Clarity

It is a brisk, January evening, halfway through the Marauders' seventh year at Hogwarts, when Sirius Black realizes that he's a bloody idiot. Remus Lupin is sitting beside him on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, and their thighs are resting against one another because Peter decided he could most certainly fit on the loveseat, too. Remus laughs at a story that James is reciting and Sirius, with startling clarity, comes to the conclusion that the pleasant warmth crawling inside of him is not coming from the fireplace.

Remus turns to Sirius, seemingly curious as to why his customary barking laugh remains absent from the conversation, and Sirius momentarily forgets how to breath.

"Fucking hell," he unceremoniously blurts out, before scrambling off the couch and tripping up the dormitory steps.

Strategy

A month of interesting revelations and awkward boners later, and Sirius Black has not only accepted that he is in love with Remus Lupin, but he has also devised a foolproof plan to woo the werewolf like a true suitor. Concerned about the lack of years that he's wasted (in which he and Remus could have been snogging the living daylights out of one another), he decides that a grand romantic gesture is in order.

...and what better a time for a grand romantic gesture, than the celebration of ol' Saint Valentine?

Implementation

Sirius has spent the better part of the past few weeks buried in dusty, old muggle texts, arguably studying more than he ever has in all his years at Hogwarts. The first step of his carefully constructed plan requires him to wake up at an ungodly hour, as he's found a particularly fascinating old British tradition that he's certain the book-loving object of his affection will appreciate. According to a dodgy bit of lore: on Valentine's Day, girls would wake before sunrise and the first bloke that they saw would be fated to marry them within a year.

The sky is still dark when Sirius slips out of bed on the 14th of February and carefully tiptoes over to stand beside Remus' sleeping form. He holds his wand low, points it at his own chin, and whispers, "Lumos!"

Remus stirs ever so slightly, and Sirius takes this as his cue. He clears his throat, and loudly bellows,

"Good morrow! 'Tis St. Valentine's Day
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your valentine!"

Remus' eyes fly open and he looks positively horrified at the sight of Sirius' heavily shadowed face in the otherwise pitch black room. Across the room, Peter shrieks and tumbles out of bed.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST PADFOOT!" James cries out, as Peter—still disoriented—fumbles for his wand and accidentally casts a hex at a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. A wet sock smacks Sirius in the face.

Sirius throws his hands up in the air in exasperation and stalks over to the bathroom, muttering, "Fuck you, Shakespeare," under his breath.

The boys trudge down to the Great Hall for breakfast once the sun has actually risen, and Sirius does his best to play it cool. Not much is said about his terrifying witching hour performance of Hamlet, as the others have collectively decided they would much rather just forget that it ever happened. As they reach the Gryffindor table, he settles down in the seat across from Remus and waits for him to grab his usual morning cup of tea.

Peter notices him staring intently, elbows him, and says, "Aye, you in there, Padfoot? Or should I say...Ophelia?"

Sirius shoots Peter a withering glare and the other boy puts his hands up in defense before shrugging and turning his attention back to his overfilled plate of food. He turns back to Remus just in time, as he finally reaches for a mug. Sirius gives his wand a gentle swish from under the table, and then smirks and waits.

"...Any of you lot care to tell me why there's an awfully hideous dick drawn in my tea?"

Sirius balks as he quickly shoves a hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulls out a carefully folded piece of parchment. After a handful of trial and error (and a few singed nostril hairs), he had perfected an interesting charm that would generate a layer of froth over a cup of liquid and transfer any design as penned by the caster. He discreetly opens the paper to confirm that there is indeed still a drawing of a dog howling at a heart-shaped moon. Sighing, he puts it away, but freezes as his fingers brush something small and crumbled buried at the bottom of his pocket.

Oh no.

There it was...he and James' crude bit of doodling parchment that they had tossed back and forth in Herbology last week.

Bloody fucking hell.

Sirius unceremoniously drops his head on the table, sending a plate full of croissants flying at Peter. The boy beside him squeaks indignantly, a sound disturbingly reminiscent of his Animagus form.

Discouraged but not ready to give up, Sirius flexes his sweating hands as the group heads off to Potions class shortly after breakfast. They round a corner on their way to the dungeons, and he slides a hand into his robes and gives his wand a little wave. An obnoxiously large bouquet of red roses comes into view, levitating in the air and headed determinedly in Remus' direction. Remus tilts his head in curiosity, as he spies his name written in fine penmanship on an envelope tied to the stems. Sirius excitedly mumbles a spell that will cast the finishing touch, because he is dramatic and Moony deserves the best.

The illusionary flames that he had practiced to the point of tears begin to encircle the flowers like a soft halo. However, a wretched burning smell soon indicates that he has absolutely botched this one as well. Moments later, the bouquet has turned into an ominous, raging fireball that is shooting angrily around the corridor. Remus looks horrified, and Peter turns to him and warily asks, "Merlin's beard, Moony. Who the hell did you piss off, mate?"

Potions class lasts approximately one thousand hours, and Sirius spends all of it shifting anxiously in his seat.

After an equally dreadful century sitting in Transfiguration, he drags his feet as he follows Remus and James through the Gryffindor portrait hole and upstairs to the common room to grab their books for their afternoon classes. Taking a deep breath, he fumbles in his pocket for his wand once more and casually draws a shape from within the confines his robes. If all goes well, Remus will walk into their dormitory to find a deliciously romantic assortment of chocolates floating over top of his bed, congregating in the shape of a heart.

"PADFOOT, YOU FILTHY, MANGY MUTT!"

Sirius cringes as he enters the room last, only to find James staring at him murderously from beside his bed—which appears to be covered in a large, wet lump of melted chocolate. Remus looks he can't decide whether he wants to barf or laugh, and Sirius decides that Valentine's Day is officially cancelled.

Concede

Sirius miserably sulks by the fireplace in the common room, which is entirely void of life since everyone else is seemingly snogging their brains out in lieu of the stupid, dreadful holiday. He's absentmindedly thumbing at the rubbish insult to the concept of 'arts and crafts' that's lying in his lap, a bit of parchment charmed an obnoxious shade of pink and covered in glitter and hearts.

Without warning, someone plucks the card out of his hand. Sirius is on the verge of growling and tackling whoever put the final nail in the coffin of his disastrous day, but the sound dies on his lips as he looks up to see Remus staring down at him with his mouth turned up in a thoughtful smile. He sits down next to Sirius, on the aforementioned cursed loveseat, and seems to purposely leave not a gap of space in between them. Remus raises an eyebrow as he begins to read Sirius' elegant script:

My dearest Moony,

Baneberries are red
Cornish pixies are blue
I did my best to woo you today
Now can I please snog you?

Sirius buries his face in his hands, silently cursing himself for not tossing the awful thing in the fire moments earlier. He doesn't think the situation can get any worse, until Remus begins to chuckle. Sirius wipes a hand down his face as he looks at the boy beside him, who goes quiet once they make eye contact. There's a glint in Remus' eyes as he carefully slides a hand over Sirius' thigh and laces their fingers together.

Sirius looks back and forth from their hands to Remus' face, and lets out a choked laugh, "Ah, really?"

Remus sighs affectionately and responds, "Sirius Black, I would not have expected any less from you after the day that you have put me through. Now kiss me before I pin you down on this couch myself."

It takes Sirius but a moment to recover from his shock, and he wastes no time in leaning forward to thread his hands in Remus' soft hair. He places a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips and murmurs softly against Remus' cheek, "So you're my Valentine then, right?"

Remus turns his head and slides their lips together, and Sirius' insides are burning up as he finally tastes him for the very first time. He sucks on Remus' lower lip, eliciting a low moan from him, and prods with his tongue as he fervently seeks entrance to deepen the kiss. They're both breathing hard as they stop for air, and Remus nuzzles into the crook of Sirius' shoulder as he quietly whispers,

"I've always been yours, Padfoot. You just had to ask."