Chasing constellations

Rian ⭐️ she/her 🌟 Marauders fan⭐️ I write about The Marauders (mainly wolfstar & mainly fluff) ✨️⭐️🌕🐾⭐️✨️

[starryeyedwolves]

The Moment He Saw Him

Sirius wasn't someone to fall in love easily. He'd had his share of fleeting crushes, his fair share of wild flings. But love? Real love? He'd never thought it was something that would happen to him. It was a concept he'd reserved for others, for those who were predictable and mundane, people who weren't quite like him.

That was, of course, until the first time he saw Remus.

It wasn’t some grand, cinematic moment where time slowed, and everything became saturated in golden light. It wasn’t some fairytale love at first sight. No, the moment Sirius fell in love with Remus was much more understated, quieter, more brutal than that.

It was their first day at Hogwarts, and Remus was standing by the door of the Great Hall, looking lost. He was skinny, far too pale, and had messy sandy brown hair that looked as if it hadn't seen a comb in years. But what truly caught Sirius’ attention—what sent a jolt through his chest—were the scars. The small, fading marks all over his skin. They weren't the sort of thing one could ignore, even if they were just a backdrop to Remus’ otherwise unassuming figure.

Sirius didn’t know why he stared. He shouldn’t have. He didn’t know the boy at all, yet here he was, standing in the doorway like he’d already claimed a part of Sirius' soul.

The boy was staring at the floor, chewing his lip nervously, and for a moment, Sirius wondered if he should do something. Something bold. Walk up, introduce himself, ask him why he looked so damn sad. But then he remembered that he was Sirius Black, and walking up to people just wasn’t his style. He had his reputation to uphold.

But still. Something about Remus gnawed at him, even as he tried to look away.

That was how it started. It was a fleeting moment, but for Sirius, it felt like time stopped.

Five years passed since that day, and Sirius had done his best to ignore the growing feelings for Remus. He had pushed them aside, buried them under layers of jokes and pranks, under his newfound status as the bad boy. He’d been too busy getting into trouble to worry about the way his stomach flipped whenever Remus smiled or how his heart skipped a beat when their hands brushed in passing.

He couldn’t be in love with Remus. It was impossible.

But the signs were becoming harder to deny.

Remus, with his quiet laugh that echoed through Sirius’ mind for hours, his intelligence that outshone everyone else in their year, and the way he always seemed to hold himself back, like he was too afraid to let go. And yet, whenever they talked, there was a subtle warmth in his voice, a tenderness that Sirius hadn’t ever seen in anyone else.

Sirius would lie if he said it didn’t break his heart just a little bit more every time Remus looked at him like he was nothing but a puzzle to be solved. He couldn’t let himself love Remus. He couldn’t because Remus deserved more than someone like him. Someone like Sirius would only cause Remus pain. Besides, Remus had always been the kind of person who kept to himself, and Sirius... well, he was far too chaotic, too unpredictable.

But there was no denying it now. Not anymore.

It all came to a head one night, after a particularly harsh confrontation with Snape. Remus had always been the peacemaker, the one who tried to calm Sirius down, but tonight, he wasn’t quite so successful.

Sirius was angry, fuming with rage, and nothing seemed to make sense. He paced around their common room, trying to figure out why everything felt so tight in his chest. Why his thoughts were so tangled, so confusing.

And there, leaning against the fireplace with his arms crossed and his eyes filled with that familiar, understanding patience, stood Remus.

Sirius froze, staring at him as if he hadn’t seen him in years. Remus wasn’t just a friend. He wasn’t just some quiet, scarred boy who was too perfect for words. No, Sirius realized with painful clarity, Remus was everything.

Remus tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You know, you’ve been pacing for the last ten minutes. You’re giving me a headache.”

“I—” Sirius stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

“Not really, but then again, when do you ever?”

Sirius chuckled, the tension in his chest easing for a moment. But it didn’t last. It never lasted when Remus was around. The truth kept clawing its way to the surface, the truth he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Without thinking, Sirius walked over to where Remus was standing, his heart hammering in his chest. Remus looked at him in surprise, his expression softening.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Sirius blurted out, and the words sounded like a confession, like a secret he’d been holding inside for far too long.

There was a long pause. Too long.

Sirius cursed under his breath, mortified by his own words. He stepped back, his face burning with embarrassment. “Forget I said that. You didn’t hear anything. I’m an idiot.”

But before he could turn away, Remus reached out, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength.

“Don’t.” Remus’ voice was quiet but firm, his eyes searching Sirius' face. “I— I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Sirius’ breath caught in his throat. “You didn’t?”

“No,” Remus said, a soft, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “But maybe… maybe I’ve been an idiot, too.”

Sirius blinked, confused, until Remus slowly stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at me, the way you always seem to be there when I need you? I’ve been trying to ignore it, too.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt too small for what was happening, for the truth that was finally spilling out between them.

Sirius reached up, brushing a lock of hair from Remus’ forehead, his fingers trembling. “So… you’re not mad?”

Remus smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made Sirius’ heart feel like it was about to burst. “Mad? I’m not mad, Sirius. I’m just…”

He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I’m just glad you finally said something.”

And that was it. The dam that had been holding back all those feelings finally broke. Sirius pulled Remus into a kiss, soft and slow at first, as if they were both afraid that it would disappear if they moved too fast.

But Remus kissed him back with the same intensity, the same yearning that had been there all along, unspoken, buried under layers of doubt and fear.

Sirius had never believed in fate, but he was starting to wonder if, just maybe, he'd been wrong all along.

[starryeyedwolves]

Put Your Head On My Shoulder

It had been one of those days.

Classes were long, the rain hadn’t let up once, and Sirius had nearly started a duel in the corridor with Snape before McGonagall yanked him away by the ear. Remus hadn’t even looked at his Ancient Runes homework yet, and James spent dinner badgering Lily about “the symbolism of shared gravy boats” while Peter nearly choked from laughter.

By the time they made it back to Gryffindor Tower, everyone was wrung out.

“I’m telling you,” James said dramatically, flopping into the armchair nearest the fire, “one more rainy day like this and I’m quitting school. I’ll just become a broom mechanic. Fly around the world. Live free.”

“Great,” Sirius muttered, digging in the cushion cracks for a Chocolate Frog he’d dropped. “I’ll come with you. You can sweep, and I’ll charm the frogs to come back when they try to escape.”

“You’d be awful at that,” Peter said through a yawn. “You’d just eat them all.”

James grinned. “Remus, want to come run our traveling broom circus?”

“No,” Remus said flatly from the couch, book open on his lap. “I’d like to graduate, actually.”

“And then what?” Sirius challenged, tossing himself dramatically down beside him. “Become a librarian? Live in a tower? Grow old surrounded by books and dust and—”

“Peace?” Remus offered.

James groaned and stood. “You lot are no fun tonight. I’m going to bed before I’m tempted to start revising.”

Peter trailed after him, yawning again. “Night, Moony. Night, Pads.”

“Night,” Sirius called, waving a hand without looking.

They were gone a moment later, the dormitory door clicking shut behind them. And just like that, the common room was quiet.

Sirius slouched further down beside Remus, his arm bumping his. “They’re gone.”

“I noticed.”

There was a beat. The fire crackled.

“You know,” Sirius said, voice a little lighter, “this is probably the first moment we’ve been alone in weeks.”

Remus glanced at him. “That’s probably for the safety of the student body.”

Sirius gave him a grin, sharp and fond all at once. “They’re lucky, really. So much untapped charm, going to waste.”

Remus didn’t answer right away. He just turned another page, even though he wasn’t reading. Not anymore.

Sirius was too close now. Not in a bad way. Just… close enough that Remus could smell him—woodsmoke, broom polish, something sweet he’d probably nicked from the kitchens. His knee pressed against Remus’. His shoulder was warm.

He’d leaned over at some point—half-dramatic, half-drowsy—and hadn’t sat back up.

Now, his head rested on Remus’ shoulder, hair a soft mess of dark strands tickling Remus’ neck. One arm was curled between them, the other dangling loosely off the sofa’s edge. He was breathing evenly, his mouth slightly open, lips parted just enough to stir a wisp of Remus’ sleeve with each breath.

Remus didn’t move.

He’d stopped pretending to read ten minutes ago. Stopped thinking about exams, or full moons, or whether James had noticed anything. Right now, he was only thinking about how still Sirius was. How peaceful. And how close.

He let his gaze flicker to Sirius’ face, now relaxed in sleep. The sharpness was gone—none of the teasing glint or the carefully crafted mischief he wore during the day. Just Sirius, unguarded.

Remus wanted to memorize it. Burn it into his mind.

He knew this was dangerous. Not dangerous like detention, or Filch, or even the next moon. Worse. This was heart-dangerous. The kind of danger he didn’t know how to fix with a well-placed charm or clever lie.

Sirius shifted slightly, the movement gentle but enough to make Remus hold his breath.

Then Sirius blinked. Once. Twice.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your shoulder…”

Remus swallowed, unsure if he should speak, laugh, or vanish into the sofa.

Sirius blinked again, this time looking up at him with the beginnings of a sleepy grin.

“…but now I don’t want to move.”

Remus let out a breathless laugh, surprised at how relieved he sounded.

“That’s fine,” he said softly. “You can stay.”

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Sirius mumbled, resettling his head more deliberately against Remus’ shoulder. “Like a pillow, but... smarter.”

Remus smiled faintly. “I’ll add it to my CV.”

They fell into a quiet, companionable silence. The fire had shrunk to embers, casting the room in soft gold and long shadows. Somewhere upstairs, the faint creak of a dormitory bed shifted, but the tower was still.

“You don’t sleep much,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low.

“Sometimes I don’t want to. I think too much.”

Remus hesitated, then shifted his arm just slightly so it was behind Sirius’s back. Not quite a hug—but not nothing, either.

“You don’t have to think right now.”

Sirius was quiet again. Then he said, almost too softly:

“Being near you… makes it easier.”

Remus’ heart skipped. “Easier?”

“To just be quiet,” Sirius whispered. “I’m not good at quiet. But when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I have to fill the air.”

Remus didn’t know what to say to that. It was too big, too honest, and it made something ache in his chest. He rested his chin lightly against the top of Sirius’ head.

“I like when you’re quiet,” he said. “And I like when you’re not. Either way… it’s you.”

Sirius didn’t speak. He just shifted again, leaning closer, his breath ghosting against Remus’ collarbone.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, “I wish this wasn’t just one night. Just the two of us here.”

Remus held his breath. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Sirius stilled, then slowly pulled back just enough to look up at Remus. His eyes—stormy grey and a little uncertain—searched his face.

“You mean that?”

Remus nodded. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

For a second, they just stared at each other.

And then, slowly—like the moment had been waiting for them—Sirius leaned in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft and unsure and nothing like the firework stories people told. It wasn’t loud or dramatic or perfect.

But it was real.

It was Remus closing his eyes because it felt too much.

It was Sirius’ fingers curling lightly against Remus’ shirt.

When they pulled back, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t even scary.

It was calm.

Sirius let out a breath. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“I know,” Remus said. “Me too.”

There was a smile behind Sirius’ eyes now. The good kind. The kind that didn’t need armor.

“You think James knows?”

Remus snorted. “James probably had bets placed on when it would happen.”

“Smart bastard.”

They stayed like that a while longer, curled against each other on the couch, the fire dimming but their hearts quietly bright.

Eventually, Sirius yawned, tucked his head against Remus’ neck again, and let himself drift.

And this time, Remus didn’t just sit still.

He held him.

[starryeyedwolves]

Gentle

The world never saw it.

Not really.

The war-torn bitterness in his bones, the razor-edge of his restraint. They saw Remus, the soft-spoken professor with patchy cardigans and kind eyes.

But they didn’t see the nights. The clawing. The breaking. The hunger.

There is a violence in becoming something you hate and living through it anyway.

Remus sat at the windowsill of his flat, breath clouding the pane as the London sky bruised with morning. Behind him, Sirius lay in the tangled mess of their shared bed—still for once, curled like the boy he used to be before Azkaban hollowed him out.

Remus remembered war.

He remembered holding James back from storming into a fight, remembered Lily’s eyes flashing with fire, remembered Sirius laughing like he was invincible—and Remus, trembling under the skin of something else. Something monstrous.

He remembered fists bloodied not from battles but from holding himself together. Remembered nights in the Shrieking Shack, screaming into stone so no one would hear.

He’d clawed through shame, through loneliness, through the quiet agony of surviving when so many did not. There was no glory in it. No recognition.

Just scars that no one asked about.

And now—this strange reprieve.

A quiet before another storm.

Sirius, back but not whole.

Harry, carrying too much too young.

The world tipping toward war again.

Remus pressed a palm to the cold glass.

He had every reason to be cruel.

To be hard.

To be indifferent.

Instead, he brewed tea at dawn.

He patched robes.

He read bedtime stories to a boy who wasn’t his, but might as well be.

Behind him, the bed rustled. A voice, hoarse with sleep and something deeper.

“You’re up early.”

Sirius.

Feral and familiar.

Remus turned, offering that tired, worn smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sirius studied him, the way he always did when words weren’t enough. Then he said, “You’re too good, Moony.”

Remus laughed, but it sounded like something breaking. “No, I’m just tired of hurting people.”

Sirius sat up, eyes dark and unreadable. “You never hurt anyone. Not really.”

Remus didn’t argue. Didn’t explain that being a monster wasn’t always about what you did—it was sometimes about what you could have done.

And chose not to.

He crossed the room, slipped back under the covers. Sirius wrapped arms around him like an anchor, warm and trembling.

And in the silence between heartbeats, Remus whispered the truth:

“Do you understand the cruelty it took to become this gentle?”

Sirius didn’t answer. He just held him tighter.

And that, Remus thought, was answer enough.

The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of early traffic and the soft tick of the wall clock that had survived more than either of them had. London, indifferent and gray, stretched past the window like a sleeping beast.

Remus breathed in Sirius—smoke and parchment and the lingering trace of something wild—and closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just to feel like he could stop running.

“You never told me that,” Sirius said, voice low against his neck. “About the cruelty.”

“I never needed to,” Remus replied. “Until now.”

Sirius exhaled sharply, the sound half a sigh, half a laugh. “You think I don’t see it? What it costs you? You carry the whole world on your back like it's penance.”

Remus didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

They lay there for a while, two ghosts in the skin of men, pressed together like they were trying to forget all the places they'd broken. There were things Sirius would never say, things Azkaban had stolen—like how he woke sometimes with the taste of iron in his mouth and didn’t know if it was blood or memory. Things Remus couldn’t say—like how the moon still made his stomach twist, even now, even with Wolfsbane.

But silence had its own language. And they’d learned it fluently.

Sirius shifted, one arm sliding beneath Remus’ neck, drawing him close enough to feel the thrum of his heart. “You’re not alone anymore, Moony.”

Remus let the words settle. Not like comfort. Like truth.

He opened his eyes to the ceiling. Hairline cracks like rivers on a map. A life fracturing gently, and still holding.

“I don’t know how to stop bracing for loss,” Remus admitted.

Sirius tilted his head, met his gaze. “Then don’t. Just let me be here when it comes.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it?

Hope wasn’t loud. It didn’t shout, or wave flags. It was this—quiet mornings and warm arms and tea that went cold while the world crept on.

“Promise me something,” Remus said, voice barely above a breath.

“Anything.”

“When it gets bad again—and it will—don’t let me disappear.”

Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and reverent. “I’d follow you into the dark before I let that happen.”

And Remus, for the first time in what felt like years, believed him.

The clock ticked on.

And the day, bruised but beginning, came anyway.

[starryeyedwolves]

When He Forgets

The common room is half-shadowed and half-glowing with the lazy orange of the dying fire. A storm has just passed over Hogwarts, and the windows are still misty with the ghost of rain. It's quiet, save for the occasional crackle of embers and the rhythm of breath from the only two boys still awake.

Remus is curled sideways on the rug, his cardigan sleeves shoved up to the elbows, hair mussed like he’s forgotten he has it. His long limbs are tangled beneath him like he sat down and the earth folded him into itself. He’s laughing—really laughing—with his head tipped back and his hands drumming against the floor as though they’re trying to keep up with the joy wracking through him.

Sirius watches from the armchair like he’s been caught in a spell.

God, he thinks. He’s beautiful when he forgets to be afraid of being himself.

It’s such a precise thought that Sirius feels like it’s been waiting years to come out. Like it had settled somewhere deep inside him and finally found its moment to unfurl.

Because that’s the thing about Remus. There’s always this thread of tension running through him, even when he smiles. Like he’s doing it because it’s expected, like he’s carefully composing a version of himself that will offend no one, that will be enough. But when he laughs like this—with his whole body—it’s like all that falls away. The corners of his eyes crinkle. His voice goes breathless and wild. His soul spills out, free and unguarded.

And Sirius? Sirius falls.

Harder than he already has.

“What’s so funny?” he asks finally, trying to keep his voice casual, but it comes out quieter than he intends.

Remus gasps in air like he’s been underwater, rolling onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling. “The look on your face when you thought McGonagall was behind you.”

“I thought I was about to be murdered,” Sirius says, scandalized.

“She’s five feet tall!”

“With the eyes of a predator and the heart of a war general.”

Remus giggles. It’s a childish sound and Sirius wants to bottle it. “You shrieked like a banshee.”

“I do not shriek.”

“You shrieked, Pads.”

Sirius groans and drops his head against the back of the chair, pretending to be mortally wounded. But really, he’s just watching Remus out of the corner of his eye. The way his hand rests across his stomach like he’s still trying to contain the laughter. The way his mouth is still tilted up at the corners.

“So dramatic,” Remus murmurs.

“You love it.”

Remus hums in response. The kind of sound that doesn’t mean anything specific, but still makes Sirius’ heart squeeze. There’s something about these moments—past midnight, when the world is quiet and the masks slip—that feels like the only real version of life he’s ever known.

They sit in the silence for a while.

Sirius eventually shifts, sliding off the chair and sprawling out beside Remus. Their shoulders barely brush, but the warmth of it floods through him.

“I like when you laugh like that,” Sirius says softly, watching the way the firelight catches in the curve of Remus’ cheekbone.

Remus glances at him, startled.

“What?”

“When you laugh like—like nothing’s weighing you down.”

Remus swallows, the smile fading slightly, replaced by something cautious. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?”

Remus shrugs, eyes flicking to the ceiling again. “Because it doesn’t happen much.”

“I know,” Sirius says. “I think that’s why I notice.”

A long pause.

“I’m always waiting for something to go wrong,” Remus says eventually, voice quieter than before. “Even when I’m happy. Especially when I’m happy.”

Sirius turns his head to face him. “Moons—”

Remus doesn’t let him finish. “It’s stupid, I know. But it’s like… if I laugh too hard, something will come and remind me why I shouldn’t.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say at first. He watches the way Remus’ fingers tug gently at the sleeve of his cardigan, the anxious habit he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

“You don’t have to be afraid of being happy,” Sirius says, and means it with every corner of himself. “You deserve it.”

Remus snorts. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

They fall silent again. This time it’s heavier. Sirius thinks of all the reasons Remus might feel the way he does. The scar down his side that he never talks about. The potion he has to drink once a month that leaves him shivering and pale. The way people flinch when they hear the word werewolf—even if it’s never said in his presence.

Sirius doesn’t flinch. Not now. Not ever.

“You’re allowed to exist,” he says, eyes burning into the ceiling. “You’re allowed to laugh and love and take up space. You don’t have to earn it by being small.”

Remus turns his head. His eyes are darker than Sirius has ever seen them, but not cold. Just wide. Vulnerable.

“Why are you saying all this?”

“Because someone should.”

Remus stares at him for a long time, and Sirius doesn’t look away. He can’t. There’s so much he wants to say, things he can’t find the words for—how long he’s been in love with him, how his whole world rearranges itself around Remus without asking permission, how nothing has ever made him feel safer than the sound of that laugh.

Remus breaks the silence first.

“I’m scared, Sirius.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You won’t.”

"And if I let myself feel more—”

Sirius reaches out and covers Remus’ hand with his own.

“You don’t have to be ready for everything,” he says. “But if you ever are… I’ll be here.”

Remus doesn’t pull away. He looks down at their hands, then up again, and something softens in him. A small crack in the armor.

Sirius holds his breath.

Then, slowly, Remus smiles.

Not the careful kind. Not the polite one. But the real one, again. The one that crinkles his eyes and tugs at the corners of his mouth and lights something fierce and warm behind his ribs.

Sirius thinks, God, there it is again.

That laugh that chases fear away.

That boy who forgets, for a moment, to be afraid of being himself.

And Sirius—sitting beside him, hand in his—remembers what it feels like to hope.

The next morning, the sun rises too early.

It pours through the tower windows in thick, lazy beams, golden and intrusive. Remus blinks awake, still half-draped over the common room rug. For a moment, the dream-haze clings to him—something about warm hands and a voice whispering, You don’t have to earn it by being small.

Then he stirs, and the realization settles in:

Sirius is still beside him. Asleep. Shoulder-to-shoulder, a shared blanket draped over both of them (Remus doesn’t remember when that happened). One of Sirius’ hands is curled loosely between them, close enough to touch if he moved even slightly.

He doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he watches. Quietly. Carefully. The way Sirius’ face is soft in sleep, all the sharpness melted off, lashes dark against his cheek. There’s a freckle on the bridge of his nose Remus never noticed before, and he wants—ache-deep—to touch it. To trace it with the tip of his finger and learn every part of Sirius that no one else sees.

But then Sirius shifts, eyes fluttering open, and Remus panics.

He rolls away too fast, heart hammering in his chest like he’s been caught doing something forbidden.

Sirius props himself on an elbow, hair a complete mess, blinking groggily. “Morning.”

Remus mutters something like a greeting and stands, brushing imaginary lint off his trousers. He suddenly feels too exposed—like the words from the night before are still hanging in the air, waiting to be acknowledged.

Sirius sits up slowly, watching him. “You okay?”

Remus nods. “Yeah. Fine. Just—didn’t mean to fall asleep down here.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You mean with me, you didn’t mean to fall asleep with me down here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a flicker of something between them. Not tension exactly, but a hum in the air. Remus feels it like a static charge, like if he reaches out now, he’ll burn.

Sirius, maddeningly, says nothing else. He just gets to his feet, stretches, and walks off toward the staircase, yawning, like his heart isn’t lying exposed on the floor.

Later that week, everything goes back to normal.

At least, it looks like it.

There are pranks and Quidditch and Marauder chaos. Library sessions where James gets kicked out for singing Celestina Warbeck under his breath. Detentions they escape from via secret passageways and a suspiciously helpful Peeves. Dinners where Sirius steals bread rolls from Peter’s plate and Remus pretends not to notice, even though he always does.

Everything is normal.

Except Remus keeps catching Sirius looking at him. Not in the teasing, exaggerated way he used to—but quietly. Softly. Like he’s watching to see if Remus is going to bolt again. Like he’s still holding his breath from that night.

And Remus—Remus can’t stop thinking about it.

Those words. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be here.

He wants to believe them. He does. But wanting something and letting himself have it are oceans apart.

The full moon comes and goes.

It’s worse this month—cloudy skies, potion slightly off. Remus wakes up afterward aching and ragged, covered in bruises and guilt.

But when he finally opens his eyes in the hospital wing, Sirius is there.

He always is.

Except this time, he’s not just sitting. He’s asleep in the chair with his hand still wrapped tightly around Remus’.

As if he never let go.

Remus stares at that for a long, long time.

Then—without meaning to—he smiles.

It happens on a Tuesday.

They’re in the Astronomy Tower, of all places, skipping dinner and watching the clouds burn pink against the horizon.

Remus has a book open but isn’t reading. Sirius is lying on his back, legs crossed, hands behind his head.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Not uncomfortable—just full of something unnamed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Remus says finally.

Sirius turns his head. “Dangerous.”

Remus gives him a look, but doesn’t smile. Not this time.

"I want to try.”

Sirius sits up, slowly. “Try what?”

“Letting myself be happy.”

The words are barely above a whisper.

Sirius doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches him like the world is spinning too fast for his body to catch up.

“I don’t know how,” Remus says. “I’ll probably mess it up.”

Sirius gets to his feet, walks over, and crouches in front of him. His eyes are fierce and so, so gentle.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

Remus looks at him—really looks at him—and finally lets the armor crack.

He leans forward, forehead resting against Sirius’, their breaths tangling in the twilight air.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

The first kiss is not cinematic.

It’s awkward, nervous, full of stutters and hesitations. Sirius’ nose bumps his. Remus almost laughs into it. Their teeth click. It’s clumsy.

But then it’s not.

Then it’s perfect.

Because it’s theirs.

And in that moment, Remus forgets to be afraid.

He just is—alive, wanted, loved.

And Sirius, who has always burned too bright, holds him like something precious.

Not fragile. Not broken.

Whole.

[starryeyedwolves]

A Splash of Realization

It started with a splash.

A deep, resonant one that sent ripples across the surface of the Great Lake and a chorus of shocked gasps from a small group of Hogwarts students lounging on the warm early July grass.

“Sirius!”

Sirius collapsed onto his back, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, come on, Moony! You were asking for it, sitting there with your feet dangling like you’re on the bloody cover of a poetry book!”

Remus exploded out of the lake with all the grace of a drowned cat. Water streamed from his hair in thick ropes, his shirt stuck like parchment to the lean lines of his chest, and the fire in his amber eyes could have evaporated the entire lake.

James, sitting nearby with his shirt pulled up over his head like a sunhat, choked on his pumpkin juice. “Sirius, mate, you’re actually mad. Look at him! He’s going to hex you bald.”

Peter, snorting into his sandwich, muttered, “You’d deserve it.”

Sirius, however, had stopped laughing. Something caught in his throat as Remus pulled himself out of the water, droplets trailing down his skin like liquid light, his expression thunderous and perfect and alive. Sirius was suddenly, painfully aware of the way Remus’ jeans clung to his thighs, the way his hair curled wildly when soaked, the way his breath came in sharp, furious bursts.

“Oh, bollocks,” Sirius muttered to himself.

James, ever the loyal friend when he wasn’t busy mooning over Evans, leaned toward him. “You alright, Pads?”

“No,” Sirius said faintly, eyes still locked on the vision of his best mate looking like a furious god of vengeance. “I think I’ve just had a revelation.”

Remus stomped up the grass, squelching with every step. “You absolute twat. This was my best shirt.”

“Was,” Peter whispered helpfully.

Remus pointed his wand at Sirius. “You’ve got five seconds to run.”

“Wait, wait—” Sirius held his hands up, standing quickly. “I panicked! You looked so—serene. Like a tragic romantic hero. I couldn’t help it!”

“You think this is funny?” Remus was fuming, but he stopped a foot in front of Sirius, eyes narrowing as he noticed the flush on Sirius’ cheeks.

“No,” Sirius said. “I mean, yes. A little. But also, you’re—Merlin, Moony. You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

The world paused.

James spat out his pumpkin juice.

Peter’s sandwich fell in the grass.

Remus blinked.

“What?”

Sirius cursed under his breath. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“You think I’m—what?” Remus looked stunned, as if someone had slapped him.

Sirius took a deep breath. “I think... I’ve been thinking about you more than I should. For a while. And seeing you like that—drenched and dangerous—did things to me. And not just in the inappropriate sense, though Merlin knows it did that too.”

James gave a strangled cough.

Remus was silent, expression unreadable.

Sirius swallowed. “I mean... I didn’t push you because I fancy you, but the moment you came out looking like a bloody siren, I realized I might’ve done it because I fancy you.”

There was a beat.

And then Remus raised his wand and shouted, “Aguamenti!”

A jet of cold water smacked Sirius square in the face.

“Oi!” Sirius spluttered. “Uncalled for!”

Remus smirked. “Now we’re even.”

And then, before Sirius could react, Remus grabbed his collar, dragged him down, and kissed him—wet, fierce, and dizzying.

Somewhere behind them, James whooped and Peter gagged theatrically.

Later that evening, the four Marauders were camped out in the Gryffindor common room. Sirius and Remus sat together on the sofa, legs tangled, Remus wearing one of Sirius’ dry jumpers. Their shoulders brushed every time they moved, but neither complained.

James sprawled on the rug, Quidditch magazine over his face. “I still can’t believe it.”

Peter sat cross-legged near the fire, popping Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “I can. Sirius has been staring at Remus’ mouth for months.”

Sirius, who had, in fact, been doing exactly that, said, “Not just his mouth.”

Remus elbowed him sharply. “Behave.”

“I am! Mostly.” Sirius grinned and leaned in. “Do you have any idea how hot you looked all soaked and angry?”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hex you for being an idiot?”

James groaned from under the magazine. “This is my punishment, isn’t it? For teasing Evans all year. The universe has turned the tables. I have to listen to you two flirting.”

Peter pointed at them. “You know they’re going to snog any second now.”

Remus turned red.

Sirius beamed. “Damn right we are.”

James didn’t even look up. “At least do it quietly.”

The next time they were out by the Great Lake, Sirius didn’t push Remus in. Instead, they sat side by side, fingers laced together, basking in the warmth of a sun that didn’t burn quite as hot as the look Remus gave Sirius when he leaned in and whispered:

“Still think I’m beautiful when I’m angry?”

Sirius kissed him slow and sure. “Especially then.”

And the lake rippled gently, as if it approved.

The rest of July passed in a strange, giddy haze.

They didn’t exactly announce it — Sirius was too dramatic for subtlety, but Remus was allergic to attention. So they did what Marauders always did: let the jokes fly, let the rumors swirl, and let everything unspoken settle like dust in a sunbeam.

James and Peter took it surprisingly well.

“I knew it!” James said smugly one morning over toast. “You had that look, Moony. That ‘I want to strangle him or kiss him’ look.”

Remus grumbled into his mug. “That could apply to you on any given day.”

Peter gave Sirius a long look. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Sirius didn’t even crack a pun. He just nodded, expression open for once, not masked in mischief.

“Good,” Peter said. “Because if you mess with him, I’ll turn you into a rat and bite you myself.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Terrifying, Wormtail.”

But he meant it: he was serious.

And Remus... Remus was letting him in, inch by careful inch.

One night, near curfew, Sirius found Remus leaning on the stone railing of the Astronomy Tower, staring at the stars like they were old friends who’d stopped writing.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sirius asked, his voice low.

Remus glanced at him, soft-eyed. “Couldn’t think.”

Sirius came to stand beside him. “What’s up?”

Remus was quiet for a long time. Then: “I keep wondering if this is real. If it’s something we’ll laugh about in a month. If I’m just... a phase.”

The words landed like frost.

Sirius turned to face him fully. “Remus, look at me.”

He did. There was uncertainty there — buried under years of having to hide too much of himself. His scars, his temper, his want.

Sirius touched his face, fingers brushing his jaw.

“You are not a phase,” he said. “You’re the part of the day I wait for. The laugh I listen for in a crowd. The person I’m more myself with than anyone.”

Remus’ throat bobbed. “You’re just saying that to be poetic.”

“Maybe.” Sirius leaned in until their foreheads touched. “But I mean every word of it.”

And for once, Remus didn’t pull away. He just closed his eyes and breathed him in.

Of course, dating Sirius Black didn’t come without consequences.

“I told you I’d get revenge,” Remus said one humid afternoon as they lay under a tree beside the lake.

Sirius opened one eye. “You already soaked me in front of half the castle.”

“No, no. That was punishment. This is revenge.”

Sirius blinked.

Then suddenly, Remus was on top of him, straddling his waist, wand in one hand, smirking.

“Remus,” Sirius said, laughing. “Remus, what are you doing?”

“Something deeply satisfying.” He twirled his wand. “Tickling Charm.”

The next five minutes were filled with shrieking, gasping, howling Sirius and a smug-as-hell Remus sitting on top of him like a conquering king.

James walked by, took one look, and kept walking. “Nope. Not my circus.”

Peter was less fortunate — Remus flicked the spell toward him too for laughing too hard.

The end of the term came faster than any of them expected.

On the last day of term, trunks packed, sun high in the sky, the Marauders stood by the train.

James was talking animatedly about Quidditch camps.

Peter had found a licorice wand longer than his arm.

Sirius leaned against the doorframe of the compartment, watching Remus stare at the lake one last time.

“You alright, Moony?”

Remus turned, sunlight catching the faint scar over his temple. “Yeah. I just... don’t want to go back. Feels like leaving something good behind.”

Sirius walked over, brushed his fingers against Remus’ hand.

“Hey,” he said gently. “This isn’t the end. It’s just the pause.”

Remus smiled, slow and shy. “You’re really sappy, you know that?”

Sirius grinned. “And yet, you’re still kissing me.”

Which Remus did, right there on the platform, completely unbothered by the gasps and wolf whistles from nearby students.

As the train pulled out of the station, Sirius reached over and took Remus’ hand.

Together, they watched the castle fade into the distance.

Together, they didn’t feel quite so afraid of the future.

Because they had each other.

[starryeyedwolves]

The Secret

James had a secret. A very juicy, very top-tier, life-altering secret. One so good it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to collapse into gleeful laughter when he found out.

Sirius fancied Remus.

The revelation had come during one of their late-night dorm chats. James had been pestering Sirius for days, relentlessly teasing him about how weird and twitchy he’d been around Moony. Finally, with a dramatic groan and a pillow over his face, Sirius muttered, “I fancy him, alright? Happy now?”

James had been extremely happy.

Sirius had made him swear to absolute secrecy. Not a word to anyone. Not even Peter.

James took that promise seriously—right up until he noticed Peter acting suspicious.

Peter had been jumpy. Distracted. Glancing at Remus during study sessions and looking like he was about to burst. Clearly, he was sitting on something too.

Naturally, James had to dig.

“Alright, Wormtail,” he said one evening in the common room, “why do you look like you’ve just swalloweda snitch?”

Peter hesitated, then leaned in. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I swear.”

Peter lowered his voice. “Remus has a crush on Sirius.”

James stared. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He does! He told me last week. Said it was doing his head in.”

James slowly sank back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. “We are so stupid.”

Because, of course, they’d each been guarding half the same secret. For a month.

“You haven’t told Remus about Sirius, have you?” James asked.

Peter looked scandalized. “Of course not. You didn’t tell Sirius?”

“Wouldn’t dare.” He grinned suddenly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do something about it.”

Peter looked wary. “Do what, exactly?”

James leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We get them to tell each other. Or kiss. Honestly, at this point I’d settle for holding hands.”

Peter looked horrified. “You mean meddle?”

“I mean orchestrate. Trust me. It'll be brilliant.”

Phase 1: Isolate the Variables

Step one was simple: eliminate all distractions. At breakfast the next morning, James and Peter made a dramatic show of sitting with Sirius and Remus at the Gryffindor table, only to suddenly “remember” that they had important business to attand to and a made-up errand for McGonagall.

“Sorry, Moony, urgent business,” James said, winking at Peter. “Tell Padfoot all about your dreams or whatever.”

Peter nodded solemnly, “Back in a jiffy."

They left Sirius and Remus alone—just the two of them, red-faced and awkward, over toast and pumpkin juice.

Phase 2: Create Strategic Proximity

Later that day, they executed dinner seating sabotage. James and Peter raced to the Great Hall ahead of their friends, deliberately occupying the remaining spots at the end of the bench where the four of them usually sat.

When Sirius and Remus arrived, tray in hand, James waved innocently. “Oops, no room. Guess you'll have to find another spot!”

Peter even added a helpful, “Try the far table by the window. Very cozy.”

Reluctantly, Sirius and Remus ended up alone again, this time in a quieter corner of the Hall where the candlelight was dimmer and the conversations quieter.

James spotted them sneaking glances at each other between bites of shepherd’s pie.

Progress.

Phase 3: Forced Confession Conditions

The final act was the boldest yet.

James announced that Gryffindor had a “long-standing sleepover tradition” every term where roommates switched around “for bonding purposes.”

“Total bollocks,” Peter muttered, but went along with it anyway.

Sirius protested until Remus, ever the polite one, shrugged and said, “If it's tradition…”

That night, James and Peter bunked in the common room, making a great show of “respecting the ritual,” while Sirius and Remus were left alone in their dorm with only one bed made up (the others conveniently stripped of sheets).

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You think they’ll figure it out tonight?”

James smirked. “They won’t sleep at all if I’ve done this right.”

The fallout

By day three, the cracks were showing. Sirius had barely looked James in the eye at breakfast. Remus dropped his wand twice during Defense. Both of them looked wrecked—and not in the “we had a good night” kind of way.

Then it happened.

James and Peter were “casually” playing wizard’s chess in the common room when the door banged open and Sirius stormed in, dragging Remus behind him.

“You absolute arses!” Sirius snapped.

“You’ve been setting us up,” Remus added, flushed and glaring.

James blinked innocently. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“Don’t even,” Sirius growled. “We know you knew.”

Peter looked sheepish. “So... you talked?”

Sirius glanced at Remus. Remus rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“We had to,” he said. “You lunatics made it impossible not to.”

James broke into a triumphant grin. “So you’re...?”

Remus coughed. “Sorting it out.”

Sirius looked exasperated, but his hand had curled—ever so subtly—around Remus’.

Peter groaned. “Couldn’t we have just told them?”

James beamed. “And miss all the fun? Not a chance.”

[starryeyedwolves]

Eavesdrop

The Gryffindor common room crackled with firelight, shadows dancing on the stone walls. Most students had retreated to their dormitories by now, the castle quiet in that hushed, late-hour way that made everything feel secret. Remus sat curled in an armchair by the fire, a book open in his lap that he hadn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes.

He told himself he liked the warmth. That the fire made him feel safe. That the flickering light softened the sharp edges of full moons, scars, and secrets.

But mostly, he hadn’t moved because Sirius wasn’t back yet.

Remus liked to pretend he didn’t notice things like that. He liked to pretend he wasn’t acutely aware of when Sirius skipped dinner or laughed too long at someone else's joke or bit his lip before saying something ridiculous. Pretending worked great—except for the part where he failed at it constantly.

He didn’t realize he’d nodded off until voices from the stairs pulled him back. The fire had burned low, golden glow reduced to embers. He blinked blearily, stretching just as a book slid from his lap with a soft thump.

Footsteps. Laughter. James’ voice, annoyingly loud for the hour.

“Mate, if you’re not going to tell him, at least stop mooning over him in the dorm. You’re starting to make me feel depressed.”

Remus froze. His body urged him to cough or shift, to make some noise and announce his presence like a decent person.

He did not move.

The voices weren’t quite in the common room probably halfway up the stairs.

Sirius’ voice followed, lower. Embarrassed. “You think I want to feel like this? He looks at me with those soft, judgmental eyes and says things like ‘Sirius, you’re being dramatic,’ and all I want to do is kiss him just to shut him up.”

Remus’ stomach flipped. Dramatically.

James snorted. “So do it. Or at least tell him. He’s not exactly oblivious, you know.”

“I’m not telling him, Prongs.” Sirius sounded frayed now, like every word cost something. “Because if I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same, I lose him. And I can’t—I can’t lose Remus.”

The world tilted.

Remus’ heartbeat had apparently decided it was auditioning to be a snare drum.

James was quiet for a moment. “You’re a coward,” he said, not unkindly. “But I get it. Still—he’s worth the risk.”

“Yeah,” Sirius murmured. “He is.”

Their footsteps receded. The dormitory door creaked open. Silence returned, except for the fire’s low crackle and the screaming of Remus’ brain.

By breakfast, Remus had downgraded from “panicked mess” to “emotionally compromised.” He kept his eyes trained on his porridge like it might offer guidance. It did not.

Sirius, across the table, was his usual obnoxiously charming self, which did not help.

By lunch, he’d made it a solid four hours into his weirdness before Sirius cornered him outside Greenhouse Three.

“Alright,” Sirius said, blocking his path with the casual intensity of someone who knew how to command a room and ruin your life. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Remus said, too quickly.

“You’re acting like I kissed your mum.”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Then stop being weird.” Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Is this because I used your shampoo again? I told you coconut suits me.”

Remus exhaled, tired. “I overheard you last night.”

Sirius went very still.

“I didn’t mean to,” Remus added. “I fell asleep in the common room. You and James were talking, and I woke up somewhere around the part where you insulted my eyes and confessed your undying love.”

Sirius blanched. “Bloody hell.”

“Yeah. That was my reaction too.”

Sirius raked a hand through his hair, clearly debating whether to run away or fake his death. “I meant it. All of it. But I didn’t want it to happen like that. I was going to tell you eventually. Just… once I figured out how to not sound like a complete berk.”

Remus stared at him. “Sirius, you literally said you wanted to kiss me just to shut me up.”

Sirius looked miserable. “It sounded more romantic in my head.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Tragic.”

There was a beat.

“I feel the same,” Remus said.

Sirius blinked. “You—what?”

Remus sighed dramatically. “Honestly, Pads. I’ve had a crush on you since third year. I just assumed you were too busy flirting with everyone who wasn’t me.”

Sirius’ face lit up like he’d swallowed the sun. “You unbelievable twat.”

“Charmed.”

Sirius kissed him.

It was enthusiastic, slightly crooked, and far too much teeth. Remus found it entirely unfair that it was still perfect.

They broke apart grinning like idiots.

“Remus Lupin,” Sirius said, “you magnificent eavesdropping menace.”

That evening, the dormitory was mercifully empty. James and Peter were off on some dubious prank mission that likely involved glitter and a severe lack of supervision.

Sirius lay on his bed, arms behind his head, wearing a smile so smug Remus was tempted to hex it off. Remus perched at the foot of the bed, book open in his lap, eyes stubbornly focused on the page. For all of two minutes.

“You’re not reading,” Sirius said.

Remus didn’t look up. “Am.”

“You’re on the same paragraph as twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m absorbing.”

“You’ve sighed three times like someone in a tragic romance.”

“I’m dating you, it is tragic.”

Sirius grinned, entirely unrepentant. “You love it.”

Remus closed the book. “Unfortunately.”

Sirius shifted closer, propping his head on one hand. “So what happens now that we're officially dating? Do I need to get you flowers? A contract? Matching jumpers?”

“Please don’t,” Remus said. “I draw the line at coordinating outfits.”

“But contracts are still on the table?”

Remus hummed. “Depends. What are your terms?”

Sirius pretended to think. “Clause One: Sirius Black is entitled to at least five kisses a day. Non-negotiable.”

“Five? Is this a relationship or a full-time job?”

“You’ll be well-compensated.”

Remus snorted. “You’re unbearable.”

Sirius leaned in. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Remus gave up trying to be annoyed. “I’m cursed.”

“Lucky curse.”

They kissed again—slower this time, lingering. Remus found himself pulled gently down beside Sirius, his book forgotten, his heart doing something unreasonably dramatic again.

When things grew heated, Sirius paused, breathing uneven. “We can stop,” he murmured. “If you want.”

Remus stroked a thumb across his cheek. “I don’t want to stop.”

Sirius exhaled shakily. “Still… I want to take it slow. Do it right.”

Remus smiled. “Look at you. A reformed scoundrel.”

“I’m evolving.”

“Into what? A golden retriever?”

Sirius grinned. “Your golden retriever.”

Remus rolled his eyes and kissed him again. “Merlin help me.”

They spent the night tangled together beneath the blankets, warm and safe. At one point, Sirius traced Remus’ scars with reverent fingers, murmuring something soft Remus didn’t quite catch but felt in his bones.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, the leaves rustling like they were in on the secret too.

Later, as Sirius dozed with his face buried in Remus’ neck, he mumbled, “You know… if you hadn’t overheard me, I probably never would’ve said anything.”

Remus smirked. “So it was fate.”

“No,” Sirius whispered. “It was a nosy werewolf with terrible boundaries.”

Remus chuckled. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I really, really am.”

[starryeyedwolves]

Miscommunication

Fifth-year at Hogwarts was shaping up to be as chaotic as ever for the infamous Marauders, but nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared Sirius and Remus for the absolute disaster that was about to unfold in the Gryffindor common room.

It started with a simple announcement.

Sirius, draped over the arm of the couch like he belonged in a Renaissance painting, lazily stretched and yawned. “By the way, in case any of you nosy lot care, Moony and I are dating now.”

A moment of silence. Then—

“What do you mean now?” Marlene squawked, nearly dropping her Charms textbook.

“Like… starting now?” Lily asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“No, like, we’ve been dating for a while, but we just figured we should probably tell people before Wormtail bursts from keeping it secret,” Remus replied, throwing an amused glance at Peter, who looked incredibly relieved that he didn’t have to keep dodging questions anymore.

There was another pause—one that should have been filled with congratulations, or teasing, or maybe even a casual about time. Instead, what happened next was something neither of them expected.

Dorcas turned to Mary, eyes wide with horror. “Oh my god. James and Sirius broke up.”

Remus blinked. “Wait. What?”

The entire room erupted into chaos.

“I can’t believe James didn’t tell us,” Mary whispered. “Do you think it was mutual?”

“Was there a fight?” Marlene added.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Sirius had finally sat up, looking wildly around the room. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dorcas folded her arms, staring at Sirius like he was the one being ridiculous. “You and James, obviously.”

“There is no ‘me and James,’” Sirius said, scandalized.

“That’s not what everyone else thinks,” Peter mumbled, which earned him a betrayed look from Sirius.

At that moment, James chose to stroll back into the common room looking entirely too pleased with himself. Kissed Lily on the cheek, and turned to the chaos with a grin. “Ah, so it finally happened, did it?”

Sirius spun around to face him. “You knew?!”

James shrugged. “Mate, people have thought we were dating since third year. I figured I’d let you find out on your own.”

“What in Merlin’s name—” Sirius turned back to the common room. “Why did everyone assume I was dating James?”

Remus, who had spent the last five minutes hiding his laughter behind his hand, finally decided to step in. “Sirius, you do realize you’re the most dramatic, touchy, ridiculous person alive when it comes to James?”

“I am not—”

“You once tackled him onto the floor in the middle of the Great Hall because you hadn’t seen him in ‘forever.’”

“It had been two whole days, Remus, keep up,” Sirius huffed.

“You wore his Quidditch jersey for a week straight after Gryffindor won last year,” Lily pointed out.

“I looked great in it!”

“You two literally have matching leather jackets.”

“That’s just-” Sirius stopped, then turned to James, who just waggled his eyebrows. “Okay, fine, that one’s weird.”

James threw an arm around Sirius, smirking. “Don’t worry, Pads. We’ll always have the memories.”

Remus snorted. “And the jackets.”

The room erupted into laughter. Sirius crossed his arms, huffing dramatically. “Fine. Whatever. But for the record, James and I were never dating. I am, however, dating Remus.”

“Yes, yes, we got that part,” Marlene said. “But honestly, it’s going to take a while to process the breakup.”

“There was no—” Sirius groaned and flopped back onto the couch.

Remus patted his knee sympathetically. “At least they’re not mad about us?”

Sirius peered at him from where he’d buried his face in his arms. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Sirius sighed. “No, I don’t.”

James leaned back smugly. “Well, this has been fun. Anyway, I need to go tell McGonagall about my tragic heartbreak. She’ll want to know.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You do that, dear. Just make sure she knows you’ve moved on and are seeing someone red-haired and infinitely more sane.”

James winked. “Oh, she’s a saint, that one. Honestly, I’m lucky.”

Sirius threw a pillow at him. James dodged it with a laugh.

And thus, Hogwarts continued on as chaotically as ever.

[starryeyedwolves]

Punk Rock

The Gryffindor common room on a lazy Saturday afternoon was abuzz with the low hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the snap and crackle of the fireplace. Outside, a storm sulked over the castle, rain streaking the windows and wind rattling the panes like impatient ghosts. Inside, however, it was warm, and golden light softened the corners of the worn red-and-gold room where students lounged with books, parchment, and half-finished snacks.

Lily was seated cross-legged on the rug near the fire, her wand tapping rhythmically against a small bottle of shimmering black nail polish that danced in place with each tap.

Across from her, Sirius reclined in an armchair like it was a throne, legs slung over the armrest, his tie half-loosened and his shirt open at the throat. He was playing with a ring on his middle finger, twisting it back and forth, watching the way it caught the firelight.

“You know,” Lily said casually, “this would look brilliant on you.”

Sirius flicked his eyes to her. “What, the ring? It’s mine.”

“No, I meant this.” She held up the bottle, wiggling it. “Black. Very fitting.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You want to paint my nails.”

“I am very bored,” she replied with a grin.

Sirius hesitated. Not out of embarrassment—he didn’t do embarrassment. He had danced on the Gryffindor table in nothing but boxers after a Quidditch win. But this was different, somehow. Smaller. Quieter. Intimate in a way that didn’t scream for an audience.

And maybe that was what made him say, “Alright. But only if you do it properly. Like, fancy. Not just slapping it on like a hag in a hurry.”

Lily lit up, crawling over with practiced glee. “Please, I’m an artiste. Sit still and prepare to be fabulous.”

Sirius shifted to sit cross-legged, palms out, and offered his hands like an offering to the gods of glam. Lily got to work, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

Across the room, Remus sat curled in an armchair with a book half-open and unread on his lap. He wasn’t really reading. He was listening.

He always listened when it came to Sirius.

Their lives orbited each other like twin stars too close to separate, and Remus had long since given up pretending he didn’t care what Sirius did—or who he did it with. But this was different. He could hear Sirius laughing. Low and real, the way he did when he wasn’t performing.

“Alright,” Lily said after a long while, inspecting her work. “Now don’t move while it dries.”

Sirius admired his hands like he’d just discovered them. The black polish was glossy, dark as midnight. It suited his long fingers, the faint ink stains on his knuckles.

Then, slowly, with the expression of someone building up to a grand reveal, Sirius stood.

He crossed the room in a lazy saunter, the kind he used when he knew he was being watched. And he always knew.

Remus didn’t look up at first. Just a glance, enough to register Sirius’ presence, before returning to the page.

Sirius stopped beside him and waggled his fingers in Remus’ face.

“Cool, right?”

Remus turned the page of his book—still unread—without lifting his eyes. “Very punk rock,” he said, voice dry.

Sirius blinked. Then grinned so hard it hurt.

He flopped onto the couch beside Remus with a huff. “You didn’t even look.”

“I looked.”

“You didn’t admire.”

“I admired in a punk rock way.”

Sirius stared at him. “You think it’s cool.”

“I think you’re cool,” Remus said without thinking, and then immediately regretted it.

There was a pause.

Sirius’ face, which had been playful and smug, stilled.

“You think I’m cool?” he said softly.

Remus looked up at last. Their eyes met.

The air changed.

Remus swallowed. “I think you’re a lot of things. Cool is... the least of them.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying not to melt into the cushions.

They sat in silence. Not awkward, not tense. Just quiet. Lily smirked at them from across the room and wisely said nothing.

Sirius flexed his fingers again. “You know, I think I might keep this.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “The polish?"

"Yea" Sirius leaned back against the couch, just close enough that their knees brushed. “Dark. Mysterious. Tortured, but hot.”

“You forgot modest.”

“That too,” Sirius said with a wink.

Remus snorted.

Sirius, emboldened, nudged his shoulder. “You should try it.”

“What, being tortured and hot?”

“No, the nails.”

Remus tilted his head. “You think black suits me?”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment.

“Yeah. But maybe silver for you. Moony. Moonlight.”

Something fluttered in Remus’ chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

The storm outside raged on. Inside, time folded in around them like a blanket, and the fire kept burning.

And Sirius, with his glossy black nails and ridiculous heart, leaned just a little closer.

Just close enough.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows over their faces. Sirius’ fingers still flexed, glossy black polish catching the light each time he moved. Remus’ own fingers hovered uncertainly, imagining what silver polish might look like on him—moonlight glinting off pale skin, like tiny stars trapped in glass.

“I’m serious,” Sirius said, voice low and a little teasing. “We could make it a thing. You and me, matching nails."

Remus smiled, a slow, shy smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You think people would even let us live that down?”

Sirius shrugged with mock innocence. “We’re already on thin ice. This just shatters it completely.”

Remus laughed, the sound warm and free, and Sirius’ grin grew wider.

“Come on,” Sirius said, scooting closer until their knees pressed against each other. “Let me paint your nails. I’ll make yours the silver moons you deserve.”

Remus hesitated. His hands were trembling slightly—not from fear but something else. Something new and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

“You sure you want to?” Remus asked quietly. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t mess up anything,” Sirius said firmly, eyes locking onto his. “And if you do, I’ll fix it. Or we’ll just paint over it again. It’s just nail polish.”

Remus slowly extended his hand, palm up. Sirius took it like a prize, like the most precious thing in the world.

Lily’s voice floated over from the other side of the room, cheerful and encouraging. “Ooo, this is cute! I’m gonna get the glitter.”

“Shush,” Sirius whispered, smirking.

He began carefully brushing Remus’ nails, each stroke slow and deliberate, the silver paint gleaming wet and bright.

Remus felt a strange calm settle over him. It wasn’t just about the polish—it was the closeness, the warmth of Sirius’ fingers against his skin, the quiet space they’d carved out together in the chaos of their world.

When Sirius finished, Remus flexed his fingers, watching the silver catch the light. He looked down at his hand, then up at Sirius.

“Okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Now we really look punk rock.”

Sirius beamed like a kid who’d just won a prize. “Told you.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just the two of them, sharing a simple secret in the stormy silence of the castle.

Finally, Sirius shifted, resting his head lightly against Remus’ shoulder.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

Remus tilted his head to listen.

“If this is what being ‘punk rock’ means, then maybe I’m okay with it. Being a little different. Being us.”

Remus smiled, heart full. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sat there, fingers still wet from fresh polish, the firelight flickering.

Sometimes, all you needed was a little black nail polish—and the right person beside you—to feel exactly like yourself.

[starryeyedwolves]

On Purpose

The worst part about living with chronic pain, Remus thought as he tried not to scream at a piece of lint on the carpet, wasn’t the pain.

It was the being perceived.

And right now, he was being perceived by a very beautiful, very loud, very not supposed to be here Sirius Black.

“You didn’t answer your texts,” Sirius said, standing in the doorway like a rockstar who’d stumbled into the wrong green room but stayed because there was free champagne. His motorcycle helmet hung from one tattooed hand, black curls wild and a bit sweaty.

“That tends to happen when I throw my phone under the couch out of spite,” Remus said, not looking up from where he was half-folded on the floor, an arm brace beside him and a heating pad nowhere near the socket.

Sirius blinked. “Do I want to know?”

Remus squinted up at him. “My shoulder tried to secede from the union. I decided to pretend the couch was Switzerland.”

Sirius grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m disabled, actually,” Remus snapped, immediately regretting it. But Sirius just raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“I know,” Sirius said softly. “You also didn’t answer my texts for four days. So I assumed either death, abduction, or, more realistically, a spiral of Netflix and apathy.”

Remus grimaced. “It was a mild spiral.”

“You watched five seasons of Hell’s Kitchen, Remus.”

“…I stand by that.”

Sirius crossed the room, tossing his helmet onto Remus’ ancient armchair. “Get up. We’re making pasta.”

“I can’t get up, hence…” Remus gestured vaguely at the brace, the heating pad, the general aura of despair.

Sirius knelt beside him without a word, scooping up the brace with practiced hands. “Do you want help?”

Remus hesitated. The line between “want” and “need” had always been blurry. But Sirius never made him feel like a burden—just a very sarcastic houseplant with medical accessories.

“Yes,” he muttered.

Sirius nodded and helped him up with the kind of gentle ease that made Remus feel seen, not exposed. “I brought garlic bread,” he said as they shuffled toward the kitchen. “And James.”

Remus froze. “What?”

“James is in the car. He insisted. He has theories.”

“About my pain?”

“About why you ghosted me for four days,” Sirius said cheerfully. “One involves aliens.”

Remus sighed. “James Potter is a human migraine.”

“And yet, you adore him,” Sirius said, smirking as he slid the brace into place with a practiced twist.

Remus didn’t say it out loud, but Sirius wasn’t wrong.

The kitchen was small, dimly lit, and currently filled with the scent of garlic, basil, and tomato.

James had let himself in and was setting up a Bluetooth speaker like he lived there. Which, to be fair, he nearly had during uni. Peter was texting in the corner with a cat on his lap—Remus’ cat, who betrayed him instantly and fully the moment food arrived.

“I’ve solved your mystery,” James announced, holding up his phone. “Remus hasn’t been abducted. He’s just deeply, tragically in love with you, Padfoot.”

Peter didn’t look up. “We knew that in 2018, mate.”

“Shut up,” Remus groaned, already regretting not faking a coma.

Sirius beamed. “I knew I felt eyes on my ass.”

Remus gave him a look. “That was the cat.”

“You named the cat Virginia Woolf. You don’t get to talk.”

Virginia purred smugly.

They cooked like idiots. Burnt one batch of garlic bread, turned the pasta water into a volcano, and used enough parmesan to offend an entire Italian village. But Sirius was relaxed, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking from under flour-dusted skin, talking to Remus like they hadn’t been orbiting each other for years.

Like he knew.

And maybe he did.

Remus leaned against the counter, shoulder aching but tolerable now. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Sirius didn’t glance up. “You didn’t have to answer the phone either, but here we are.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to—”

“Moony.” Sirius looked up. “Stop. I wanted to. And I’ll keep showing up, even when you don’t ask.”

Remus swallowed.

There it was again.

Being perceived.

But this time, it wasn’t unbearable.

It was Sirius, seeing him with all his broken pieces, and not flinching.

That night, after everyone left and the dishes were mostly done and Remus was curled up on the couch with Virginia on his chest, Sirius hovered by the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” Remus replied.

Sirius gave him a look.

“I’m better now,” Remus added. “Less pain. Less… apocalypse.”

Sirius hesitated. “I could stay. If you want.”

Remus blinked. “Like… stay?”

“Not in a weird way,” Sirius said quickly. “Just… hang out. Watch something awful. Make sure you don’t throw your phone into another abyss.”

Remus considered it.

Then patted the couch beside him.

Sirius grinned and dropped his bag, slipping off his boots. He settled beside Remus carefully, their shoulders brushing.

Virginia stretched dramatically between them.

“I’m not good at this,” Remus murmured after a while.

“At what?”

“Letting people in. Asking for help.”

Sirius didn’t look away from the screen. “Good thing I already broke in.”

Remus laughed, quietly.

They sat there for a long time, the flicker of some terrible sitcom lighting their faces, silence easy between them.

And for once, being seen didn’t feel like a burden.

Sirius had never been good at sitting still. He liked movement—liked the hum of an engine under him, the buzz of a crowd, the rhythm of his own restlessness.

But right now, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Remus on a secondhand couch that smelled like lavender he didn’t want to move at all.

Remus’ hair was mussed. Virginia was purring on his chest like a tiny engine. And something in the air felt raw and good and a little dangerous.

Because Sirius had seen Remus Lupin vulnerable before—post-surgery, post-breakup, post-epic-migraine-that-laid-him-out-for-three-days.

But this was different.

This was soft.

Unarmored.

And Sirius was not okay about it.

He watched as Remus drifted—eyelids half-shut, pain visible only in the way his hand twitched occasionally near his brace. He always tried so damn hard not to let people see. Like it was a moral failing, being in pain. Being tired.

Sirius wanted to punch every person that had ever made him feel that way.

“Still awake?” Remus murmured, eyes fluttering open, voice low and rasped.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Too wired. Adrenaline. Garlic bread. Cat.”

Remus’ mouth quirked. “She did try to smother you earlier. Consider it a warning.”

“I’d die a noble death,” Sirius replied solemnly, scratching behind Virginia’s ear. “Tell my story.”

“Here lies Sirius Black. Mauled by an overeducated feline while pining pathetically for a sarcastic literature professor with chronic joint issues.”

“Catchy.”

Remus blinked slowly, his smile turning softer. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay,” Sirius said immediately.

He could tell Remus was gearing up to argue, so he cut him off with the quiet truth.

“I like being around you, Moony. Even when you’re cranky and sore and smell faintly of eucalyptus oil. You’re still you. That’s the bit I like.”

Remus looked at him, then. Really looked.

Not a glance.

A seeing.

And Sirius let him. Let himself be perceived too, for once—tired, anxious, hungry for something he hadn’t named out loud yet.

Remus’ voice, when it came, was quiet. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not broken.”

Sirius’ throat closed.

He leaned forward, carefully, slowly—just enough for their foreheads to touch, not quite a kiss, not quite platonic either.

“You’re not broken, Remus,” he whispered. “You’re just real.”

Remus closed his eyes. And for a moment, everything felt very still.

Later, they ended up horizontal. Not in the fun, R-rated way Sirius would usually be hoping for—but wrapped under a threadbare blanket, Virginia curled at their feet, some absolute garbage show droning in the background.

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

His mind kept running.

Not about the usual—his job, his family, the existential dread of aging—but about how peaceful Remus looked when the pain eased. About the fact that he had shown up, and Remus had let him in.

And Sirius wanted that. Wanted in. For real.

Not just the “occasional pasta and banter” level. The hard stuff too.

The days when Remus couldn’t get out of bed. The weeks when the pain flared and he shut everyone out. The dark spirals he never quite admitted to.

Sirius wanted in on all of it.

Which was terrifying.

Because Sirius didn’t do long-term. He was chaos, and people liked him in small doses. Fun, funny, charming Sirius. Not the version that stayed up at 3 a.m. reading disability blogs so he’d stop asking stupid questions. Not the version that wondered if he could find a heating pad that didn’t suck.

But Remus made him want to be better.

Not different.

Just better.

“Hey,” he whispered in the dark. “You awake?”

Remus shifted slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I like you,” Sirius blurted. “Like… a lot.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “Is this your idea of a seduction? Because it’s very NPR at midnight.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s why it’s terrifying.”

Sirius turned to face him. “What if we tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“This. You. Me. Us.”

Remus was quiet for a long beat.

Then: “You sure? I’m… a lot.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah, but you come with leather jackets and Instagram thirst traps. I come with joint instability and a pharmacy in my kitchen.”

Sirius leaned in, eyes soft. “Then we’ll make room for both.”

Remus looked at him like no one ever had—like he wanted to believe it, like he almost did.

“Okay,” he whispered.

And Sirius smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t ending.

It was just beginning.

There were good days.

Days where Remus made it through an entire morning lecture without having to pop a shoulder back into place like a goddamn haunted action figure. Days when his joints played nice, his head stayed clear, and he didn’t have to put on the smiling “No really, I’m fine” mask he usually wore around students.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was the kind of day where just breathing felt like a chore. Where the soft ache in his back had graduated into a sharp throb that made putting on socks feel like an Olympic event. Where his knee had decided to dislocate while he was brushing his teeth, and he ended up sitting on the bathroom floor with a mouth full of toothpaste and a deep, dull resentment of gravity.

He hadn’t texted Sirius.

Not yet.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he did.

Because Sirius had that look when Remus was hurting. The one that said he wanted to fix everything and couldn’t. And Remus hated being the problem someone couldn’t solve.

So he stayed on the couch, curled up like a comma, watching reruns of Taskmaster with the volume low and Virginia sleeping traitorously on his bad hip.

The front door clicked.

He’d forgotten Sirius had a key.

“Moons?” came the soft voice, a little muffled, like Sirius had a grocery bag in his mouth.

Remus didn’t answer.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, wearing joggers, an oversized hoodie, and the worried expression that came standard whenever Remus was quiet for too long.

“I brought oranges. And those crisps you like that taste like regret and vinegar.”

Remus made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a sigh.

Sirius set the bag down and crossed the room without ceremony. “Where are we at, pain-wise?”

“Seven,” Remus said. “Maybe an eight if I sneeze.”

“Mobility?”

“On strike.”

Sirius nodded. “Right then. Cuddle triage.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Tri-age, Remus. Three stages of care.” Sirius held up a finger. “Stage one: reposition the invalid.”

“I will smother you with this cat.”

Sirius ignored him, sliding onto the couch and gently shifting Remus’ legs across his lap. His hands moved with practiced care, adjusting the throw pillow, rubbing a thumb behind Remus’ knee.

“Stage two,” Sirius said, “is soup. Which I did not bring, because you hate canned soup, and I cannot cook soup. I did, however, bring crisps and those stupid gummy peaches that rot your teeth.”

Remus softened despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And stage three…” Sirius leaned down, kissed the top of Remus’ head, just above his temple. “...is the most important. Which is reminding you that you don’t have to hide on days like this.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Remus lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

“Right. You were doing highly visible floor yoga with a dislocated knee and depression snacks.”

Remus chuckled, quietly. His body still hurt, but it was different with Sirius here. The pain didn’t shrink, but it didn’t swallow him whole either.

“Do you regret this?” he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could filter them. “Being with me. Like this.”

Sirius didn’t answer right away.

He just took Remus’ hand, running his thumb over the knuckles—gentle, reverent.

“I chose this,” Sirius said finally, voice soft but steady. “Every part of it. I want the good days and the crap ones and the days when you can’t move, and the days you make fun of my Spotify playlists.”

“They’re criminal, Sirius. You have Limp Bizkit and Phoebe Bridgers on the same playlist.”

“Eclectic taste, baby.”

Remus smiled. Tired. Honest.

“Do you remember,” Sirius continued, “that day in March when you couldn’t leave bed, and you let me sit with you for like, six hours while we watched Great British Bake Off and bullied Paul Hollywood?”

“Yes.”

“That was one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Remus blinked at him.

“I’m not with you despite the hard days,” Sirius said, leaning down again. “I’m with you through them. On purpose.”

There it was again.

Being seen.

Being chosen.

And this time, Remus let himself believe it.

That night, Sirius cooked pasta while Remus supervised from the couch like a very opinionated monarch. They ate curled up under a shared blanket, Virginia curled between them, the room filled with the smell of garlic and the quiet sounds of two people who had finally, finally stopped running.

When Sirius dozed off, Remus watched him sleep.

He thought: I never thought I’d get this.

He thought: I want this forever.

And he didn’t feel broken at all.

He felt loved.

He felt home.

[starryeyedwolves]

The Quietest Boy in the Room

There are two Remus Lupins at Hogwarts.

There is the one everyone sees: kind eyes behind worn sweaters, the Prefect who never raises his voice but always gets heard, who smiles politely at the teachers and holds the door open for first-years, who carries around a tattered book of poetry as if it could stitch him together.

Then there’s the one he buries.

That Remus is carved from full moons and bloodstains, from the splintering agony of transformation and the taste of his own mouth torn open by fangs that never feel like his. That Remus is feral and furious, a creature of sharp teeth and shame, of scars across his chest and nightmares he never tells Sirius about. Not fully. Not yet.

On a quiet afternoon in October, Remus is sitting alone by the lake, watching the water. His fingers curl around a pebble, not to skip it, but to hold it like something fragile. He doesn’t look up when Sirius approaches, just says, “You’re late.”

“Was helping James charm Snivellus’ robes to sing Celestina Warbeck. Again.” Sirius flops down beside him, all leather and laughter. “He’ll never find the counter-spell.”

Remus hums. “Maybe this time he’ll just lean into it.”

There’s a pause. Sirius watches Remus watch the lake, the breeze teasing the hair from his eyes. There’s something in his posture, the slope of his shoulders, that speaks of exhaustion too old for seventeen.

“Full moon’s coming,” Sirius says.

“I know.”

“James and I were talking—we could sneak you out early, let you rest at the Shack before—”

“No.” Remus finally looks at him. There’s steel beneath the softness. “I can handle it.”

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t—”

“I know.” He sighs. “I just… need to.”

Sirius nods, quiet now. He’s learned how to read the silence between Remus’ words.

“I used to fight it, you know,” Remus says after a long while, voice barely above the lapping water. “Clawed at the walls, bit into wood until I cracked my teeth. I thought if I just… hated it enough, I could stop becoming it.”

Sirius’ jaw tightens, fingers twitching toward him, but not quite touching.

“I’ve broken every bone in my body more times than I can count. Hurt myself trying not to hurt anyone else.” Remus lets the pebble fall from his hand. “There’s a violence in that. Not just the transformation. But the refusal. The constant fight to stay soft when everything in you wants to tear.”

Sirius swallows. “You are soft.”

Remus laughs, bitter and tired. "Do you know how much pain I had to survive just to be this soft?"

The words land between them like a spell, still humming with power.

And Sirius—who grew up in a house of hexes and cruel silences, who ran away because gentleness was treated like a weakness—feels it.

“I think I do,” he says. And this time, he does reach for Remus, fingers grazing his wrist, grounding him. “And I think that’s why I love you.”

Remus doesn’t flinch. He just closes his eyes, lets the wind move through him like water, and leans, slowly, into the warmth at his side.

Because kindness forged in fire is the rarest kind. And this boy—this wolf—has bled to earn it.

[starryeyedwolves]

Mind-Link

The Gryffindor common room was a cacophony of laughter, butterbeer, and chocolate frogs. The fire crackled merrily as students lounged around in post-match euphoria. James was basking in the afterglow of yet another glorious Quidditch win, ruffling his already wild hair and grinning like a maniac.

Sirius was halfway through an exaggerated retelling of his near-miss Bludger deflection when James cut him off with a wild idea.

“Charades,” he declared. “Losers have to clean the owlery.”

Remus raised an eyebrow from his corner. “You want to play charades now?”

“What better way to humiliate ourselves than in front of the whole house?” James grinned. “It’s tradition!”

“Charades is not a tradition, Prongs,” Remus said dryly.

“It is now!” James insisted. “Marauders only. Round-robin style. You act, the rest guess. Let’s see whose brain actually functions without a wand.”

Peter, lounging nearby with a plate of cauldron cakes, perked up. “I’m in. But I’m not cleaning the owlery if someone cheats.”

James waved a hand. “You’re all terrible liars. We’ll know.”

They gathered in the center of the room, forming a loose circle while the rest of the Gryffindors cheered them on.

“Alright,” James said, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll go first.”

He mimed brushing his teeth with wildly exaggerated motions and made a face like he was gargling something terrible.

“Dental disaster?” Sirius called out.

“Brushing a hippogriff?” Remus guessed.

“No!” James pointed at his mouth, then his armpits, then leapt up and spun in a circle.

Peter tilted his head. “Personal hygiene?”

“Yes!” James shouted, collapsing into a heap. “Three guesses. That counts.”

Remus gave him a slow clap. “Astounding performance.”

“Next,” James said, pointing at Sirius. “Black, show us what you’ve got.”

Sirius stood, gave a mock bow, and turned to Remus with a grin.

One second later, he dramatically fell to the floor clutching his chest.

Remus didn’t hesitate. “Heartbreak.”

Sirius jumped up. “Correct!”

James blinked. “Wait—what?”

“That was barely three seconds,” Peter said.

“Lucky guess,” Remus shrugged, but there was the faintest curve of a smirk on his lips.

Sirius flopped back down next to him, throwing an arm around the back of the couch. “What can I say? Moony gets me.”

Peter glanced between them. “Uh-huh.”

James narrowed his eyes but waved for Remus to go next. “Fine. You’re up, Lupin.”

Remus stood, thoughtful. Then he mimed holding a cup, sipping it carefully, before dramatically dropping the imaginary object and recoiling.

“Exploding tea?” Peter tried.

“Nope,” Remus said with a small smile.

Sirius immediately said, “Bitter potion.”

Remus pointed at him. “Got it.”

James threw his hands up. “OH, COME ON!”

Peter leaned back. “It’s the weird mind-link thing again.”

James turned. “Excuse me?”

Peter shrugged, biting into a cauldron cake. “They’ve been doing that for ages. Guessing what the other’s thinking. Finishing sentences. It’s unnatural.”

“It’s annoying is what it is,” James grumbled. “They’re cheating.”

“We’re not!” Sirius looked affronted.

Remus looked entirely too innocent. “We just think alike.”

“You’re literally telepathic.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Remus said.

James folded his arms. “Alright, fine. New rule. You two can’t be on the same team.”

Peter leaned forward. “Or act for each other.”

Sirius clutched his chest again, this time in mock betrayal. “My own brothers, turning against me.”

“Less dramatic,” Remus muttered, amused.

“Still true.”

They carried on, mixing up teams and rules, but it didn’t matter. Every time Sirius acted, Remus guessed right. And vice versa. It didn’t even matter what it was—dragon milking, underwater gobstone battles, enchanted socks—Remus always had the answer before James or Peter could make a sound.

After the fifth round, James stood up. “That’s it. I’m done. I refuse to be party to this charade of charades.”

Sirius grinned. “What, can’t handle the magic of true understanding?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, he can’t handle losing.”

“I can handle losing,” James said indignantly. “Just not when the game is clearly rigged.”

Peter got up, brushing crumbs off his robes. “Honestly, you two have been weird for months.”

Sirius blinked. “Weird how?”

Peter looked at them like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re always together. You talk in private. You share clothes. You give each other looks. You think no one notices, but I do.”

Remus coughed. “We—we do not give each other looks.”

Sirius’ ears were pink. “Yeah, Wormtail, I think you’re imagining things.”

“I’m really not,” Peter said. “And if this game is anything to go by, you two might want to get your weird telepathic flirting under control before McGonagall gives you detention for it.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance.

And that glance was all it took.

“Oh my god,” James whispered. “Peter’s right.”

Peter held up his hands. “Told you.”

Sirius laughed—half nervous, half breathless—and Remus looked at the floor as if it might swallow him whole.

“Okay,” Sirius said, standing slowly. “Just—hypothetically—if there was some weird mind-link, it’s not because we’re cheating.”

“No?” James asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” Sirius said. “It’s because…”

“Because?” Peter prompted, watching him intently.

Sirius swallowed and looked at Remus.

"Because I’m in love with him,” he said, voice quiet.

The room hushed. Even the fire crackled less enthusiastically.

Remus stared at him, frozen.

James gaped. “Well, bloody finally!”

Peter muttered, “It’s about time.”

Sirius turned bright red. “What do you mean ‘finally’?!”

“I’ve had bets on this for two years,” James said.

Remus found his voice. “You—you’re in love with me?”

Sirius nodded. “Very inconvenient, really.”

Remus blinked. Then stepped forward. Then, before anyone could breathe, he grabbed Sirius by the front of his robes and kissed him.

Someone in the background—probably Lily—whistled.

James whooped. “YES! Gryffindor wins again!”

Peter smirked and took another bite of cake. “Told you it was the mind-link.”

Peter sat next to James on the couch, watching as Remus and Sirius curled up together in front of the fire, whispering in low voices.

“Told you,” Peter said smugly.

James sighed. “You’re smarter than you look, Wormtail.”

“I notice things,” Peter said with a shrug. “And they’ve been mooning over each other forever.”

James glanced sideways. “You think they’ll stop with the mind-reading now?”

Peter grinned. “Nah. If anything, it’s gonna get worse.”

[starryeyedwolves]

Burn, Bright and Bitter

Sirius burns. He always has.

Remus has known it since they were fifteen, maybe younger. There was something in the way Sirius laughed—reckless, sharp, all-consuming. Like he was always about to leap into the sun without checking where he’d land. Like if the world didn’t set him on fire, he’d set fire to it first just to feel something. He laughed like war drums, kissed like he was daring death to interrupt, lived like he was outrunning a curse.

And Remus—Remus had always been cold. Not unfeeling. Never that. But quiet, withdrawn. Steady. The way the moon is steady even as it disappears piece by piece.

He wasn’t surprised when Sirius joined the Order. He wasn’t surprised Sirius ran toward the war like it was a lover in the dark, arms flung open, teeth bared, daring it to touch him. Daring it to try.

Sirius was a goddamn wildfire in leather and fury and aching, splintered beauty.

And Remus followed.

They meet in the shadows more often now. Not because they want to, but because daylight has become dangerous.

There’s blood in the news every day. Blood in the streets. Blood on Sirius’ hands sometimes, drying black under his nails.

Remus touches his face, one night, when Sirius stumbles into the safehouse with hex burns on his ribs and the distant look of someone who’s watched another life drain out. He smells like smoke. Of course he does.

“You’re going to die like this,” Remus says quietly, brushing the tangled hair from Sirius’ brow. “Burning too hot. Too fast.”

Sirius smiles. A flash of teeth. Sharp and shining.

“Better than dying cold.”

And Remus says nothing because he will. He does die cold. Every time Sirius walks out that door again. Every time he comes back more frayed, more ghost than man.

There are moments.

God, there are moments where the whole world stops, and it’s just Sirius and Remus and the almost of it all.

Like now.

Remus sits on the rooftop of the London flat they don’t officially live in. There’s tea gone cold beside him, and Sirius beside that, lying flat on his back and staring up at the stars like he wants to challenge them to a duel.

“Do you think it’ll end?” Remus murmurs. “The war.”

Sirius doesn’t answer for a long while. Then—

“No.”

Remus turns. Sirius isn’t looking at him, just breathing slowly, arms splayed like a martyr.

“Not for us,” he adds, quieter. “We’re not made for peace.”

Remus wants to argue. Wants to say yes, we are, we can be, but he knows it’s not true. Sirius will burn himself out before they ever see peace. He’s incandescent in a way the world doesn’t tolerate.

“You know you don’t have to keep doing this,” Remus tries anyway. “Not alone.”

Sirius turns his head. In the moonlight, his eyes look ancient. Like a creature made of myth and glory and hurt.

“I don’t know how not to.”

They don’t kiss like lovers. They kiss like dying men.

Like fire meeting frost. Like the sun swallowing the moon in a doomed embrace.

Sirius always initiates it—always grabs Remus like he might float away if he doesn’t. Always desperate, always frantic. A man clinging to the one thing that feels real.

Remus always lets him. He would let Sirius do anything.

Because loving Sirius is like orbiting a star—you don’t get to choose the distance, just whether or not to burn when you get too close.

It gets worse after James and Lily die.

Sirius is half-shadow, half-storm, all teeth. His grief is a weapon and he wields it mercilessly. Against himself. Against the world.

“They took everything,” he whispers one night. “They took everything, and it’s my fault.”

Remus doesn’t argue. Can’t. Because for a moment—just one terrible moment—he wondered too.

Wondered if Sirius could have done it.

Wondered if the boy he loved became the man the world feared.

But now, looking at him—hollowed out, unshaven, shaking with rage and guilt—Remus knows better.

No, Sirius didn’t kill James and Lily. But he is killing himself.

Every day.

And Remus watches it happen, amber-eyed and silent, the moon in his chest cracking.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” Sirius says one night, out of nowhere, lying beside him in the dark. “I can feel it.”

Remus says nothing for a long time. He traces the constellation on Sirius' shoulder instead. Ink on skin. Marks made permanent by someone else’s hand.

“I would never leave you,” Remus says at last. “But you’re not you anymore.”

Sirius turns toward him, slowly. “Then who am I?”

“A dying star.”

It ends the way all bright things do.

Explosion. Silence. Ash.

Peter betrays them. Sirius screams until his throat breaks and his wand falls from his hand. And Remus—Remus is left in the dark, watching the only light he’s ever known vanish behind Azkaban’s stone.

He doesn’t cry when Sirius is taken. He doesn’t scream. He just stands there, blinking up at the sky, wondering if the moon looks different now. Duller. Dimmer.

Because without the sun, even the moon forgets how to shine.

Years pass.

Remus doesn’t live so much as exist. Quietly. Dutifully. Alone.

He teaches. He reads. He howls, once a month, into the empty dark.

And then, one night, in a shack full of ghosts and monsters, Sirius is back.

And he looks wrecked.

Older. Thinner. Wild in a way that’s not beautiful anymore. But his eyes—they still burn.

“Sirius,” Remus breathes.

Sirius doesn’t say his name. Just says, “Did you believe I did it?”

And Remus hesitates.

That pause is longer than it should be.

But then he steps forward, wraps his arms around a man who smells like despair and damp stone, and says, “No. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.”

And for a moment, they hold each other like stars collapsing.

They try, after that.

Try to be who they were. Try to rekindle light.

But Sirius is a dying sun now—flickering, unstable, brilliant in bursts and terrifying in silence. And Remus—Remus is more moon than man. Full of dark places he’s never shown anyone. Full of love he’s terrified to give again.

Still, they try.

They meet in shadows again, not for war this time, but for comfort. For warmth. For the memory of who they used to be when they were younger and whole and brave.

They kiss again.

They kiss like maybe this time it will save them.

It doesn’t.

In the end, Sirius dies through a curtain no one understands.

Remus sees it happen.

And for a moment—for one brief, blinding second—Remus thinks he sees a flare of light behind the veil. Like Sirius finally burned too bright and became something else. Something untouchable. Eternal.

Then it’s gone.

Just like that.

The sun goes out.

And Remus is alone.

After that, he walks in shadows more often.

Not because he has to.

Because he can’t do anything else.

He looks up at the sky sometimes, and he wonders if Sirius is watching. Laughing. Burning still.

Remus doesn't cry.

He shines instead. As best he can. A quiet, steady light in the darkness.

Guiding others.

Waiting for dawn that will never come.

[starryeyedwolves]

Worth It for Love

Sirius was never one to do things halfway.

If he wanted something, he chased it with reckless abandon, sometimes to disastrous results. And right now, what he wanted more than anything was for Remus to notice him. Not just as a friend, not just as a fellow Marauder, but as something more.

The only problem? Remus was painfully oblivious.

Sirius had tried everything—casually draping himself over Remus in the Gryffindor common room, complimenting his sweaters (which were admittedly awful but endearing), even making exaggerated, dramatic sighs whenever Remus so much as glanced at another boy. Nothing worked.

So, Sirius did what any self-respecting teenage boy in love would do: he got stupid about it.

It started with small things—tripping over his own feet when Remus walked into a room, knocking over his goblet at breakfast because he was too busy staring at Remus’ hands, once even walking straight into a suit of armor while Remus was laughing at something James had said. The last one had been particularly humiliating, especially since the armor let out a deafening clang that had the entire Great Hall turning to look.

"Are you alright?" Remus had asked, clearly concerned as he knelt beside Sirius, who was sprawled out on the floor, dazed.

Sirius had blinked up at him and, in a fit of desperation, blurted, "I think I’ve been wounded. Your beauty—it's lethal, Moony."

Remus had blinked once, then twice, before snorting. "Merlin, you’re ridiculous."

Sirius, still flat on the ground, grinned. "Ridiculously in love with you?"

Remus rolled his eyes but helped him up, and that alone made Sirius consider the whole endeavor a success.

Then there was the poetry phase.

James had begged him to stop, but Sirius was committed. Every morning, a new poem would mysteriously appear in Remus’ books, scrawled in dramatic, slanted handwriting.

"Oh, Remus, your eyes, like amber so bright, Make my poor heart take ungraceful flight. Your voice, so soft, a whisper divine, would that you’d call me forever mine."

The worst part? Remus never mentioned them.

Sirius watched, agonized, as Remus found each note, read them with the tiniest of smiles, and tucked them away—never once bringing them up. Was this hell? Had he died and been sent to an afterlife of eternal suffering?

Desperate, he tried a new tactic.

"James, throw me in the lake."

James, used to Sirius' dramatics, barely looked up from his Quidditch playbook. "Why?"

"Because Remus is down there studying, and if I fall in dramatically, surely he’ll be forced to rescue me. Then, in the moment of my near-drowning, he’ll realize he loves me."

James stared. "That’s the dumbest plan you’ve ever had."

"Is it?" Sirius challenged. "Or is it genius?"

"It’s stupid."

"Throw me anyway."

James sighed, muttered something about being too good a friend, and then—without warning—shoved Sirius hard enough that he tumbled right over the edge of the dock.

The water was freezing. Sirius surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to his face.

Remus, who had indeed been sitting nearby with his books, stared at him. "Did you just—?"

Sirius, shivering but determined, pushed his wet hair out of his face and beamed. "Save me, Moony. Only your touch can warm me now."

Remus exhaled through his nose, clearly fighting a smile. "Get out of the water, you idiot."

Sirius was close to giving up. Maybe Remus just wasn’t interested. Maybe this whole thing had been a lost cause from the start.

He was sitting on his bed, dejected, when Remus wandered in. "You alright?"

Sirius groaned. "Just contemplating the futility of love."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?"

Sirius sighed dramatically. "You have no idea."

There was a pause, and then—softly—Remus said, "You know, you could’ve just asked me out."

Sirius’ head snapped up. "What."

Remus was watching him with an amused expression. "I mean, the notes were sweet. And the falling over things. And the terrible flirting. But I figured you’d eventually just… ask."

Sirius stared, heart hammering. "You knew?"

Remus chuckled. "Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see how ridiculous you’d get before you actually did something about it."

Sirius groaned, falling back against his pillows. "I hate you."

"Do you?" Remus asked, stepping closer.

Sirius lifted his head just enough to glare. "You’re a menace."

Remus smirked. "Your menace, if you ask properly."

Sirius sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Remus John Lupin, would you do me the honor of going out with me?"

Remus laughed. "Yes, Sirius. I’d love to."

Sirius blinked. "Oh. That was easier than I thought."

Remus shook his head fondly before leaning down and pressing a quick, warm kiss to Sirius’ cheek. "You’re an idiot."

Sirius beamed. "But I’m your idiot."

And for love? Yeah, totally worth it.

[starryeyedwolves]

A Mess

James prided himself on being an understanding friend. A supportive friend. A nonjudgmental friend.

But this?

This was a step too far.

He had seen many things in his years of living with Sirius, things that no sane person should ever have to witness. He had seen him attempt to seduce the mirror in the boys' dormitory. He had seen him try to wrestle a raccoon and lose. He had even once—once—walked in on Sirius and Remus snogging so enthusiastically that Remus nearly fell off the bed.

But this was new.

James stood frozen in the doorway of the Gryffindor dormitory, staring at what could only be described as a biological catastrophe. A horrific fusion of Sirius and Remus.

It was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

A foot was tangled in a mess of dark curls. An elbow was jabbing into someone's ribs, though whose ribs they belonged to was unclear. One of them James thought it might be Remus, had a hand flopped over Sirius' face, fingers twitching as if in some kind of terrible, disjointed dance. Sirius, meanwhile, had an arm hooked around Remus' waist in a way that suggested either a deep, protective instinct or an unconscious attempt to strangle him in his sleep. Their legs were so tangled that James wasn't entirely sure either of them still had working circulation.

They looked like they had fallen asleep mid-battle.

James took a step forward, trying to discern some sort of logic to their positioning. There was none.

"Right," he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. "So this is my life now."

At that moment, Remus let out a soft snore, shifting slightly—and in doing so, his knee slammed into Sirius' stomach.

"Oof!" Sirius grunted, flailing blindly in response and smacking Remus in the face with his own arm.

"Mmhph," Remus grumbled sleepily, pushing at Sirius’ head without much coordination.

"Geroff," Sirius mumbled into the mattress, attempting to roll away but somehow only making their entanglement worse.

James watched in horrified fascination as, instead of successfully untangling, they somehow ended up even more intertwined.

"Are you trying to become a human pretzel?" James asked loudly, because, honestly, someone needed to say it.

There was a long pause.

Then, very slowly, Sirius cracked open one bleary eye. He blinked at James, his brain clearly struggling to boot up.

"Prongs?" he croaked, voice thick with sleep.

"Yes, it's me," James said, crossing his arms. "The poor sod who just walked in on this monstrosity."

Sirius stared at him for a moment, then let his gaze wander down to his own position—his head half-buried in Remus' stomach, one of Remus' arms draped over his face, both of them in a complete mess of limbs.

"Ah," Sirius said finally, as if just realizing the absurdity of the situation. He blinked. "Remus is the big spoon."

James made a strangled noise. "That’s what you’re focusing on?"

"Correction," came Remus’ voice, muffled but dry. "Neither of us is the big spoon."

James groaned. "That’s disgusting."

Sirius, still seemingly half-asleep, grinned. "You're just jealous."

James rolled his eyes and turned for the door. "I'm leaving before I have to witness you two suffocate each other to death."

"Goodnight, Prongs," Remus murmured, already settling back into the mess.

"Yeah, yeah, just—try not to break any bones in your sleep."

As James shut the door behind him, he could still hear Sirius muttering sleepily.

[starryeyedwolves]

The Gravity of Them

Sirius was a force of nature. Not the kind you could predict, but the kind that rolled in out of nowhere, changing the very air around him. He walked into a room, and heads turned—sometimes because of his careless charm, sometimes because of his reputation, but always because he was Sirius Black.

And, of course, the girls adored him.

It wasn’t just that he was absurdly handsome in a way that seemed completely effortless, though that certainly didn’t hurt. It was the way he carried himself—like he was above caring, like he was perfectly aware of the effect he had on people but didn’t quite take it seriously. He’d flash a smirk, twirl a quill between his fingers during class, lean back in his chair like the world was made for his amusement.

And then he’d hold open a door for a first-year Hufflepuff girl struggling with her books and wink when she stammered out a thank you. Or he’d pull out a chair for a Slytherin girl in the library just to see her do a double-take. Or he’d call a Ravenclaw by name when he complimented her new haircut, because of course he noticed.

But no matter how many heads turned when he walked in, Sirius always seemed to end up looking for just one person.

Remus, on the other hand, was a different kind of magnetic. Where Sirius was a storm, Remus was steady ground. The kind of place you’d want to sit and rest for a while.

He didn’t try to attract people—if anything, he seemed faintly confused when it happened. But something about the way he carried himself made him impossible to resist. He laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right times, and always seemed to know when someone needed a reassuring hand on their shoulder or a quiet, I get it.

And he had that energy—the one that made people feel safe. Girls sat beside him at lunch, stole his jumpers, looped their arms through his on the way to class. He never protested. If anything, he seemed quietly delighted.

Sirius noticed.

Of course he noticed. He always noticed Remus.

"Moony," he groaned one afternoon, sprawled dramatically across the common room sofa, one arm flung over his eyes like a dying poet. "I don’t understand it."

Remus didn’t look up from his book. "Hmm?"

"How is it that I’m the devastatingly handsome one, but you’re the one they all flock to like you’re the bloody sun?"

Remus sighed, tilting his head toward the gaggle of girls across the room. "I think they like that I’m not flirting with them."

Sirius let out a tragic noise. "But that’s my whole thing."

Remus smirked. "Maybe that’s the problem."

Sirius peeked at him from under his arm. “You’re saying I should play hard to get?”

“I’m saying you’re not very hard to get,” Remus murmured, a bit too casually.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And you are?”

Remus didn’t respond. Just turned a page, lips twitching.

Before Sirius could press the point, Marlene strolled over and plopped herself on the armrest beside Remus, tossing a wink at Sirius. "Lupin, you coming to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Remus blinked up at her, distracted. "I—yeah, probably."

"Good. We’re dragging you to Gladrags. You have exactly one jumper that doesn’t have holes in it, and it’s Sirius’."

Remus flushed, and Sirius perked up.

"Wait—my jumper?"

"You left it in the library last week," Remus muttered.

"And you just took it?" Sirius grinned. “How scandalous.”

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but Marlene ruffled his hair before he could.

"Good lad. See you there."

She was halfway across the room before Sirius turned to him with a smirk that was entirely too pleased. "Merlin, Moony. You’re like a bloody lighthouse.”

Remus rolled his eyes and went back to his book. “Oh, shut up, Sirius.”

But Sirius didn’t. Instead, he scooted closer on the sofa, until their knees touched.

"You know," he said, quieter now, almost serious, "I don’t really care if they’re all drawn to you."

Remus glanced at him, brows raised. "No?"

Sirius shook his head, voice softer. "Nah. As long as you are."

Remus froze.

Sirius shrugged, suddenly bashful. “Drawn to me, I mean.”

There was a long pause. Then Remus closed his book slowly, turned fully to face him, and said, voice just as low, “Maybe I am.”

And Sirius, for once, didn’t have a quip.

He just smiled, wide and real and a little stunned, like he’d found something he hadn’t known he was looking for.

And Remus smiled back, because he had.

Sirius didn't say anything. He just kept smiling at Remus like he’d said the last thing in the world he'd expected to hear—and maybe it was.

Remus, for his part, wasn’t sure why he’d said it. He just knew it was true.

“You meant that?” Sirius asked finally, voice low.

Remus didn’t look away. “I did.”

There was something raw in Sirius’ expression—something that had nothing to do with the easy confidence he wore like armor. “You’re not just taking the piss?”

Remus shook his head. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Another pause. Sirius’ knee was still pressed against his. His hand was on the cushion between them now, fingers brushing close to Remus’, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to reach further.

“I always thought…” Sirius trailed off, swallowing. “You’d never feel the same.”

“I always thought you wouldn’t,” Remus said, with a huff of something that might’ve been laughter if it weren’t so soft. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, and this time his smile was more of a grimace, “but it never means anything. Not really.”

Remus looked down, then back up. “And this does?”

Sirius hesitated just long enough for Remus’ heart to stutter.

Then he reached out—tentative at first, then decisive—and slipped his hand over Remus’. Their fingers tangled easily, like they’d done this a thousand times before. Like they were made to fit there.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, thumb brushing the side of Remus’ hand, “this really does.”

Remus exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I don’t need everyone to look at me,” Sirius said, more to the fire than to Remus. “I just… want you to.”

Remus smiled, small and a little sad. “I always have, Sirius.”

Something in Sirius’ face cracked open then—some dam held too long, some truth he’d never let himself believe. He leaned in without quite realizing it, and Remus did too, and suddenly they were close enough to count eyelashes.

Neither of them asked for permission. They didn’t need to.

The kiss was brief. Soft. The kind of thing that said we’ve been circling this forever, but not rushed—not desperate. Just right.

When they pulled apart, Sirius didn’t let go of his hand.

“Still think I’m a lighthouse?” Remus murmured, lips barely curved.

Sirius leaned his head against his shoulder with a grin. “Yeah. But I’m not so lost anymore.”

[starryeyedwolves]

A Rhyme in Time

It started as a prank.

Sirius had found the curse in one of those dusty, dangerous books tucked away in the Black family library—marked with warnings in Latin and a particularly vivid illustration of a tongue twisted into a knot. Naturally, that only made him more curious.

"Temporary," the footnote had promised. "Effects wear off within a day."

And what were a few hours of Remus Lupin speaking in rhyme?

Pure comedy gold.

Or so Sirius thought.

It hit Remus mid-sentence.

They were sitting around the Gryffindor common room—James attempting to tutor Peter in Transfiguration, Sirius half-listening, mostly doodling tiny motorcycles on his parchment. Remus was reading aloud from a book, something about defensive wards, when he paused, frowned, and said:

"I think this chapter's rather odd—its logic feels a bit... slipshod?"

James blinked.

Peter stared.

Sirius burst into laughter.

“Oh, brilliant,” Sirius said, standing to properly appreciate his handiwork. “You sound like you’ve swallowed a Shakespeare anthology.”

Remus’ eyes narrowed. “What did you do, you reckless berk? I swear this better bloody work—because if I’m rhyming all damn day, I’ll hex you into yesterday.”

“I may have… applied a minor linguistic charm,” Sirius said, grinning as Remus growled.

“With me as your unwilling mime?” Remus snapped. “You cursed me just to make me rhyme?”

“It wears off in a few hours,” Sirius said. “Come on, Moony, you have to admit—it’s kind of amazing.”

Remus didn’t smile.

He didn’t hex him, either, which was somehow worse.

Instead, he stood slowly, gathered his things, and said, “A joke at my expense, how quaint. You’d laugh at a man about to faint.”

And with that, he left the common room.

Sirius stopped laughing.

The rhyming didn’t wear off by evening.

It didn’t wear off by midnight.

By breakfast the next day, Remus was still rhyming—and was, it seemed, leaning fully into it. With a flat tone and increasingly elaborate couplets, he recited his way through toast and marmalade like he was auditioning for the Royal Shakespeare Company.

“Do we have a plan for class today? Or will Transfiguration go astray?” he asked, eyes fixed on Sirius.

Sirius, for once, had nothing to say.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow as Remus answered every question in near-perfect verse. When she gently asked if he was feeling quite alright, Remus responded:

“The charm is harmless, so I’m told. Yet here I rhyme, and here I scold. Blame not the book, nor stars above—blame the boy who calls this love.”

The classroom went silent.

Sirius’ heart stopped.

Remus didn’t look at him as he turned the page in his textbook, voice calm and steady:

“He casts his jokes and plays his part, while I bleed rhyme from a battered heart. He’d laugh at pain and smile at scars—too blind to see what’s always ours.”

They didn’t talk after class.

James said nothing, but his glance was sharp, and Peter looked like he wanted to crawl into himself.

Sirius followed Remus to the library after dinner, still stunned.

“Remus,” he said quietly, “that rhyme—was that just part of the curse, or—?”

Remus didn’t look up from his notes. “The words are real. The pain, unfeigned. The feelings I have long contained.”

Sirius’ voice cracked. “You—you mean it?”

Remus finally looked at him. “I rhyme because I have no choice. But still, you hear my honest voice.”

“I didn’t know,” Sirius said. “I was just messing around. I didn’t think—”

“No, you never do,” Remus said, not unkindly. “You play with fire. You mock the flame. And now you’ve learned this isn’t a game.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, meaning it more than he’d ever meant anything.

Remus sighed, and something behind his eyes softened. “It’s not your fault that you don’t see—the way you’ve always haunted me.”

Sirius stepped closer. “Say it again.”

Remus shook his head. “This curse makes clear what I can’t hide—my heart, unguarded, cast aside.”

“You’re not cast aside,” Sirius said, voice low. “You never were.”

He reached out—hand brushing Remus’, then gripping it tightly.

“You love me,” Sirius said, wonder blooming in his chest.

“I love you,” Remus echoed, his voice trembling, “as the moon loves tide. As shadow clings to where light hides.”

Sirius leaned in.

“Then rhyme or not,” he whispered, “I’m yours.”

The curse broke that night.

They were lying side by side in Remus’ bed, wrapped in blankets, legs tangled. The last line Remus spoke came just after Sirius kissed him again.

“I think,” he murmured, breath hitching, “the rhyme has run its final line.”

Then he laughed—a short, breathless laugh that didn’t rhyme at all.

“Thank Merlin,” he whispered. “I thought I’d be stuck like that forever.”

Sirius grinned, kissing his cheek. “It was kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

Remus groaned and smacked him with a pillow.

“Next time you curse me,” he said, “you’re sleeping on the bloody floor.”

But Sirius just wrapped his arms tighter around him.

“No more pranks,” he said softly. “No more hiding.”

Remus was quiet a moment.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And for once, Sirius meant every word.

The next morning came hushed and golden, filtering through the dormitory windows like forgiveness. Sirius woke first, blinking slowly, his arm still draped across Remus’ waist, his nose nestled in the crook of his neck.

He lay there, barely breathing, afraid to shatter the fragile spell of peace.

“You’re awake,” came Remus’ voice, quiet and un-rhymed.

Sirius smiled. “Didn’t dare move. Might scare the dream away.”

Remus shifted slightly, turning to face him. His eyes, though soft with sleep, held something else now. No longer guarded. No longer silent.

“I meant every word,” Remus said. “Rhymed or not.”

Sirius nodded, heart pounding like an old cathedral bell. “I know. And I... I wish I’d seen it sooner.”

A pause.

Then Remus gave him a wry smile. “So. Are you going to kiss me properly, or compose a poem about it first?”

Sirius smirked. “You know, I was thinking something in iambic pentameter.”

Remus groaned again.

But later that day, as they sat by the lake, hidden beneath a blooming willow, Sirius reached for Remus’ hand—and, with uncharacteristic sincerity, spoke:

“Your voice, in verse, was sharp and true—

Each rhyme a thread I traced to you.

You sang of pain I should have seen,

In tones both tender, raw, serene.

So if I write, I’ll write you whole—

Not just the lines, but every role:

The careful heart, the quiet fire,

The moon-struck mind I now admire.”

Remus blinked, lips parted.

Sirius shrugged. “Thought I’d try it your way. Bit more refined.”

Remus laughed—soft and stunned—and leaned in close.

“No curse,” he murmured, “but still you rhyme.”

“For you,” Sirius said, “I’ll learn in time.”

They kissed again—no magic, no spells, no trick of rhyme.

Just truth.

And the hush of the lake around them, holding the rest of the world at bay.