On the way to Lupin Family Christmas, Sirius and Remus break up. What follows is several days of heartbreak, longing, and two boys trying to figure out where it all went wrong.
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It was safer outside, quieter. Was it possible to love parties and hate them at the same time?
Kingsley's cheeks hurt from smiling all night long, his throat felt raw from all the talking above the music playing in the grand ballroom at the ministry. Everyone wanted an opportunity to speak with the Minister outside the context of an office; everybody had an idea or a elevator pitch to hand out, more comfortable now that there was mulled wine and champagne free of charge. As amusing as it was to sit in a room of sloshed politicians, pink in the face and slurring together arguments, even Kingsley had his limits.
An expert at ditching security detail.
An expert at having another glass of red wine behind the bushes, ignoring his fathers voice in the back of his mind.
One glass of wine, my son. No one wants to be the one who the rumors are about after a holiday party. Especially the Minister.
Kingsley chuckled to himself, adjusting the cuffs of his robes, and righting a ring on his finger as he watched the party from the outside. The decorators had taken the liberty of planting mistletoe around the party, and as the evening got later, everyone in attendance had stopped taking such care to avoid door thresholds. Bathesda from the second floor seemed to be on a timer of sorts, walking through entrances and exits every hour or so, kissing whoever was closest. A young witch from the fourth floor-- an assistant of sorts-- had yet to go to the bathroom because the mistletoe was in its path, not wanting to burn bridges before they had a chance to be built in a world of politics.
A twisted sort of sense of humor that Kingsley didn't mind, smiling around the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip, when the side door opened. The volume of the music from inside increased momentarily, alongside a whoosh of warm air flooding the small outdoor area, and a bright smile that almost made Kingsley choke.
Perhaps his father was right that one glass of wine was plenty.
"Oh, hello, Minister," Sirius Black greeted. A tone that was the perfect hybrid of casual and polite. Arrogant and charming. "You're not hiding are you?"
"Now, why would I be hiding?"
"Rumor has it Flemming from the fifth floor brought a change of clothes..." Sirius grinned, lopsided smile catching the gold lights hanging from the outside of the building.
"What would he possibly be changing into?"
"Hence the hiding."
"I see. Then I'll stay out here a moment longer."
"No doubt he'll put on an encore for you, Minister..." Sirius said lightly, and Kingsley shook his head.
In a sea of dress robes, Sirius had shown up to the holiday party in a white sweater with wonky-silver snowflakes and the phrase "Holidays" embroidered onto it. In a sea of posh wool coats, Sirius had a leather jacket thrown over his shoulder, and curls that fell over his dark eyebrows and tattoos up the back of his neck. In a space full of people who, like Kingsley, had been fighting tooth and nail and climbing political ladders for years, Sirius had shown up out of the blue a year and a half ago-- after everyone had assumed he was missing or dead the way no one had heard or seen Sirius Black since the end of the war--and taken the world of Ministry Politics by storm.
Smart. Bright. New how to play the game after being raised with Purebloods, and never forgetting how much he had grown away from ancient ideals.
Sirius Black was a hurricane of a human.
And Kingsley happened to love storms.
"Not enjoying the party?" Kingsley asked.
"What's not to like about classical music and sloshed ministry officials?" Sirius returned wryly, pulling something that looked like a compact mirror out of his jacket.
"Favorite composer?"
"Haydn."
"You're full of surprises."
"It's part of the game. Never let them know what you'll do next..." Sirius said, tapping tattooed fingers against the compact, Kingsleys eyes following the ink and watching it disappear under the cuffs of his sweater. Olive skin, grey eyes, dark hair. Kingsley picked up his wine against to cover-up the way his mouth had gone dry. "I'll let you you continue hiding, Minister--"
"No, it's alright, I really should be going inside. Keep the patio warm, Black--" Kingsley crossed the few paces, trying to beat Sirius through the threshold of the door, but Sirius's arm extended, hitting Kingsley across the hips.
"Sorry," Sirius said, though his eyes betrayed his statement, the way they slowly scanned Kingsley from the toes of his black dress shoes to the collar of his burgundy robes.
Sorry my arse.
"Watch your step, Minister," Sirius said, looking upward and Kingsley followed his gaze to the mistletoe that had moved above the threshold, Sirius stopping the two of them before they crossed at the same time. "Wouldn't want to make a scene."
Kingsley watched as Sirius walked through the threshold alone, disappearing back into the party. Paces behind him Kingsley did the same, walking through people attempting to shake his hand yet again, to find a third glass of wine.
--
Kingsley sent his security detail home early as he waited for his car to be brought for him, hands in the pockets of his coat, listening to the crack of guests apparating away one by one. Flemmings had dressed up like a muggle version of Santa Claus, camera flashes in every direction; two of the more senior members of the Wizengamot had fallen asleep, glasses of mead in their hands. And then there was Sirius, who Kingsley had spent the rest of the party eyeing across the ballroom. Unable to stop thinking about the forearm that had landed in front of his hips, or how Sirius Black was the most interesting thing about the world of politics since the magical creature legislative reform had been introduced.
And there he was again, head titled back on the outskirts of the pavement blowing smoke into the air.
Into the hurricane.
Kingsley took a step closer, "I have to ask..." Sirius lowered his head and turned towards Kingsley, instinctively dropping the cigarette and stamping it out with his black boot.
"I wasn't smoking."
Kingsley raised his eyebrows in amusement at the moment of small panic that Sirius had admitted. "No?"
"Nope, you're seeing things Minister," Sirius nodded quickly, "I don't smoke. Bad habit...nasty things and the like...you had a question Minister?"
"Well, now I have several..." Kingsley mused.
"Mm, sorry, only one."
"What is the explanation for your sweater?" Kingsley asked, gesturing to the white knit material that pulled across Sirius's torso. Up close, the writing was shaky, as if written by a child.
Sirius grinned widely, looking down at his stomach before meeting Kingsley's eyes again. All the lights in the ballroom and the stars in the sky couldn't compare with the joy and brightness radiating off Sirius in that moment, and Kingsley's heart stalled. "It's a holiday sweater. Do you like it? My kid made it. It was a project in primary school, some end-of-the-year craft--weird schooling, right? Muggles. When I was eight, I was learning Latin, and piano, not...the art of decorating a sweater."
"A...holiday sweater," Kingsley repeated slowly, looking at the snowflakes and the word HOLIDAY again. "Funny."
"That's Harry. Funniest kid in the world...I couldn't think of a more...holiday occasion to wear it. Should I tell him the Minister of Magic wants one as well?"
"I wouldn't want to infringe on his busy schedule..."
"He would stay up all night making you one...hell, he's been up all night anyway."
"Harry can take his time. I'm...glad to hear he's doing well. It sounds?"
"If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to get into my good graces with this small talk, Minister."
"Good thing you know better," Kingsley countered, and Sirius laughed again. "Except for one thing."
"What's that now?"
"You can't usurp the rules of mistletoe. It's bad luck," Kingsley said, swallowing pride and nerves and the flutters of his heart and taking a step closer to Sirius. One hand under Sirius's jaw-- light stubble, fingers hitting the tattoo on the back of his neck--the other just on the waistband of Sirius's trousers before kissing him softly on the mouth.
Just one.
Kingsley had a feeling kissing Sirius would be just like the glasses of wine.
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Sirius: hey moons, can i copy your divination essay?
Remus: what do I get in return?
Sirius: Well I'd offer you my first-born child, but if all goes to plan that will be yours anyway.
Remus: ...what?
Sirius: you heard me.
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