Chapter Text
Pounding music. Multi-coloured streamers hanging from the ceiling. The promise of Fred and George’s “super-safe” fireworks at midnight: the revelries at Grimmauld Place have begun.
Remus is standing by the mantlepiece, glass of overly-strong punch in hand, watching the party unfold.
Emmeline is standing in the middle of the dance floor, performing some bizarre jazz routine, unfazed that no-one else is joining in. Kingsley has swept up Molly in some semblance of a waltz. Several other people are swaying, more or less in time to the music, in loose groups dotted around the room.
Tonks is there, in the middle of it all. Chatting to Bill, laughing with Hestia, letting Sirius spin her around, trying to jostle Moody into joining in. A couple of time she gestures to Remus to join in, but he shakes his head, smiling.
He’s much better off out of it. And he has the very great advantage of being able to watch her from afar, whilst pretending to be engrossed in what has euphemistically been termed “the dancing”.
He’s doing his best not to focus on how well she looks tonight: her short pink hair setting off her long neck, the silvery-grey dress that hugs her in all the right places, the way she’s highlighted her lovely dark eyes. He thinks instead of how free she is, how unencumbered, as she bops about, madly, with either one of Fred or George. Her high heels, traded in for her usual combat boots, had been abandoned by the fire place as soon as she’d walked in.
He’s lost in reveries of her and so doesn’t notice Sirius sidling up to him.
“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
There is something almost unbearable about the way Sirius does this, reading Remus’ thoughts and effortlessly presenting them back to him, in a way that he has no right to after twelve years of absence.
It always causes Remus to over-react, which he knows is precisely the wrong thing to do.
“Fuck off, Padfoot”.
Sirius smirks, secure in the knowledge that he’s once again struck a nerve, as he slops more punch into both their goblets. Remus sighs inwardly, knowing there is nothing he can do to stop the tirade now.
“You should ask her out.”
“No.”
“Look at the poor lamb – she got all dressed up for you, and you won’t even do her the courtesy of dancing with her.”
“Leave it, Sirius.”
“…And you’re just standing about in this ridiculous manner, staring at her like your eyes are about to fall out of your head. Where’s your Gryffindor courage?
Remus shakes his head and walks away.