Twelve: Wishing (and Weeds)
August 12th, 1978
Sirius has never liked sun so much as he does now. Sun and grass and lemonade and Remus.
They’re in the field beyond Remus’ parents house, which makes them both feel younger, because the last time they were here together like this they were sixteen. A lot has happened between then and now. It’s mid-afternoon, and they’re worn out from the general trauma of getting Remus on the motorbike to come here, which was only achieved by the great persuasiveness of a few good snogs. Remus does not trust any machine put together largely by magic.
The grass curves up around Sirius’ neck and tickles his ears, and he stretches his fingers in it, brown and dry grass that smells like hay. His hand is shading his eyes from the sun, creating a latticework shadow of fingers across his face.
“If you could wish for anything, what would it be?” Sirius plucks a dandelion gone to seed and twirls it in his fingers, grinning at it.
“More lemonade,” Remus replies cheerfully. “We’re very nearly out.”
“You would not,” Sirius says, rolling on his side to look, resting his chin on Remus’ forearm. The other man is laying on his stomach reading a book. His hair flops into his eyes.
“If you say your wish out loud it doesn’t come true.”
“Some wishes do. For example, if you wished out loud right now for Sirius Black to kiss you, that wish would come true.”
“I don’t think that counts.” Sirius watches him read, watches the quirk of his mouth as he comes to a phrase he likes, or the powerful concentration when he is drawn into a turn of the plot. He is reading The Great Gatsby, which Sirius has already read. Remus is reading it mostly because he finds the idea of a classic that Sirius has read and he has not unsettling. He has not been able to get out of Sirius why he read it.
“Come on Moony, spread some nice dandelion seeds all over the place. You know how much your mother wants more weeds.” Sirius holds the dandelion up in front of Remus’ mouth, blocking his view of the book.
“You’re horrible.”
“Why, thank you. Now make a wish.”
Remus blows at the flower, and they watch as the seeds drift off, caught by the breeze and twirling toward the blue, blue sky.
“What did you wish for, Remus?”
He grins and kisses Sirius soundly. He’ll never tell. He wants it too much.
Day Thirteen