Archive of Our Own ^beta

At exactly 2.46 pm on a seemingly ordinary Thursday afternoon in early November of his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Remus Lupin’s life comes crashing down around him as he realises that is he completely and utterly fucked.

He knows the exact time because the incident which causes him to realise said state of being completely and utterly fucked (in the doomed sense, not the other way because as much as he would like it, he can’t see that happening any time soon) begins with Peter asking the time during their History of Magic lesson. Sirius twists around in his chair (he and James are sitting at the desk in front of Remus and Peter, a rare change of events but Peter got there first and was feeling particularly lazy and stole the desk at the back of the classroom to nap) and peers obnoxiously at his wrist, on which sits his seventeenth birthday gift from the Potters—a customary of-age golden wristwatch.

The gold catches in the sunlight, flashing across Sirius’ face.

“2.46, Wormtail,” Sirius says, smug. There’s no apparent need for smugness but it was his birthday the day before and he, being the first of them to turn seventeen, had been walking around with an air of superiority, and will be for at least the next month. (And really, when has Sirius Black ever needed an excuse to be smug.)

Peter rolls his eyes and mutters, “Thank-you,” as he goes back to his notes. He stares at them for a long moment, at the two lines he’s amassed so far, considering, then shrugs. He folds his arms on the desk, resting his head and closes his eyes. It may be N.E.W.Ts next year and they will need all this information for some essay along the way, but Remus gets it and is seconds away from closing his eyes himself.

Now, it is not Sirius merely telling the time that causes Remus to come to his realisation. No, it is the blinding grin that the boy sends him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning back towards the front, immediately picking up a hushed conversation with James.

Sirius smiles once at Remus and he is left breathless.

Remus could blame it on the Full Moon coming up—his emotions are always running high in the lead up and with it only being three nights away, his lingering crush on his friend (which, he insists, is and always has been just a crush) could be interpreted by the wolf side of his brain as something more.

He could blame the sun, the wonderfully beautiful weather—clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight, a rare break from the increasingly cold weather as the winter comes creeping along—that causes the sunlight to beam through the open window and strike perfectly against Sirius’ face, casting a golden glow against his tan skin.

He could blame those grey eyes and sleek black hair, the cheekbones that could cut glass and the red, red cupid’s bow of his mouth. He could blame all the features that make up Sirius Black and have entranced almost the entire school, whether they realise it or not.

But then he would be lying to himself and if Remus Lupin is anything, he is not a liar—to himself that is. He has enough shit to deal with than trying to lie to his own conscious. Other people though, he would bend over backwards to keep his myriad of secrets just that; a secret.

No, what really causes the flurry of emotions that tumble through Remus—happiness, pride, an overwhelming sense of warmth—is the specific smile that Sirius sends. It’s wide and uncomplicated and only meant for the Marauders.

Sirius smiles once at Remus and he is left an emotional mess.

You see, Sirius has many smiles: the comfortable, closed-lip smile that he sends the sixth year Gryffindor girls around the fireplace in the Common Room; the sweet, innocent, charming I-did-nothing-wrong-Professor smile reserved for adults that works 74% of the time; the open-mouthed, mid-laughter smile that lights up his eyes when a prank goes particularly brilliantly and Snape is left with a never-ending stream of snot running from his nose as he runs for the Hospital Wing; the quick quirk of his lips when he does something well—a charm in class or essay received back or Bludger hit directly into a Slytherin’s path.

But the smile that he sends Remus—the one that is causing all of his problems—is his favourite. It only ever comes out in the company of the Marauders and will occur without rhyme or reason. In the dormitory, over the Gryffindor table at breakfast, in Remus’ corner of the Hospital Wing after a Full Moon. A full, unreserved grin to demonstrate that is completely at ease and happy.

Remus has seen this smile a lot, but for some reason it only occurs to him this time (five years and two months after meeting Sirius) that he, James, and Peter are so eternally lucky to be granted this smile—and the trust and pain and trauma that comes along with it. There are only three people in the world who are allowed to understand Sirius Black and for some reason Remus Lupin—half-blood, poor, quiet, werewolf Remus Lupin—gets to be one of those three.

So, at 2.46 pm on Thursday the 3^rd of November 1976, at age sixteen, at the desk in the last row of the History of Magic classroom, as Binns voice intones around the room, Sirius smiles once at Remus and he falls in love with his best friend.

(And realises that he is completely and utterly fucked.)

The remainder of the class passes without incident. Peter ends up snoring softly at one point, and Remus has to occasionally poke him so he doesn’t get too loud (they’ve shared a dorm for five years—he’s familiar with how loud Peter’s snores can get). Sirius and James pass notes to each other, no doubt discussing the merits of using a babbling curse alongside a horn-tongue hex (the result, Remus thinks, will be both hilarious and very confusing for all parties involved). The rest of the sixth years all seem to be in varying degrees of daydreaming—even Lily Evans, usually hunched over her notes, is now openly weaving Marlene McKinnon’s blonde curls back and forth, a braid slowly coming to fruition. It’s long been questioned by the student body why a double of History of Magic in the afternoon was ever considered a productive idea—with the taste of freedom so close, it takes all of twenty minutes for the class to fall into a stupor as they await the final bell of the day.

Remus, alone in his endeavour, tries in vain to pay attention because they have History first thing Monday morning, which he will most definitely be missing with the Full Moon the night before. But Binns’ words continue to elude him and when he looks down at his parchment, it’s to find a total of seven sentences scribed.

He gives up, dropping his quill with a stifled sigh. He has more pressing issues to deal with anyway.

Namely, what to do about his newly realised feelings.

He gives himself five minutes to bask in the warmth that is Sirius’ brief attention. To examine it and give it room to grow in his mind, find a place and settle amongst the other feelings and worries that characterise his thoughts.

At 2.51 (he times himself, on his own watch, which is far shabbier and less impressive than Sirius’, as is the case with most things), he switches to survival mode, forming a plan of attack as to how is going to deal with the growing problem.

The first step: run.

As soon as the bell rings throughout the castle, he is on his feet, parchment stuffed into deteriorating satchel, quill bending in grip, yelling over his shoulder, “Forgot something at the library, need to pick it up now, see guys after Quidditch practice!” to the confused faces of his friends. He catches a glimpse of James turning to Sirius with a bewildered look on his face before he is out of the door, racing down the corridor.

He curses as he rounds a corner, acknowledging that may not have been the most smooth exit he could have made, and probably raised more questions than intended. Fortunately, James’ fanaticism for Quidditch means that they have a practice scheduled all afternoon so he and Sirius will be occupied until at least dinner. There’s always the potential that Peter will try to find him, but will likely give up when he says that Remus is nowhere in sight and just follow the others to study in the stands, and (Remus could kiss his past-self), he has the Map tucked away in his robes from when he decided this morning that it should only be trusted in his own hands, because Sirius had that gleam in his eyes and Remus really has been trying to prove to Lily that he doesn’t let them get away with everything (just most things).

So, the first step is successful, with only the slightest of hiccups in drawing attention to his hasty exit. He will firmly blame that on the mounting pain inside of him.

Step two: hide.

He hurries through a hidden passageway, whipping out the map to check on the movements of his friends (all headed in the direction of the Entrance Hall) and follows the stairs up and up and up until he reaches the Astronomy Tower. It’s not the most secretive hiding place in a castle full of tucked-away corners and concealed rooms, but at this time of the day it’s usually empty, students preferring to sit out by the Lake. Besides, it’s one of his favourite spots in Hogwarts—there’s something freeing, serene, about being up so high and seeing all of his home below, as a soft breeze cools down his flushed body.

Officially hidden, Remus moves on to step three.

He had given himself two options for this one, depending on what he decided to do once he got there. He can either, a) curl into a ball and cry his eyes out until he feels like there are no more tears left inside of him, or, b) scream the frustrations out of him until his voice is no more than a hoarse whisper (another benefit of the Astronomy Tower).

He chooses the latter.

Feeling satisfied, if slightly parched, he collapses ungracefully to the ground after the last yell escapes him, hanging his legs over the edge of the Tower, hands resting on the barrier.

Now to assess the situation with a clear mind (step four).

He has known for over two years that his feelings toward Sirius were not completely platonic, ever since the boy showed up in their carriage compartment in fourth year with his hair grown out and a few extra inches of height that made him tower over the rest of them (that was the only year that Sirius was taller than him—Remus came back fifth year with his own growth spurt and an inch on his friend). But, it was nothing more than a crush, an acknowledgement that hey, I wouldn’t mind kissing you, which Remus had felt about quite a few boys (and girls) in their year level and surrounding levels over the years.

And he has always known that he loves Sirius Black; that the raven-haired, pureblooded, proud, mischievous, joyous boy was irrevocably a part of his life and would remain so until he died. When 12-year-old Sirius had climbed through the curtains of 11-verging-on-12-year-old Remus’ bed in the early hours of the morning in March of their first year, whispering I know, Lupin, I know you’re a werewolf and you don’t have to worry, you don’t have to hide it from me, if anything, it’s kind of cool, Remus knew he would do anything for Sirius.

The love and crush have always, always been separate. Sirius is his best friend, someone Remus can’t see his life without—he just also happens to be alarmingly attractive and the cause for many of Remus’ daydreams (and, well, other dreams).

But in that moment, when Sirius twisted around, proudly showing off his wristwatch with glee and smiled at Remus with that smile, those two parts of Sirius collided with a painful clang inside of Remus and now is he stuck in the situation of being in love with one of his best friends.

The fifth and final step (finding some to talk to about this) would come later, maybe after dinner, or even tomorrow during his free period. For now, he wallows in his own despair and accepts the fact that he will not be able to look Sirius in the eye without blushing beet-red.

“You’re staring, again.”

James whips his head around, messy hair flying and two red spots appearing on top of his cheekbones as he regards Remus. “No, I’m not,” he says, petulantly. Remus is half-surprised he doesn’t cross his arms, like a child in the beginnings of a tantrum.

Sirius, from where he sits next to Remus, much to his consternation, snorts, eyes trained on his plate of mashed potato and sausages. He stabs a sausage, bringing it up to his mouth to bite off the end.

Remus looks away.

“I’m not!” James protests, waving a vague hand in the direction of the sixth year Gryffindor girls. “I’m just...”

“Admiring the way her hair falls?” Peter suggests, mouth full of potato.

“Wondering if she’s thinking about you?” Remus continues, a small smile growing over his face.

“Checking out her tits?” Sirius’ mouth curls up slyly.

James looks astonished, pointing a harsh finger at Sirius. “Keep Evans’ tits out of your mind, you heathen!”

“It’s your mind we’re talking about,” Sirius corrects.

James stops short at that, considering. He has always had a very bad poker face and they all watch as his thoughts mull over the conversation, halting exactly where Remus knew they would. His eyes glaze over, trailing back to Lily down the table.

“Oh my God,” Remus bemoans, kicking out a leg and hitting James’ shin, whose attention snaps back to them, eyebrows raised in an attempt to look innocent. “You guys are the worst, you know that, right? Why do I hang out with you?”

“Because, dear Moonykins,” Sirius flings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing. His other elbow is resting on the dining table, so his fork, still with a half-eaten sausage on it, is poised to be eaten. Remus wishes we would just finish the damn sausage already. “You love us endlessly and your life would be utterly boring without our antics to brighten it every day.”

Inwardly, Remus concedes his point. Outwardly, “I’m sure I would have a much more fulfilling and well-rounded life if every conversation didn’t devolve into discussing girls’ anatomy.”

James’ eyes glaze over again and Sirius throws a bread roll at him, which means his arm leaves Remus’ shoulders. He can’t tell if he’s relieved or not. (He’s going with relieved, whether it’s true or not.)

James catches the roll, Chaser skills kicking in as usual, and pokes his tongue out at Sirius. Remus has stopped paying attention because in the momentum of throwing the roll, Sirius had spread his legs and now their knees were pressed together under the table. Sirius wasn’t moving.

This threw Remus through a loop because an arm over his shoulder in the middle of a bit was one thing, but no one could see their legs. It was private, away from the prying eyes and completely by accident. So, why wasn’t Sirius moving?

Remus considered shifting his own leg himself—he was quickly realising prolonged contact was a bad idea—but he had waited too long and now it would be obvious that he was uncomfortable if he moved and, dear Merlin, didn’t he have enough problems without the worry of whether their knees fucking touching even meant anything?

Peter is waving a hand in front of his face and Remus jumps, looking around to see the rest of the Marauders staring at him with equal expressions of confusion. Sirius’ eyebrows knit together with concern and Remus aches to smooth a thumb between them. “You okay, Moony?” Peter asks. “You look a little jumpy there.”

“Oh, um,” he gulps, eyes trained firmly on his two friends across from him and not the one next to him, “I’m fine, thanks Pete. Moon coming up, you know how it is.”

Peter and James’ faces soften visibly and guilt churns through Remus at using their obvious concern for his wellbeing as an excuse. Sirius’ knee presses against his more and Remus looks over, smiling slightly, knowing it comes out as more of a grimace.

It’s been over an entire day since Remus’ little revelation and it has been nothing but torture as he is quickly understanding that Sirius makes up about 90% of his day, between sharing a dorm, being in the same classes, and the whole best friends thing. The only reprieve he has is bathroom breaks, the one class they don’t share (Advanced Arithmancy), and Quidditch practices.

He is yet to complete step five—of even attempt to start it at this point.

Sirius frowns imperceptibly.

“Well!” James claps his hands together. “We’ve got the party tonight. That’ll cheer you right up.”

“Party?” Remus asks. And immediately regrets it.

Sirius gasps, frown completely wiped from his face. Instead, he pouts, bottom lip out as he looks at Remus with something close to tears in his eyes—a look he has perfected over the years to guilt trip them all. He is the actor of the group, the one that they send to risky aspects of pranks that are likely to be found by teachers. “My birthday, Moony! I have to have a party—how could you forget?”

“Right,” Remus says belatedly, as Peter leans forward to start organising, “of course.”

It takes all of five minutes for the last Gryffindor student to return to the Tower before the party is in full swing. Boys and girls alike rush up to their dormitories, throwing on muggle clothing and returning with their own supplies of alcohol (at least for fifth years and above). Sirius brought down his record player and currently has Queen playing in the background. The room is alive with laughter and talking and dancing and Remus sits on one of the window sills, a bottle of Butterbeer rolling between fingers as he stares vacantly out the window.

The noise evades him as he considers his next course of action. It may seem foolish to acknowledge out loud his feelings for Sirius (it would make it real, irreversible), but he knows through prior experience that actually talking with someone about his problems immensely helps.

He considers his options.

James is out of the question, undoubtedly. The boy can keep a secret, obviously, with the whole werewolf thing, but definitely not from Sirius—the two share every single detail about their lives with the other and Remus has been caught out more than once before confiding in one of them, only for the other to come up to him the next day acting as if they had been his confidant in the first place.

He briefly considers Peter, but he’s not entirely sure his friend will be comfortable with the whole Remus-being-in-love-with-another-guy. Better to leave that confrontation until a later date.

(A wry voice in his head suggests that he just tell Sirius, which, ha, unlikely.)

The Marauders out of the way, he moves onto the sixth year Gryffindor girls. At least the ones he is friends with: Marlene McKinnon, Mary McDonald, and Lily Evans.

Marlene definitely has potential in the relatability aspect, seeming she has been in love with fellow sixth year from Ravenclaw and long-time friend Dorcas Meadows for about a year now. She has spent many a drunken night waxing poetry about the pain and longing of unrequited love. (It’s not actually unrequited love, but they’ve all collectively made the decision to let the two girls figure it out themselves. Some things just need to play out without outside influence.) But, no, it’s not to be. He and Marlene have never been the closest of friends and this probably isn’t the best way to deepen that connection. Another time, maybe.

Mary is delightful and wonderful and everything amazing that one person can be, but she hasn’t been quite the same since Mulciber tried to attack her at the end of last year. She came back this year with the determination to be top of the class and ace her N.E.W.Ts, while simultaneously learning every single offensive and defensive spell there is. She has too much on her plate and Remus hesitates to burden it with petty, insignificant dramas.

Which leaves Lily, who (who is he kidding) was going to be the deciding choice in the end anyway. One of his closest friends since first year, Remus has confided in her a great deal many things (being a werewolf, his worries for after Hogwarts, the fact that he likes boys and girls, but mostly boys) so it’s only right that she be the one to see him through his current predicament. (Remus also enjoys the added benefit of ticking off James every now and then when Lily is friendly and talkative towards him, while only just starting to acknowledge that James is anything other than an arrogant toerag.)

He surveys the bustling room, trying to spot the redhead among the dancing crowd and finds her curled up in an armchair in front of the fire, chatting with Marlene and Dorcas—Gryffindor parties are open to all the Houses. Well, to all of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and some select few Slytherins.

Lily, like Remus himself, isn’t the biggest fan of parties. She enjoys them enough and always has a good time, but would equally be able to spend the night reading in the library or in the dorm with her friends, so Remus doesn’t feel bad when he gets up to intrude on their conversation.

Of course, because such is life and he made the decision five years ago to befriend the other boys in his dorm, he is interrupted before he can even take a step away from the window by raven hair and a wickedly sharp smile. And the smell of Firewhiskey.

“Moony!” Sirius all but shouts, arms thrown wide. Either Remus must have been contemplating for longer than he thought or Sirius was particularly fast with his drinks this evening, because he was far more drunk than when Remus last saw him.

“Hiya, Padfoot,” Remus says, slightly wary. If Sirius was affectionate when sober, that was nothing compared to when inebriated. Sure enough, Sirius sidles up next to him, an arm curving around his waist, fingers playing with the hem of Remus’ jumper.

Remus blames his flush on the heated room.

“Why have you been sitting by yourself, dear Moony? Looking all despondent and moody.” He flashes his teeth, eyes crinkling. “Ha. Moody Moony.”

“Very funny, we have a comedian over here.”

Sirius, somehow, leans in closer, his bangs brushing against Remus’ cheek. “C’mon, Remus,” he says, quietly, a whisper in his ear. “It’s my birthday, have a drink—a proper drink,” he nudges Remus’ Butterbeer with his own Firewhiskey, “and dance with us.” James and Peter are in the middle of the room, surrounded by others as they dance to David Bowie—their moves involve a lot of waving their hands wildly in the air and jumping up and down with their eyes screwed shut.

Remus looks back at his friend. Sirius has grey, grey eyes that can turn from icy cold to comfortingly warm and back again in a heartbeat. He wears his emotions so openly, so deeply, if one only looks into his eyes. Right now they are bright, laughter from the night etched into them and Remus can see something close to affection edging its way in.

But the grey is also cloudy, glazed over in the way caused only by inebriation and Remus suddenly finds the room stiflingly hot; the people and the fire and the crowdedness and the way that Sirius will only be like this after a few drinks and the warm fingers that are pressed against his hip and the fact that he is desperately in love with the boy wrapped around him—everything overwhelming him until he has to separate himself from Sirius, pushing him away with more force than intended.

“Sorry,” he says, hating the hurt piercing those eyes, “I just—I need some air.” He steps back and Sirius follows. “Enjoy your party, Pads. I’ll be back soon, promise.”

Sirius nods, slightly dumbfounded, but stays put when Remus turns away, because he has somehow always known when Remus wants to be followed or not. Another reason he is hopelessly flailing under the weight of everything Sirius.

Remus makes a beeline for Lily, leaning over the back of the chair, so his face is next to hers. She jumps in surprise, looking at him with wide green eyes.

“Sorry, Lily, girls,” he nods to Marlene and Dorcas, before looking back at Lily. “Can I borrow you for a moment? I need to talk to you about something.”

He doesn’t wait for her response, just making for the portrait door and waiting in the corridor until she steps through, eyebrows narrowed in concern. The empty hallway is blessedly cool and, thankfully, quiet, just a soft murmur escaping from the closed door.

“Remus?”

“Hi,” Remus starts, hands fidgeting by his side. He watches as Lily tracks the movement, mouth turned downwards. “Um, wanna take a walk?”

“Of course.”

Lily takes his arm, hand curling around his elbow, and leads him down the corridor. They meander for a while, making a slow path towards the Entrance Hall. Remus passingly observes that it’s past curfew, but they’ll just flash their Prefect badges and hopefully get away with it if they happen across other Prefects on rounds. Just before the Entrance Hall, he pulls Lily through a hidden door behind a tapestry and then they’re in the courtyard, the gentle night breeze flowing past them.

Remus looses a breath, his racing heart finally, finally calming down.

“What’s up?” Lily says, straight to the point as usual.

“I’m in love with Sirius,” he blurts into the quiet night. And cringes—way to ease her into it gently.

But Lily doesn’t react—not so much as a blink. She is known for being a calm and collected individual, but also for having the flair for the dramatic and Remus had thought that this would be one of those occasions. Instead, she just continues walking, leaving a stunned Remus in her wake.

She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“Lily,” Remus says, catching up to her, “did you hear what I just said?”

“Uh huh,” she says, a sly grin spreading over her face.

“I—I just said,” he takes a deep breath, “I just said I’m in love with my best friend!” It comes out squeak-like and he winces.

She nods, her smile wider.

“Are you—are you not surprised by this?”

“Oh, Remus,” she says, in a mildly condescending and, Remus thinks, frankly insulting tone. “Are you really surprised by this?”

Remus opens his mouth, gobsmacked. He thinks it over for a moment. “Yes!”

“Really?” Lily blinks. “You didn’t know?”

“That I was in love with Sirius? No!” Remus can feel himself starting to get heated again so he starts pacing. Lily just sits down on a stone bench, apparently shocked.

“Oh,” she mouths and looks up at him. “Oh, Remus, how could you not know?”

He turns to her sharply, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she searches her thoughts, looking at him with alarmed eyes, “I didn’t think there had ever been anyone other than Black for you.”

“I mean, sure, I’ve always fancied him,” he gestures vaguely, “but it was never—it wasn’t—” the word gets stuck in his throat and he resorts to giving Lily a strained look.

“Have you ever liked anyone else?”

Remus tilts his head. “There was Frank Longbottom for a bit, I guess. And Amos Diggory for a couple of months, but then I realised what a pompous twat he was.”

“Black is a pompous twat,” Lily merely replies. “And, I’d say that he and Frank share many qualities. Tall, dark-haired, stupidly courageous.”

“I—” Remus squints at her. “You’re reaching and you know it.”

“Oh, come on,” she sounds exasperated, “you’ve been in love with Black since third year, at least.”

Remus sits down next to her with a thud. “I didn’t even know I liked him till fourth.”

Lily reaches around, rubbing his back as he leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. He drags his fingers down his face.

“We don’t always see these things for what they are until years later,” Lily hums knowingly. “Sometimes these feelings are simmering somewhere beneath us and it’s not until there’s a… catalyst that we realise what they really are.”

“How do you know so much?” Remus asks through his hands, her words striking a cord in him, alarming accurate.

“No reason,” Lily says quickly, “I just—read a lot of novels.”

“So do I, and I have no idea what I’m doing,” Remus sighs, leaning back, face turned upwards and eyes trained on the nearly Full Moon. His body aches just looking at it.

“It’s in a couple of days, isn’t it?” Lily says softly, leaning into him.

Remus nods, suddenly crushingly tired. Lily grabs his hand, squeezing. He is eternally thankful for her.

“So,” there’s authority in her voice, “what are you going to do about it? About Sirius?”

“I have no idea,” Remus says, closing his eyes. “It’s not like I can tell him—I don’t even know if he’s queer, let alone remotely interested in me.”

Lily regards him, leaning back to give him a once over. He cringes under the scrutiny. “I think,” she starts slowly, “—from what I gather about Black and his friendship with you guys—that he would not be disgusted or take any confession from you as an offence. I’m not saying you have to tell him,” she holds up a hand as Remus attempts to interrupt, “but I don’t think you have to worry about losing your friendship over this.”

Of course Lily Evans would get right down to the root of the problem without him having to explicitly say it. He may have secretively wished for something more with Sirius, but above anything else, he just wants to keep his friend in his life.

Remus nods gratefully. “I know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Besides,” Lily continues, her mouth curving to the side. Something akin to dread fills Remus’ stomach. “I’m not entirely convinced he would reject you.”

Remus glowers, pushing up from the bench and pointing at her accusingly. “I know you’re just fucking with me now.”

Lily stands, laughing loud and bright, her smile taking over her entire face and Remus is once again reminded that Lily Evans is the sun that the rest of the Hogwarts population revolves around—they are blessed to live in a world in which she exists. He takes her hand again and leads her back to the party.

It only took a couple of Full Moons with the Marauders joining for a habit to form, and now, over a year after his friends became Animagus’ (all for him, a fact that he will never, ever forget), there’s an easy rhythm to each Moon—apart from the whole becoming a werewolf bit, of course.

He still meets Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital after dinner every time, where she proceeds to walk with him down to the Whomping Willow. They usually make small talk the whole trip, having gotten to become quite familiar over Remus’ time at Hogwarts. She levitates a branch to press the knob at the base of the spine and locks the door behind her with a colloportus charm and a gentle smile.

Usually about ten minutes later, the door quietly clicks open as if by itself and his three friends appear from under James’ invisibility cloak. There’s lots of joking and noise among them as they try to distract Remus from the night ahead of him. It never works—there’s rarely ever a time when he’s not thinking about the Moon—but he is grateful nevertheless, like he is grateful that they risk expulsion and imprisonment and death every single time.

Then, of course, it happens, and Remus doesn’t remember the rest of the night other than the rush of running and being free and rolling along the ground and playing with his friends.

The mornings are the same each time, as well. They stay long enough to make sure he is back in the Shack before sunrise and is cosily snoozing in bed, going so far as to tuck a blanket around him if it’s cold. They all huddle under the cloak and sneak out before Pomfrey comes through the door in the early hours of the morning and leads him back to the Hospital Wing.

Remus is used to the rhythm—would even go as far to say he enjoys some bits of it. No matter how much having his friends help, the transformations will never be considered fun, but it’s a far cry better than how it used to be when he was alone.

He always falls asleep as the door closes behind his friends, and he’s woken by the door opening and Pomfrey’s carefully cheerful face peering at him, which is why he is surprised to be woken by featherlight fingers running along his temple rather than a click of the door this particular morning.

He blinks his eyes opens and all he can see is Sirius’ face. His grey eyes are downcast, peering at Remus with an uncomfortable intensity that leaves him feeling naked (which, coincidentally, he is—he always tries to not think about the fact that his friends see him stark naked once a month, especially at the time when he is most battered and bruised).

“Wotcher, Remus,” Sirius says, voice soft in the quiet of the Shack. He’s crouching down beside the bed, one arm resting on the mattress, the other still hovering over Remus’ face. His mouth lifts up to one side—an unbelievably soft smile taking over his face. It’s not one of his regular smiles, but rather a completely new one that transforms Sirius’ face, full of warmth and care and something.

Remus’ stomach clenches.

“Sirius,” Remus replies, trying to sit up. A blaring pain erupts down his back though and he grunts, falling back down. “Shit,” he hisses.

Sirius leaps into action, a hand sliding under Remus’ shoulders to keep him semi-propped up, the other pulling the blanket down to assess the damage. He’s quiet as he scans Remus’ torso, and his poor stressed-out heart cannot handle this scrutiny.

“Er,” he says, disrupting the silence, “what are you doing here?”

(Of course, there was one Full Moon that deviated from their pattern.)

Sirius’ gaze jumps up to his, concern filling them. “The wolf was particularly agitated last night,” he responds, eyes searching Remus for an answer. The hand under his shoulders rubs soothingly against taut muscle.

Remus can hazard a guess as to why that would be. His talk with Lily may have calmed down his initial panic about the whole being-in-love-with-your-best-friend debacle, but that didn’t mean that his entire weekend didn’t consist of trying to keep as much distance between him and Sirius that he could without being suspicious. Which was particularly difficult when a drunk Sirius decided to transform into Padfoot after his party and fell asleep on the end of Remus’ bed. And then proceed to sleep on Remus’ shoulder through-out all of Saturday.

(It had taken one month, 22 days and about three hours for Remus to forgive Sirius.)

His heartbeat pounds in his head, so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if Sirius could hear it. “Oh, I’m probably just stressed lately,” he said lamely. “You know, N.E.W.Ts coming up and everything.”

“Moony, the only person worried about N.E.W.Ts this early is Mary.”

(Sometimes Remus thinks that he hasn’t really forgiven Sirius, not entirely. There are some betrayals that no one can look past.)

“Maybe the Moon was more full than usual last night?” Remus suggests tightly, shrugging a stiff, aching shoulder.

Sirius just raises his eyebrows, unbelieving, and yeah, that’s fair, it was a pretty feeble argument.

(But when it comes to Sirius, Remus has always been weak.)

“I don’t know, Pads, sometimes it’s just like that.”

Sirius moves to sit on the bed, carefully removing his arm so Remus can lie down properly. His dark hair hangs down as he leans over, framing his face. This is exactly why he was agitated last night. The boy does not understand the concept of personal space.

“You know you can tell me anything, yeah?”

(Especially when he does things like this.)

There’s a shuffling noise on the stairs down the corridor—Pomfrey come to retrieve him.

“Of course I do,” Remus says quickly, hushed. “Do you—”

“James’ cloak,” Sirius answers, pulling it out from his robes. He throws it around himself, his head visible and disembodied. He looks at Remus for a moment, a questioning look plastered over his face, before he nods and leans over again, pressing his lips to Remus’ temple. He pulls back with a quick, mischievous smile and whips the cloak over his head just as the door opens behind him.

(Especially when he does things like this.)

On the way out of the Whomping Willow, Pomfrey remarks that Remus may have a fever from how warm his face is.

Sirius ignores him the rest of the day. Remus is annoyed, but not surprised.

Pomfrey insists on keeping him until at least lunch, as per usual. He tries to sleep, truly, but he is far too wound up to get any shut-eye, despite running himself ragged the whole night. So instead, he just sits propped up by a copious amount of pillows, staring vacantly at the wall on the other side of the room. His only reprieve is James slipping in between classes with notes from History and an update.

“Sleep-inducing as usual, I don’t know how you pay attention the whole time.”

“I’m hoping you did, Prongs,” Remus replies, slightly worried.

James sends him the signature James Potter Grin—slanted to one side, flashing teeth and entirely charming. “Only for you, Moonykins.”

(Remus is once again reminded that he somehow lucked out in the friends department because as well as literally risking their lives to become Animagus’ for him, they also always ensure at least one of them makes it to class the next morning, even though they’re exhausted, because they know Remus hates missing class regularly.)

When James leaves he is once again left to silence and his own torturous thoughts, so by the time Pomfrey releases him and he makes it down to lunch with half an hour left, he is exhausted and grumpy and confused over the events of the morning—all that to say, not in a very good mood.

Which is made all the worse by Sirius ignoring him.

Okay, he’ll amend that he’s not outright ignoring Remus. It’s not like when he asks for the salt, that Sirius turns dramatically away from him while crossing his arms with a huff (which he actually did do once in fourth year when he and James had an argument). No, it’s just that Sirius acts like everything is completely normal, even though he crossed a line that’s never been crossed before and left Remus very confused and just the slightest bit turned on (he’s a teenage boy with little opportunity to be alone—it doesn’t take much, okay?)

Sirius also goes so far as to avoid being alone with Remus.

In the corridor on the way to Transfiguration, he makes a point of walking ahead with the girls, engaging Marlene in a loud conversation about Quidditch. James shoots Remus a quizzical look at this and he just shrugs in response, acting equally as confused (he’s not, he knows exactly what is happening). He stays back after Potions to apparently talk to Slughorn about something (despite having never, ever talked to a teacher about anything other than when he was being handed a detention) so he doesn’t have to walk back to the Common Room with Remus for their free period—they’re the only two who have it scheduled then, the others in Divination. And then, when Sirius finally makes it to the Common Room—Remus already having set up study at one of the tables—he yawns loudly and mumbles something about no sleep and the necessity for a nap right about now.

Remus will give Sirius that last one because the boy really was tired after the night they’d had.

He could try and confront Sirius, but Remus decides to leave it be because Sirius is being annoyingly obvious about not wanting to discuss it, and anyway, Remus doesn’t even know what to think, let alone he what he would say. And he really is starting to get worried about N.E.W.Ts, despite being a year away, so he hunkers down over James’ History notes, determined to make up for lost time.

It takes him all of seven minutes of writing out his own version of the notes before his eyes droop closed without his consent and he is out, head resting on parchment and smudging the drying ink, dreaming of the smile Sirius sent him as he disappeared under the cloak.

A few weeks pass and everything goes back to normal—well, as normal as can be when Remus is friends with the school’s troublemakers (and usually the brains behind said trouble in the first place). After a day or two, when Sirius realises that Remus is just as determined to avoid the subject of that Monday morning as he is, he returns to how he always is and even deigns to spend time with Remus alone occasionally.

Their time is filled with classes and studying and meals in the Great Hall and too many Quidditch practices, as well as one memorable Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff that leaves James in the Hospital Wing, but nonetheless grinning madly because they had still won the match and, “Moony, did you see that last goal I made? Merlin’s balls, it was bloody brilliant!”

Remus, all the while, learns how to live with the flurry of emotions that overwhelm him every time Sirius so much as sends him a quick grin or presses into his side to avoid hitting others in a crowded corridor. It’s hard and sometimes unbearable, but at the same time he wouldn’t change anything for the world because he loves his best friend so much and never wants anything to change (unless, of course, it turns out that Sirius is of a similar mind, but Remus tries to avoid these thoughts as much as possible so as to not get his hopes up).

And Sirius doesn’t make it easy. He’s always been an affectionate person—hanging off of James’ shoulder as they wait outside a classroom, a hand grabbing Peter’s elbow as they hurry towards the kitchens for a late night snack, feet in Remus’ lap as he takes up the entire couch in front of the fire in the Common Room. Remus suspects that Sirius was entirely deprived of physical contact during his childhood, so has been making up for it tenfold since first year, and while it may make Remus uncomfortable at the best of times and dizzy and sick at the worst, he’s never going to ask Sirius to stop. He wouldn’t know how.

So, he just acknowledges the combination of pain and pleasure whenever Sirius is nearby before locking it away in the corner of his mind to obsess over on a later date. It’s not the most emotionally stable solution, but it’s what he’s working with for now.

Then, unsurprisingly, Sirius goes and changes things up. Again.

It happens during Double Potions on a Wednesday morning. Remus is still half-asleep, his eyes drooping on their own accord every few minutes and when he hears Slughorn announce, “Pair up, class, you know the drill,” he automatically turns to his left where Peter sits, flipping open Advanced Potions to the page on Amortentia.

But then Sirius, from where he and James are seated across from them, reaches under the desk with his foot and connects with Remus’ chair, jolting it slightly. Remus looks over with alarm, blinking at Sirius.

“Uh,” he says, lost.

“What d’ya say, Moony? Fancy partnering,” Sirius sends him a wicked grin. “Don’t think I could stand a whole lesson of Prongs bemoaning about how all he can smell is petals and broomsticks.”

James makes an affronted noise. “I do not bemoan.”

“And what about me?” Peter pipes up. “Why do I have to be stuck with the love-sick puppy?”

“Because, Wormtail,” Sirius says as he stands up, ignoring as James glowers at him, and walks around the table, “you have far more patience than our little wolfy friend over here.” It’s Remus’ turn to glower. “I have faith that you will be able to make it through two hours without blowing something up. Budge over.” He nudges Peter’s side.

Peter looks as though he’s about to counter but then obviously decides it’s not worth Sirius Black Dramatics. “Fine,” he heaves, and plops down next to James (who is still frowning, clearly offended by the entire conversation), “but if he so much as makes one allusion to comparing Evans to a summer’s day, then you’re shouting me Honeydukes next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Sirius nods, sitting down and pulling his chair closer to Remus’ in the process. “Deal,” he says and turns to Remus. “So, do you want to get the ingredients or shall I?”

Which is how Remus somehow got stuck (like it’s a hardship on him) with Sirius as his Potions partner for the first ever time without any say in the matter. He is no longer tired, especially when Sirius’ hand brushes along the small of his back as his friend heads for the Ingredient’s Cabinet.

He can already tell it’s going to be a long lesson.

“You know,” James says conversationally over an hour later. They’re deep into the making of the potion now and Remus and Sirius’ is slowly starting to turn a translucent pale pink colour. As James had quickly gotten over the attack on his character earlier (he wasn’t one to hold a grudge, unless it was against Snape), Remus keeps his eyes trained on the concoction, giving it three clockwise turns, as instructed quietly by Sirius. “I’m thinking of asking Evans to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

He receives three identical looks of bemused disbelief. His response is to sit up straighter.

“Hey! We’re much closer this year,” he argues, a hand fidgeting with his glasses. “I think she’s starting to come ‘round.”

“If you’re still calling her Evans, I don’t think you’re there yet, mate,” Remus says, watching the giant clock at the front of the room. They needed to add five fairy wings in exactly 17 seconds.

James pauses, floundering for a moment. “Well, then, I’m thinking of asking Lily to Hogsmeade next weekend.” He nods determinedly.

Sirius gasps dramatically. “Look at our baby Prongs turning into a man! They grow up so fast, don’t they, Moony?”

Remus’ elbows him in the gut, but a small smirk is growing over his face. He drops the fairy wings into the potion and they dissolve, turning the colour momentarily purple. Remus can faintly smell chocolate and his stomach rumbles.

“Have you ever actually spent any time alone with Evans?” Peter asks, giving James an annoyed look. James is known for being terrible at doing two things at once and has completely abandoned Peter to the potion.

“Ah, no,” James looks crestfallen and Remus feels a pang of sympathy run through him, “I haven’t.”

“How ‘bout,” Remus says, stirring anti-clockwise this time, “you invite all the Gryffindor girls to come with us? Marlene and Mary, at least.”

“And Dorcas,” Sirius mutters. He’s leaning over Remus to peer into the cauldron and one of his hands is resting on Remus’ shoulder. Has been for about five minutes now. Remus is feeling very flustered.

“That’s brilliant!” James crows. “I knew I kept you guys around for a reason—”

There’s a small explosion from James and Peter’s cauldron, a series of popping noises before a thick dark red liquid spills over the sides. James looks flabbergasted while Peter glares at him.

“Oh, ho, ho,” Slughorn’s voice comes from behind Remus. “What happened here, boys?”

Peter crosses his arms. “Blame Potter, Sir,” he answers moodily. Sirius sniggers in Remus’ ear. He can feel his breath on the side of his face.

James just opens and closes his mouth like a fish, looking lost. “What did I do?!”

“We’re in partners for a reason and you left me alone to chat about girls!”

“No matter, no matter,” Slughorn says, patting Peter jovially on the back. “This is a very advanced potion, m’boy, I wasn’t expecting perfection! Although, Mr. Potter, I would refrain from personal topics in class, hm?”

“Yes, sir,” James says meekly.

“Now,” Slughorn moves over to Remus and Sirius’ side of the table. They both lean back to allow him room and Sirius’ hand falls from his shoulder. He feels as though he can breathe again, but something sinks in his stomach at the same time. “This is an excellent potion, Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black. It is a little bit too thin, but,” he leans over, wafting his hand over the potion and sniffing, “ah yes, the signature of a correctly brewed Amortentia is coming right along!”

As soon as Slughorn moves on, Sirius sends Remus one of those smiles—wide, uncomplicated, all-teeth—and Remus’ stomach erupts into another round of butterflies.

“Well done, Mr. Moony,” Sirius says, eyes twinkling.

“All thanks to you, Mr. Padfoot,” Remus replies, pulling his chin up with an air of sophistication.

The moment’s ruined by James sticking his head between theirs and over the cauldron, sniffing exaggeratedly. “You were right,” James sighs, plunking his elbow on Sirius’ shoulder and resting his chin in his hand. “Petals and broomsticks. And Mum’s perfume.”

Peter pops out on the other side of Remus, examining the potion. “Grass… my favourite stew and… egh! Our dorm, which stinks horribly.” His face wrinkles up in disgust and Sirius barks a laugh.

“You love us, Wormy!” James exclaims, smirking.

“Let’s see,” Sirius leans forward, eyes closing. His throat bobs as he gulps and Remus curses himself for finding every little thing he does attractive. It’s turning out to be very exhausting. “Your kitchen, Prongs. Something burning, I think? Maybe the Common Room fire. And… I can’t place the last one.” He pulls back, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’ll come to me.”

All three of them turn their heads to Remus then, who blanches. He knows exactly what his aroma is—can smell it whenever Padfoot shares his bed, or Sirius visits the Hospital wing and takes up residence on a seat near the head. Whenever Sirius is next to him during meals at the Great Hall or on the Hogwarts Express and Sirius falls asleep, using Remus’ lap as a pillow. It was what Remus could smell the entire lesson—and why he had been dreading this moment.

“Chocolate, a new book,” he responds, both true answers and James nods, “I think… the Great Hall at the Hallowe’en Feast.”

“Nerd,” Peter remarks with a small smile, which Remus returns.

“So, whenever you’re moody we just have to give you chocolate?” Sirius asks, raising one eyebrow.

“Apparently,” James grins, slapping him on the back as he moves back to his side of the table. As he retakes his seat, he gives Remus a knowing look, “Great Hall at the Hallowe’en Feast, hm? Very specific.”

Remus doesn’t know how James can tell he’s lying and fear strikes through him. He shrugs, blasé. “It’s just what my mind went to. Maybe I have a particularly fond memory or something.”

“There was that time we blew up all the pumpkins,” Peter suggests. “That was a pretty good year.”

“And, of course, when we made all the turkeys dance,” Sirius adds. “Especially when Nearly Headless Nick joined in.”

They all laugh and the topic is forgotten. Remus looses a breath, vowing to do something about James later.

It occurs to Remus that in between all the secrets he keeps to himself and those that his friends know, and with the added being-in-love-with-Sirius, also known as, being-in-love-with-another-guy, he’s never actually told any of his friends that he’s not straight—except for Lily, that is.

He hadn’t event meant to tell Lily. It had been at one of the parties thrown after a Gryffindor Quidditch match the previous year (against Slytherin, a narrow win, but James’ first as Captain, so he had been dancing around the room chaotically). It was one the first times that Remus had gotten well and truly drunk, not just a sip of Firewhiskey here and there, and he did not handle it well. The night had begun with him dancing on top of a table, Sirius laughing hysterically next to him, and ended with him hunched over the toilet seat bowl, Peter rubbing his back consolingly.

Somewhere in the middle of that, he had spilled all his secrets to Lily—thankfully, she was already aware of his furry little problem, because it would be troubling if he had a tendency to tell everyone  that particular fact when inebriated. He had spent months at that point pining after Sirius (in a purely appreciative way, thank-you very much, no actual feelings to be found here), but also admiring random boys and girls around the castle, and as soon as Lily had asked how he was going, his mouth couldn’t keep itself shut.

He doesn’t actually remember much of this conversation, only vague, mortifying snippets and Lily coming up to him the next morning, trying not to laugh through her smile, to check if he was feeling any better. (He was—well, not physically, his body felt like a car had run over him—but it had also felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.)

The idea of telling his friends—the Marauders, at the very least—starts to take form in his head, and once its roots are planted, there’s no getting rid of it. His life is full of secrets and holding back from everyone so he doesn’t expose himself and it’s getting difficult keeping this part of him hidden from the people he is closest to.

Whenever there’s a quiet moment between them, such as when they’re getting ready for bed in the dormitory, or they’re tucking into a late breakfast on a Saturday morning, Remus finds himself opening his mouth to say something along the lines of oh, by the way, I definitely like girls, but I also like boys, maybe even more, or you know, guys are, like, really fucking attractive, we should talk about that more, even (horrifyingly) Black it would be really nice if you would fuck the brains out of me, but also, please hold my hand on the way to Transfiguration.

Remus can picture all their reactions to him blurting out such a statement randomly. James would be supportive, of course, when is the boy ever not supportive of everything they do, but also probably incredibly shocked and just slightly disturbed—if he went with the last option, that is, Remus will concede to its graphicness. But, James would compose himself quickly and tell Remus that he’s always going to be his best mate and nothing can change that and also, I think seventh year Humphrey Downing is gay. He’s on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and I could try seeing if he’s interested. (Remus would tell him no, of course, no one can really hold a candle to Sirius, unfortunately.)

Peter would likely take a while longer to come around and probably think that Remus was going to peep on him during the shower (which, Pete, Remus thinks, please refer to previous statement about Sirius). But it would only be awkward for a few weeks or until James slapped him around the back of the head and told him to get over it, which ever came first—most likely the latter.

Remus hasn’t decided how Sirius will react. It could end in one of three ways.

The first involves Sirius turning away in disgust because he was raised to abhor such behaviours and it could be the one thing his parents taught him that has stuck. Remus acknowledges the unlikeliness of this scenario, but it refuses to leave either way.

The second would be Sirius flinging himself over whatever’s dividing them—the Gryffindor table, Remus’ bed, James—and snogging him senseless. This reaction is also highly unlikely, but, similar to option one, it refuses to leave Remus’ mind.

The third (and most probable) reaction is Sirius just smiling at him, proud of him for telling them, and joining in James trying to set him up with Humphrey Downing.

This last scenario is particularly painful to think about.

In the end, Remus decides against telling them all at once. Better to gauge their reactions one by one, starting with James. James, coincidentally, has also been dropping more and more hints that he knows something is up with Remus, such as giving him a pointed look when Sirius throws his arms around his shoulders and his cheeks light up, or partnering with Peter in more classes, forcing Sirius to pick Remus. Remus really needs to get to the bottom of what exactly James thinks is going on.

It should be stated, if it wasn’t evident by how much Remus overthinks every single situation, that he is a very anxious person and, because he knows himself so well, he knows that if he attempts to plan how to tell James then it will never eventuate because he’ll just keep putting it off.

So he tries to embody Sirius’ devil-may-care attitude and just wing it when he sees an opening.

Such an opportunity presents itself to him two Saturdays following the Potions incident, on their way down to Hogsmeade.

James did end up inviting the girls, with none of the dramatics that he usually employs when asking Lily out, but merely just plopping down next to them during dinner a few days before and asking, “Fancy if we tag along with you guys for Hogsmeade?”

They had accepted readily and James stayed where he was, a small, pleased smile tugging at his lips as he gestured for the rest of the Marauders to join him. Remus could have sworn there was a flush gracing Lily’s cheeks and felt his own mouth rise to the side.

They gather in the Entrance Hall after breakfast, Dorcas and her friend Hestia Jones joining them as they wait in line for Filch to let them through the doors. Everyone is rugged up, the first fall of snow having hit them a week ago. Remus has a long-sleeve shirt, two jumpers, a jacket, a beanie, gloves and scarf, yet can still feel the cold permeating through the open front doors.

Remus finds himself next to James and the idea of telling him pops into his head.

Sirius is in front of them, turned around so he can chat with them, an arm propped up on Marlene, who is considerably shorter and, unsurprisingly, grumpy at being used as a prop. “Chilly, eh?” Sirius says, with his usual charming smile.

“That’s what happens when it snows, Padfoot,” Remus mumbles, shivering. He nudges Sirius’ foot with his own, motioning for him to follow the moving line, and then they’re finally through the doors. The entrance hall was nothing compared to outside and Remus’ breath immediately starts clouding in front of him. James steps closer to him, bless him, to conserve heat between them because the Full Moons in a couple of nights and he knows how stiff Remus gets in the lead up and how cold weather does the opposite of help.

Sirius, walking backwards, just smiles shrewdly at Remus and reaches out to tug lightly on his scarf, before turning around and complimenting Marlene on her choice of beanie (pale green with small roses, apparently sent by her Grandma). As soon as he’s turned away, James sends Remus a pointed look.

“What?” Remus scowls.

“Nothing,” James replies innocently, looking ahead.

Ever since that Potions lesson, Sirius has been acting more and more affectionate, something Remus didn’t know was possible, and he is coming very close to a breaking point, that he knows is going to explode spectacularly at any moment. He’s not looking forward to that moment.

The nine of them start as a group but as they walk the long, winding path to Hogsmeade, they slowly spread apart until they’re in pairs or threes. Lily, Dorcas and Mary lead, arms linked together, followed by Hestia and Peter, who is throwing his arms wide in some retelling of a story. Then it’s Sirius and Marlene, Marlene’s head thrown back in laughter, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Which leaves James and Remus at the rear, a considerable distance away from the others (Remus’ limbs don’t seem to be wanting to work today and he is moving at a frustratingly slow pace.)

“Hey, Prongs,” Remus says, seeing the opening and speaking before he can chicken out.

“Mm?” James says, eyes trained forward (Remus has a sneaking suspicion they’re on Lily).

“I—I like boys,” it comes out quietly, as though not to disrupt the hush surrounding them. James looks at him, eyes glinting. “I’m not gay, though. I like girls, too. It’s called bisexual.”

“Okay,” James nods, an arm coming up to rest around Remus’ shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Good to know.”

“You—you don’t care?”

James smiles softly, “Of course not. You’re my best friend.”

“Thanks, James.”

They walk silently for a bit, James’ arm coming down so they can move more comfortably. After a while he asks, “Have you told anyone else?”

“Just Lily. Although, I didn’t really mean to—it kinda slipped out when I was drunk.”

James laughs, head falling back with joy. “Well then, I’m honoured,” he replies cheekily.

Remus just side-eyes him, playfully annoyed. On the inside though, his wildly pumping heart is finally slowing down to a normal rate. Not that he expected for James to spurn him, but there’s always that little voice in the back of his head telling him everything’s going to go entirely wrong (it may be little but it’s very persistent).

“Remus?” James says once they’re about to reach the entrance to Hogsmeade. All the others are gathered behind the gate and Remus can spot Sirius blowing on Marlene’s hands to keep them warm, Marlene grinning widely up at him. Remus almost feels jealous but he knows that it’s not like that for them—they knew each other growing up, so they’ve always been particularly close. He looks away and over to James, who is giving him a considering look.

“Yeah?” They pause just out of hearing of the others and Remus rubs his hands together, trying to force some warmth into them (hopelessly wishing Sirius would come over and do it for him).

“Do you like Sirius?” James is concerned, eyebrows turned downwards—but with sympathy, not trepidation. Remus’ heart feels tight for a moment.

“Yeah,” he eventually replies, resigned.

James just claps him on the back, fingers resting near his shoulder, as they start walking again. “That must bloody suck,” he says, stating the obvious.

Remus laughs, feeling warmer than since they left the Castle.

That is, until James whispers in his ear as they make it to the gate, “You should tell him.”

Remus, suffice to say, does not tell Sirius. Instead, he pushes James away from him with a growl, ignoring James’ responding howling laughter. The rest of the day is brilliant, the group of them making the customary stop at Honeydukes (where Peter loads a basket full of treats before handing it over to Sirius with an evil grin), trying to brave the crowded Zonko’s, and even popping into Scrivenshaft’s for the benefit of Remus and Lily. Sirius sticks by his side in the last shop, claiming to be observing a wild Moony in his natural habitat and sniggering with Peter. The whole side of Remus’ body feels hot.

They make a clamour in the Three Broomsticks trying to pull enough tables and seats together so they can all fit and Remus is surprised they aren’t thrown out in the first five minutes. He suspects it’s because Sirius volunteers to get them all Butterbeers, dragging James with him, the two undoubtedly flirting mercilessly with the young barmaid, Madam Rosmerta.

When Sirius returns, he claims the empty spot next to Remus, conspicuously leaving the chair next to Lily open for James. Lily tries to hide her amused smile behind a scowl; James just grins dopily as he hands out Butterbeers.

Remus finds himself opening up more than he ever has in a large group, knowing he has Lily and James in his corner. He starts conversations and cracks jokes and laughs loudly, his head thrown back, and at one point catches James sending him a small, pleased smile. Remus fights back his own grin. He’s been keeping secrets and parts of himself hidden from others since he was four and he always forgets how freeing it is when he lets someone in.

Sirius notices the change, of course, and swings an arm over the back of Remus’ chair, fingers tapping a light rhythm on his shoulders and a smirk growing over his face.

When the rest of the table is distracted by something, Sirius leans into him, whispering in his ear, “Someone’s in a good mood.”

Remus looks over to see that Sirius’ tongue is swiping along his bottom lip, eyes dark and full. Remus’ breath shutters and he can tell from the way Sirius’ eyes trace along his face that his cheeks are burning red.

“Not because of you, I assure you,” he says, taking a sip from his warm Butterbeer, savouring its calming effect.

Sirius looks amused. “You wound me, Moony,” he replies, removing his arm and lightly patting Remus’ cheek. “Truly.”

When Remus finally pulls his attention away from Sirius, Lily smirks at him, winking. He resolutely ignores her.

They eventually have to make their way back to Hogwarts when the sun starts lowering itself and Remus half-heartedly engages in a conversation with Hestia and Mary along the path, thoughts, as usual, occupied by one Sirius Black.

(James is ahead of them with Lily and he walks with a buoyed step the entire way.)

“Today was amazing,” James sighs dreamily, falling backwards onto his bed as soon as they make it up to the dormitory that night. “We should do that again.”

“Definitely,” Peter says enthusiastically, closing the door behind him. “Hestia’s great, isn’t she? I’m thinking of asking her out.”

“You should do that,” James replies, distracted. He has his hands behind his head and it staring up at his canopy. When Remus passes him on the way to the adjoining bathroom, his eyes are dazed and Remus can hazard a guess as to what exactly he is thinking about. (Really, it’s only ever two options: Lily or Quidditch.)

“She’d probably say yes,” Sirius says. He’s hopping around the foot of his bed, trying to take a shoe (black Doc Martens, purchased a week before they went back to school) off and not realising that sitting down would probably help. Remus watches him with amusement from the door of the bathroom while brushing his teeth. For someone who is usually so effortlessly cool, he finds it thoroughly endearing when Sirius does something as stupid as trying to unlace boots while losing his balance. “You have all the luck with birds, Wormtail.”

It’s true; out of all the Marauders, he’s had the most luck and experience so far. James has never been on a date or anything, too caught up in the whirlwind of Lily Evans to even notice that other girls exist. Remus, while having had a snog here and there, they were merely experimentation rather than for any particular attraction to the person, and hasn’t felt the need to go any further yet. Sirius, none of them are actually sure about. There were rumours throughout the Castle, but Remus has a sneaking suspicion that they were either embellished or entirely made up, encouraged by Sirius himself.

But Peter has had two long-term relationships (well, what was considered long-term for sixteen—more than a couple of months) and had only just broken up with his last girlfriend three weeks ago.

James sighs dramatically again.

Peter nods, decision made. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” he says, packing away his Honeydukes stash in the bottom of his trunk.

“I’m expecting some of that,” Sirius, boots off and now in the process of removing his shirt, points a finger at Peter. Remus returns to the bathroom, listening to their conversation through the doorway. When he looks at himself in the mirror, two spots of colour sit high on his cheekbones, the scar that runs along his face shockingly pale.

Remus will probably never get used to seeing Sirius shirtless. It presents itself as a new challenge each and every night.

He continues brushing his teeth morosely, trying in vain to calm himself down before he returns. He’s interrupted by James, still sighing dramatically, coming into brush his own teeth and the two silently stand side-by-side. Remus takes comfort in knowing James intimately understands the pain of loving someone who does not love you back.

Remus is woken by the sound of his curtains being pulled back. He has always been a light sleeper, only ever being able to sleep through any kind of noise the days following a Full Moon. He blinks open one eye, spying Sirius’ head peering through the gap he’s made in the drapes.

“Oh, good,” Sirius says, voice soft and rough. “You’re awake.” And proceeds to climb on to Remus’ bed.

“I wasn’t,” Remus grumbles, moving over regardless so Sirius doesn’t end up crushing his knees.

Sirius waves offhandedly, casting a silencing charm on the drapes. He shuffles up the bed, nudging Remus until they’re both lying down, sharing the pillow, one under the covers, one on top. It’s almost completely dark and Remus can just make out the profile of Sirius’ face, the slight upwards tilt of his nose.

“So,” he says, when Sirius doesn’t care to elaborate on his sudden appearance. Remus’ finds his fingers are fiddling with the corner of his blanket. His other hand is resting in between them and if he moved it a millimetre he would be touching Sirius’ side. He doesn’t, no matter how strong the urge to do so is. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, staring up vacantly. His own fingers are tapping a rhythm on his chest. “No.”

“No?” Despite the silencing charm, their voices are low—secret conversations shared in the dead of night.

“No.” It comes out as a sigh, Sirius looking over at him. “I—nightmare,” he finishes.

“Do you—do you want to tell me about it?” Remus can just make out Sirius closing his eyes, can feel his own heart breaking inside of his chest, a tight feeling in his lungs. Sirius has been getting nightmares since first year.

“No.” Remus waits. “We were in the war. All of us. And we were fighting Death Eaters and there was chaos and screaming and so much light—flashes of green. I—I was duelling Bella and she was cackling with laughter and then—then I turned around and saw—”

Remus relents, allowing his fingers to brush Sirius’ thigh. Sirius opens his eyes, impossibly sad. “Saw what?” he whispers.

“You,” Sirius is even quieter. “Dead.”

“Oh.” Remus doesn’t know what to say, can’t fathom any response that is appropriate. Both of their gazes are up again, starring into the nothingness of the canopy.

“Just had to see you, I guess.” It feels like an admission—a secret that only the quiet of morning hours allow. Sirius lifts his hand off his chest and Remus tracks the movement in the dark, his vision adjusting, watching it slowly lower to rest beside his own. His pinkie brushes the back of Remus’ hand, electricity running up his arm.

Remus doesn’t dare move, feeling as though anything he says or does would break whatever was happening right now—the fragility shattering into a million, unfixable pieces.

“Remus?” Sirius says after a while, when the silence that descended over them is long and taut with pressure. He looks over at Remus again, eyes questioning, mouth turned down the slightest. “What did you tell James? The other day in Hogsmeade?”

“What?” Remus’ voice is rough—strained.

An amused smile plays over Sirius’ lips and Remus finds his breath is refusing to come out. “I know you told him something. You looked as though a thousand weights had been lifted from your shoulders and Prongs kept sending you these looks—like he was proud of you. I see these things, you know. I’m not blind.”

“I know,” Remus says, keeping the sarcastic snort to himself—Sirius seems to have missed the giant, blaring sign over Remus’ head that says he is stupidly in love with his best friend. Hopefully, that is. Hopefully, he’s missed that particular fact. “Of course you’re not.”

“So?” Sirius prompts, finger poking Remus’ hip. It burns a whole into him, hot long after the finger is gone.

Remus steals a breath, looking away. “I told him I like boys—that I’m bi.”

“Oh,” Sirius breathes and when Remus dares to look at him, his eyes are wide, red colouring the tops of his cheeks. Fingers entwine with his own, Sirius’ warm hand squeezing. “Thanks for telling me.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Only because you forced it out of me.” He can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed—it’s not like he was expecting Sirius to throw himself at him and at least he’s not hurrying out of his bed with disgust.

“Still,” Sirius says emphatically, shifting so he’s on his side, their hands still linked. He smiles, that same one from the Shrieking Shack, comfortingly warm. “You could have refused.”

Remus nods. “I could have. I was going to tell you—just hadn’t had the opportunity.”

Sirius breaks into a grin, tugging on his hand. “So, who d’ya fancy?”

“Oh, shove off, Pads,” Remus laughs. “I’ve never told you before, I’m not telling you now.”

“So there is someone,” Sirius hums, falling back onto his back. “And now we have the entire school to consider.”

It felt like they were walking a dangerously thin line, so he just elbows Sirius and declines to respond, his heart jackhammering.

“Hey Moony, do you mind if I stay here tonight?” It’s like a switch has been flicked and Sirius is back to sombre, a darkness clouding his grey eyes.

“Of course, Padfoot,” Remus mumbles.

Sirius squeezes his hand again, mouth tipping up in a small smile of gratitude and he climbs under the covers, finally letting go of Remus’ hand in the process. He’s asleep in minutes, eyes fluttering behind closed lids.

Remus doesn’t sleep a wink for another two hours, until the exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep turned towards Sirius, hand curled up to his chest, fingers remembering the phantom embrace of Sirius’.

Sirius leaves in the quiet of the early morning, a few minutes before Remus knows James will be up and getting ready for their morning Quidditch practice. As soon as the curtain closes behind Sirius, Remus curls towards the empty space, harbouring the warmth and Sirius-like smell left in his wake, his tired, murky brain allowing him to snatch up the small pieces that Sirius leaves him—ones that he would usually turn away from.

That night is another Full Moon. It’s long—they always are this time of the year—and tiring and he’s sore, as usual, but when he comes to in the Hospital Wing, it’s to see Lily and James seated in chairs on either side of the bed, arguing in hushed whispers, so he’s immediately awake.

He can’t stop the tiny smile that takes over his face.

“You have to stop antagonising him,” Lily says, a finger pointed at James dangerously. Her eyes are ablaze, bright, bright green as they glare at James—but not with hatred. Remus hasn’t been able to detect a hint of hatred directed towards him all year and Remus prides himself on being able to read others. “You guys will get nowhere if just you retaliate every single time.”

“Oh, come off it, Evans,” James scoffs, leaning back in his chair, the picture of aloofness. The way his hand clenches for a moment gives him away. “He attacked me first! I can’t very well just let him get away with it.”

“Of course you can. You have to be the bigger man.”

James runs a hand through his hair, his already messy locks turning chaotic. “What good would that do?”

“If you don’t respond, he’ll just get bored, Potter.” Lily rolls her eyes. “He relishes your response, finds any excuse to fight. Once he realises that you aren’t raising to the bait he’ll leave you alone!”

“He’ll just find someone else to bully, you know that. At least I can handle him!”

Lily stops short, falling back into her chair with a huff, considering. Remus uses the quiet to clear his throat.

His friends swing towards him with equal looks of surprise and embarrassment.

“Moony!” James crows at the same time that Lily says, “Remus,” standing up to sit next to him on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Lily asks, handing him a goblet of pumpkin juice. Her face is kind and open and Remus loves her infinitely.

“I’m alright,” he answers, sitting up properly. James sends him a sheepish look, reaching out to pat his leg. “Shouldn’t you guys be in class?”

“Lunch,” James says and Remus feels a pang of something he refuses to name that Sirius isn’t there. “Padfoot and Wormy are grabbing food—they shouldn’t be long.”

Remus nods, feigning disinterest. From the looks he receives from both of them, he can gather that it fails. “Another fight with Snape?” he says instead.

Lily releases a long-suffering sigh. “Yes.”

“After charms.” James crosses his arms, a stormy look crossing his face. “Was making some remarks about your absence.”

“James,” Remus says, a note of apprehension creeping into his voice, as an ice-cold feeling washes over him.

“It’s fine!” James replies quickly. A blush spreads across his cheeks, eyes darting towards Lily. “I, uh, distracted him.”

“By snogging me,” Lily hisses, moving back to her chair. The glare she sends James now could cut glass, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I panicked! I had to get him to shut up and you have to know— well, you know how— how he feels about you so I just thought—”

“You could have literally done anything else, Potter. Reported him to a teacher,” she starts listing off her fingers, “Flitwick was right there, used a silencio, antagonised him about marks or Quidditch or anything, you know he would have fallen for it. Merlin, even if you had to go with your stupid line of thinking, all you had to do was hold my hand or throw an arm around me, you dim wit.”

“Oh,” James says, eyes wide. “Good point.”

A snort escapes Remus and Lily’s glare blazes towards him. Until James opens his big mouth again and says, stupidly, albeit cautiously, “You have to admit, it did work.”

At that, Remus bursts out laughing, his ribs aching in protest as he clutches his stomach.

Lily lets out a spectacular noise of frustration, throwing her hands up as she stands. “That’s not the point!” she all but screams into the quiet room.

A second later Pomfrey is at the end of Remus’ bed, her glare rivalling Lily’s in intensity. “Miss Evans,” she admonishes, “this is an infirmary. We have recovering students here who need peace and quiet. If you can’t contain yourself, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Lily shrinks, sliding back down into her chair. “Sorry, Madam Pomfrey, it won’t happen again.”

Pomfrey spares her and James a stern look before greeting Remus and going ahead with her usual check-ups. He hiccups throughout it, the ghost of his laughter etched across his face. Apparently, he’s still visibly giddy ten minutes later—in which Lily and James attempt in vain to make polite conversation with Remus about everything and anything other than their argument—when Sirius and Peter finally walk through the doors, arms laden with food.

“What’s got Moony so cheery?” Sirius asks, dumping his share of the food next to Remus’ feet and plopping down beside Remus, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Remus is suddenly no longer laughing. His eyes are wide, panicked, and the back of his neck is very, very warm. Sirius tugs on one of his curls, sending him a sharp grin.

“I should go,” Lily stands up, running her hands down her skirt. “I’ll see you boys in class. Hopefully, you make it, Remus.”

As soon as she is out the door, Remus turns to James, laughter bubbling up inside of him again. “Really, Prongs? You kissed her?”

Sirius and Peter start cackling as James looks around at them, like a deer caught in the headlights (Remus is not proud of himself for that one). Sirius’ body shakes where its pressed up against Remus and he fidgets, blaming his exhaustion that allows him to lean in more to his friend. Sirius squeezes his shoulders.

“I panicked!” James defends. “And, well, you know…”

“Grab your chances when you see them, eh?” Sirius inputs.

“Exactly,” James sighs dejectedly. He slumps back in his chair, hand coming up to run through his hair again as he closes his eyes. “I think I fucked up. Why do I keep fucking up with her? Why can’t I just be normal?”

“Because you’re an idiot, Prongsie,” Sirius singsongs with glee.

“I don’t think she’s that mad,” Remus says. He’s starting to feel tired again, despite sleeping all morning, but Sirius’ warmth is enveloping him and making him drowsy. He reaches for a sandwich near his knee, handing one to Sirius as well. “She would have cursed you, if she was truly angry.”

“She did.”

Remus recalls the way Lily had smiled at James in the Three Broomsticks. “Okay, it may take a while, but, really, she doesn’t hate you.”

James sends him a grateful smile, snatching up an apple. “Thanks, Moony.”

“It was bloody brilliant though,” Sirius nudges Remus, his mouth full of food. It’s time like these that Remus questions his own sanity in finding him attractive. “Snivellus went as red as a tomato. Couldn’t speak for five minutes—just stood there spluttering.”

“Shut him up pretty good,” Peter says. “Which I guess was the point.”

A proud grin takes over James’ face and he puffs out his chest. “All in the name of our dear Moony.”

“I hate you all,” Remus says.

“No you don’t.” Sirius ruffles his hair. No, he thinks, I really, really don’t.

In the end, Remus breaks.

After weeks (which is actually years, because he has been kidding himself this whole time if he wasn’t in love with Sirius from the beginning) of agonising over every single time he saw Sirius, and then Sirius suddenly up and doubling the amount of physical contact he gives out (a lot to begin with), he finally loses it and throws all caution to hell.

It happens on a Thursday night. He has the dormitory to himself before dinner; Sirius and James at yet another Quidditch practice and Peter supposedly in a Divination study group in the library (except he took the map and the cloak with him so Remus highly suspects he is lying). He’s enjoying the rare peace and quiet of the room, his Arithmancy notes and three textbooks spread out on his bed, a mostly finished essay in his lap, the Beatles playing on Sirius’ record player across the room.

Then Sirius walks in, opening the door with a bang and trudging over to his own bed, removing his Quidditch gear in the process.

“Hi,” Remus says with surprise, checking his watch. It’s 5.38 pm, a good 20 minutes before they were meant to finish, and that’s only if they were on time, which, courtesy of James, they were usually not. “Wasn’t expecting you back for a while.”

“Wanted some alone time, did you?” Sirius cheeks, looking over his shoulder. He has his shirt off and his hands are fiddling with the ties of his Quidditch trousers.

“Clearly,” Remus intones, pointedly ignoring his friend’s current state of undress and waving a hand to the study surrounding him as a response. Sirius snorts.

“Prongs is still distracted from the other day.” His trousers are down and he has once again forgotten to take his shoes off before hand, one hand gripping the four-poster bed and the other trying to unlace his boots. He sticks out his tongue in concentration. “Was being a useless Captain so sent us on some laps then let us go early. Pretty sure he’s still out there. Probably madly throwing quaffles around as he agonises over how to win Evans’ favour again.”

Shoes and trousers successfully off, he walks over to the window, where the Quidditch pitch can be seen, then turns around to catch Remus’ eye, his own glinting with amusement. “I’m right.”

Remus packs up his study, having being looking for an excuse to stop for about half an hour already, and stretches out his legs, leaning back against the bedframe. “I guess it has to happen every once in a while,” he muses.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I amuse myself, yes.”

Sirius laughs, bright and loud, head thrown back, and then—then he walks over to Remus’ bed and collapses on top of him. His body is sprawled over Remus’ legs, his elbows propped up on either side of his thighs and Remus can no longer think, can no longer breathe because Sirius is mostly naked and is right there and this is too much.

He tries. He really, really tries to remain calm. But he’s still recovering from the Full Moon, his bones ache and his back is stiff, he’s so incredibly stressed from classes and trying to stay on top of the endless essays and quizzes and practicals, and just so, so tired from being in love with his best friend who is completely oblivious and refuses to understand the concept of personal space.

Sirius’ smile is slowly disappearing, his mouth tugging downwards as the silence stretches between them. He pushes himself up and crosses his legs, a knee resting on Remus’ thigh. It burns. All of Remus burns. “Remus?” he asks quietly. “Are you okay?”

Remus can only imagine how he looks—probably like he’s seen a ghost—but his mouth is dry, and when he tries to answer, it gets stuck in the back of his throat. His heart is beating loudly—it’s all he can hear, drumming drumming drumming in his head.

Sirius is properly concerned now; Remus can see it in the way his eyebrows are downturned, scrunching together. In the way his (startling, always so startling—how does that colour even exist?) grey eyes are searching Remus’ own, rapidly moving side to side. His hair frames his face, dark locks resting against hollow cheeks and he’s still flushed from practice, the red stark against his skin. He only has three freckles, very faint ones that sit on the top of his cheeks, near his left eye. He really is truly beautiful and Remus doesn’t know how he has survived five and a half years being in close proximity to this walking Greek God.

“Moony?” Sirius tries again when Remus fails to reply. He leans forward and, oh no now their faces are inches apart. Sirius shifts and Remus feels gentle fingers press against his temple, curl into his hair, push it away from his eyes.

Something breaks inside of Remus. He jumps up, tearing Sirius’ hand away from him, anger, resentment, something overcoming him.

“Can you just—can you stop?!” he gasps, his hands gripping his hair and pulling. He forces his fingers to release, clenching and unclenching over and over and over as he paces.

Sirius’ face is pure shock as he shakes his hand out. Remus can see faint scratches along the back and he realises dumbly that they’re from him pushing it away, his own strength always surprising him. He turns away.

“What do you mean?” There’s shuffling and Sirius walks around the bed, grabbing the nearest jumper on his way—Remus’, which does not help the situation at all, seeing the oversized garment fall past Sirius’ hands, past his pants so they hang nearly halfway down his thighs—and stopping next to him. “Stop what?” He rests his hand on Remus’ arm, squeezing.

“That!” he all but screeches, ripping himself away. It feels like he’s wrenching off his own skin. “I can’t handle it anymore! I’ve tried. I’ve tried to ignore it all but you make it so hard. So impossibly difficult with the touching and the walking around practically nude and your kind words and your face just always right there.” He waves his fingers in front of his own face, probably looking like a deranged madman. “You’re just always there and I give up! I can’t do this! Every day I feel like I’m burning inside, like the pain is slowly burning a hole through me and I’m teetering on the precipice of complete disaster.”

Sirius crosses his arms, letting out an annoyed huff. “What are you on about?”

“The fact that I’m in love with you and you don’t seem to care or even realise!”

There’s silence, Remus’ harsh breathing the only thing cutting through. The record player in the background scratches to a finish, appropriately timed just like in one of the romance novels Lily lent him once.

Shit, he thinks, hands coming up to cover his mouth. He stumbles backwards, calves hitting a bed—James’, his brain supplies distantly—and sits down, icy terror gripping him tight. His heart feels like it’s a beat away from ripping itself out of his chest.

Sirius is still, hands hanging by his side, mouth closed and eyes (for once) unreadable.

“Shit,” Remus mutters, words muffled behind his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the bed to swallow him hole and dump him in the Chamber of Secrets, left to the mercy of the monster. “Shit—fuck. No, no, no, no, no. I did not say that. I did not just say that. That wasn’t—I didn’t—No.”

“Remus,” a soft voice says, much closer than it should be and hands come up to his wrists, gently tugging. He resists, shaking his head. “Remus,” Sirius tries again. “Please, look at me.”

Remus peeks one eye open. Sirius is kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with smallest of smiles and oh, there it is again—that smile from the morning of the Full Moon, from when Remus came out to him in the dark of the night. It’s barely there, just a hint, and soft, lips pressed together in something close to joy, and so full of— Remus doesn’t allow himself to even think it.

“Hi,” he says instead, voice squeaking.

“Hi,” Sirius replies, amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes. “You’re in love with me?”

Remus hesitates, heart stuttering. “No?” he tries.

Sirius’ fingers are still wrapped around his wrists, warm and gentle and comforting. He tugs again and Remus relents, letting them fall into his lap. Sirius lets go and Remus feels as though something is irrevocably lost, mourning the contact. Until Sirius grips his hands instead, fingers folding over each other. Remus can’t tear his eyes away.

“I don’t believe you.”

He looks up, meeting Sirius eyes’ and taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Sirius prompts. He is enjoying this far too much, his pointer finger tracing circles in Remus’ palm.

“Yes, I’m in love with you.”

“Good.” Sirius nods.

“Good?”

“Yep.” He stands, hands letting go and sitting next to Remus, their shoulders close enough to brush.

“Er, why?” Remus feels as though he’s missing something, like there’s a missing piece to the puzzle that he can’t for the life of him find. Sirius is so calm, just sitting there with an amused smile and kind eyes but he’s not giving anything—

“Because I’m in love with you.”

—away.

“No, you’re not,” Remus breathes, head shaking vigorously.

“I’m not?” Sirius tilts his head, even more amused now.

“You’re not. You can’t be because—because, well, you’re you and I’m me so why would you love me when you could have literally anyone you ever wanted. Besides, you’re not even gay—”

“Oh, I’m gay.” Sirius’ eyes dart across Remus’ face. “I’m very, very gay.”

“But, you never—I thought—”

“Didn’t feel the need to make it known. James knows, of course.”

“Of course,” Remus agrees dumbly. He recalls when he told James on the way to Hogsmeade, the knowing glint in his eye. “Bastard.”

“Besides, I’ve only ever really been interested in one person, so it never came up.”

“That person being... me?”

Sirius hums in response, grinning widely. “We’ve got a smart one over here.”

“Okay, okay,” Remus stands up, pacing. “I need a minute.”

Sirius leans back on his hands, legs crossed at the ankle and entirely too pleased for someone with no trousers on.

“So, you’re gay?”

Sirius nods.

“And you’re, for some reason, in love with me?”

“For many reasons, actually. I can give a list if you want.”

“We’ll get back to that later,” Remus says. “And I’m in love with you?”

“Is that a question? Pretty sure you would have a better idea than I do.”

“You’re the worst,” Remus scowls, stopping in front of Sirius and crossing his arms.

“And yet, you love me,” Sirius muses. “That says more about your taste in men than it does about me.”

“Oh, be ser—” he cuts himself off, spying the mischievous gleam in Sirius’ eyes. He huffs. “Just stop—stop being funny.”

“Remus,” Sirius replies, voice suddenly lower. He reaches out a hand, catching Remus’ arm and pulling him closer. He stands up, their faces inches apart. Soft fingers find the side of Remus’ face, a hand cupping his cheek. “Remus, listen to me.”

Remus nods, any words suddenly lost on his tongue.

“I love you, okay? I love you so fucking much it hurts every single day that I can’t tell you that. You’re smart and you’re funny, you come up with the wittiest lines that make me lose my breath with laughter and then turn around and spout some random fact off the top of your head, it surprises me every time. You’re the brains behind all of our best pranks and yet, somehow, you are always the one to get away with it. You’re strong, so fucking strong, probably the bravest person I know and somehow you deign to call me your friend—I will never understand why.” Fingers tap against his temple, tracing along where he knows a scar runs. “And you’re kind, so unbelievably kind, I don’t understand how you do it. The entire school wants to be your friend or is half in love with you. It is—it’s torture watching everyone fawn over themselves in front of you and you have no idea it’s happening.”

“They do not,” Remus refutes, contrary ‘til the end.

A wry smile takes over Sirius’ (incredibly red) mouth. “Proving my point, dear.”

Remus feels pleasantly warm and a small voice in his head finally starts to comprehend what is happening right now and, importantly, accept it. He briefly considered that he just fell asleep while studying and is now having a very vivid dream but it’s too real for that to be true—the warmth of Sirius’ hand on his face, the inches between them taught with tension, the look in Sirius’ eyes that is open and excited and just so, so beautiful.

“Do you believe me?” Sirius asks. “That I love you?”

Remus nods, with only the slightest hesitation. He knows, truly, deeply knows, that Sirius would not lie to him.

“Good,” Sirius affirms. And then he weaves his fingers through Remus’ hair and pushes forward, kissing him soundly.

Remus lets out an oomph, hands catching at Sirius’ sides and, Merlin, he was not prepared for this. Oh no, not in the slightest. It’s awkward, just slightly, at first, their noses clashing together, the feeling that this is my best friend why am I kissing them, but then Sirius tilts his head, pulling their bodies flush together and the weeks months years of pent up frustrations and repressed feelings is all worth it as Remus melts, closing his eyes, handing curling in Sirius’ (his) jumper.

His body is on fire, stomach flipping over and over and over as Sirius opens his mouth a bit, his tongue sneaking through. His other hand rests on Remus’ collarbone, thumb pressed into the hollow of his throat, where his heart beats wildly. They push and pull against each other, Sirius humming against his lips. It vibrates, sending thrills through him. He shivers, just slightly, from nerves, excitement, overwhelming longing.

Sirius pulls back, barely, but it’s still too far for Remus, who whines softly, handing trailing up Sirius’ chest to tug his jumper.

Sirius chuckles, low and breathy and entirely too attractive for Remus’ poor well-being. He goes to say something, probably something witty and charming, and Remus knows he won’t be able to come up with a smart reply so he does the only thing he can think of (mainly because he can only think of one thing at the moment) and curls his hand around the nape of Sirius’ neck, pulling him back into a kiss, lips parting straight away, tongue swiping along Sirius’ bottom lip. Sirius, not one to be beaten, meets him move for move, pushing Remus back until his legs meet a bed (his bed, this time) and he falls backwards, Sirius climbing on top of him, knees bracketing his hips.

It’s an entirely new level of intense and amazing and all-consuming, especially when Sirius leaves a trail of kisses along his jaw and down his neck, nipping and sucking, his slight scruff scratching and setting Remus ablaze. He gasps, leaning his head back to give more access, a hand clenched in the blankets to keep him propped up. He feels Sirius grin against him, the smug bastard, so he pulls his mouth back to his own, biting down on his lip, swallowing Sirius’ own gasp, and lets a hand travel up inside his jumper, running along Sirius’ back, skin burning beneath his fingers.

“This is fun,” Sirius mumbles against his lips, adjusting his seating position and causing them to flush together even more in the process, very, very closely, his arms hanging over Remus’ shoulders. He pulls away, grinning devilishly. “Seems you agree.”

Remus tries to scowl, but he knows it is ruined by his harsh breathing and mussed up hair. Sirius looks glorious above him, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks pink. His grey eyes are dark, pupils wide as they look over him and Remus falls a little bit more in love right there.

Instead of replying, he shoves Sirius off his lap to then push him down onto the bed until he’s laying down and climbs over him, bodies aligning because Sirius should not be able to form a coherent sentence right now and is definitely not one to talk, if what he feels when—oh—their hips roll together is any indication. Remus captures his mouth in a kiss again, searing and open and messy, and leans on one arm, the other pulling Sirius’ jumper up up up until Sirius adjusts so it can go over his head and be thrown into the abyss of their dorm.

Remus can’t stop himself from staring, sitting back on Sirius’ thighs to get a good look because Quidditch requires a lot of gut strength to stay on a broom while flying and Sirius is defined and perfect and he’s allowed to touch. When Remus traces a hand up from his navel to chest, a flush appears, gracing Sirius’ neck and chest.

Remus grins, slanted to one side, and leans back down, his hand flicking across a nipple as he does so, revelling in Sirius’ little noise of appreciation.

“Clothes.” Sirius breathes harshly as Remus kisses along his neck. “Off.” A small gasp when Remus bites down, then soothes with a quick peck. “Now.”

Remus hums, his hips rolling involuntarily against Sirius, both of them hard where they meet. “I’m rather enjoying this, no?” he manages to get out, a hand curling into Sirius’ hair, bringing their mouths back together.

“Unfair,” Sirius responds, muffled. He starts taking off Remus’ shirt, fumbling with the buttons and growling in frustration. The sound tears through Remus, heat pooling low and he aches to relieve some tension, pressing down against Sirius.

Sirius groans, head thrown back and gulping deeply, taking a few breathes in silence. Remus watches him, mesmerised.

When Sirius lifts his head and catches his eyes, he’s determined, mouth red and jagged across his face. He pushes Remus over until they’re swapped, Remus spread on his back as Sirius clambers on top of him, fingers making quick work of the remaining buttons and pushing it aside. He ducks his head, pressing kisses against Remus’ chest, before looking up, smiling—a sight Remus swears he will never forget.

Until Sirius hands are hovering over his trousers, trying to undo the zip where it strains against Remus, and all thoughts leave his head. Electricity races through him when they’re finally undone and he lifts his hips as Sirius pulls them down, thrown aside like his jumper. Sirius looks at him again, questioning. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Remus has never been so sure of anything in his life. “You?”

Sirius’ gaze drags up and down his body, nodding. “Definitely.”

The meet again, mouths crashing together in a crescendo as hands flit between them, discarding pants and gripping gripping gripping, harsh and strong and warm until they’re finished, a sticky mess and gasping loudly, heads ringing with pleasure and laughter being shared between them.

“It’s also been torture,” Sirius says, later, when they’ve calmed down, laying in silence together, both regaining their breath and sharing soft, lazy kisses (Remus doesn’t have a favourite kind of kiss—it’s way too soon for that—but these kisses, the ones with no passion but are full of comfort and love and the promise of more, of always, are making a solid argument for first place). They put clothes back on, because it is winter and they cooled down quickly (and they are in a shared dormitory with friends who would probably be scarred for life if they walked in on them). Part of Remus is mournful of losing a naked Sirius, but the image of him snuggled in his own jumper is making up for it.

Sirius says it out of nowhere, as though picking up a left-off conversation. Remus raises his eyebrows quizzically.

“It’s also been torture,” he repeats, fingers playing with Remus’ hand where they’re entwined, “having to live with the knowledge that I was in love with my best friend and he had no fucking clue.”

“Welcome to my world,” Remus says weakly.

“It’s been months and I couldn’t do anything about it—just had to watch you walk around oblivious to the fact that I couldn’t breathe when so much as smiled at me.”

“But—but you wouldn’t stop touching me!” Remus sounds incredulous—he is incredulous. “These past months you’ve been all over me, but acted like it was completely normal.”

“I’m a masochist,” Sirius shrugs. “Once I realised what I felt, I couldn’t help myself.”

“When did you realise?”

Something shutters in Sirius’ eyes, a quick flash of guilt, pain. He shifts, hand dropping Remus’. “The Incident. I—I felt so horribly guilty, obviously, would have for James or Pete, but the thought that I could lose you, that you would never speak to me again, felt—different, somehow. I didn’t really understand for a while, but it eventually clicked.”

“Oh.” Remus feels lost, regrets asking, but, “I did, you know. Consider never speaking to you again.”

“I know.” His voice is thick, eyes trained on the canopy above them. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Remus hates this, hates that there may always be a small part of him that doubts Sirius’ loyalty, his friendship, and he tries to push the thought away, grabbing his hand again, squeezing. “I already forgave you. Stop moping.” He aims for light-heartedness and Sirius grasps gratefully at the attempt.

“You’re turn, then.” He turns back to Remus, smile back in place. “When did you realise?”

Remus’ face burns, despite the fact that Sirius has now quite literally seen every part of him and he should have nothing to be embarrassed about. “Over a month ago, now. The day after you’re birthday. You, um, smiled at me and it just kinda hit me. I think I’ve loved you for a long time now.”

“Aww, Moony, who knew you were such a sap.”

Remus shoves him, and Sirius’ responding laughter is bright and lovely and going to one day be the downfall of Remus’ existence.

Sirius’ eyes narrow sharply, wheels obviously turning in his head. “That day in History of Magic? You left in a rush?”

“You noticed that?” Remus winces.

“Moony,” he replies mock-seriously, his free hand brushing a curl out of Remus’ face, “you will soon learn that I notice everything about you.”

“Do you, now?”

“Mmhm.” Sirius nods. “I notice when you’re particularly sore after a Full Moon. When you are annoyed at us but refuse to tell us why or even that you’re annoyed in the first place. When you’re particularly enjoying a book. When you receive a great mark but pretends it’s low because you know it upsets Peter. That you’re slowly trying to get Evans to admit her feelings for Prongs. That you realised you’re in love with me and freaked out for a solid two weeks.”

Horror flushes through him. “You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t be sure. You’re very good at hiding you’re feelings and sometimes no amount of intense study can make sense of them. Besides,” Sirius smiles, a touch unhappy, “it wasn’t worth the risk if I was wrong. I could live with being near you, could deal with pain of not being with you, if you were at least still in my life.”

“Now who’s the sap?” Remus mutters, entirely pleased on the inside. He leans over, capturing Sirius in a long, slow kiss. He smiles against Sirius’ mouth, giddy.

The door bangs open and they jump apart, swinging around to face whoever entered. Peter stands in the door way, arms full of invisibility cloak and snacks and books. His face is unimpressed as he makes his way over to his bed, dropping his things in a graceless lump, a spare pastry rolling over the edge and onto the floor.

“Fucking finally,” he says, nodding to the two of them. “It’s been torture watching you guys pine after each other like two stupid idiots. Prongs owes me a galleon for this—didn’t think you would sort your shit out ‘til New Year’s. Christmas at the earliest.” He laughs, rummaging through his pile and finding a treacle tart, plucking it up. “Tosser.”

Peter walks back towards the door, eye on his watch. Remus dares to peek at Sirius, whose only sign of embarrassment is the two spots of colour high on his cheeks. Otherwise, his face is a cool mask, smiling vaguely at Peter, posture relaxed where he lays next to Remus. Curse him, Remus thinks, and curse Wormtail.

“Dinner is soon, you should get dressed,” Peter continues. “Met Prongs down at the pitch—still seems to be in a bit of a huff with the whole Evans thing. This,” he motions to the two of them, “may cheer him up though. See you guys soon.”

As the door closes behind him, Remus catches Sirius’ eye and breaks out into a grin, releasing a grateful, breathless laugh.

“I can’t believe Pete found out first,” James grumbles over his dinner, stuffing Shephard’s pie into his mouth with abandon. He’s still in his Quidditch gear and, judging from the way Peter is wrinkling his nose, desperately needs to shower. He hunches over his plate, stabbing wildly at his food, frown firmly in place. The miserable image is slightly ruined by a grin that twitches at the corner of his lips, threatening to expand. “I’m the one that had to listen to you whine about Moony. And the other way round. I’m the one that was trying to push you to together. I’ve invested time and resources into this and I don’t even get to know first—blasphemy.”

“I don’t believe I ever whined,” Remus contests, spearing a honey-glazed carrot—his favourite. Sirius sits next to him, their knees pressed together. A permanent flush has made its way to Remus’ face.

“I had to put up with you as a partner, Prongs,” Peter adds. “Don’t think I didn’t contribute and was equally deserving of being told first.”

James scowls at both of them, munching moodily. A bit of gravy dribbles down his chin—Remus feels sorry for Lily.

“And,” Sirius pipes up, stealing a chip for Remus’ plate, “it’s not like we actively told Wormy—he just walked in on us. We didn’t even say anything and it’s not like we were in the middle of fucking,”—Remus splutters—“or anything. He just assumed.”

“Was I wrong?”

Sirius grins, throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Nope.”

“Speaking of,” James says, pointing a finger at the two of them, “I am happy for you. Truly. Cannot tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this to happen. Two years, a minimum. However, if I walk in on you two,” he gestures at them, grimacing, “doing stuff, both of you will find your beds missing and will have worms for hair for at least a week.”

“We should come up with a system,” Peter suggests.

“Sock on the doorknob?” James says.

“Or a tie.”

Sirius squeezes Remus’ shoulders, sending him a devilish grin. “We may already be using the tie for other purposes.”

“Oh Merlin,” Remus says, hiding his face into his hands, as the others howl with laughter. He regrets every decision he’s ever made up until this point. “I can’t believe any of you. I question my sanity every day.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear Moony,” Sirius glances around the Great Hall then quickly presses his lips to Remus’ temple and removes his arm. “It’s not your fault—we’re irresistible. You can’t help but love us.”

“In very different ways,” Peter adds with a smirk.

Remus reaches out to kick his leg, but a grin is fighting at his lips and he feels the fullest he has in a long time. Happy, loved. He leans into Sirius side, catching his hand under the table, fingers tangling together, and lets the smile take over his face.