just don’t drink the punch, Peter made it.”
“I heard that!” Peter yells from somewhere amongst the crowd.
They get Remus a drink. And then another. And another. And the rest of the night goes by in a bit of a haze. They’re jumping and screaming and laughing and dancing. Shining Star is playing for the fifth time, James’ doing, Sirius is sure, and Peter jumps up on the coffee table. His necktie has found itself secured haphazardly around his forehead and his sleeves of his dress shirt are carelessly pushed up to his elbows.
“You’re shining star / No matter who you are / Shining bright to see ” he sings pointing out to the crowd in a slow sprinkler motion, his other hand on his waist, his hips rocking back and forth. Gillian tries, to no avail, to get him down. The whole thing is ridiculous and makes Sirius jump up and down and shout in glee. He turns to look at Remus, who is already looking at him, eyes bright and full of mirth. You’re a shining star / No matter who you are / Shining bright to see
The Who comes on next and James joins Peter on the table. Lily rolls her eyes, but Sirius doesn’t miss the smile on her face. Everyone is dancing around them now.
Why don’t you all f-fade away / Talkin’ ‘bout my generation
And because no one is paying them much attention he lets his hand trail down Remus’ chest, along his waist, his fingers teasingly slip under Remus’ sweater, gracing along the warm skin of Remus’ stomach only to retreat as he jumps and sways to the music. And Remus jumps and sways with him.
The song ends and Sirius and Remus find their way back to the drinks table. Sirius is filling up Remus’ cup with more Dragon Scale. “Can you believe Peter got up on the table?” he asks Remus.
Remus doesn’t answer. Sirius looks up at him, but Remus is frozen, eyes trained somewhere behind Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius turns around to find a lanky, dirty blonde boy pushing his way through the crowd right towards them. Dirk Cresswell.
Sirius turns back to Remus at the same time that Dirk sidles up right next to them. Up close Dirk’s face looks quite skeletal, all sharp lines and stony features. And his eyes are lifeless and glassy and bloodshot from alcohol and they drift over to Sirius, slow and unsurely. He smiles and it feels plastered and unnatural.
“Can I get some of that?” he nods his chin at the bottle of Dragon Scale still in Sirius’ hand.
Sirius hesitates before handing it over. His eyes dart over to Remus, but his eyes are set on the floor.
Dirk takes a swig of the ale straight from the bottle. He turns to Remus. “Loosen up, Remus.”
Remus’ eyes snap up. “What do you want, Dirk?”
“Merlin, someone's in a mood. You always were like that though. What is it… about three days before the big night?”
“Dirk,” Remus says warningly.
Dirk takes another messy swig from the bottle. A bit of the ale drips down his chin. He doesn’t bother to wipe it off as he turns back to Sirius. “Has he told you yet? About the scars?”
Sirius looks over at Remus, but his eyes are once again trained on the ground.
Dirk continues. “Where he goes every month? Once a month?”
“That’s enough, Dirk,” Remus growls.
Dirk looks pleasantly over at Remus. “Oh, so loverboy doesn’t know about your little problem? Afraid you’ll scare him away?”
Remus’ eyes flick over to Sirius. There’s fear in them and Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He feels like he’s slowly being encased in molasses. He feels it drip down his back —thick and heavy— seeping into his bones and hardening within his tendons, rendering him useless and immobile.
Lily, appearing out of nowhere, steps between Remus and Dirk. “Time to leave, Dirk.” Her voice is cold and firm and her eyes match her tone.
Dirk laughs all sickly saccharine and out of place and if Sirius wasn’t frozen he’d shiver.
“Lily to the rescue!” Dirk cheers darkly. He takes a step forward, closer to Lily. Sirius feels like he should say something, do something, but his feet are stuck to the floor, his jaw is locked.
And then James is there pushing at Dirk’s chest, ordering him out. Dirk raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’m going,” he says. He trips over his feet a few times, disoriented from the alcohol, but he makes it through the portrait hole.
Sirius looks back over at Remus, but finds he’s no longer next to him. Remus is already halfway across the room, winding through the crowd.
James nudges him. “Go,” he says. And it breaks the spell; The crystallized molasses splinters and cracks, setting his bones free. Sirius stumbles forward. He weaves his way through the crowd, his eyes following Remus as he walks up the dormitory stairs and into Sirius’ room.
***
Sirius closes the door behind him, muffling the sounds of the party downstairs.
Remus is sitting on his bed, his back to Sirius. He doesn’t turn at the sound of Sirius approaching.
“Sorry,” Remus says, staring straight ahead, out the window, at the night sky. “Dirk is…”
“Dirk’s an areshole,” Sirius finishes.
Remus grunts in agreement.
Sirius watches Remus: his fidgeting fingers picking at Sirius’ sheets, the way his chest sinks with every breath, his vacant eyes. And then he follows Remus’ gaze and turns to look out the window, at the night sky, the stars, the moon .
He realizes, with a jolt, that the window is open. With a rush, as if it didn’t exist until he had noticed it, the chill of the night sky wraps over him like an itchy blanket. He can see his and Remus’ exhaled breaths before him, eddies on the night air. They twist and curl before smoothing out, reaching towards each other like misty, white tendrils before vanishing like two hands reaching, reaching and then collapsing. He can’t stand it. He walks over to shut the window close.
He turns. Remus is still not looking at him. He sighs and moves to sit down next to Remus, who teeters slightly at the added weight on the mattress.
“Listen,” Sirius says, his voice an ice pick chipping away at the frozen air between them, “about what Dirk said…”
Besides him Remus tenses. “I realize you must have questions,” Remus says, voice low, the way cold air sinks, retreating against the harsh brightness of warmth.
“I think I know,” Sirius says, voice quiet.
Remus’ eyebrows pinch together, he stares down at his hands, at his wrists where silver scars lap around his bones. He shakes his head slowly.
“Last night when I was meeting James to get the booze, I overheard you and Pomfrey talking about the moon and with what Dirk said…”
Remus blinks rapidly down at his hands, his fingernails digging into his nail beds. His inhale and exhale are muted, but they take up all the sound in the room. “And now you want out,” he says to his hands. His voice is relenting, understanding, there’s no fight behind his words and that’s what scares Sirius the most.
“What?” Sirius turns so his frame is facing Remus, “No. Remus, I don’t care that you’re a—”
“Don’t—” Remus cuts him off. And then quieter: “Don’t say it.”
Sirius is struck silent. He reaches over to cover Remus’ hands with his own, if only to stop him from violently tearing at his cuticles. Remus hands stills, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Lily found out on her own,” Remus whispers to the frigid air, “but Dirk’s the only one I’ve ever told myself. And well, you saw how well that went.” Sirius bites his lip, Remus continues. “I wanted to tell you myself. But I couldn’t. I was scared, and I just—” he shakes his head.
“Remus,” Sirius starts, but the words are lost on his tongue.
“I can go.” Remus stands up so suddenly it makes Sirius’ head spin. He feels lightheaded and faint. A vignette forms around his field of vision, closing in on Remus' retreating figure.
“What? Why would you go?”
“You probably want some space from me.” Remus’ left shoe inches closer to the door. Sirius reaches out to grab a hold of Remus’ sweater sleeve. “Stay.”
Remus looks uncomfortable and small. Sirius has never seen him like this. All the golden light is drained from him.
Remus eyes the door. “I don’t really feel like going back to the party.”
“Then don’t,” Sirius says. Still holding on to Remus’ sleeve, he scoots back on the bed and lifts his comforter. “Stay.”
Remus stands frozen.
Sirius tugs on his sleeve and Remus moves forward slowly. All his movements are slow: sinking onto the mattress, pulling the blanket over him, resting his curls on the pillow. Sirius moves slowly too: tucking the ends of the blanket around Remus, easing Remus’ curls off his forehead and behind his ear, reaching forward tentatively into the dark, his warm fingers melting Remus’ iced joints until he relaxes back into him. And somewhere within the bitter, night air they build their own apricity.
***
Four mornings later, Sirius is at Remus' bedside when he blinks awake.
“Sirius?” Remus says groggily.
“Hi,” Sirius says.
They hadn’t discussed this. Yesterday Remus had told him he was going to go to Pomfrey’s that night. He hadn’t offered anything more, but they both were aware of the moon, full and faded by the afternoon sun but still high in the sky like a bad taste that sticks to the roof of your mouth and never truly goes away. Or the white of a wisdom tooth peeking out behind your gums; a bite of pain pulsating in the back of the mouth, demanding it’s presence be known. And Sirius hadn’t pushed it.
But he couldn’t stay tucked in the comfort of his own bed, shrouded in the tranquility of the morning sun, when he knew Remus would be here, bandaged up and hurting.
“What are you—” Remus starts.
“Look what I brought,” Sirius interrupts, ducking down to grab the black vinyl sleeve from beneath his chair. “I nicked it from James. So it’s probably horribly sentimental, but…” he shrugs, trailing off.
Remus watches him from behind long, dusty eyelashes. Finally, he scoots over, holds up the blanket. “Alright, come on then.”
Sirius settles in next to him, careful not to bang against any of Remus’ bandages. He uses a spell Remus taught him to make the record spin and play without a needle. It sounds better on the muggle machine, but this will do.
They lay there together, inching closer and closer with soft rustles of linen. They’re both quiet as the record plays and the morning sun shines through the window and blankets them in gold.
It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside / I’m not one of those who can easily hide / I don’t have much money, but, boy if I did / I’d buy a big house where we both could live
When the record, upon finishing, comes to a still, Sirius waves his wand and it slides back into its sleeve and they lay there in silence, just listening to each other breathe.
It’s a few minutes before either one of them speaks, words tumbling out and over each other: “I’m a werewolf,” and, “I think I more than like you.”
Remus lets out a startled laugh. “What?”
“I more than like you,” Sirius repeats, dropping the uncertainty.
Remus bites the inside of his cheek. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
Sirius turns to face Remus. His hand comes up to tuck a curl behind Remus’ ear. “And, ” he says, “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. And I’m sorry you have to go through this. And I’m sorry people like Dirk Cresswell exist.”
Remus’ eyes search Sirius’ face. He swallows. “You don’t have questions?”
Sirius shrugs. “Sure, but only when you’re ready. You don’t owe me anything, Remus.”
“You don’t owe me anything either. It’s okay if you want out. I won’t be mad. I know a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly ideal.”
“Boyfriends now, are we?” Sirius teases.
Remus gives him an incredulous look, all scrunched eyebrows and tilted head.
“Well,” Sirius contends, “you never said.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Remus smiles. And then his face darkens, “But seriously—”
“Remus?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and tell me how much you like me.”
“I don’t like you,” Remus says. He reaches down to find Sirius’ hand. He squeezes it. “I more than like you.”
***
An hour later, Madam Pomfrey pokes her head around the hospital curtain and finds two boys fast asleep pressed together in the small hospital bed, a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets scrunched and kicked to their ankles. All rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes and breaths slow and in sync.
With a smile, she pulls the curtain close, and lets them be.