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Sirius Black had it all figured out.

Brilliant. Charming. Obnoxiously good-looking. Everyone at Hogwarts knew his name — and most had an opinion about him. He ruled the Quidditch pitch, pulled off pranks that went down in school history, had friends who’d follow him anywhere, and girlfriends who never stayed long enough to matter. Even so, he somehow stayed at the top of the class without breaking a sweat. The world was at his feet.

Sirius Black was invincible.

It was their final year, and while everyone else was spiralling over exams, recommendation letters, and post-graduation plans, Sirius was perfectly calm. He had no idea what he wanted to do after Hogwarts—but he was fairly certain he could do whatever he set his mind to.

Setting his mind to something, though—that was the tricky part. He could be an Auror. Or a professional Quidditch player. Or a rockstar! There were too many options, and the moment he thought about them for longer than a minute, his head started to ache. So he didn’t bother.

He’d probably just do whatever James decided to do anyway.

So, yeah. Sirius was alright.

For the record, he lived with the Potters now. He’d spent the entire summer at their house—and for all it mattered, he might as well have flown to another planet for those three months.

The Potters were an odd family. They ate every meal together, chatting over clinking cutlery, passing dishes around, talking about their day, their plans, and whatever had made them laugh. Every other day they piled into the living room to play cards, shouting over one another, ganging up on James, accusing him of cheating. On weekends, they went on long, sun-dappled walks through the woods or drove out to the lake with folding chairs and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.

Sirius could catch fish now. Not metaphorically—with an actual rod and reel. Why anyone would ever need to catch fish, he had no idea. But he could, because an old madman named Monty had insisted on teaching him, then promptly fell asleep in his chair, snoring under a wide-brimmed hat, while Sirius and James turned it into a fierce competition.

Effie hugged him every time she saw him. Sometimes she’d reach out as he passed, ruffling his hair without even glancing up from her book or her recipe. Fleamont always asked how he was doing—even if he’d already asked the day before—and would launch into rambling, passionate stories about historical rebellions or obscure magical treaties.

It was strange. But Sirius let himself be hugged. He stood still whenever Effie’s fingers brushed through his hair. He started thinking ahead about how he was doing—just so he’d have a proper answer ready for Monty. He even tried to memorise bits about the Goblin War, in case it came up again.

It was strange. But Sirius loved every second of it.

…Why’d he run away from home, you ask?

Well.

He just wanted a change of scenery. Besides, he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—right?

Sirius hadn’t really told anyone. James knew, of course—it was his house Sirius had run to, after all. Peter knew too; James had told him, despite it being none of his business. And Lily knew.

Why did Lily know, you ask? Well, buckle up, because this is huge.

James and Lily were dating now.

It had become a whole thing. Everyone was talking about it—Evans had finally caved after all these years! At first, Sirius hadn’t believed it. He’d been more inclined to think Lily had simply outplayed the Marauders at their own game, pulling off the most elaborate prank of all time, rather than actually deciding to date James. But time passed, and she stayed.

Sirius didn’t like it.

He’d expected them to play at dating for a week or two before calling it quits—at which point he could pat James on the back and say, 'Told you so.' He’d even organized a betting pool on the breakup; by the end of the week, half of Hogwarts had their money on one date or another. But the moment never came. Weeks turned into months, and now it had been nearly a year—and with every passing day, they looked more and more like… soulmates.

Sirius didn’t like it.

How could James have two soulmates?

Anyway, he’d made peace with it eventually. He didn’t enjoy sharing, but Lily was… alright. Sirius had always seen her as a boring little swot, allergic to anything remotely exciting or fun, but somewhere along the way she’d started giving him shit—and what shit it was. Sirius found it equal parts amusing and baffling, and, against all odds, they’d ended up as friends.

Sort of.

So yeah. Lily was alright.

Who wasn’t alright was her best friend, Remus Lupin.

When James and Lily started dating, their friend groups had merged—creating an even louder, rowdier crowd than before. Marlene and Mary had joined in, and they were brilliant. Sirius hadn’t realized girls could be that funny. Sure, girls were fun to fool around with, but as actual friends? That was new.

The downside? He now had to endure the unbearable presence of the most pretentious, stiff, insufferable git in the entire castle.

They’d always been in the same year, same House, but until now their paths had barely crossed. Lupin had just… existed. Some awkwardly tall bloke always hovering near Evans, tucked away in the library, buried in books like he was training to become the next Minister of Magic or something.

Sirius had never given him much thought. But now? Now the bastard was a permanent thorn in his side.

Lupin didn’t like their pranks—claimed they were "cruel.”
Lupin didn’t like big, loud parties—he preferred to brood alone in the corner.
Lupin didn’t even like Quidditch.

Lupin didn’t like anything. But most importantly, he didn’t like Sirius.

Sirius had tried, honestly. He’d tried to talk to him, include him, be friendly—for Lily’s sake, obviously. But every time he so much as opened his mouth, Lupin looked at him like he’d just stepped in dragon dung, and Sirius had no idea how to work with that.

It was fine, though. It was only natural. People either loved Sirius or hated him. That was just part of the deal—being a Black.

The worst part? Lupin wasn’t just a regular swot. He was a cool swot—a capital offense against the natural order. Normally, swots were awkward, desperate, overcompensating losers who built their entire personality around books because they had nothing else going for them.

But Lupin?

Lupin was sharp. Sarcastic. Witty. He gave as good as he got. And everybody loved him.

Everybody except Sirius.

Sirius hated his bloody guts. And he was certain the feeling was mutual.

Why? He had no idea. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

…Not that he hadn’t thought about it. He had. And after much consideration, he’d arrived at the only logical conclusion:

Lupin was jealous.

Jealous of how popular Sirius was. How handsome he was. How—for Merlin’s sake—stylish he was.

Because, honestly, Lupin had no fashion sense. He slouched around in those raggedy Muggle rock band T-shirts, probably thinking they were cool or something. They weren’t. They were old, frayed, and some even had holes.

That Bowie one? Torn in the armpit. Mortifying.

(…Sirius wondered who that Bowie bloke was. Not that he was going to ask or anything...)

And it wasn’t just the shirts—Lupin himself was torn, just like his clothes. His face was a map of pale scars, one running from his jaw to the bridge of his nose, slicing his eyebrow clean in two. They were old and white-edged, trailing down his neck and across his forearms.

All in all, he looked like a right freak.

Sirius had asked about the scars once. Just out of curiosity. But Lupin had snapped—told him it was none of his business. So Sirius had decided, then and there, that he was never going to ask him anything ever again.

Since then, Remus had acted like Sirius didn’t exist. Barely even looked at him. Just sat there in his holey T-shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, all effortless indifference—like he didn’t give a damn about anyone.

Sipping from a bottle of beer, probably thinking about how bloody cool he was.

How above everyone he was. How better than anyone he—

“Sirius, are you with us?”

Sirius blinked, snapping back to the present. Mary was watching him, one brow raised in amusement. She huffed a laugh and nodded toward the bottle.

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Sirius exhaled, shaking off his thoughts. “My turn.”

Graduation loomed over them like a bad omen, and Sirius had begun to worry Lily might go bald from stress before exams even started. What a tragedy—not because of her impending hair loss, but because he’d no longer be able to mock her for being a redhead (teasing her for being bald would be downright depressing.) So, naturally, he and James had decided an emergency party was in order.

That weekend, the gang had crammed into the Marauders’ dorm, armed with a suspicious mix of pilfered snacks, stolen bottles of firewhisky, and a stash of Zonko’s sweets that made you speak in animal noises. Lupin had dragged in that battered old Muggle contraption of his—a gramophone—and the room had transformed into a chaotic sort of haven: wrappers and bottles everywhere, pillows scattered on the floor, someone’s cloak hanging off the chandelier. They’d danced like idiots, shouted over the music, and laughed until their stomachs hurt—pretending, for one more night, that nothing was ending.

Eventually, as all parties must, it had dwindled into a lazy sprawl on the floor, and somebody had slurred the inevitable: 'Truth or Dare?'

It was Sirius's second-favourite game—right after Quidditch.

“All right, lads and lasses,” he announced grandly, clapping his hands. “Brace yourselves for the best round of Truth or Dare of your lives.”

A chorus of groans followed, James whooping in encouragement.

“You always say that,” Lily sighed, rolling her eyes.

“And you can’t deny I always deliver, Lilypad,” Sirius shot back with a wink.

That earned him another eye-roll—but he knew she loved him really.

Sirius leaned forward and gave the bottle a sharp spin. As it whirled and wobbled across the scratched wooden floor, he considered who he wanted it to land on.

James would be ideal—he could handle anything. The more ridiculous the dare, the better. He was already lounging in full makeup—Mary’s handiwork—dramatically insisting the lipstick brought out his eyes. The most fun human alive, hands down.

Mary would be great too—Sirius could get away with a snog without things getting weird. They were good mates, sure, but Mary was fit as hell, and he’d been meaning to test the waters.

Marlene? She’d probably stab him for daring her to kiss him, which only made it more tempting.

The bottle slowed.

Wobbled.

Stopped.

Pointing straight at Lupin.

Sirius’s heart lurched into his throat, thudding hard against his ribs. The room went still; the chatter died instantly, replaced by a low, expectant hum.

Okay.

All right.

So what? He could make it fun.

Sirius exhaled, pasted on a grin, and looked up.

“Truth or Dare, Lupin?”

Lupin—who had maybe said three words the entire night—didn’t even glance his way. He just took a slow pull from his bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the swallow.

“Dare.”

Of course. Lupin always picked Dare.

Which, by the way, wasn’t cool at all.

“Shocking,” Sirius deadpanned, clapping his hands together. “Alright, Dare it is. Let me think…”

He drew out the pause, tapping his chin, letting the anticipation build. Mary leaned forward, clearly intrigued, while James started drumming an imaginary roll on Lily’s thigh.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad twist after all, Sirius thought. He’d just been handed the perfect opportunity to make Lupin do something ridiculous—something that might actually loosen him up for once. He could make him dance on the table, recite a love sonnet to McKinnon, sing Hoggy Warty Hogwarts in the hallway, or finally strip off that godawful, tattered T-shirt.

The possibilities were endless.

But no. That would be too easy. Too childish.

Sirius didn’t want a laugh. He wanted the façade to crack.

“I dare you,” Sirius said, his grin curling slow and sharp, “to kiss whoever you think is the hottest in the room.”

A chorus of cheers erupted—mostly from the girls, minus Lily. James cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, 'Kiss me, Remus!'

Merlin, they were plastered.

Lupin just blinked slowly, not even in Sirius's direction. He set his bottle down, crossed one leg over the other, and said, perfectly calm:

“If you’d dared me to kiss the least creative person in the room, we’d already be at it, Black.”

Every jaw in the room dropped, including Sirius’s.

Then a single, barking snort of laughter broke the silence. Sirius whipped his head to glare at whoever the traitor was.

Peter. Of course.

He’d get him back for that later.

“Right,” Sirius said tightly, forcing a laugh. “Sorry to have offended your artistic integrity with a classic dare—which, by the way, is a classic for a reason—”

“Oh, come on, Sirius,” James cut in, grinning. “Admit it—it was a good one.”

Sirius shot him a glare too. He rarely glared at James, but this time, it was well deserved. James was supposed to be on his side. Always.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea sparked in Sirius’s mind.

“How about this, then?” he chirped, turning to Lupin with a syrupy smile. “I dare you to kiss the last person you’d ever snog in the room. Better?”

The air in the room turned heavy, thick with tension.

Perfect.

Sirius smirked inwardly. He knew Lupin wouldn’t kiss any of the girls—he wasn’t the type to risk offending them. The obvious choice was Peter, because, honestly, anyone would rather snog a rat than Peter. So it was a win-win. Either Lupin would have to pick Truth—and Sirius would finally get an answer about those scars—or he’d make a fool of himself.

Either way, Sirius won.

Lupin met his eyes, calm and unreadable. Then he huffed a quiet, amused breath.

“Now you’re just asking for it.”

Before Sirius could even blink, Lupin leaned forward—and pressed his lips lightly against Sirius’s.

It wasn’t long enough to count, not really. Just a soft brush, gone before Sirius’s brain could catch up. Then Lupin gave him a patronizing pat on the cheek.

“Happy now?” he said mildly, already leaning back into the circle like nothing had happened.

For one endless second, nobody moved.

Then the room exploded.

Laughter erupted, bouncing off the walls.

“Godric’s balls—Sirius Black blushing! Absolutely historic!” Mary shrieked, kicking her legs as she doubled over.

“This—this just made my entire year,” Peter breathed, hand over his heart.

Sirius could barely breathe. “What—what the—” he stammered, his face flaming, heart slamming in his chest. He could still feel it—the ghost of the other boy’s lips lingering on his.

“Shut up! It’s not funny!” Sirius barked, scrubbing furiously at his mouth as the laughter grew louder. He glared across the circle—and froze.

Lupin was already watching him. A faint, infuriating smirk tugged at his mouth as he looked away.

Bloody bastard.

“That was brilliant, Remus, mate,” James managed between gasps of laughter. “Best round of Truth or Dare indeed! I think I’m actually crying—Merlin, my mascara—”

“All right, all right, that’s enough!” Lily said sharply, giving James a firm pinch that made him yelp. “Let’s move on already.”

For once, Sirius couldn’t have agreed with her more.

The game carried on, but Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. The bastard had humiliated him—made him look like a complete idiot in front of everyone.

His night was officially ruined.

The others hadn’t noticed. Mary was halfway through a pitch-perfect McGonagall impression—James’s glasses sliding down her nose for extra authenticity—and the dorm rang with laughter. Even Lupin was smiling, eyes warm as he watched her.

Sirius grabbed the nearest bottle and took a long, burning swig. The firewhisky scorched down his throat, stinging almost as much as the heat still crawling up his neck. He grimaced.

He just couldn't understand. He’d never been mean to Lupin—not really. He’d been perfectly civil, even friendly, all things considered.

So why? What had he done?

Mary finished with a dramatic curtsy to thunderous applause. She collapsed back onto the floor, grinning, and spun the bottle again. It landed on Peter, who instantly blurted, 'Dare!'

Of course he did. Mary was merciless with Truths, always asking the kind of personal, skin-peeling questions that left you feeling exposed for life. Sirius didn’t like that about her—but he had to respect the artistry.

“Honestly, why is everyone picking Dare tonight? You’re no fun,” Mary complained, crossing her arms in mock offense.

“Dares are supposed to be the fun part, Mary,” Lupin said mildly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his beer.

“Well, not for me,” Mary sighed dramatically—then her gaze flicked to Sirius. Her expression softened, and she smiled at him.

“I think I’ve run out of ideas. Siri, darling, be a dear and help me out—you always come up with the best dares.”

Sirius blinked, then let a reluctant smile spread across his face. Maybe his night wasn’t entirely ruined after all.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he drawled, straightening up. “Of course I’ll help. As we all know, my dares are the best in all of Britain.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “Isn’t that—uh—against the rules?” he squeaked, glancing around for backup.

“Fuck the rules!” James bellowed, throwing his arms up—and promptly sloshing half his drink on Peter’s sleeve.

Sirius barked out a laugh. “You heard the man! Fuck the rules!”

The room cheered in agreement, and Sirius turned toward Peter with slow, deliberate mischief. His grin sharpened—predatory, dangerous, and oh, so satisfied.

Revenge, as they said, was best served cold.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Sirius crooned, savoring the way the boy visibly tensed. “Don’t you think it’s time we took things up a notch?”

Peter’s throat bobbed. “No?”

Sirius laughed quietly, a glint of wicked glee in his eyes. “Too bad. I dare you… to go skinny-dipping in the lake.”

Silence.

Peter went ghost-white. Mary’s jaw dropped.

“That's not—”
“Are you fucking serious?”

Sirius turned toward the voice, snorting. “I’m not fucking Sirius, I am—”

“Yeah, shove it,” Lupin snapped. “Who the hell dares a mate to jump naked into a lake at two in the bloody morning? He’ll freeze his bollocks off. You’re not being funny—you’re being an arsehole.”

Sirius blinked, thrown for a moment by the venom in his tone. Then a flash of anger surged up his spine, hot and immediate. He straightened, meeting Lupin’s glare head-on.

“How very noble of you,” he bit out. “So concerned for Peter’s bollocks.”

The room went dead silent. Even the fire seemed to quiet down. For once, Lupin didn’t look away—just stared him down, jaw tight, eyes burning.

Their longest eye contact on record, Sirius thought.

Mary and Marlene exchanged uncertain glances, and someone nervously cleared their throat.

“...Alright, boys,” Mary said carefully, hands raised like they were wild animals. “It’s just a game, yeah? Let’s not—”

“I have a dare for you, Black,” Lupin cut in, setting his drink aside as he stood.

Sirius’s breath hitched. Adrenaline flooded his veins, and he got to his feet, heart pounding.

“Yeah? Hit me.”

Lupin’s gaze didn’t waver. “I challenge you to a duel.”

For a heartbeat, Sirius forgot to breathe. Then a slow, exhilarated grin spread across his face.

Now that was a dare.

“Hell yeah,” he breathed, pulse hammering. His hands itched, every muscle alive with the thrill of it. “Let’s fucking go.”

“You’re both mental,” Marlene groaned, throwing up her hands. “You do realize you’re killing the mood, right? If you’re gonna beat each other up, at least take it outside.”

“Remus, please,” Lily said softly, reaching to squeeze Lupin’s hand. “We don’t need anyone injured tonight—or dead.”

Lupin looked down at her, and some of the sharpness in his face eased.

“Don’t worry, Lily. I don’t mean an actual duel,” he said calmly. “Only Rictusempra and Protego are allowed. First to land a hit wins. Fair?”

Sirius scoffed. “Rictusempra? Didn’t take you for a coward, Lupin. But fine. Might be nice to see you laugh for once in your miserable life.”

Lupin’s eyes flickered back to Sirius, and his lips twitched into a snarl.

“I’M REFEREE!” James shouted, scrambling to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over himself.

And just like that, the duel was on.

They cast a Silencing Charm on the room, levitated the beds just enough to clear space, and squared off. From across the room, Lupin met Sirius’s gaze with cold determination, and for a moment Sirius thought he might actually combust.

Sirius loved duels. Not the stiff, rule-choked kind they practiced in Dueling Club—that was a waste of time. His kind of duel took place in corridors, alleyways and locker rooms, where the only rule was win. Instinct over form. Reflex over finesse.

But Lupin—Lupin always fought fair.

Sirius had seen him in the Club: precise, calm, quick. Annoyingly competent. He wasn’t easy to beat—and the thought made Sirius’s pulse quicken.

The air between them thrummed with tension, electric as the moment before a lightning strike.

“This is going to end badly. I just know it,” Lily muttered, clutching Mary’s sleeve.

“It’ll be fine, Lils,” Mary said soothingly, patting her hand. “The worst that can happen is one of them laughing themselves unconscious.”

“A Galleon on Remus,” Marlene said lazily, sipping her drink. The other two gawked at her.

James, barely upright, raised a hand.

“Alright, lads,” he slurred. “On my mark! Three, two, one… begi—”

“Rictusempra!”

A flash of light shot from Sirius’s wand—sharp, fast, merciless.

“Protego!"

Lupin’s wand flicked up, a shimmering barrier snapping into place just in time. The spell hit with a dull thud before fizzling out.

But Sirius wasn’t done.

“Rictusempra!”

Again. And again. His wand sliced through the air in a blur—each strike faster, harder than the last.

From the start, Lupin barely had a second to breathe. His counters were clean and steady, but Sirius’s relentless barrage drove him back inch by inch. The shields sputtered under the onslaught as Sirius pressed harder, every flick of his wrist crackling with adrenaline.

Magic surged through him—raw, wild, liberating. For the first time in weeks, he felt alive. No need to hold back. No masks, no snide jokes to hide behind. Just power, pure and ruthless.

Well. As ruthless as a Tickling Charm could be.

“Remus, stop defending so much! Attack back!” James shouted from the sidelines, swaying dangerously.

“Yeah, Remus—Rictusempra!—attack back,” Sirius taunted, breathless with exhilaration.

Lupin’s shield shimmered again, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration—and Sirius couldn’t look away. He loved that expression on him. Focused. Frustrated. Eyes wide, tracking his every move.

Anything was better than indifference.

But anger could only carry him so far. The fire behind his spells began to sputter as exhaustion crept into his limbs. He cast one last Rictusempra—only for it to crash into yet another shimmering shield and fizzle out in a burst of useless sparks.

This wasn’t working.

Sirius needed to change tactics—fast. He drew in a sharp breath, just for a second—

And that second was all Lupin needed.

The nonverbal spell hit before Sirius could even move, yanking his feet out from under him with a violent jolt.

The world flipped.

Sirius dangled in midair, suspended by one ankle, arms flailing helplessly as his wand clattered to the floor. For a brief, bewildered moment, he could only blink at the upside-down room. Across from him, an equally upside-down Lupin stood with his wand still raised, chest heaving. Their eyes met — wide, startled — as if even Lupin hadn’t expected that to work.

Then his lips twitched.

And he laughed.

Sirius stared like Lupin had just sprouted a second head. It took him a full ten seconds to process what had happened as Lupin’s laughter filled the room — loud, unrestrained, and boyish in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“You cheated!” Sirius exclaimed, half outraged, half delighted.

“You—” Lupin gasped between laughs, clutching his stomach. “You should’ve seen your face! You looked like a fish out of water!”

“No shit!” Sirius shot back, wriggling in midair like said fish — which only made Remus laugh harder.

And Sirius watched him, stupidly transfixed.

“I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “There is a mischievous bone in that scrawny body of yours.”

Remus finally caught his breath and stepped closer, bending down until they were eye to eye; a smug grin still tugged at his mouth, eyes glistening with mirth.

“Keep talking, Black, and you’ll land headfirst.”

Sirius immediately opened his mouth to say something — but before he could, gravity shifted with a flick of Remus’s wand.

“Whoa—!”

He slowly spun in the air, floating downward like a feather — and just when it seemed he’d land safely, the charm snapped. Sirius yelped as he plunged the last foot and hit the floor with a thud.

“Ouch!” he groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows— and then burst out laughing despite himself. “You bastard!”

“For calling me scrawny,” Remus said, still grinning as he extended a hand.

Sirius took it, letting Remus pull him up — and for a moment, neither of them let go.

Remus was smiling at him, Sirius realized. At him. Probably for the first time in over a year. Maybe for the first time ever.

“Hey, I made you laugh,” Sirius said with a crooked grin. “I think that counts as a win.”

Remus blinked, and the smile slipped — like a spell had just broken. He let go of Sirius’s hand, eyes darting away.

Sirius's smile faltered as he watched Remus's demeanor change. His hand felt weirdly empty as he curled his fingers in a fist. “You alright?”

“Yeah. No,” Remus said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I'm gonna head off.”

Sirius gaped as Remus suddenly turned to leave. Before he could think, he reached out instinctively and caught Remus by the arm.

“Wait!”

Remus stopped and turned back, startled.

“I didn’t mean it, alright? About winning,” Sirius said quickly, his hand tightening just a little. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong — only that he had, and that he needed to fix it. “Let’s call it a draw. Or whatever. Just… stay. Okay?”

Remus just looked at him, blinking. His gaze flicked down to Sirius’s hand on his arm, then back up to his face, as if trying to decide whether this was some kind of trick.

A beat passed. Then—

“Okay.”

Sirius blinked dumbly. “Okay?”

Remus nodded, looking away.

Sirius let out a breath, suddenly lightheaded. He let go of Remus's arm and opened his mouth to say something else — but a strange tingling at the back of his neck made him pause.

He turned — and found the girls clutching each other, watching him and Remus with wide, round eyes.

“What?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” they chorused in perfect unison.

“That was absolutely brilliant!” James exclaimed, throwing his arms around both Sirius and Remus. His weight crashed into them, knocking the breath from their lungs. “Didn’t know you had that in you, Remus!”

Remus huffed a laugh, patting James on the back. “Maybe lay off the booze a bit, mate.”

What followed was pure chaos. Lily launched into an indignant lecture about how Remus had clearly cheated—nonverbal spells, she reminded everyone, were not on the (very short) list of allowed charms. Marlene argued it was a brilliant display of tactical genius and should count anyway, which earned her a chorus of accusations about bias. Sirius, on the other hand, hadn’t managed to land a spell, but he had made Remus double over in laughter just by pulling the most ridiculous face imaginable - whether that counted as a win was up for debate. In the end, they called it a draw, exchanged bets, and shuffled back into a circle.

As Sirius sat down, he cast a sideways glance at Remus. Remus wasn’t looking his way, but something felt… different.

Had something changed? It felt like something had changed.

James clapped his hands to get the group’s attention. “Alrighty! A few more rounds before we—uh—move on to whatever comes next.”

“You mean before we go to sleep?” Lily suggested without much hope.

Mary perked up. “Whose turn is it now?”

“It’s Sirius’s, I think,” Peter squeaked from his corner. Sirius had nearly forgotten he was there.

“I guess it is,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Get ready for the best round of Truth or Dare of your lives!”

As expected, everyone groaned, and Sirius cackled.

He reached out and spun the bottle. It twirled for a few seconds before coming to a stop — pointing, once again, at Remus.

Sirius’s breath caught as his heart did a small, stupid dance in his chest. He huffed a quiet laugh, looking up.

“Well, well, well. We meet again, Lupin. Truth or Dare? Though I have a pretty good guess,” he said with a grin.

But Remus didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the bottle, brow furrowed.

Then, wordlessly, he reached out and spun it himself. It whirled again—once, twice—and abruptly stopped in exactly the same place.

Pointing at him.

The room went still. Everyone leaned in, staring at the bottle in confusion.

“Shit, Sirius. What kind of magic is this?” James asked in awe. He kept spinning the bottle as if it was a toy, admiring the fact it refused to point at anyone but Remus. “This is wicked.”

Slowly, Remus looked up, and what Sirius saw in his eyes was nothing but pure, unfiltered hatred.

“It wasn’t me,” Sirius breathed, wide-eyed. “I swear.”

Remus just scoffed, shaking his head. He pushed himself to his feet and stormed out of the room without a word.

All eyes followed Remus as he stormed out. The door slammed shut—

“Sirius!” Lily snapped, spinning around. “Why did you do that?!”

“IT WASN’T ME!” Sirius shouted back, voice breaking with anger.

Lily froze, taken aback. Mary and Marlene exchanged hurried whispers, while Sirius pressed his lips together, fists clenched, trying to make sense of the swirl of emotions in his chest.

“Okay,” Marlene said finally, pushing herself up from the floor, “I’ll go talk to—”

But Sirius was already moving. He shot to his feet, strode to the door, and yanked it open.

The corridor beyond was dim and empty.

He lit his wand and took off toward Remus’s dorm. The door slammed against the wall as he burst in, earning a few groggy, bewildered looks from the boys inside.

No Remus.

Where the hell—

Something clicked.

He spun on his heel and ran back to the Marauders’ room. Without a word, he snatched the bottle off the floor, ignoring the confused stares, and bolted out again.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst into the common room. It was dark and empty, the fire reduced to glowing embers. He dropped to his knees on the carpet and set the bottle spinning.

Work, you damned thing.

It whirled, slowed, and stopped—its neck pointing southeast.

Sirius frowned. Southeast. The courtyard, maybe?

Didn’t matter. He grabbed the bottle and set off.

The castle was dead quiet. Only his hurried footsteps and the cranky mutters of sleepy portraits broke the silence. Sirius moved fast, wandlight low, spinning the bottle every few turns to check the direction. He didn't know how long the charm would last, so he kept moving—ducking under stairwells, avoiding the light, desperate to avoid a lingering prefect, or worse, Filch.

The air grew colder. Then he saw it: the courtyard archway, looming ahead. Sirius ran, bursting into the open. The chill hit him like a wave, sharp in his lungs, the air smelling of wet stone and cut grass.

He stopped, breathing hard.

The night sky was vast, dusted with stars. The moon cast a pale, silvery light. The fountain splashed quietly; beyond the walls, the trees creaked.

No one.

Sirius cursed, dropping into a crouch. He spun the bottle. It scraped on the stone, turned once, and stopped—pointing directly at him.

He froze.

Then he turned.

Leaning against the wall by the archway, Remus stood watching him, a cigarette in hand.

Sirius rose to his feet.

Now that he thought about it, he had absolutely no idea what he’d come here to say.

It was almost funny. He’d charged after Remus like a man on a mission, brain empty—and now that Remus was right in front of him, Sirius just stood there, staring like an idiot.

Why had he even run all the way here? To explain himself? But why should he? He hadn’t charmed the bottle—he didn’t even know who had. So why had Remus assumed it was him? Why had he looked so... hurt? And why had he left?

And, more importantly—why did Sirius care so damn much?

It was just Lupin.

Sirius swallowed hard and started toward Remus, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to ignore the way his pulse hammered for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

“I’m probably going to rock your world, Lupin,” he drawled, aiming for casual, “but you can actually smoke inside a building. Ever heard of windows?”

Remus took a long drag, the cherry of his cigarette flaring an angry red before he exhaled a thin plume of smoke.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Sirius stopped short, momentarily stunned. A spark of anger flared, hot and instinctive, but before he could bite back, he forced himself to take a breath. To his own surprise, his voice came out steady.

“It wasn’t me,” he said, locking eyes with him.

Remus scoffed. “The hell it wasn’t.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, frustration rising like a tide. “I told you—I didn’t do it! Why the hell don’t you believe me? And even if I did, why would it be such a big deal?”

Remus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shoulders tense. “Because it’s you."

Sirius blinked.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Remus took one last drag, flicked the cigarette away, and pushed off the wall. “Forget it. It wasn’t you. Conversation over.”

Sirius moved fast, stepping into his path before he could leave.

“No,” he snapped. “We’re not done until you tell me what your bloody problem with me is.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Remus said flatly, eyes cold as he tried to step around him.

Sirius mirrored him, blocking his way again.

Remus’s gaze burned as he locked eyes with Sirius. “You really wanna do this?”

Sirius bristled, ready for a punch. “Yeah. Bring it on.”

Lupin hated him. So what? It was only natural. People either loved Sirius or hated him.

He was just jealous. That had to be it. Jealous of how easily Sirius could walk into a room and own it, while he had only books for company. Jealous that Sirius barely tried yet still landed at the top of the class, while he spent endless hours in the library. Jealous that Sirius was good at—

“You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

The words cut through Sirius’s thoughts like a blade. Remus’s voice was low but sharp, trembling with anger.

“You don’t have an ounce of respect for anyone,” he went on. “You don’t give a shit about people’s feelings as long as you’re entertained. And sometimes—” he gave a bitter laugh, throwing his hands up “—sometimes you act like a downright bully. Hell, you are a bully.”

Sirius stared at him, stunned.

That was not the kind of punch he’d expected.

“A bully?” he repeated, incredulous. “What the actual fuck are you on about?”

Remus folded his arms. “You wanted to know what my problem with you was? There it is — signed and sealed.”

“Well, that’s complete bollocks,” Sirius snapped. “I care about my friends. And I’m not a bully — I just give people what they bloody deserve.”

Remus’s arms fell to his sides, eyes wide with disbelief. “And you’re the one who decides what people deserve?”

Sirius’s pulse spiked. Anger surged hot and wild in his chest. He took a step forward, closing the space between them, nails digging into his palms.

“Yeah,” he snarled, jabbing a finger into Remus’s chest. “Yeah, I am. And you, Lupin, could definitely use a bit of humbling.”

For some reason, the threat hadn’t landed. Remus didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. If anything, he leaned in — eyes sharp and challenging, locked on Sirius's.

“Right,” Remus grated out through his teeth. “I deserve to be put in my place because I said something Sirius Black didn’t like. How dare I?”

Despite the chill of the night, Sirius felt unbearably hot. He swallowed hard as his heart thundered in his ears like a drum.

“You sit there on your high horse, thinking you’re better than me. But you don’t know a damn thing about me—or what I’ve been through—”

“I know your kind, Black,” Remus spat, voice laced with disgust. “And whatever shit your blood-breeding parents put you through doesn’t give you the right to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Sirius’s heart dropped. An icy dread washed over him, and he stumbled back a few steps like he’d been shoved in the chest.

Remus’s eyes widened.

“Shit—” he breathed, horrified. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius blinked.

“What?”

Remus dragged a shaky hand down his face. “I said I’m sorry. That was a fucked-up thing to say.”

Sirius just stared, not really seeing anything. He looked away, blinking hard.

He tried to breathe. To focus. To do whatever shit Effie had told him to do when it got like this.

The grass was green.

The air was cold.

The fountain splashed.

His feet hurt.

“…Why did you apologize?” Sirius asked, turning back. Remus had been watching him warily.

“What do you mean?” Remus frowned. “I’m probably going to rock your world, Black, but when you fuck up, you apologize. Ever heard of it?”

Despite himself, Sirius snorted. “Yeah, whatever. But why apologize to me? You don’t even like me.”

Remus exhaled sharply. “That’s the bloody point. I don’t treat people like shit, even if I don’t like them. I try not to, at least.”

Sirius looked at him like he’d just claimed to be a unicorn. This had to be the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“How the hell are you so decent?” Sirius asked, baffled. “Don’t you ever get pissed? Frustrated? Don’t you ever want to snap and shove someone’s face in the dirt?”

“Yes! Yours! Constantly!” Remus exploded, throwing his hands up. “And yet, look at me—in a whole year, I’ve shoved your face in the dirt a grand total of zero times!

Sirius blinked at the outburst. Then he snorted—and burst out laughing.

“I gotta say,” Sirius choked out between laughs, wiping a tear from his eye, “the idea of calm, collected Remus Lupin fantasizing about smashing my face in the dirt is… kind of flattering.”

Now Remus stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Right,” he said flatly. “You’re the oddest bloke I’ve ever met.”

Sirius’s grin widened. “Cheers. You’re a right weird one yourself.”

Remus kept staring, then snorted and shook his head. Something fluttered in Sirius’s chest again.

He should probably get that checked out in the Hospital Wing.

“Alright,” Remus cleared his throat. “I think we should go ba—”

“I’m not a bully,” Sirius blurted before Remus could walk off again. “I mean—yeah, I mess around sometimes, but I don’t pick on people just for the hell of it.”

Remus looked at him, visibility surprised, and Sirius felt a flicker of embarrassment. He didn’t even know why he’d said that. It wasn’t like he owed Remus an explanation.

After a pause, Remus bit his lip and looked away.

“…What about Severus?” he asked quietly

Oh.

Right.

That.

“Snape’s just as much of a pain in the arse to me as I am to him. It’s different,” Sirius muttered, crossing his arms and avoiding Remus’s gaze.

Apparently, that didn’t convince him.

“Is it, really?” Remus pressed, frowning. “You’re the Marauder, the Sirius Black. And he’s a self-conscious loner with no one to back him up. How’s that fair? How’s that not bullying?”

Sirius’s jaw tightened. The fact that Remus was scolding him—like Snape was some poor, misunderstood victim of his—made his blood boil.

“Did you know he jinxed James’s broom when he started dating Lily?” Sirius snapped. “That he wouldn't leave her alone for months? Are you seriously defending him right now?”

“I’m not defending anyone!” Remus exclaimed. “I’m just trying to make sense of whatever the hell is going on in your head!”

“And why do you even care, huh?” Sirius let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’ve already decided I’m an arsehole and a bully, so what difference does it make?”

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but stopped midway. He sighed instead, shoulders sagging.

“Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

Sirius’s heart dropped.

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Or say.

Remus turned to leave again, but before Sirius could think, he grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait.”

Remus groaned as he turned back to him. “Bloody hell, Black! What do you want from me?!”

Sirius didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want Remus to walk away. He didn’t want—

“I—” Sirius swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

The words hung in the air.

Remus froze, eyes wide.

“Sirius,” he said, bewildered. “I don’t hate you.”

Sirius went still.

What.

“What?” Sirius asked in disbelief, releasing Remus’s arm. “But you… you said you don’t like me. You said—”

Remus exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. He looked tired.

“Sirius, I— I don’t know you. And every time I try, you get defensive, deflect, or put on that arrogant, too-cool-to-care act, and it’s impossible to get past. It’s… exhausting.”

Sirius just stared at him, dumbstruck.

“You want to know me?” he choked out at last.

Remus laughed incredulously. “Why else do you think I’m here, having this conversation with you?”

Sirius blinked.

And then he remembered.

He remembered that, in the beginning—back when their friend groups had first started blending together - Remus had asked him questions, too.

What his favorite subject was. What music he liked. How his holidays had gone.

He’d even asked about Quidditch once.

Because Remus had tried, too.

And every time, Sirius panicked. He’d wanted so badly to impress him that he’d ended up acting like a complete arse instead—cracking jokes, bragging, showing off, trying too hard to sound cool.

Because he didn’t hate Remus either.

He just desperately wanted Remus to like him.

To look at him.

He wanted—

The realization hit Sirius like a lightning strike.

Holy shit.

He wanted Remus.

Remus kept looking at him, waiting — completely unaware of the life-altering revelation that had just slammed into Sirius.

“Say something?” he prompted.

And Sirius knew he should. It was important now. Crucial. But he didn’t know what to say, because none of this made any sense.

“But you— you said I’m selfish, that I don’t give a shit about anyone—”

“Well, do you?!” Remus shot back, voice cracking with frustration. “Do you give a shit?!”

“Yes!” Sirius burst out, throwing his hands up, just as desperate. “Of course I do!”

Remus didn’t answer - he only searched Sirius’s face. Sirius had no idea what he was trying to find there, but Merlin, he hoped he would.

After a moment, Remus’s shoulders eased, and he let out a slow breath — one that sounded suspiciously like relief.

“There’s one reason to like you, then,” he said simply.

Sirius’s heart stuttered, a flicker of hope flaring in his chest. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Only one?”

Remus huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You can always give me more.”

…

Well.

If that wasn’t the perfect opening, Sirius had never seen one.

He could just… probe. Poke and see what happened. And if it went to hell, he’d turn it into a joke. Say he was drunk.

Say he was mad.

Because, really, he didn't have any more time left to waste.

Sirius swallowed hard, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Give you more, huh?” he drawled and took a slow, deliberate step forward — like he usually would, except he willed his voice not to shake.

At first, nothing happened.

Remus just blinked.

But then his eyes widened in dawning understanding, lips falling open as he sucked in a sharp breath.

Sirius’s grin faltered.

Holy shit.

Before he could think, he reached out and took Remus’s hand in his.

Remus flinched.

“No,” he choked out, batting Sirius’s hand away and stumbling a step back. “Don’t— don’t play with me, I—”

Holy shit.

Sirius stepped forward again, caught Remus’s clenched fist and pressed it to his chest — right where his heart hammered like it was about to burst.

“I’m not playing,” he said fervently — urgently. “I swear I’m not.”

And to his own shock — he meant it.

Remus’s eyes snapped to his, wide and startled.

They were so close now Sirius could see the freckles scattered across his skin. The scar running from his jaw up across his nose, splitting his eyebrow in two. His eyes — dark, frightened, pupils blown wide.

Sirius wished he weren’t such a damn good liar. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been able to fool himself for so long — and maybe the devastatingly beautiful boy in front of him wouldn’t find it so hard to believe him.

Remus kept staring, wide-eyed, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Then his gaze dropped, and he swallowed hard, blinking.

Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and gently pressed his hand to Sirius’s chest. Sirius felt his heart hammer against Remus’s palm.

He was about to combust and die.

The longest moment of Sirius’s life passed before Remus finally exhaled, a shaky breath escaping him.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Sirius’s heart skipped a beat. Had Remus felt that too?

“Okay?” Sirius choked out, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Remus’s eyes lifted to his, and he nodded.

Sirius exhaled sharply, dizzy with relief. Without thinking, he pressed a hand to Remus’s chest—his back hit the wall with a soft thud, breath leaving him in a quiet gasp.

“Can I—” Sirius began, but never finished. Remus’s mouth crashed into his, and Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose, fingers sliding into Remus’s hair as his eyes fluttered shut.

And they kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Sirius hadn’t realized how desperately he’d wanted this—not until now. Kissing Remus felt like breaking the surface after too long underwater. Like the first swallow of cold water after days in the desert. Like finally kissing the boy who’d been haunting his thoughts for months.

Sirius decided he would kiss Remus all day, every day.

When Remus finally drew back, his chest rose and fell against Sirius’s, breath warm between them.

“...Happy now?” he breathed out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Sirius’s face, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

It took Sirius a beat to process the words—then he gasped and laughed.

“You absolute bastard!”

Remus grinned, eyes bright, and stole another quick kiss. Sirius nearly melted. He felt so light he thought he might float off the ground, so he grabbed a fistful of Remus’s long-suffering T-shirt just in case.

“I just thought of another reason to like you,” Remus said when they broke apart. “You’re a good kisser.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Just good?”

Remus hummed noncommittally, shrugging. “You could use a bit of practice, I suppose.”

Merlin, Sirius was done for.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, a grin curling across his face. “And who exactly do you suggest I practice with?”

Remus hummed again, tilting his head until their noses brushed. “I might know a guy.”

Sirius looped his arms around Remus’s neck, tilted his head, and licked into his mouth—drawing a soft, startled moan out of him. He pulled back just enough to grin wickedly.

“Anyone I know?”

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, breathless—and then he spun them around and pinned Sirius to the wall.

A sharp thrill shot through Sirius as his back met cold stone—so stark against the heat of Remus’s body pressing into his. Then Remus kissed him—urgent, hungry—and Sirius met him with equal fervor.

All he could feel was Remus. His fingers digging into his skin, his tongue in his mouth, the weight of him, the scent of him. Sirius’s hands moved greedily—across his chest and shoulders, up his neck, into his hair—grasping, pulling, trying to get as much of Remus under his palms as possible. Remus touched him back just as desperately, as if he, too, had been waiting far too long for this.

Sirius was completely, helplessly, wonderfully fucked.

Their hands slipped under clothes, kisses turning messier—landing on jaws and throats more often than mouths as the temperature between them climbed. Remus’s hands found Sirius’s hips and yanked him in, locking their thighs together. Sirius gasped, arching into him instinctively.

Remus exhaled sharply, head dropping onto Sirius’s shoulder. His grip tightened, and he rocked against him—slowly, deliberately—sending a hot jolt of arousal through Sirius’s body.

That’s when Sirius realized they weren’t just snogging anymore.

“Holy shit,” he choked out on a broken laugh, fingers digging into Remus’s shoulders for balance.

Then, suddenly, Remus pushed him away, putting space between them. He rested his forehead on his shoulder, breathing hard.

The loss of contact hit like a slap. Sirius blinked, suddenly cold, painfully turned on—and very, very confused.

“What—why—” he stammered, breathless, turning toward him. “Why’d you stop?”

Remus inhaled deeply, shoulders rising with the effort. Then he exhaled.

“Because if we keep going, I’m going to come in my pants.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. Then he snorted—and burst into laughter.

“Come in your pants, huh?” he sighed, letting his head rest on Remus’s. “Do you like me that much?”

Remus didn’t answer. His shoulders rose and fell, face still tucked into the curve of Sirius’s neck. Just when Sirius thought that was the end of it, he let out a long, surrendered sigh.

“Yeah.”

Sirius’s breath caught. His heart gave one loud, echoing thump—and then it took off at a gallop.

Sirius Black might or might not be in love.

***

When they finally made it back to the dorm, it took them another thirty minutes to say goodbye—between the kisses and the wandering hands, the word didn’t sound all that convincing. In the end, they had to, because the sudden sight of a fellow Gryffindor sneaking out of a room nearly made Remus jump three feet in the air. He pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’s cheek and whispered, 'See you,' before slipping away.

See you.

Sirius grinned like an absolute fool as he crept back into the Marauders’room—just like any other bloke who’d just spent hours being thoroughly snogged.

He felt like he might float straight up to the ceiling like a balloon. And dance on it. He wanted to write Remus Lupin in little hearts in a diary, over and over. Maybe he should buy a diary specifically for that purpose.

Sirius Black was happy.

Hopelessly, stupidly happy.

He had no idea how he was supposed to graduate this year.

No one had bothered to move the beds back to their proper places, and the whole gang was peacefully asleep where they’d crashed—James curled up as little spoon to Lily, and Mary and Marlene tucked together beneath one blanket. All of them blissfully unaware of just how happy Sirius was.

As he tiptoed to his bed, Sirius wondered what Remus would be doing today. Probably buried in the library again, studying for exams, chewing on his lip in concentration. Maybe he’d let Sirius tag along. And chew on that lip too. Or not! After all, Sirius wouldn’t dare jeopardize the future Minister of Magic’s career.

He’d ask him later. For now, Sirius just needed to sleep. The sooner he fell asleep, the sooner he’d wake up—and see Remus again.

“Sirius?”

Sirius jolted, whipping around to face the voice that dared interrupt his daydreaming. Peter stood a few steps away, looking sheepish.

“Merlin’s balls, Peter!” Sirius hissed, “Wear a bloody bell or something!”

“Sorry…” Peter mumbled, shrinking into himself, “Are you alright?”

Sirius blinked. “Yeah?”

Peter sighed in relief, and Sirius frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Pete?” he asked, squinting at him suspiciously.

Peter’s eyes widened in poorly concealed panic, “No, it’s—it’s nothing! I was just checking in—”

“Pete?” Sirius pressed, stepping forward.

Peter stepped back, his eyes darting nervously, “Really, it’s nothing!”

“Pete!” Sirius barked, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, as if bracing for a hex.

“It was me! I charmed the bottle!” he blurted in a whisper.

Sirius frowned, confused.

“What bottle?”

Peter cracked one eye open, then the other, “The… Truth or Dare one?”

“Aaah,” Sirius nodded, remembering. That bottle.

His eyes widened with realization.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” he yelled-whispered.

“I’m sorry!” Peter squeaked. “I—I was mad at you! Your Dare was really mean, and I wanted to get back at you. And Remus is always so secretive—if he thought you were provoking him—”

“You wanted him to beat me up?” Sirius asked incredulously.

Peter gaped at him, “No! I—” He let out a heavy breath and ruffled his hair in frustration. “I don’t know what I wanted. I was just… angry. I'm sorry.”

Sirius just stared at him, trying to gauge how he felt about all of this.

Strangely, he couldn’t find any anger in himself.

Maybe he was too happy to be mad. After all, if it weren’t for Peter’s meddling, Sirius might’ve kept pulling Remus’s pigtails until they graduated. He just wished he’d done it sooner—a year or two ago, maybe.

And honestly? The trick was kind of brilliant. Sirius almost respected Peter for it.

He sighed.

“You know what? It’s fine,” Sirius said finally and clapped Peter on the back. “I was being a git. I’m sorry too, Pete.”