Chapter Text
Part I. From White-Hot Anticipation
Slughorn rattles on and on and on, pacing the room in tantrum. He’s like a spool of thread somersaulting down the stairs, unwinding disastrously. He’s all huffs, and wild hand gestures, and blurred, flurried mumbles.
The inside of Sirius’ cheek is red and raw from biting down snickers. And his silence really is an accomplishment, because from his position (slumped in his seat, arms and ankles crossed), Slughorn’s ears are turning a striking, crimson red and he keeps halting in his pacing to look over at Sirius and puff out a sigh and rake a hand across his face and Sirius is nearly shaking from suppressed laughter.
Minnie, however, is as stoic as ever.
Sirius looks across the desk at her and winks. Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes at him through her green-tinted glasses.
“All I’m saying is,” Slughorn continues, raising his voice slightly, “clearly detentions aren’t working.”
“And what is it that you suggest instead?” McGonagall asks flatly.
Slughorn turns to face McGonagall, revealing a pink patch of hair at the nape of his neck. Sirius winces as his teeth clamp down on the open wound of his cheek.
“Well,” Slughorn says, “Everett, Pince’s assistant, took leave to complete research on billywigs. Perhaps, in the meantime, the boy could help out Madam Pince.”
“What?” Sirius splutters (no longer slumped in his seat, arms and ankles no longer crossed), “The library? You have got to be kidding me.”
Sirius looks to Minnie for support, surely she’ll agree this is ridiculous . But he’s met with gleaming eyes and a twitching lip, which, for Professor McGonagall , might as well be a full-on smirk. Sirius groans, returning to position (slumped in his seat, arms and ankles crossed).
***
Next Monday Sirius finds himself in the library as Madam Pince loads his arms with books. “This one goes in Potions, these two in the biography section, this one in wizarding politics, this one in French literature, these two in muggle studies, these two in Herbology, this one in magical creatures, and this one specifically goes in the dragon section.” She doesn’t stop until the tower of books reaches above Sirius’ head. “You know where all those sections are, right?”
Sirius snakes his head around the tower of books. “Of course,” he says, which is, of course, a complete lie. Sirius sends her a wink and what he hopes is a winning smile. Madam Pince breathes in deeply and turns on her heel, muttering something about this being more of a punishment for her than for him.
Sirius wanders aimlessly around the library dropping off books whenever he finds an open slot on one of the shelves. Occasionally the shelves will spit the book out onto the floor, but occasionally he will place a book in an empty slot and the surrounding books will settle themselves closer to it, welcoming it in like an old friend. Sirius assumes this means he found the right section and calls it a job well done.
Slowly but surely the tower of books becomes smaller and the feeling in Sirius’ arms gradually returns. He makes his way down another aisle and reaches over to place one of the Herbology books into an open slot. The shelf makes a retching sound and promptly —and rather violently, Sirius might add— spits it out. In addition, the two books he had tried to squeeze it between start cursing in French. Right, so not Herbology. French literature then.
Sirius bends down to pick up the book and, upon standing, spots a boy in the window of the open slot. He’s backlit, a golden halo enveloping itself around him and his auburn curls. Sirius watches as the boy, nose tucked into a book, easily navigates his way around the shelves. The dust motes around him seem to scamper out of the golden boy’s way, making room for him.
And then the boy, perhaps sensing Sirius’ gaze, looks up and Sirius quickly ducks down to avoid being caught.
The movement, however, is awkward and stilted and the books in Sirius' hands clatter to the floor, a couple of them hitting the shelves on their way down. Instantly, at least a dozen French books start cursing at him. And one of the books he had dropped starts nipping at his heels. Like literally nipping, it has teeth.
“Shit! Merde!” Sirius curses, joining in with the chorus of French books around him as he attempts to stomp his foot down on of the fucking monster book from hell.
“Everett,” a voice cheerily calls, rounding the corner, “I thought we agreed it was best not to fight with the books. Especially the French ones, they can be quite nasty.”
With a firm footing on the fucking monster book from hell, Sirius looks up to find golden boy standing there, the dust motes buzzing around him.
“You’re not Everett,” golden boy says, tilting his head. He has a scar running across his cheek to his lip and, at this angle, the scar tissue catches the light, creating a stream of gold across his face. Sirius sucks in a breath.
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah,” Sirius cringes, why is he being so awkward? “Something about billywigs. Anyways, I’m filling in for him. It was this or detention.”
“This or detention?”
Christ, golden boy didn’t need to repeat everything he said, he already felt idiotic enough.
“Yeah, you know how last week all the Slytherins showed up to the Great Hall with pink hair?” Sirius leans in conspiratorially, finally something that will make him look cool, “That was me.”
“That was you,” golden boy repeats. He sounds distressingly unimpressed.
“Yeah.” Sirius squares his shoulders.
“And you’re proud of that?”
“Yeah...” His shoulders deflate a bit. Uncharacteristically, he is now quite unsure of himself. He scans golden boy’s robes; Perhaps golden boy is a Slytherin. But he finds a Ravenclaw patch and a bloody prefect badge to boot. So not a Slytherin planning how best to hex him, just a bloody swot .
“Hmm well it’s just that hair altering charms are very second year, no?” Sirius scoffs; finding out how to charm all of Slytherin’s hair in one go was actually quite complicated magic, thank you very much. But golden boy continues: “It’s pretty easy to reverse them once you find out what spell the caster used. Or if all else fails they could just dye it back. But, I don’t know, if you had charmed the Slytherin robes to Gryffindor colors, say, the morning of a Slytherin versus Gryffindor match, that would be harder to reverse. Fabric altering charms are harder to manipulate especially when there’s multiple colors involved.”
Sirius' mouth hangs open. He’s pretty sure he’s swallowing down dust motes.
Golden boy’s eyes travel down Sirius’ body until they reach his steel-toed boot struggling to prevent the fucking monster book from hell from amputating his ankle.
Golden boy smirks and then bends down to rifle through the books on the bottom shelf. The French books don’t curse at him, Sirius heeds reproachfully.
“I’m Sirius.”
Golden boy hums. “About what?”
“No, my name. It’s Sirius.”
Golden boy’s eyebrows pinch together. “That’s an odd name,” he says, standing up and brushing the dust from his trousers. “Can you tell Pince I liked the last book she got me and ask her if she can get some more?” Golden boy turns around and starts walking away.
“Uh, sure. Who should I tell her is asking?” Sirius calls after him. He can’t move or he’ll risk setting the monster book from hell loose.
“She’ll know,” he calls back, “Oh, and if you’d like to keep your foot attached to your body, you have to stroke the book’s spine. It’ll calm it down.” And then golden boy is gone.
***
Sirius can’t decide if golden boy is more irritating or more intriguing. And as he ponders this over his morning eggs he looks up and there he is. Until yesterday he had never seen this boy in his life, and now he just appears right when Sirius is thinking about him. Irritating or intriguing? Sirius can’t decide.
Golden boy is wearing a thick brown sweater and green corduroys under his robes. His wrists and ankles peeking out of each, his limbs far too long. Sirius stares at the exposed, milky skin and at the tiny white scars poking out of golden boy’s clothes.
Lily Evans is talking to the boy animatedly, gesticulating wildly with her hands, which are full of small posters. Golden boy is shaking his head and smiling down at her in amusement as he leans against the wall, his legs casually crossed.
Sirius kicks James from under the table. “Who’s that guy Evans is talking to?”
“Huh,” James drops his fork in alarm and whips his head around. Something loud and sharp cracks in his neck. “Oh,” James’ shoulders relax as he returns back to his eggs, “that’s Remus.”
“Remus?”
James shoots Sirius a funny look. “Yeah, he’s in our Transfiguration class.”
“He sits in the back,” Peter adds through a mouthful of toast.
Across the Great Hall golden boy laughs at something Evans says. It causes a shift in the tectonic plates beneath them, a crack tearing apart the floorboards of the Great Hall splintering all the way to Sirius’ feet. Sirius’ head snaps up. He watches the pair of them with pursed lips. “You’re not worried about him whisking Evans away?”
James and Peter both look at each other and laugh, presumably knowing another thing that he doesn’t. Sirius waits, arms folded. He doesn’t find it funny.
“He’s gay,” James says eventually.
“Dated Dirk Cresswell for like two years,” Peter adds.
Sirius blinks at them. How do they know so much about this bloke?
When Sirius looks back up, Remus is gone. Lily, however, is making her way towards their table. She stops right behind James, who doesn’t seem to notice. Sirius snorts as James continues to —very, unattractively— shovel eggs into his face.
Peter nudges James in the ribs. “Ow,” James turns to Peter, “What the fuck?”
Peter, eyes wide, nudges his chin in the direction of Lily. With furrowed brows, James turns around and his defensive posture instantly deflates.
“Lily!” he chirps a little too loudly. Sirius winces. Lily gives him a small smile that looks like it’s causing her a lot of pain. James returns it with an eager, over-enthusiastic smile of his own.
“Hi,” the Hufflepuff girl says, looking like she’s regretting this already, “look, I’m— well I’m starting this club. A gardening club. Sprout said if I clear out the old greenhouse, I can use it. And, well, I’m inviting everyone, so…” Lily is careful to put emphasis on the ‘everyone.’ James doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes his head encouragingly like one of those muggle bobble head toys.
Lily looks like she’s trying very hard to hide a genuine smile. Sirius catches Peter’s eye across the table. Peter is blotchy-faced from stifling a laugh. Sirius is sure he looks quite the same.
“Right, so, anyway I’m holding an info session next week so you can learn more about it. Sprout says anyone who attends will get extra credit in Herbology.” Lily hands out a poster to both Peter and James, who both take it —James perhaps too eagerly. Lily offers one to Sirius, but he declines. “Sorry, I’m busy that day.”
Lily narrows her eyes. “I didn’t say what day it was.”
Sirius shrugs. “Busy the whole week, really.”
“Well, I’ll be there!” James proclaims eagerly.
“Awesome,” Lily says, nodding at him, “See you there.” And then she’s off, tracking down her next victim.
“Wow,” James says, holding the poster with two hands, looking at it like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. And maybe it is, because ‘ everyone’ for Lily Evans usually does not include James Potter.
***
"Today in Transfiguration,” Minnie states, “the pawn becomes the queen. Pay close attention to see the weakest piece become the strongest. While the practical application is ill advised, the technique will further your skill in this class. Please do not use this to cheat in chess.” Sirius perks up at that. Not a bad idea.
Professor McGonagall looks over at him and sighs.
After her demonstration, Minnie has everyone try out the spell themselves, all to varying degrees of success. James and Sirius get it after a few tries. Peter, however, keeps turning his pawn into figures that resemble little gnomes.
At the end of class, Minnie has the students read through the next chapter in their textbook.
One page in, Sirius is already losing interest. There’s an itch crawling up his spine that A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration can’t quite reach. He turns in his seat to look over his shoulder, and, sure enough, there in the back of the classroom, is Remus. His sweater-clad elbows resting on the table as he reads his book, his bottom lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed in concentration.
Sirius watches as amber eyes scan over the words on the page. When Remus releases his bottom lip, Sirius swears he can hear the wet ‘pop’ from all the way across the room.
“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall clears her throat.
Sirius turns back around and shoots her a smile. Professor McGonall shakes her head at him in disapproval.
Reluctantly, he ducks his head and returns to reading. His eyes scan the page, but his brain isn’t taking in any of the information.
Instead his head is clouded with thoughts of white scars, amber eyes, honey-colored freckles, and red, wet lips. Irritating or intriguing? Sirius isn’t sure.
***
The next day Madam Pince hands Sirius a stack of books and tells him that they are for the boy that was asking for them yesterday. The boy he now knows is Remus.
A quick walk through the library reveals Remus is nowhere to be found, so Sirius settles himself into one of the dusty chairs in a corner and kicks his feet up onto the nearby side table.
He rifles through the books ( Maurice by E. M. Forster, Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and a couple others; all muggle books, he notes confoundingly). He scans the back summaries and flips through the pages, reading passages at random. His cheeks heat as he realizes what they all have in common and he shuts the books close.
Sirius decides to start heading to the front desk. Maybe Pince will let him leave early seeing that there’s nothing for him to do.
On his way back, he hears a small cough, a small choking little thing and he turns his head towards it, down the long, slanted aisle of shelves and spots Remus sitting at one of the tables, surrounded by open textbooks.
He watches, half-hidden by the shelves, as Remus reads through the book in front of him, his long, slender fingers twiddling his quill causing little spurts of ink to fly everywhere, some spotting his face alongside honey freckles.
Remus leans forward, his elbow coming to rest on the table as he props up his head with his hand, causing the black ink on his cheek to smudge.
Sirius walks forward. “Hi,” he says, a few feet away.
Remus looks up, face blank until his eyes reach Sirius’ and a small smile etches his features. When Remus smiles, the smudge on his cheek raises, almost reaching the bottom of his eye. For one horrifying second, Sirius thinks about wetting his own thumb and reaching across the table to rub it off. He shakes his head roughly and looks back down at the books in his hands. “Pince left these for you,” he says, setting them down on Remus’ table.
“Cheers!” Remus sends him another smile before returning to his textbook. Sirius just stands there, feeling weird and like his skin is two sizes too big and then he realizes he doesn’t need to be there or rather, he doesn’t have an excuse to be there —he’s already dropped off the books and Remus is perfectly capable of rubbing off his own ink smudges— so he turns on his heel to leave.
“I’m Remus by the way.”
Sirius pivots back. “Yeah, I know.”
Remus quirks an eyebrow. “Asking after me, have you?”
Sirius shrugs.
Remus smiles at him like he knows something Sirius doesn’t. “Are you going to Lily’s gardening club next week?”
“Huh?”
Remus shrugs. “I saw Lily talking to you in the Great Hall.”
“Watching me, have you?”
“Yes,” Remus replies easily and Sirius is taken back by the bluntness. He blinks at him and stands there feeling itchy and vacuous and a lot like he’s made of paper and someone just came by and blew at him.
“So, you going?” Remus asks around a smile.
“I— maybe?” Sirius sounds unsure. And he is unsure; unsure about what’s exactly happening right now; unsure why he’s agreeing to going to a gardening club when just yesterday he had scoffed at the idea; unsure why his palms are suddenly sweaty; unsure why his heart is hammering in his chest.
“Are you?” Sirius thinks he asks, but he can’t be certain because he can’t hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears. But he must have said it because Remus is saying, “Maybe,” with a little smile like he knows exactly what’s going on right now, like he’s not unsure at all. And then he returns his attention back to his book and his notes and Sirius turns on his heel and walks away, still confused.
***
The abandoned greenhouse smells like mildew and rotting wood. There’s streamers running across the ceiling, where Lily must have hung them earlier, but they’re sagging now under the weight of humidity. And, to really set the mood, in the corner there’s a couple pots overgrown with nettles, despite being in the shade, where a cluster of glumbumbles seemed to have made their home.
Peter and Sirius follow James to the middle of the room where there’s few empty stools, each topped with a thick layer of grime. Sirius throws a few scourgifies at the seat to no avail. Sighing, he resorts to sitting gingerly on the edge of the stool. He hears a cough, cough, “Posh boy, ” from behind him that sounds suspiciously like Marlene Mckinnon. He turns to flip her the bird. Marlene sticks her tongue out at him and her friend, Daisy Hookum, giggles next to her.
When Sirius turns back around Lily is there with a plate of cookies. James and Peter both take one eagerly. James compliments Lily’s decorations and Peter, rather tactlessly, asks if there’s a sign-up sheet for receiving the Herbology extra credit. Sirius rolls his eyes. He tunes them out and scans the room for abnormally tall boys with honey freckles and ink-stained hands and comes up empty. Odd, how that makes his mood even worse.
“We’ll get started in a few minutes,” Lily says, leaving to greet some newcomers.
Sirius only half listens as James animatedly raves about the ‘merits and arts of gardening,’ to anyone who will listen. (James had spent all night talking into the fireplace with his mother about her garden back home, preparing for this day). But Sirius is only half listening because most of his attention is focused on the greenhouse doors, watching as more and more students crowd into the glass room making it more and more obvious that they are all standing in a glass incubator.
James pokes him in the shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sirius says, turning back to James and swotting at the lacewing flies buzzing at his ear. He tries harder to pay attention to James’ rant.
It isn’t until Lily is about to start, standing in the front of the room, preparing her presentation or whatever it is she’s about to do, that Remus walks in.
He’s wearing an ugly brown sweater that’s too wide for his slender frame. The wool sags around his neck, revealing his collarbone and about two inches of skin below it. The sight does something weird to Sirius’ stomach, like someone kicked him in his solar plexus.
Remus is with a few friends and Sirius watches as they all stumble over to a bench against the wall. One of his friends, a short, muscular, red-head, leans in to whisper something into Remus’ ear. Remus pushes at him, laughing loudly. Sirius finds it irritating. He looks away, eyes intently focused on Lily as she greets everyone.
“Hi everyone, thank you so much for showing up! There’s a sign-up sheet going around for the Herbology extra credit. You’ll still get it if you just come today, but I hope you all decide to stay. I really hope we can all get to know each other better, and for that reason I would like everyone to come to the front and form a circle so we can start an ice breaker.” Marvelous, Sirius thinks bitterly.
James is the first to jump out of his seat, hurrying to the front. Everyone moves to follow his lead and Sirius takes this as an opportunity to slip out the back door.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was he even doing here? He doesn't like Herbology —he’s not even taking it— and he certainly doesn’t like gardening. So why had he come?
Sirius walks across the grassy ground of Hogwarts, kicking at the little pebbles in his way until he makes it to the greenhouse tool shed. He sits down, slumping against the weather-worn wood and picks at the grass.
“You were out of there quick.”
Sirius looks up and finds Remus standing in front of him, his hands in his pockets, his form backlit by the sun looking alarmingly reminiscent of when Sirius had first seen him.
Sirius turns his attention back to the grass, taking a blade between his index and pointer and pulling. “Ice breakers aren’t really my thing.”
“But gardening is?”
Sirius gives him a look. Remus smirks down at him with some strange sort of magic that Sirius feels tugging behind his ribs.
“I have a confession,” Remus says, sliding down to sit next to Sirius against the shed. “I knew who you were that day in the library. Like, before you said your name.”
Sirius lolls his head over at Remus, shooting him an odd look. “And you just… pretended you didn’t?”
Remus tilts his head from side to side as if contemplating the question. “Pretty much.”
“Why?” he asks, baffled.
Remus wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Every library needs a mysterious stranger.”
Sirius doesn’t know if it’s the right way to react, but he lets out a sharp laugh at this. It comes out sounding more nervous than he would have liked and he moves quickly past it. “And you just didn’t tell me your name?”
“Well, yeah, that would defeat the whole ‘mysterious stranger’ bit.”
Sirius is smiling now; partly in disbelief, partly in amusement. He looks down at his shoes in front of him, wiggles his toes in his leather boots.
“So,” Remus leans in closer, lowering his voice, “what did you call me?”
“Hmm?”
“Like in your head, what did you call me?”
Oh. Sirius feels heat traitorously color his cheeks like spilled wine.
Remus takes notice; he instantly sits up straighter. “What?” Remus asks, amused.
Sirius shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”
“Oh, come on.”
Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. He looks over at Remus, who is looking at him. Raised eyebrows, quivering lip. Sirius sighs. “You can’t laugh.”
“Cross my heart,” Remus says solemnly, bringing up a slender finger and lazily crossing an ‘X’ over his chest.
Sirius looks back at his boots. Taps them together once. Twice. “Golden boy.”
Remus snorts through his nose.
Sirius' head whips up. “Wanker, you said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Remus’ tongue pokes out to wet his lips. And Sirius finds himself staring at the scar that runs across Remus’ top lip, wondering what it feels like when Remus darts his tongue over it. Is it calloused and rough like sandpaper or is it smooth like rocks under the ocean’s tide?
“Do you mind?” Remus asks.
Sirius startles. His eyes dart back up. His mind is a white blank panic. He’s been caught staring and now Remus is what? Angry? Upset? Disturbed? But he doesn’t look like any of those things; he just looks amused.
Remus raises his brows and holds up the joint tucked between his fingers.
“Oh,” Sirius relaxes, “No, go ahead.”
Remus smiles. “Cheers.”
Sirius watches as Remus rotates the joint over the flame of a muggle lighter, before bringing it to his lips and taking a hit.
“Want to try?” Remus asks, offering him the joint.
Sirius shrugs and reaches over. With misplaced confidence, Sirius brings it to his lips, inhales, and then immediately coughs on the exhale, his throat feeling itchy and raw.
“Easy there,” Remus says, reaching over to take the joint. “You gotta go slowly.”
Sirius coughs a couple more times, looking over at Remus with slightly watered eyes.
Remus tilts his head. “Want me to show you?”
Sirius looks between the joint in Remus’ hand and Remus’ lips. “Okay.”
Remus stands, holding Sirius’ gaze as he walks up to Sirius and kneels down right before him. Sirius swallows.
Remus places the joint between his own lips, taking a hit before pulling it away. Leaning forward, he creates a tunnel with his hand connecting his and Sirius’ lips. Slowly, Remus blows the smoke through the tunnel and into Sirius’ mouth.
When Remus lowers his hand, neither one of them dare to move.
They’re so close. Sirius can feel Remus’ hot, bated breath on his skin. He can see every one of Remus’ honey freckles and the white spiderwebs that course through his scar tissue. He can hear every one of Remus’ sharp inhales and shaky exhales; It’s the only sound he can hear above his own heart racing through his veins.
And his heart is doing that —racing. But it’s not like a thud, thud, thud in his chest or even a soft, fluttering sound like a warm, Irish lilt. The sound is more like a swoosh, like a pendulum swing, jumping from white-hot anticipation to cold-blooded fear and back again.
Remus' eyes flicker down to Sirius’ lips, revealing long lashes. Sirius looks down at Remus’ lips, at the scar tissue running through the top of it. He wonders what it would feel like to lick it. Remus leans forward slightly. Sirius holds his breath.
“Sirius! There you are,” James calls. And they both spring back; Sirius hitting his head on the wall of the shed; Remus scampering back onto the grass until he’s about three feet away.
James looks between the both of them with furrowed brows until his eyes reach the joint between Remus’ fingers. He turns to Sirius and smiles cheekily at him, thinking that’s all it was, that they had just been trying to hide the joint from him.
“Ah, you missed it,” James trills, flopping down between the two of them, facing Sirius. “It’s all a front! I mean there will still be gardening, but Lily wants to clear the greenhouse out so we can use it to hangout and have parties or whatever since Sprout has gotten stricter about the Hufflepuff common room rules. You know, since so many Hufflepuffs have been caught toking up.” James turns to give Remus a pointed look at that. Remus smiles jovially at him before taking another hit. “Anyways,” he continues, turning back to Sirius, “no one really wants to help out with the cleaning process since scourgify wasn’t doing much and Lily thinks using muggle cleaning supplies will be better. Something about it being more pure, I don’t know. The point is, I’m the only one who volunteered for cleaning duty so it’ll just be me and Lily scrubbing the place down, isn't it romantic!”
“Sure, mate,” Sirius says, reaching over to pat his friend’s shoulder.
Sirius looks over at Remus with a look he hopes conveys: Can you believe this lovesick fool?! Remus shakes his head, looking like he’s barely concealing a laugh.