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i. december 11, 1978
For the fourth night in a row, Madam Pince has to remind Remus that the library is closing. She stares at him, hand on her hip, as he smiles apologetically and packs up his things, every sound echoing through the empty shelves. He’s mildly annoyed as he walks back to the dorms—if his teachers insist on cramming endless assignments in his workload, Madam Pince should at least keep the library open for longer. After all, it’s impossible to reach the same amount of focus in his dorm room that he does at the library, not with James and Sirius’s awfully loud gobstones games and Peter’s constant questions about magical creatures that Remus had already answered twenty minutes prior.
Somewhere around the first week of December, all of Remus’s classes suddenly decided to become very laborious. Whether it was the hurry to finish units before break or a personal agenda to make Remus’s life difficult, his professors failed to get on board with the holly jolly spirit of the season and instead chose to assign copious amounts of work that sentences Remus to a lifetime spent in the library.
It doesn’t help that this December’s full moon falls directly in the middle of the month and, consequently, in the middle of the thick of Remus’s study plans. With the full moon looming in the near future, all of Remus’s unproductive habits increase in intensity—from his irritability that causes him to snap at his friends when they’re being particularly distracting to his accelerated exhaustion during long hours spent hunched over a textbook. And his goddamn body aches all the time.
Plainly, he can’t keep up his rigorous study schedule without feeling like he’s going to collapse on his walk back to his dorm at night. Like tonight.
His head is pounding when he enters the common room, passing a handful of third-years chattering at a volume that doesn’t help the feeling of an invisible force squeezing his head, trying to make it pop open. When Remus finally reaches the door to his room, he can hear the faint sound of a Bowie record playing. Great, more noise.
The Bowie record is, of course, no match to Sirius.
“Moony!” Sirius shouts, a wide grin on his face. “We were beginning to think we’d have to come drag you out of the library.”
Eyebrows pinched, Remus mumbles indistinctly, pressing his fingers to his temples and tossing his bag to the floor.
“Alright, Moony?” James asks, familiar concern painting his face. “Long night?”
“Long week,” Remus says and lays down on his beautiful, beautiful bed. “Full moon, homework, headache, noise, stupid library closing hours. Anything else I’m missing?”
“Sounds like a long week,” James concedes and Sirius silently switches the record player off.
Sirius strolls across the room and leans against Remus’s bed frame, crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know, if you spent more of your time resting instead of studying, maybe you’d be in better physical condition for the studying and then you’d be more efficient.”
Remus shuts his eyes and continues to rub at his temples. “No, if I spent more time resting, then I’d have less time to study and then it wouldn’t matter how good of a physical condition I’m in if I fail my classes.”
“Such a black and white thinker, Moony,” Sirius notes with a tsk. “I think you need to rethink your priorities.”
Remus opens his eyes and Sirius is looking down at him, a slight tilt of his head and a smirk on his face.
Ah. That’s what he was missing from his list—Sirius Black. Sirius Black with his freshly washed hair falling into his face, the light glint in his eyes illuminated by the moonlight peeking in through the window, the way his jumper hangs from his shoulders, and his stupid smirk. Sirius Black and the frustratingly large amount of space he took up in Remus’s thoughts.
Sometimes, Remus wishes he was thirteen again, exchanging quips with Sirius on a walk through the castle with nothing else on his mind other than how nice it is to be with a friend. A friend . But everything is so complicated now. He can’t look at Sirius without taking note of the lines of his jaw, the furrow in his brow, or the way he’s biting down on his bottom lip in concentration. Casual pats on the back and nudges on the arm now make Remus's brain short circuit as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Frankly, it’s really inconvenient.
So, as is his response to anything Sirius-related that he doesn’t want to deal with, Remus turns on his side, away from Sirius.
“I think you need to start getting some priorities,” Remus mumbles.
Whatever response Sirius may have had is nonverbal, and Remus hears him retreat back to his own bed.
ii. december 13, 1978
Remus wakes up and feels like death. The sky is thick with grey clouds, threatening rain, but he doesn’t need to see the almost full moon to know it's there, haunting his day and plaguing his upcoming night. He buries his face in his pillow. Maybe if he buries his face deep enough, he can cure his headache. It’s futile, of course—it was drowsy, half-asleep logic.
“Up and at ‘em, Moony!” James chirps from the other side of the room.
Remus lets out a long groan in response, hoping to convey the much more wordy thought of Shut the fuck up, let me go back to sleep, your enthusiasm is sickening. Somehow, he fails.
James tosses a pillow on Remus’s head. “C’mon, you’ll miss breakfast. Don’t tell me that’s something you’re willing to sacrifice.”
It’s not, but it’s too early to think about anything other than this warm bed. He groans.
A body jumps on top of Remus, wrapping its arms around him and tangling its legs in his sheets.
“Get the fuck off, James,” Remus manages to mumble into his pillow.
From across the room, James lets out a laugh. “That’s not me.”
Remus panics and untangles himself immediately, sitting up despite the headrush he gets from the abrupt movement. Beside him in his bed, Sirius smiles.
“Mornin’, Moony,” he sings.
The way he props his head up with an arm shouldn't make Remus’s heart beat faster but it does. Here he is, hair messy from sleep and his jumper rising up ever so slightly to reveal a small, pale sliver of hip, and Remus feels very awake all of a sudden.
“You’re insufferable,” Remus grumbles.
Sirius tugs on Remus’s sleeve. “You love me, really.”
“Come on, Marauders!” James rallies, looping his tie around his collar. “Breakfast!”
Remus glances back at Sirius, then pointedly turns away. He shakes his head and, reluctantly, pulls his sheets off of his body.
The Great Hall is decorated accordingly for Christmas—pine trees with glittering ornaments in the corners, wreaths hanging from the walls, snow trickling down from the ceiling but never reaching the ground. The tables are filled with warm plates of eggs and sausages, bowls of fresh fruits and jams, and piles of sweet pastries. Just the smell makes Remus’s stomach incredibly thankful that James woke him up.
Remus takes a seat next to Mary, who’s halfway through a bite of pancake, and tries not to focus his attention on how Sirius slides into the seat next to him.
“Good morning, boys,” Lily greets from across the table, pouring herself a cup of tea.
“Morning, Evans,” James replies immediately. He smiles at her sweetly. “How’ve you been?”
“As fine as I was when you saw me last night.”
“Always lovely to hear.”
Remus ignores them, reaching for the first of many slices of toast he’s planning on scarfing down. He spreads a thick layer of strawberry jam on his toast. The first bite is endlessly satisfying.
“Where are you all going to be over the break?” Mary inquires, cutting another piece of her pancake.
“Remus and Sirius are with me this Christmas,” James says, pointing a finger at them. “And Peter’s gonna visit, right?”
Peter gives a single nod of assurance, mouth full of sausage.
"I don’t suppose you fancy paying a visit to the muggle world this year, do you?” Mary proposes with an anticipatory raise of her eyebrows.
“Not really sure,” James muses, then shrugs. “I suppose there’s nothing stopping us.”
“It’s just—it’s our last winter together, you know?” she says, glimpsing around the table. “Would be nice to spend some of the break together.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Lily contends, placing a comforting hand on Mary’s arm. “Just because we're graduating doesn’t mean we’re all parting ways immediately.”
“I know, I know. It’s just going to be different, you know? It won’t be as easy to get everyone in one place once we’re all off doing our own things.”
They sink into a silence, coming to face the one idea they’ve all been tiptoeing around in hopes that it’ll make it easier to bear: they’re going to be off doing their own things. No more sluggish breakfasts spent trading banter between mouthfuls of food and cups of tea, holding onto one another’s company like a lifeline in the unknown waters of their nearing futures. It’s an acutely bleak thought to entertain, hence the tiptoeing.
“Well, then,” Sirius decides, emphasising his words with a bang of his fork on the table. “That’s settled—we’re meeting up over the break. It’ll be a very special Marauders Christmas.” He glances at the girls like an afterthought. “And company.”
“Oi—” Mary reaches over Remus to smack the back of Sirius’s head—“I think we qualify for a bit more than ‘company.’”
“Friends,” Sirius corrects, shooting her an impish grin. “Marauders and friends.”
The wolf is ecstatic that night. It clamours through the forest, breathing in the crisp scent of the bitter winter air and digging its paws into the soft, powdery snow. The full moon hangs in the sky and illuminates the Hogwarts grounds, shining like a beacon in the dark night. The wolf tips its head back to howl at the moon and the dog follows, a chorus that carries them into the first break of dawn.
iii. december 15, 1978
It snows by the time Remus is dismissed from last class with a sigh of relief. It’s always a pain to sit upright in his chair while his professor rambles on and on and pretend that every muscle in his body isn’t aching or that he isn’t one harsh movement away from falling over. Fucking full moons.
He catches sight of the first signs of snowfall from outside the window and when he makes it out of class, the courtyard is covered in a fresh layer of white snow. A couple of second-years stand outside, grinning and giggling as they catch the snowflakes in their hair and robes.
Anyway, to the library he goes.
When Remus turns the corner, he collides with Sirius, who seems just as surprised to see him. He has a scarf wrapped around his neck and gloves on his hands.
“Moony!” he says, a cadence of delight in his voice. “I was just going to come look for you—do you have anywhere to be?”
“I just got out of class—”
“Perfect!”
“However,” Remus continues, quick to stop Sirius from falling into his usual overexcited manner when something works out for him. “I do need to finish an essay.”
Sirius’s expression falls dramatically as he lets out a long groan. “No,” he complains, dragging out the last syllable. “No, Moony, you do not have to finish an essay.”
“I’m not doing this to spite you,” Remus assures.
“But I feel as if you are, though,” Sirius replies, his eyebrows furrowing and his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a pout that he may not even be aware of. He grasps the collar of Remus’s robes pleadingly. “Please, put that essay off for a bit.”
“Why? What’s so important that needs my immediate attention?”
Sirius bites down on his bottom lip, badly stifling a smile. His eyes are eager and carry that characteristic glint that historically promises no good. Then, he jerks his head toward the courtyard.
“It’s snowing.”
Remus lets out a laugh. “It’s snowed before, you know that, right?”
“Yes, but—” Sirius begins, ever so swift to defend himself—“I want to run around in it.” Then, leaning in closer in a way that makes Remus’s heart stutter and speaking in a lower voice to ensure no one else can hear him: “The dog wants to.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “The dog wants to run around in the snow?”
“Yes! And you would be ever so cruel to deny him that. It’ll be like sensory heaven for him.”
Remus is unduly aware of how Sirius still hasn’t let go of his robes, of how he’s watching him with a deepening pout. Remus wants to brush the hair out of his face and kiss him.
“Come on, abandon your academic duties for a second,” Sirius begs, moving his shoulders in a persuasive manner. “I’m sure you’ll finish that essay by today anyway.”
He’s right, but even if he wasn’t, the way Sirius is looking at him would convince Remus to do anything.
Remus tuts and sighs, yields. “Alright, fine, come on, Padfoot.”
“Beautiful boy!” Sirius exclaims, reaching up to squeeze Remus’s cheeks between his palms for a moment. “I knew you were my favourite Marauder.”
It shouldn't have made Remus as pleased as it did.
Sirius transforms into a dog the moment they’re far enough from the castle to be spotted. The snow is smooth and unscathed around them, stretching into the distance all the way to the forest trees. The sky is an impenetrable sea of grey clouds and the world has quietly turned white.
Padfoot races eagerly, leaving paw prints behind in the snow and panting with excitement. He’s filled with that simple glee that dogs have, where nothing else matters outside of the present moment. He runs away from Remus, then back, then around him in circles, letting out overjoyed barks. Remus can’t help but grin at him, amused by his elation over such a plain thing as snow.
Padfoot stops in front of Remus, tail wagging with incredible fervour, and barks at him. Falling snowflakes are caught in his black fur. Remus has to resist the urge to bend down to scratch behind his ears and kiss the top of his head—it’s incredibly frustrating that Sirius’s animagus is so adorable.
“What?” Remus inquires.
Padfoot barks again.
“You can’t seriously expect me to understand you.”
Padfoot yaps and hops around in a circle and Remus can hear Sirius’s voice in his head making a stupid “serious” joke. Padfoot trots a few steps away and looks back at Remus, expectantly.
“Oh,” Remus says, understanding. “I’m still exhausted from the full moon, I think I'll faint if I try to run around with you.”
Padfoot whines dejectedly but appears to accept it. Then, like a lightbulb went off in his head, he prances off, returning with a small branch between his teeth. He walks up to Remus and sticks his head forward as an offering. Remus takes the branch from his mouth, avoiding the parts that are wet with spit.
“Alright, this works,” Remus approves with a nod.
Padfoot barks in agreement.
Remus tosses the branch into the distance and Padfoot chases after it enthusiastically, carving a trail in the fresh snow. Remus laughs and Padfoot runs back, branch in his mouth and tail wagging.
They continue this cycle—Remus throwing the branch, Padfoot retrieving it. The snow carries on falling around them, in Padfoot’s fur, in Remus’s hair. Remus’s fingers begin to grow stiff from the cold but the exhaustion that previously hung over him like weight begins to slowly disperse. He watches Padfoot jump around in the snow, perfectly content to chase sticks for the rest of his life, and he feels an immense sense of fondness.
Maybe it’ll be okay, Remus thinks. Maybe it can be just this—two friends having fun, playing and laughing in the snow. Maybe he doesn’t need anything more. Maybe he can get used to just being a friend, maybe that will be just fine. Maybe he can take the joy he has right now, swallow it whole, and feel satisfied.
Then, Padfoot drops the branch at Remus’s feet and transforms back into Sirius, letting out heavy breaths with a beaming grin on his face, and maybe Remus will die if he doesn’t get to hold Sirius’s face in his hands and kiss him until the snow settles and melts and falls again.
iv. december 20, 1978
They keep their promise to Mary and apparate to muggle London during the break (everyone except Peter, of course, who’s left to take the bus and sulk about how hard apparition is). They’re nowhere near masters of the spell and, though they all start together on the front porch of the Potters’, they end up in various distances from the actual intended meeting point. Remus apparates into a random alleyway, just out of sight of any muggles, executing an awkwardly wobbly landing and waiting for his vision to stabilise. He wonders if that part ever gets any smoother.
He stumbles out of the alleyway and glances around to figure out how much he butchered his apparition. A few blocks ahead, he spots a sliver of the planned meeting spot: an ice skating rink. Not too bad.
He walks through the streets of Covent Garden, manoeuvring past lively muggles in thick coats with bags full of Christmas shopping. The storefronts are decorated with paper snowflake cutouts and Happy Holidays signs. Clothing stores advertise winter sales and coffee shops promote their new seasonal specials. The cobble roads are wet from last night’s rain, though the unabating clouds in the sky don’t promise any sun in the near future. London is dull and grey but the holiday spirit is alive and thrumming.
He finds Lily and Marlene first, who are already by the ice skates rentals, bundled up in scarves and hats and chatting amicably. They wave him over and, soon after, James finds them, Sirius trailing behind him. Mary follows with Dorcas by her side and Peter is the last to arrive. He grumbles something about buses.
“Get me the biggest size,” James instructs Lily, leaning on the counter of the rentals.
Lily doesn’t even glance down at his feet. “You’re not the biggest size, Potter.”
James feigns offence, placing a hand on his heart as if he were wounded. “I very much am, I’ll have you know. Biggest feet in the wizarding world. And you know what they say about big feet?”
“Big tosser?”
“Big heart , Evans. Honestly.”
“Okay, Big Heart, get yourself normal-sized skates,” she declares, turning to request her own normal-sized skates.
Remus isn’t familiar with ice skating by any means. In fact, when Marlene first suggested it, he scoffed at the mental picture of him stumbling across the ice and promptly breaking seventeen bones. He might’ve attempted it years ago but he can’t imagine he retains anything.
Sure enough, from the second he steps onto the ice, he’s gripping the side of the rink with white knuckles to keep himself on his feet. Lily is directly behind him, holding the wall with one hand and the back of Remus’s jacket with the other as if he could offer her any stability. In front of him, Peter’s legs are frozen in one position, his feet perpendicular to one another and he uses the wall to pull himself across the ice. At least he’s moving. Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas seem to have some experience under their belts; they glide around with their arms linked together and their feet moving rhythmically.
Then—the two pure-blood show offs. Sirius and James carve out a space for themselves in the centre of the rink as they take turns spinning and swivelling swiftly, slicing into the surface of the ice. They move expertly, skating as easily as they walk. Remus might even suggest that they skate more gracefully than he’s seen them walk. (He remembers the time James tripped over his own feet in the common room and bashed his elbow into the corner of the table, landing himself in the hospital wing.) And, as usual, they’re competing with one another, even if they don’t realise it.
Before he can help it, Remus’s gaze fixes on Sirius, how his hair flows behind him and how he tucks it behind his ears when he’s stationary, the bright grin on his face that flashes with joy, the proud glow in his eyes when he executes a move and waits for James’s approving reaction. He’s a dream, Remus realises. A mesmerising dream that demands attention, and Remus is all too willing to give it to him.
Lily lets out an exclamatory yelp from behind him and snaps Remus out of his trance. She clutches the back of Remus's jacket but before any helpful instinct can kick in, they’re both tumbling down onto the ice, Remus landing on top of Lily.
Remus is quick to move off of her. “Are you okay?”
He’s on his knees, where the fabric of his pants is dampening, as he reaches out for Lily. She brushes the hair out of her face with a gloved hand and sighs.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, reaching to clasp his extended hands. “I didn’t mean to pull you down like that.”
“It’s alright. But I honestly don’t know how to get us back on our feet without slipping and falling again,” he admits with an apologetic tilt of his head.
She giggles. “I’m not sure either.”
James glides up to them, halting to a stop with an agile flick of his skates. Sirius follows suit and puts a hand on James’s shoulder, peering at Remus and Lily on the ice.
“Alright, Evans?” James queries, a teasing tone to his words.
“Fell. Took Remus down with me,” she tells him with a laugh.
James shakes his head, reminiscent of a disapproving mother. “Come on, now, the two of you. Can’t take you anywhere.”
He offers his hands to Lily, who takes them, and pulls her to her feet, holding her tightly to make sure she doesn’t fall again. Sirius turns to Remus and extends his own hand, a smile on his face that’s suppressing a witticism at Remus’s expense. Remus doesn’t push it and wordlessly takes Sirius's hand, grateful as he helps him up and places a hand on Remus’s hip when his feet tremble for a second.
“You’re quite awful at this,” Sirius tells him, though his expression is fond. The tip of his nose is pink from the cold and his cheeks are starting to turn the same shade.
“Not all of us take skating lessons at three months old, you pure-blood fuck,” Remus responds, aware of how Sirius’s hands remain on his body.
“It was not three months old, just to be clear,” Sirius notes, as if it matters. “Now, c’mon, let me help you.” He takes both of Remus’s hands in his—they’re cold but his skin is soft, somehow indicative of Sirius.
“Don’t take me away from the wall, I like the wall.”
“I’m taking you away from the wall. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Sirius begins to skate backwards, pulling Remus along with him, but Remus freezes up at the movement.
“You’ve got to move, too, y’know,” Sirius directs. “Just small, outward movements with your feet—that’s it.”
Remus follows his instructions and the pair of them inch across the ice steadily, Remus moving stiffly with his eyes trained on his feet to keep his balance and Sirius matching his pace with all the patience in the world. With short, slow motions, they circle around the rink and Remus begins to relax a bit, falling into a rhythm while Sirius watches him with the pride of a teacher.
“I’m gonna let go of you for a second, okay?” Sirius declares, nodding his head in agreement with his own words.
He’s the only one in agreement because Remus grips down on his hands. “Sirius, don’t you dare.”
“Just for a moment—”
“No.”
“You’ve got it, I believe in you.”
“I don’t care, I swear if you let go of me right now—”
“Okay!” Sirius breathes out, laughing. “Not letting go.”
Without paying attention, Remus slides his left foot too far forward and begins to fall backwards. Sirius quickly wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him upright, saving him from an uncomfortable fate. They’re flush against each other, Sirius’s arm holding Remus close as he lets out a breath of relief.
“Blimey, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Sirius remarks with a faint exhale of amusement.
He lifts his head and Remus forgets how to speak. He can smell his cologne, he can see what a gorgeous rosy colour the cold has bitten his cheeks into, and he doesn’t even realise how little he’s breathing. He glances down at Sirius’s lips, realising how easy it would be to kiss him right now. He doesn’t let himself linger before hurriedly looking up and, for a second, he spots Sirius taking a surreptitious glimpse down at Remus’s lips. Remus hears his heartbeat pounding in his temples.
In a moment of boldness—or infatuated stupidity—Remus reaches up to tuck a loose strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear. He feels him stiffen at the action and Remus immediately hates himself. Then, Sirius breaks his gaze and puts some distance between them. He removes his arm from Remus’s waist.
“Alright, you clumsy git, let’s try again,” he says. “You clearly have a lot to learn.”
“Oi,” Remus interjects with a smack of Sirius’s arm.
Sirius lets out a laugh and everything is okay again.
Hand-in-hand— hand-in-hand, Remus remembers every few minutes—they skate around the rink, passing observers and the giant display Christmas tree. Remus spots James attempting to coerce Lily into releasing the wall and finds that Peter has managed to improve his skating enough to link arms with Mary and join the three girls in their routine circles around the rink.
“Honestly, Moony,” James says to Remus when they all step off the ice. “I think you’ve found your calling.”
Remus shoots him a wry look. “Honestly, I think you’re delusional.”
“I can tell your heart is in the sport.”
“Piss off.”
James laughs and pats him on the shoulder.
v. december 25, 1978
Christmastime at the Potters’ is never dull. The house comes alive with glittering garlands decorating the stairwell, the crackling fireplace keeping the living room warm, the spiced smell of mince pies in the oven, and the gorgeous pine Christmas tree covered in ornaments and a sparkling star at the top. It makes Remus feel just the slightest bit sour that he was never granted a Christmas like this when he was younger but any jealousy is hidden under the new feeling of comfort as he’s able to hold the experience in the palm of his hand now and clutch it to close his heart.
The Potters’ living room is painted gold in the sunlight of Christmas morning. A pot of freshly brewed tea rests atop the coffee table with half-full cups of tea surrounding it. The radio is on and soft, gentle music crackles through it. The presents have already been opened; with a flick of his wand, Fleamont Potter disposed of all the wrapping paper scattered across the carpet and returned to his game of chess with Peter.
From his seat on the armchair, knees pulled up to his chest, Remus watches the scene before him unfold—Peter taking Fleamont’s queen, who cocks his head with an impressed smile; Euphemia Potter finally taking a seat on the sofa to pour herself a cup of tea; and Sirius and James sitting on the carpet, inspecting James’s new broom excitedly and babbling about how much of an unstoppable quidditch force James will be. Remus watches Sirius’s eyes light up with glee, talking animatedly. He’s ever so lovely.
“Ah!” Fleamont exclaims, laughing mellowly. “Checkmate once again—you’re a bloody good player, Pettigrew.”
Peter smiles sheepishly, looking down at his feet.
“Why don’t you boys take that broom out for a spin?” Euphemia suggests after a sip of tea.
Sirius and James exchange a giddy look. James jumps to his feet, broom in hand.
“Come on, you two!” he tells Remus and Peter and rushes to the door, practically bouncing.
Peter follows without a word and Remus gets up from his chair as well. Sirius skips by him, patting his back.
“Onwards, Moony! The great open sky awaits us!”
“Awaits you,” Remus corrects, but Sirius is already out the door.
Remus takes a seat next to Peter on the front porch and they watch James soar through the air, twirling and twisting like the show off he is. He laughs openly, carrying unadulterated freedom in his chest, while Sirius hops up and down on the ground, cheering him on. The clouds in the sky part, letting the sun peek through. The sunlight glistens in the damp grass from the Christmas Eve rain. James waltzes with the wind and Sirius cups his hands over his mouth to shout in encouragement.
For a moment, Remus senses his heart get caught in his throat with a keen sense of endearment for his friends. It cuts into him and swallows him whole. The joyous feeling rushes to balance itself out as Remus is hit with the bitter reminder of their graduation on the horizon. It makes this morning that much more precious, like a honeyed gem of bliss. Remus sighs and wishes he could crawl into this moment and live in it forever, replaying the sound of Sirius and James’s giggles over and over until it makes him sick. He can’t, of course, so he does what he can: he sits and watches, not daring to take his eyes off of his friends for a second.
He almost has the urge to wrap an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pull him into a hug, but stops himself, sensing the odd look Peter would give him. Instead, he smiles, plain and unabashed.
Deep into the night, the house is asleep and uncharacteristically quiet, but peaceful all the same. The faint sound of chirping crickets can be heard in the dark outdoors. Remus sits on the living room windowsill, knees bent and head resting on the cool glass. He’s been awake for some time, tossing and turning in his bed, deciding it was too uninteresting to just stare at the ceiling, and creeping downstairs, cautious of the noise of his footsteps, and before settling into a spot on the windowsill. He watches the Potters’ front yard in its unchanging glory. Somehow, it’s not much more enthralling than the ceiling.
He peels a mandarin in his lap—a stocking stuffer from Euphemia—digs his thumbnail into the skin, the bright smell of citrus bursting into the air. He peels it swiftly, keeping the skin in one intact strip that he tosses on a napkin, and pulls the fruit open into two halves. He pops a piece into his mouth—it’s delightfully sweet. He eats the rest.
“Oi, Moony,” Sirius calls.
Remus flinches in surprise, whipping his head around to find Sirius looking at him from across the room, eyes in a slight sleepy squint and hair gently dishevelled.
“Merlin, don’t do that to me,” Remus breathes, hand on his heart.
Sirius chuckles. “Always be on the lookout. Never know what dangers could creep up in the dark.” He jerks his chin at Remus. “Can I have a mandarin?”
Remus doesn’t answer him verbally, just picks up a mandarin from his lap and begins to peel. He seems to do it more carefully when he does it for Sirius, cleaning out the pith strands more dutifully and not pressing into the fruit as hard. It seems silly while he does it, like he’s trying to make the experience of eating a mandarin more pleasant for Sirius even by a fraction. Not that it matters—Sirius will eat it pith-full or pith-less and enjoy it the same—but Remus does it anyway.
“C’mere,” Remus says, holding out the two halves to Sirius.
Sirius walks over to Remus, taking the halves with a thankful smile. He sits on the floor and rests an elbow on the windowsill, looking up at Remus and putting a quarter of the mandarin in his mouth, chewing.
“What are you doing awake?” he asks.
Remus shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“I woke up to the sound of someone clomping down the stairs.”
Remus scoffs. “No, you didn’t, I barely made a noise.”
“That’s what you think,” Sirius insists, beginning to fiddle with the hem of Remus’s pyjama pants. “All that extra height adds some extra weight. The whole house practically shakes when you walk down the stairs. Plus, this dog hearing—I can hear a wisp of air miles away.”
“You’re a wanker,” Remus remarks, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” Sirius allows with a yielding nod. “I couldn’t sleep either. And mandarins didn’t sound so bad.”
“Well, you ate the last one.”
“Shame.”
They fall into a moment of silence. Sirius continues to fiddle with Remus’s pyjamas and Remus studies Sirius—the moonlight that shines through the window and illuminates the curves and angles of his features.
“Moony?” Sirius asks quietly, eyes not meeting Remus’s.
Remus hums in question.
Then, after a pause and a slight nibble of his bottom lip, Sirius shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“C’mon,” Remus says, nudging him with his foot. “You can’t just do that.”
Sirius continues to chew on his bottom lip, holding back on something. “Did you like ice skating?” he asks, but there’s a hesitant look in his expression and a furrow in his eyebrows—it isn’t what he really wants to say.
“Yeah, I did,” Remus answers, anyway. “It was a bit of a pain but it was nice to have a teacher.”
Sirius smiles at this and finally looks up to meet Remus’s gaze. “It was nice to have you as a student. Even if you were awful at it.”
“I wasn’t awful, I was standing upright at the very least.”
“More like I was holding you upright. If I let go, you would’ve fallen within seconds.”
“You have no faith in me. Not a very supportive teacher.”
“It’s fine,” Sirius says, smile widening. “I don’t mind holding you upright.”
They fall into a silence again, though it’s thick with something—tension, if Remus were to be so presumptuous. The soft and affectionate expression that Sirius wears on his face fills Remus with the same boldness he felt back at the ice skating rink. He tests the waters, brings a hand up to tuck a strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear. This time, Sirius doesn’t stiffen. Instead, he leans into the action and Remus brushes his fingers across Sirius’s jaw as he pulls his hand away. It’s frightening, the way Sirius is studying his face: all too tender and wanting. It’s frightening, the way Remus craves to act on every impulse.
Remus licks his lips habitually and Sirius glimpses at his mouth, lingering for a moment longer than needed before looking back up at Remus’s eyes.
“Sirius…” Remus begins, feeling the need to say something, but trails off because he has nothing to say. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. It’s the only thing he can say, the only thing on his mind.
Sirius stops fiddling with Remus’s pyjamas. He glances down at Remus lips again, then once more.
“Can I kiss you?”
There it is—the question Sirius was biting back. He poses it kindly, barely above a whisper with a slight meek bow of his head, holding Remus’s gaze and searching his face for an answer, maybe even preparing himself for rejection.
Remus lets out a faint chuckle because everything seems so obvious now. Their careful but deliberate touches, their shared smiles, their deep stares to try and crack each other open and learn their secrets, what they keep tucked away—to memorise each other wholly and completely, hearts bared, beating in one another’s open palms. The way Sirius is looking at him is the way Remus has been looking at him all this time: profoundly fond with a hidden intensity to learn more, have more, be more. All along, Sirius has wanted Remus and much as Remus wanted him.
Remus swings his legs off the windowsill and onto the floor. He leans in, cups Sirius’s jaw, and kisses him.
Sirius kisses him back immediately, putting a hand on the back of Remus’s neck and pulling him closer. It’s everything; the feeling of Sirius’s lips on his, the warmth of his hand on his neck, the smell of his shampoo. Remus falls apart and admits to himself that this is what he was missing. Sirius kisses him, and he finally feels like everything has slotted into its rightful place.
Sirius pulls away and presses their foreheads together. He breathes in and out, like a mantra, and chuckles.
“Oh, Moony,” he whispers.
“You should’ve asked that so much sooner.”
Sirius laughs. “You should’ve asked, you stubborn git. I always have to do the heavy lifting around here.”
“And yet, you never find the time to shut up,” Remus says and pulls him back in for another kiss.
He forgets everything, the world around him, the room they’re in, the day of the week. Right now, it’s all Sirius. Sirius, ten times over, a million times over, for the rest of his life. He loses himself and sinks into his newfound euphoric elation.
It was always Sirius. They’ve been heading here for a long time.