hp fic // It Was Fascination, I Know [remus/sirius; pg-13.]
title: It Was Fascination, I Know
author: crooked
pairing: Remus/Sirius
rating: PG-13
word count: 4842
summary: Over the years, Sirius develops a fascination with watching Remus sleep.
a/n: submission for Team Canon @ the rs_games '09. originally posted here.
it was fascination, i know
Over the years, Sirius develops a fascination with watching Remus sleep.
It starts the night after James, Peter, and Sirius finally confront Remus and tell him they’ve worked out his big secret. Sirius tosses and turns in his bed, unable to get comfortable for more than two seconds in one position. He throws back his duvet and peeks through his curtains into the dorm. James’ curtains are wide open, but he’s fast asleep. Both Peter and Remus have the curtains around their beds drawn, but Peter’s snoring tells Sirius he’s definitely asleep.
He takes a chance and pads silently over to Remus’ bed. Sirius ducks his head inside and finds Remus laying on his back, awake and staring up at the ceiling.
“Oh!” Remus says softly, starting as he catches sight of Sirius. He blushes and laughs, scooting over on the narrow bed to make room for the other boy. Sirius grins and crawls beneath the covers, his shoulder pressed to Remus’. They’re not yet the lanky teenagers they’ll grow to be, so they fit comfortably enough.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, and Remus shakes his head. “Yeah, neither can I. Wanna do something?”
Remus laughs, rolling his eyes. “It’s got to be after midnight, Sirius. There’s nothing we can do that won’t get us expelled.” He pauses and looks over at Sirius, and there’s a flash of worry in his eyes. “Why can’t you sleep?”
“I dunno,” Sirius says, shrugging. He cottons on after a moment of silence, frowning at Remus. “No, it’s not because of you and… y’know, the thing.”
Remus gives him a sheepish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it? Makes me sound like a horror film from the 1950s.”
“Those are the things Muggles pay money to go see, yeah?” Sirius asks. “We could make you a star and get rich off you, Remus!”
Remus just laughs and rolls his eyes. Sirius shifts onto his hip and curls an arm beneath his head, watching Remus’ profile for a moment. Remus turns his head and meets his gaze, flashing a little half-grin.
“I still can’t believe it,” he says, turning onto his side and facing Sirius. “You know, that you’re not afraid I’m going to eat you or something.”
Sirius has to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop from laughing so loudly that he wakes Peter and James. “I’m more worried you’re going to find my stash of Peppermint Toads and eat those. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be afraid of you. But you’re still just Remus to me.”
Remus smiles at Sirius, a warm smile that speaks the words his twelve-year-old self can’t quite seem to say: Thank you, Sirius, for being that amazing. Sirius shrugs and flashes Remus a grin, and their unspoken communication is over.
“We should sleep,” Remus says, stifling a sudden yawn. Sirius nods, and starts to get out of his bed to head back over to his own. “You can stay, if you want.”
Sirius looks back at Remus and there’s a very faint blush across the bridge of his nose. He ignores the twinge low in his own stomach and shrugs, settling back in beneath the bedclothes. They’re both just embarrassed because boys don’t normally do this, Sirius tells himself.
“Goodnight, Remus.”
“G’night,” Remus replies, and Sirius lays as still and as quiet as he can. He listens to the Remus’ breathing and eventually relaxes as it evens out, a sign that he’s asleep. He looks over at Remus without moving his head, not wanting to jostle Remus since both of their heads are sharing the one pillow. Remus’ face is bathed in shadows, though, and Sirius has the sudden desire to see what he looks like when he’s sleeping. He tries to nudge the curtains open, but the sliver of pale light only spreads over the duvet. He thinks about even summoning his wand from across the room, but Remus would surely wake up if Sirius casts a Lumos spell right in his face.
He sighs and wriggles down into the warmth of the bed, giving up on his quest to watch Remus sleep and drifting off to sleep himself.
But Sirius doesn’t really give up. On anything. Ever. It’s just not his style.
For fear of making things too awkward between them, Sirius doesn’t sleep in Remus’ bed again for quite some time. It’s not as if he doesn’t think about it or doesn’t want to; he just knows he could easily get carried away and never spend another night in his own bed for the duration of his time at Hogwarts. But then, he rationalises, that’s a rather odd thought to have about spending time in another bloke’s bed. Of course, his mind then reasons that it’s not just another bloke, it’s Remus, and everything gets too messy for his pubescent brain to cope with.
It’s a good thing Sirius has the very secret and illegal Operation Animalia - yes, James thinks their attempts at becoming Animagi needs a codename - to distract him from things like feelings and questioning his sexuality. He throws himself into the task, spending so much time pouring over spell books that he starts to wonder if the Sorting Hat missed a Ravenclaw.
Still, with all the hard work and time that James, Peter, and Sirius put into it, it takes them the better part of the next three terms to master the Animagus spell. And in all that time, Sirius can’t find a single occasion that justifies him sleeping in Remus’ bed. He’s still dreadfully curious to see what he looks like when he’s asleep, but somehow he figures telling Remus ‘hey, mate, I want to watch you sleep so budge over’ wouldn’t go over very well.
His chance comes when Remus waves him over one night, James and Peter fast sleep in their beds.
“Do it again, Sirius… I mean, Padfoot,” Remus whispers, grinning as he scoots over to make room for him. Sirius and the others had finally been ready to show Remus the fruits of their labours, revealing to him for the first time their new forms.
Sirius grins back, shuffling into the space beside Remus and realising that the bed is much smaller than it had been before. In reality it’s not the bed that’s changed but the two boys, taller and broader at fifteen than they’d been at twelve, now all limbs and elbows and knees. Another thing that’s changed is Sirius going from wondering if he could possibly be gay at twelve (which he decided back then was just silly confusion, and he was going to be a normal boy) to knowing that he definitely is (and, yes, he’s still very much normal). All it takes is a few snogs from eager young girls, going up a few shirts and discovering he has no bloody idea what to do with breasts, and the realisation that Remus is never far from his thoughts to reach his Big Gay Conclusion.
So things are, on his end anyway, a bit awkward when he climbs into Remus’ bed again. But Remus is grinning at him, and his expression is so excited and grateful that Sirius’ nerves melt away. He pulls the curtains closed - not because he has to but because everything is better with an air of the clandestine - and skin and hair and pyjamas give way to fur and wet nose and wagging tail.
“Bloody fucking brilliant,” Remus breathes, eyes widening with awe. He reaches a hand out, and Padfoot nuzzles his nose against his palm. “You’re a dog. I mean, I always knew you were a dog, but now you’re really an actual goddamn dog.”
Padfoot nips playfully at Remus’ ankle and he laughs, still staring at the dog in his bed in disbelief. He settles back down, patting the space beside him. Padfoot curls up in a big, furry ball, and Remus strokes at his fur. He falls silent for a long time, his fingers pulling gently through the shaggy black fur, and Sirius almost turns back into his regular self to ask Remus what he’s thinking, but Remus lets out a sigh and starts to speak.
“I know I’ve said it a thousand times already, but I’m going to say it a thousand more,” he says, scratching just behind Padfoot’s ears. “Thank you so much, mate. I don’t even- No-one’s ever done anything that extraordinary for me, besides my mum and dad. You gits could get yourselves tossed out of school and into Azkaban, if they have a Delinquent Youths ward. Maybe they’d create one just for you.”
Remus pauses and Padfoot lifts his head to look at him, tail swishing gently. “I’m talking to a dog.” He laughs, and Padfoot rests his head back on Remus’ thigh. “But don’t change back yet, okay? I always wanted a dog. Mum was afraid he’d end up on the full moon menu, though. So… yeah. I guess what I’m saying is, y’know, you’re the best fucking mate in the world. All of you, I mean.”
Padfoot shifts around, getting up onto all fours and licking sloppily at Remus’ cheek, sending him into a fit of stifled laughter. (Later, Sirius will count it as their unofficial first kiss.) “Stop it! Sirius! Padfoot, aha, you stupid mutt! Stop!” Padfoot relents and curls back up against Remus’ legs. “Go to sleep, and you’d better not give me fleas,” Remus says, fingers finding the fur between Padfoot’s ears and petting softly.
It ends up being another missed opportunity for Sirius to get what’s proving to be an elusive glimpse of the Sleeping Remus Lupin. He’d intended on waiting for Remus to nod off, and then he’d have turned back into a boy to watch him. But Remus’ fingers are too soothing, and the dog falls asleep before the boy even does. When he wakes up, Sirius finds that he’s got legs and arms to stretch, and he looks over to see Remus waking up at the same time. They both blush, silently thankful that it’s just after sunrise and Peter and James are still asleep, and then Sirius creeps back across the dorm to his own bed.
Messy things happen a bit later down the road, and Sirius prefers not to dwell on them. The gist is this: he nearly fucks up everything with Remus - with everyone - but is somehow forgiven beyond all expectation. It’s not an easy road to forgiveness, but it’s one Sirius travels down because he can’t imagine his life with James and Remus and Peter hating him. He loses all hope of ever exploring the growing feelings he has for Remus, despite small clues (blushing when caught staring at Sirius, making excuses to spend time alone with him) that Remus might share those feelings too. But he reckons he’s lucky enough to still be his friend, so he doesn’t complain.
On the train ride home before the Christmas holiday of their sixth year, Sirius sits absolutely still, eyes on Remus as he leans heavily against the train window. His eyes are heavy, ready to close at any moment, and Sirius can barely breathe. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he realises he’s probably got a bit of a mental issue going on, but all he’s conscious of is the fact that he’s at long last about to witness the phenomena of the Sleeping Moony.
Until James bursts in with an armful of sweets from the trolley.
“There you are!” he exclaims, laughing as he plops down right beside Remus, making him jump. Peter follows close behind, and Sirius shoots James a murderous glare. It has no effect whatsoever. “Fell free to dig in, ladies. So, plans for Christmas?”
James babbles on, as he is wont to do when he’s chock full of sugar, and Sirius just stares out the window, watching the landscape blur by in muted colours. Suddenly, Sirius feels someone nudging him and he realises he’s fallen asleep. Fucking James Potter.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Remus teases, prodding Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius sits up and sees the compartment empty, save for the two of them.
“What the hell did James put in that fudge?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Sirius stands and stretches, and he glances at Remus just in time to catch him watching his jumper ride up a touch.
Remus averts his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassed flush by digging in his shoulder bag for something that doesn’t exist. “I don’t know, but you were snoring.”
Sirius’ mouth drops open in a scandalised expression. “I bloody do not!”
“You do, and I could’ve sworn there was a little drool on the side of your face,” Remus says, ushering Sirius out of the compartment. They walk through the empty train car, kicking aside sweets wrappers and discarded pages of the day’s Prophet.
Sirius scowls, knowing he certainly doesn’t drool in his sleep. He wipes at his cheek just the same. “Are you quite finished?”
Remus laughs and pushes playfully at Sirius’ shoulder, but Sirius stops just short of getting off the train. Even though Regulus has helpfully supplied his parents with his friends’ names and bloodlines, Sirius doesn’t want them to lay eyes on Remus in particular. His luck with them is just good enough that they’d spot him as a werewolf a kilometre away, and Sirius isn’t sure what they’d do.
“Right,” Remus says. They stand their facing one another for just a moment of awkward silence, and Sirius watches Remus’ mouth open and then close.
“Uh, so, guess I’ll see you in after hols,” Sirius says, raking his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, of course. You can, uh, write if you want.”
“Sure, sure.” Sirius shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and he weighs the possible consequences of kissing Remus: on the one hand, Remus might kiss him back; on the other hand, Remus might hex his bollocks clean off. The ground they're on is still entirely too shaky to be sure.
“Sirius?”
He looks up and Remus has his head cocked at him, an eyebrow raised in question. Sirius just lets out a nervous laugh and shakes his head. “Nothing. Anyway, you’d better get out there before your mum files a Missing Persons report.”
Remus rolls his eyes fondly, knowing it’s very much something his mother would do. “Yeah,” he says, and he reaches out and claps Sirius on the shoulder. “Happy Christmas, Padfoot. Try not to stir up too much shit at the Black family gala.”
“Can’t make any promises,” Sirius says, grinning after Remus as he wanders off to find the Lupins. He steps off the train and his own family is instantly visible, stuffy and sour-faced, standing with Regulus in the centre. Sirius can almost see the light glinting off his halo.
It’s going to be a brilliant Christmas, he thinks with a deep sigh.
He doesn’t know then just how right he turns out to be. Sirius’ Christmas Eve is far from traditional. There are no stockings hung, no wassail passed around in steaming hot cups, no-one utters a single lyric to any festive carols; the Blacks decide to celebrate this particular Christmas with a spectacular row. Two Blacks in particular, anyway - Sirius and his mother, Walburga.
It’s a blur of back and forth shouting; Sirius defends his mates and their bloodlines, and Walburga condemns him for sullying the Black name with such filth. Like every good fight, it goes horribly off-topic and Walburga rails against nearly everything Sirius has ever done in his entire life. He fights back by telling her how horrible a mother she’s been and if she’s even capable of loving anyone but herself.
“I manage to love your brother just fine,” Walburga says coldly, and Sirius sees Regulus sink down in the seat he’s been frozen to since the fight began.
Sirius glares at her over the dining room table, hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. He’s never wanted to hit anyone more, but he has his limits. “So I’ll make your life easier, then,” he says, his jaw clenched and his voice a low growl. “Fuck you, and fuck this family!”
Walburga stands as Sirius marches out and toward his room. “IF YOU LEAVE THIS HOUSE YOU’D BETTER NOT RETURN, SIRIUS BLACK,” she roars, but Sirius isn’t listening. He’s blinking back hot tears as he shoves everything he can into his trunk.
When he storms down the stairs, his trunk thudding behind him like thunder, Walburga is there, red-faced and full of rage.
“You’re nothing to me, you know,” she seethes, and Sirius tries his best to ignore her. “You’ve been a disappointment from the very beginning!”
He pushes past Regulus, who’s come out to watch the sideshow, and his father steps in front of the door. Sirius shrinks back a bit from his imposing figure but ultimately stands his ground, meeting his father eye to eye.
“If you walk out this door, Sirius, you’re no longer my son,” Orion says, a deep frown creasing his severe features.
Sirius hesitates for a moment, then lets out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t been your son since first year, Father, and you know it.” Orion steps aside, Walburga unleashes a stream of high-pitched yelling, and Regulus does what he does best - sits idly by - as Sirius walks out of Grimmauld Place.
It stands to reason, of course, that a light drizzle falls as Sirius embarks on the twenty minute walk to King’s Cross. His clothes are soaked through by the time he boards the train, his feet carrying him on autopilot to the only place he can even think to go.
“Have any vacancies for the night? Or, you know, a bit longer?” Sirius asks, dripping all over Mrs Potter’s welcome mat as a wide-eyed James opens the front door.
“What the fuck?” James asks, bewildered. He stands there for a few moments, mouth agape with shock, until Sirius coughs and picks at his wet coat. “Oh! Right, right. Come in.” James pulls him into the house, and Sirius can smell nutmeg and cinnamon and the pine scent from the huge tree that must be decorated in some corner of the house.
Eventually, after discovering his arrival and drying him off with flicks of their wands, Mr and Mrs Potter usher Sirius into a chair beside the fire, and he recounts the events that led him to their doorstop. James immediately pipes up that Sirius can’t go home, and they’ve got plenty of room for him to stay, forever if he wants. James’ parents excuse themselves and the two boys sit in silence, Sirius sinking into the wingchair and James perched on the arm of it.
When Mr Potter returns by himself, he looks troubled and Sirius isn’t quite sure how to interpret it. He sighs and sits down on the couch, glancing from his son to Sirius and back to James again.
“I suppose we can send for the rest of your things tomorrow, Sirius,” he says, and James launches off the arm of the chair and straight at his father. He laughs, hugging James back with a fond smile. Sirius marvels at the ease at which they interact. “Careful, son, these old bones could snap like twigs with a strapping lad like you coming at them.”
Mrs Potter floats a tray of eggnog in behind her, piled high with Christmas biscuits and slices of Christmas cake. Sirius’ eyes threaten to water at the show of unbelievable graciousness; James’ family is ready to welcome him into the fold when his own parents seemed almost eager (in his eyes) to finally be rid of him. He starts to thank Mrs Potter as she pushes a cup of eggnog and a plate of sweets into his hands, but she waves him off.
“Hush,” she says, reaching out to smooth James’ hair back as she smiles down at Sirius. “This is no way to spend Christmas Eve, dear. There’ll be time for all that later. You just settle in and James will take your trunk up to his room until we sort everything out.”
James’ grin fades quickly, but Sirius’ grows wider. He waves an iced snowflake-shaped biscuit at him as James drags his trunk up the stairs, and James flashes him two fingers behind his parents’ backs. He sits there in the warm, brightly-decorated living room, with Mr and Mrs Potter’s kind, concerned faces peering at him, fussing over him, and thinks that Christmas might be salvaged after all.
The day before they’re to head back to Hogwarts, Remus shows up at James’ house. He’s got his trunk and all his school belongings in tow, and Sirius is surprised when he sees him walk into the living room.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Remus looks at him with a mixture of pity and sorrow. Sirius stands and shakes his head, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t. Don’t even. It’s for the better, you know?”
Remus bites his lip and nods, shuffling a bit closer toward Sirius. He looks as if he wants to throw his arms around him, and Sirius figures he probably would have if James hadn’t been standing right behind him.
“I’m staying over tonight,” Remus explains when Sirius gestures to his luggage. “Prongs wrote me and Peter and told us what happened. I would’ve come sooner, but my parents had this silly idea about me spending Christmas with them.”
“Peter got himself grounded until he steps onto the train,” James chimes in, an amused grin on his face. “His mum found the gift we gave him.”
Sirius laughs, then he suddenly wishes James would bugger off for a bit. He doesn’t, of course, so the three boys spend the rest of the day pointedly avoiding any and all discussion of what happened with Sirius’ family. The shuffle upstairs some time after three in the morning, long after Mr and Mrs Potter have gone to bed, and James points vaguely in the direction of the room that’s now Sirius’.
“You can sleep with the dog, Moony,” he says, stifling a yawn. He disappears into his room just a hair too soon for Sirius’ balled up sock to hit him.
“It’s this one,” Sirius says, nerves washing over him as he leads Remus into his room.
Remus follows quietly, and they take turns changing into their pyjamas while the other has his back turned. (Sirius peeks.) Sirius crawls beneath the crimson quilt, and Remus mirrors his actions on the other side of the bed. Their heads sink into the fluffy pillows, and Sirius pulls the bedclothes up to their chins.
“I’m really sorry about all this you’ve gone through,” Remus finally says, in a soft whisper. “Your family is such utter shit.”
Sirius shrugs, flashing a crooked little grin. “Not my family anymore, are they? I mean, I’m sure I’ve been burnt off the sodding tapestry for days now. That thing is the be-all and end-all of the Black family, as far as my m- as far as Walburga is concerned.”
“Yeah. Well, as far as I’m concerned, she’s a stupid bint,” Remus scoffs.
Sirius doesn’t really know what possesses him to do it, but he leans in toward Remus and just kisses him. The kiss is so quick, barely a brush of lips against lips, that Remus doesn’t have a chance to react. Sirius pulls back and sees him staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t need to practice Legilimency to know what’s on Remus’ mind.
“You just said the right thing,” Sirius says, answering the unspoken ‘what was that for?’. He feels his cheeks heat with each second Remus remains silent, and Sirius has to fill the awful quiet with nervous babbling. “And, you know, I kind of wanted to for a while now. I didn’t know if you were queer, though. Shit. Shit, I still don’t know if you are. You are, right? Merlin, please tell me you are.”
Remus blinks, finally, and shakes his head at Sirius, but quickly nods when he sees the look of horror that’s washed over Sirius’ face. “No! I mean, yes! I am. Fuck…” He pauses to take a deep breath. Sirius sees something change in his eyes, and Remus’ lips curve into a slight smirk.
He presses forward and brings their lips together again, his hand creeping up to curl at the back of Sirius’ neck, fingers pushing into his hair and holding him there. They shift closer to each other, knees grazing beneath the sheets, Sirius’ hand finding the dip of Remus’ hip. Remus moans softly, and Sirius unravels just a bit. Remus licks his way between Sirius’ lips, tongues touching and teasing, and Sirius has to pull back before he suffocates.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s his turn to be wide-eyed. “I guess you are gay.”
Remus laughs and weaves his fingers with Sirius’, their hands lying over his hip. “Go to sleep, Padfoot,” he says, grinning at Sirius once more before closing his eyes.
Sirius says nothing, too overwhelmed to even try to formulate a witty remark. He just waits, amused at the way Remus’ fingers seem to fit his like a missing puzzle piece, and listens to Remus’ breathing slowly even out. Finally, after years of being rather unhealthily fixated on the idea, Sirius gets the chance to watch Remus sleep. Truth be told, it’s as uneventful as watching anyone else sleep, but Sirius is too busy noticing the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks to actually care.
He studies Remus’ features, committing them to memory in a way he never has before, cataloguing details he’d glossed over in the past: the barely-there dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose; a faint scar curving under his chin, which Sirius has to ask him about later; the fact that his nose really is almost too big for his face, but it’s perfect and Sirius wouldn’t change it ever.
In true Sirius Black fashion, he never stops to think about why he's developed this particular fascination. The answers, though, would come easily if he did. Sirius can watch Remus, really stare at him, without fear of being caught; Remus would blush and look away, ruining it all, and anyone else would just think him strange for staring at his friend that way. And then there's the fact that this Remus, the one that's curled in on himself and looking more peaceful than he ever does when awake, is a Remus that no-one else gets to see. Sirius feels closer to Remus, privy a secret side of him, even if Remus doesn't actually know.
Sirius wakes up the next morning without opening his eyes. It was probably a cruel dream, he thinks, though it would be the most realistic dream he’s ever had if it was. He cracks one eye and, to his delight and surprise, Remus is grinning at him.
“About bloody time,” he says, and Sirius refuses to admit that he’s oddly enamoured of Remus’ sleep-hoarse voice. Remus sits up and throws back the covers, scooting out of bed. “Mrs Potter is making us a going away feast. I’ve been smelling it cooking for the past fifteen minutes. Hurry up before I eat all the sausages.”
Remus scurries back over to the bed and gives Sirius a chaste kiss, then he tosses him a grin over his shoulder as he walks out of the room. Sirius looks over at the Remus-shaped dent in the sheets beside him, and he can’t contain his smile. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, but he pauses and looks back at the place where Remus had been. For the past fifteen minutes, Remus had said. He’d been watching Sirius sleep.
Sirius pads downstairs and slips into the chair beside Remus, trying - and mostly failing, with the way Remus keeps pressing his knee into his thigh - not to blush his way through breakfast.
author: crooked
pairing: Remus/Sirius
rating: PG-13
word count: 4842
summary: Over the years, Sirius develops a fascination with watching Remus sleep.
a/n: submission for Team Canon @ the rs_games '09. originally posted here.
it was fascination, i know
Over the years, Sirius develops a fascination with watching Remus sleep.
It starts the night after James, Peter, and Sirius finally confront Remus and tell him they’ve worked out his big secret. Sirius tosses and turns in his bed, unable to get comfortable for more than two seconds in one position. He throws back his duvet and peeks through his curtains into the dorm. James’ curtains are wide open, but he’s fast asleep. Both Peter and Remus have the curtains around their beds drawn, but Peter’s snoring tells Sirius he’s definitely asleep.
He takes a chance and pads silently over to Remus’ bed. Sirius ducks his head inside and finds Remus laying on his back, awake and staring up at the ceiling.
“Oh!” Remus says softly, starting as he catches sight of Sirius. He blushes and laughs, scooting over on the narrow bed to make room for the other boy. Sirius grins and crawls beneath the covers, his shoulder pressed to Remus’. They’re not yet the lanky teenagers they’ll grow to be, so they fit comfortably enough.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, and Remus shakes his head. “Yeah, neither can I. Wanna do something?”
Remus laughs, rolling his eyes. “It’s got to be after midnight, Sirius. There’s nothing we can do that won’t get us expelled.” He pauses and looks over at Sirius, and there’s a flash of worry in his eyes. “Why can’t you sleep?”
“I dunno,” Sirius says, shrugging. He cottons on after a moment of silence, frowning at Remus. “No, it’s not because of you and… y’know, the thing.”
Remus gives him a sheepish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it? Makes me sound like a horror film from the 1950s.”
“Those are the things Muggles pay money to go see, yeah?” Sirius asks. “We could make you a star and get rich off you, Remus!”
Remus just laughs and rolls his eyes. Sirius shifts onto his hip and curls an arm beneath his head, watching Remus’ profile for a moment. Remus turns his head and meets his gaze, flashing a little half-grin.
“I still can’t believe it,” he says, turning onto his side and facing Sirius. “You know, that you’re not afraid I’m going to eat you or something.”
Sirius has to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop from laughing so loudly that he wakes Peter and James. “I’m more worried you’re going to find my stash of Peppermint Toads and eat those. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be afraid of you. But you’re still just Remus to me.”
Remus smiles at Sirius, a warm smile that speaks the words his twelve-year-old self can’t quite seem to say: Thank you, Sirius, for being that amazing. Sirius shrugs and flashes Remus a grin, and their unspoken communication is over.
“We should sleep,” Remus says, stifling a sudden yawn. Sirius nods, and starts to get out of his bed to head back over to his own. “You can stay, if you want.”
Sirius looks back at Remus and there’s a very faint blush across the bridge of his nose. He ignores the twinge low in his own stomach and shrugs, settling back in beneath the bedclothes. They’re both just embarrassed because boys don’t normally do this, Sirius tells himself.
“Goodnight, Remus.”
“G’night,” Remus replies, and Sirius lays as still and as quiet as he can. He listens to the Remus’ breathing and eventually relaxes as it evens out, a sign that he’s asleep. He looks over at Remus without moving his head, not wanting to jostle Remus since both of their heads are sharing the one pillow. Remus’ face is bathed in shadows, though, and Sirius has the sudden desire to see what he looks like when he’s sleeping. He tries to nudge the curtains open, but the sliver of pale light only spreads over the duvet. He thinks about even summoning his wand from across the room, but Remus would surely wake up if Sirius casts a Lumos spell right in his face.
He sighs and wriggles down into the warmth of the bed, giving up on his quest to watch Remus sleep and drifting off to sleep himself.
But Sirius doesn’t really give up. On anything. Ever. It’s just not his style.
For fear of making things too awkward between them, Sirius doesn’t sleep in Remus’ bed again for quite some time. It’s not as if he doesn’t think about it or doesn’t want to; he just knows he could easily get carried away and never spend another night in his own bed for the duration of his time at Hogwarts. But then, he rationalises, that’s a rather odd thought to have about spending time in another bloke’s bed. Of course, his mind then reasons that it’s not just another bloke, it’s Remus, and everything gets too messy for his pubescent brain to cope with.
It’s a good thing Sirius has the very secret and illegal Operation Animalia - yes, James thinks their attempts at becoming Animagi needs a codename - to distract him from things like feelings and questioning his sexuality. He throws himself into the task, spending so much time pouring over spell books that he starts to wonder if the Sorting Hat missed a Ravenclaw.
Still, with all the hard work and time that James, Peter, and Sirius put into it, it takes them the better part of the next three terms to master the Animagus spell. And in all that time, Sirius can’t find a single occasion that justifies him sleeping in Remus’ bed. He’s still dreadfully curious to see what he looks like when he’s asleep, but somehow he figures telling Remus ‘hey, mate, I want to watch you sleep so budge over’ wouldn’t go over very well.
His chance comes when Remus waves him over one night, James and Peter fast sleep in their beds.
“Do it again, Sirius… I mean, Padfoot,” Remus whispers, grinning as he scoots over to make room for him. Sirius and the others had finally been ready to show Remus the fruits of their labours, revealing to him for the first time their new forms.
Sirius grins back, shuffling into the space beside Remus and realising that the bed is much smaller than it had been before. In reality it’s not the bed that’s changed but the two boys, taller and broader at fifteen than they’d been at twelve, now all limbs and elbows and knees. Another thing that’s changed is Sirius going from wondering if he could possibly be gay at twelve (which he decided back then was just silly confusion, and he was going to be a normal boy) to knowing that he definitely is (and, yes, he’s still very much normal). All it takes is a few snogs from eager young girls, going up a few shirts and discovering he has no bloody idea what to do with breasts, and the realisation that Remus is never far from his thoughts to reach his Big Gay Conclusion.
So things are, on his end anyway, a bit awkward when he climbs into Remus’ bed again. But Remus is grinning at him, and his expression is so excited and grateful that Sirius’ nerves melt away. He pulls the curtains closed - not because he has to but because everything is better with an air of the clandestine - and skin and hair and pyjamas give way to fur and wet nose and wagging tail.
“Bloody fucking brilliant,” Remus breathes, eyes widening with awe. He reaches a hand out, and Padfoot nuzzles his nose against his palm. “You’re a dog. I mean, I always knew you were a dog, but now you’re really an actual goddamn dog.”
Padfoot nips playfully at Remus’ ankle and he laughs, still staring at the dog in his bed in disbelief. He settles back down, patting the space beside him. Padfoot curls up in a big, furry ball, and Remus strokes at his fur. He falls silent for a long time, his fingers pulling gently through the shaggy black fur, and Sirius almost turns back into his regular self to ask Remus what he’s thinking, but Remus lets out a sigh and starts to speak.
“I know I’ve said it a thousand times already, but I’m going to say it a thousand more,” he says, scratching just behind Padfoot’s ears. “Thank you so much, mate. I don’t even- No-one’s ever done anything that extraordinary for me, besides my mum and dad. You gits could get yourselves tossed out of school and into Azkaban, if they have a Delinquent Youths ward. Maybe they’d create one just for you.”
Remus pauses and Padfoot lifts his head to look at him, tail swishing gently. “I’m talking to a dog.” He laughs, and Padfoot rests his head back on Remus’ thigh. “But don’t change back yet, okay? I always wanted a dog. Mum was afraid he’d end up on the full moon menu, though. So… yeah. I guess what I’m saying is, y’know, you’re the best fucking mate in the world. All of you, I mean.”
Padfoot shifts around, getting up onto all fours and licking sloppily at Remus’ cheek, sending him into a fit of stifled laughter. (Later, Sirius will count it as their unofficial first kiss.) “Stop it! Sirius! Padfoot, aha, you stupid mutt! Stop!” Padfoot relents and curls back up against Remus’ legs. “Go to sleep, and you’d better not give me fleas,” Remus says, fingers finding the fur between Padfoot’s ears and petting softly.
It ends up being another missed opportunity for Sirius to get what’s proving to be an elusive glimpse of the Sleeping Remus Lupin. He’d intended on waiting for Remus to nod off, and then he’d have turned back into a boy to watch him. But Remus’ fingers are too soothing, and the dog falls asleep before the boy even does. When he wakes up, Sirius finds that he’s got legs and arms to stretch, and he looks over to see Remus waking up at the same time. They both blush, silently thankful that it’s just after sunrise and Peter and James are still asleep, and then Sirius creeps back across the dorm to his own bed.
Messy things happen a bit later down the road, and Sirius prefers not to dwell on them. The gist is this: he nearly fucks up everything with Remus - with everyone - but is somehow forgiven beyond all expectation. It’s not an easy road to forgiveness, but it’s one Sirius travels down because he can’t imagine his life with James and Remus and Peter hating him. He loses all hope of ever exploring the growing feelings he has for Remus, despite small clues (blushing when caught staring at Sirius, making excuses to spend time alone with him) that Remus might share those feelings too. But he reckons he’s lucky enough to still be his friend, so he doesn’t complain.
On the train ride home before the Christmas holiday of their sixth year, Sirius sits absolutely still, eyes on Remus as he leans heavily against the train window. His eyes are heavy, ready to close at any moment, and Sirius can barely breathe. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he realises he’s probably got a bit of a mental issue going on, but all he’s conscious of is the fact that he’s at long last about to witness the phenomena of the Sleeping Moony.
Until James bursts in with an armful of sweets from the trolley.
“There you are!” he exclaims, laughing as he plops down right beside Remus, making him jump. Peter follows close behind, and Sirius shoots James a murderous glare. It has no effect whatsoever. “Fell free to dig in, ladies. So, plans for Christmas?”
James babbles on, as he is wont to do when he’s chock full of sugar, and Sirius just stares out the window, watching the landscape blur by in muted colours. Suddenly, Sirius feels someone nudging him and he realises he’s fallen asleep. Fucking James Potter.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Remus teases, prodding Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius sits up and sees the compartment empty, save for the two of them.
“What the hell did James put in that fudge?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Sirius stands and stretches, and he glances at Remus just in time to catch him watching his jumper ride up a touch.
Remus averts his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassed flush by digging in his shoulder bag for something that doesn’t exist. “I don’t know, but you were snoring.”
Sirius’ mouth drops open in a scandalised expression. “I bloody do not!”
“You do, and I could’ve sworn there was a little drool on the side of your face,” Remus says, ushering Sirius out of the compartment. They walk through the empty train car, kicking aside sweets wrappers and discarded pages of the day’s Prophet.
Sirius scowls, knowing he certainly doesn’t drool in his sleep. He wipes at his cheek just the same. “Are you quite finished?”
Remus laughs and pushes playfully at Sirius’ shoulder, but Sirius stops just short of getting off the train. Even though Regulus has helpfully supplied his parents with his friends’ names and bloodlines, Sirius doesn’t want them to lay eyes on Remus in particular. His luck with them is just good enough that they’d spot him as a werewolf a kilometre away, and Sirius isn’t sure what they’d do.
“Right,” Remus says. They stand their facing one another for just a moment of awkward silence, and Sirius watches Remus’ mouth open and then close.
“Uh, so, guess I’ll see you in after hols,” Sirius says, raking his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, of course. You can, uh, write if you want.”
“Sure, sure.” Sirius shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and he weighs the possible consequences of kissing Remus: on the one hand, Remus might kiss him back; on the other hand, Remus might hex his bollocks clean off. The ground they're on is still entirely too shaky to be sure.
“Sirius?”
He looks up and Remus has his head cocked at him, an eyebrow raised in question. Sirius just lets out a nervous laugh and shakes his head. “Nothing. Anyway, you’d better get out there before your mum files a Missing Persons report.”
Remus rolls his eyes fondly, knowing it’s very much something his mother would do. “Yeah,” he says, and he reaches out and claps Sirius on the shoulder. “Happy Christmas, Padfoot. Try not to stir up too much shit at the Black family gala.”
“Can’t make any promises,” Sirius says, grinning after Remus as he wanders off to find the Lupins. He steps off the train and his own family is instantly visible, stuffy and sour-faced, standing with Regulus in the centre. Sirius can almost see the light glinting off his halo.
It’s going to be a brilliant Christmas, he thinks with a deep sigh.
He doesn’t know then just how right he turns out to be. Sirius’ Christmas Eve is far from traditional. There are no stockings hung, no wassail passed around in steaming hot cups, no-one utters a single lyric to any festive carols; the Blacks decide to celebrate this particular Christmas with a spectacular row. Two Blacks in particular, anyway - Sirius and his mother, Walburga.
It’s a blur of back and forth shouting; Sirius defends his mates and their bloodlines, and Walburga condemns him for sullying the Black name with such filth. Like every good fight, it goes horribly off-topic and Walburga rails against nearly everything Sirius has ever done in his entire life. He fights back by telling her how horrible a mother she’s been and if she’s even capable of loving anyone but herself.
“I manage to love your brother just fine,” Walburga says coldly, and Sirius sees Regulus sink down in the seat he’s been frozen to since the fight began.
Sirius glares at her over the dining room table, hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. He’s never wanted to hit anyone more, but he has his limits. “So I’ll make your life easier, then,” he says, his jaw clenched and his voice a low growl. “Fuck you, and fuck this family!”
Walburga stands as Sirius marches out and toward his room. “IF YOU LEAVE THIS HOUSE YOU’D BETTER NOT RETURN, SIRIUS BLACK,” she roars, but Sirius isn’t listening. He’s blinking back hot tears as he shoves everything he can into his trunk.
When he storms down the stairs, his trunk thudding behind him like thunder, Walburga is there, red-faced and full of rage.
“You’re nothing to me, you know,” she seethes, and Sirius tries his best to ignore her. “You’ve been a disappointment from the very beginning!”
He pushes past Regulus, who’s come out to watch the sideshow, and his father steps in front of the door. Sirius shrinks back a bit from his imposing figure but ultimately stands his ground, meeting his father eye to eye.
“If you walk out this door, Sirius, you’re no longer my son,” Orion says, a deep frown creasing his severe features.
Sirius hesitates for a moment, then lets out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t been your son since first year, Father, and you know it.” Orion steps aside, Walburga unleashes a stream of high-pitched yelling, and Regulus does what he does best - sits idly by - as Sirius walks out of Grimmauld Place.
It stands to reason, of course, that a light drizzle falls as Sirius embarks on the twenty minute walk to King’s Cross. His clothes are soaked through by the time he boards the train, his feet carrying him on autopilot to the only place he can even think to go.
“Have any vacancies for the night? Or, you know, a bit longer?” Sirius asks, dripping all over Mrs Potter’s welcome mat as a wide-eyed James opens the front door.
“What the fuck?” James asks, bewildered. He stands there for a few moments, mouth agape with shock, until Sirius coughs and picks at his wet coat. “Oh! Right, right. Come in.” James pulls him into the house, and Sirius can smell nutmeg and cinnamon and the pine scent from the huge tree that must be decorated in some corner of the house.
Eventually, after discovering his arrival and drying him off with flicks of their wands, Mr and Mrs Potter usher Sirius into a chair beside the fire, and he recounts the events that led him to their doorstop. James immediately pipes up that Sirius can’t go home, and they’ve got plenty of room for him to stay, forever if he wants. James’ parents excuse themselves and the two boys sit in silence, Sirius sinking into the wingchair and James perched on the arm of it.
When Mr Potter returns by himself, he looks troubled and Sirius isn’t quite sure how to interpret it. He sighs and sits down on the couch, glancing from his son to Sirius and back to James again.
“I suppose we can send for the rest of your things tomorrow, Sirius,” he says, and James launches off the arm of the chair and straight at his father. He laughs, hugging James back with a fond smile. Sirius marvels at the ease at which they interact. “Careful, son, these old bones could snap like twigs with a strapping lad like you coming at them.”
Mrs Potter floats a tray of eggnog in behind her, piled high with Christmas biscuits and slices of Christmas cake. Sirius’ eyes threaten to water at the show of unbelievable graciousness; James’ family is ready to welcome him into the fold when his own parents seemed almost eager (in his eyes) to finally be rid of him. He starts to thank Mrs Potter as she pushes a cup of eggnog and a plate of sweets into his hands, but she waves him off.
“Hush,” she says, reaching out to smooth James’ hair back as she smiles down at Sirius. “This is no way to spend Christmas Eve, dear. There’ll be time for all that later. You just settle in and James will take your trunk up to his room until we sort everything out.”
James’ grin fades quickly, but Sirius’ grows wider. He waves an iced snowflake-shaped biscuit at him as James drags his trunk up the stairs, and James flashes him two fingers behind his parents’ backs. He sits there in the warm, brightly-decorated living room, with Mr and Mrs Potter’s kind, concerned faces peering at him, fussing over him, and thinks that Christmas might be salvaged after all.
The day before they’re to head back to Hogwarts, Remus shows up at James’ house. He’s got his trunk and all his school belongings in tow, and Sirius is surprised when he sees him walk into the living room.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Remus looks at him with a mixture of pity and sorrow. Sirius stands and shakes his head, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t. Don’t even. It’s for the better, you know?”
Remus bites his lip and nods, shuffling a bit closer toward Sirius. He looks as if he wants to throw his arms around him, and Sirius figures he probably would have if James hadn’t been standing right behind him.
“I’m staying over tonight,” Remus explains when Sirius gestures to his luggage. “Prongs wrote me and Peter and told us what happened. I would’ve come sooner, but my parents had this silly idea about me spending Christmas with them.”
“Peter got himself grounded until he steps onto the train,” James chimes in, an amused grin on his face. “His mum found the gift we gave him.”
Sirius laughs, then he suddenly wishes James would bugger off for a bit. He doesn’t, of course, so the three boys spend the rest of the day pointedly avoiding any and all discussion of what happened with Sirius’ family. The shuffle upstairs some time after three in the morning, long after Mr and Mrs Potter have gone to bed, and James points vaguely in the direction of the room that’s now Sirius’.
“You can sleep with the dog, Moony,” he says, stifling a yawn. He disappears into his room just a hair too soon for Sirius’ balled up sock to hit him.
“It’s this one,” Sirius says, nerves washing over him as he leads Remus into his room.
Remus follows quietly, and they take turns changing into their pyjamas while the other has his back turned. (Sirius peeks.) Sirius crawls beneath the crimson quilt, and Remus mirrors his actions on the other side of the bed. Their heads sink into the fluffy pillows, and Sirius pulls the bedclothes up to their chins.
“I’m really sorry about all this you’ve gone through,” Remus finally says, in a soft whisper. “Your family is such utter shit.”
Sirius shrugs, flashing a crooked little grin. “Not my family anymore, are they? I mean, I’m sure I’ve been burnt off the sodding tapestry for days now. That thing is the be-all and end-all of the Black family, as far as my m- as far as Walburga is concerned.”
“Yeah. Well, as far as I’m concerned, she’s a stupid bint,” Remus scoffs.
Sirius doesn’t really know what possesses him to do it, but he leans in toward Remus and just kisses him. The kiss is so quick, barely a brush of lips against lips, that Remus doesn’t have a chance to react. Sirius pulls back and sees him staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t need to practice Legilimency to know what’s on Remus’ mind.
“You just said the right thing,” Sirius says, answering the unspoken ‘what was that for?’. He feels his cheeks heat with each second Remus remains silent, and Sirius has to fill the awful quiet with nervous babbling. “And, you know, I kind of wanted to for a while now. I didn’t know if you were queer, though. Shit. Shit, I still don’t know if you are. You are, right? Merlin, please tell me you are.”
Remus blinks, finally, and shakes his head at Sirius, but quickly nods when he sees the look of horror that’s washed over Sirius’ face. “No! I mean, yes! I am. Fuck…” He pauses to take a deep breath. Sirius sees something change in his eyes, and Remus’ lips curve into a slight smirk.
He presses forward and brings their lips together again, his hand creeping up to curl at the back of Sirius’ neck, fingers pushing into his hair and holding him there. They shift closer to each other, knees grazing beneath the sheets, Sirius’ hand finding the dip of Remus’ hip. Remus moans softly, and Sirius unravels just a bit. Remus licks his way between Sirius’ lips, tongues touching and teasing, and Sirius has to pull back before he suffocates.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s his turn to be wide-eyed. “I guess you are gay.”
Remus laughs and weaves his fingers with Sirius’, their hands lying over his hip. “Go to sleep, Padfoot,” he says, grinning at Sirius once more before closing his eyes.
Sirius says nothing, too overwhelmed to even try to formulate a witty remark. He just waits, amused at the way Remus’ fingers seem to fit his like a missing puzzle piece, and listens to Remus’ breathing slowly even out. Finally, after years of being rather unhealthily fixated on the idea, Sirius gets the chance to watch Remus sleep. Truth be told, it’s as uneventful as watching anyone else sleep, but Sirius is too busy noticing the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks to actually care.
He studies Remus’ features, committing them to memory in a way he never has before, cataloguing details he’d glossed over in the past: the barely-there dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose; a faint scar curving under his chin, which Sirius has to ask him about later; the fact that his nose really is almost too big for his face, but it’s perfect and Sirius wouldn’t change it ever.
In true Sirius Black fashion, he never stops to think about why he's developed this particular fascination. The answers, though, would come easily if he did. Sirius can watch Remus, really stare at him, without fear of being caught; Remus would blush and look away, ruining it all, and anyone else would just think him strange for staring at his friend that way. And then there's the fact that this Remus, the one that's curled in on himself and looking more peaceful than he ever does when awake, is a Remus that no-one else gets to see. Sirius feels closer to Remus, privy a secret side of him, even if Remus doesn't actually know.
Sirius wakes up the next morning without opening his eyes. It was probably a cruel dream, he thinks, though it would be the most realistic dream he’s ever had if it was. He cracks one eye and, to his delight and surprise, Remus is grinning at him.
“About bloody time,” he says, and Sirius refuses to admit that he’s oddly enamoured of Remus’ sleep-hoarse voice. Remus sits up and throws back the covers, scooting out of bed. “Mrs Potter is making us a going away feast. I’ve been smelling it cooking for the past fifteen minutes. Hurry up before I eat all the sausages.”
Remus scurries back over to the bed and gives Sirius a chaste kiss, then he tosses him a grin over his shoulder as he walks out of the room. Sirius looks over at the Remus-shaped dent in the sheets beside him, and he can’t contain his smile. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, but he pauses and looks back at the place where Remus had been. For the past fifteen minutes, Remus had said. He’d been watching Sirius sleep.
Sirius pads downstairs and slips into the chair beside Remus, trying - and mostly failing, with the way Remus keeps pressing his knee into his thigh - not to blush his way through breakfast.