It's not that obvious, not really, but you're perceptive and have a habit of noticing what others don't. You saw when Severus started changing, you could feel him drawing away from you. You noticed Alice and Frank and you like to think you had something to do with them getting together although it wasn't you, not really, it was all them. You noticed Remus' moods changing as the moon waxed and waned, you know about that even though he's never told you. And you see this, too; the expression on Remus' face when he looks at Sirius, you can tell there's something there. Sirius, of course, he lives in the moment and takes everything as he sees it, he doesn't notice a thing. But when he hugs Remus, or turns things he says into an innuendo, you see the flicker in Rem's eyes, the flare and repression of some deep-down emotion he's positioned himself against.
And that night, after Gryffindor slaughtered Hufflepuff 350-40 and you and Rem were on patrol duty, when you pulled the tapestry away to reveal Sirius and that fifth-year Ravenclaw girl (Jessica? Jenny?) entwined so tightly you couldn't work out whose arms were whose, and there was a flash of something across Remus' face before they turned sheepishly towards you – Sirius' face switching from Sex God to Innocent Bystander in an instant, then breaking out into a grin when he saw which prefects were standing before him – and the two of them went through the usual routine of Remus telling him off, Sirius making light of it and then the fist bump. You watched Sirius sauntering back to the common room, and Remus had an odd expression on his face, and you weren't sure whether to squeeze his arm or hug him or neither or both, so you patted his elbow and walked back together in a comfortable silence.
This year you're tutoring him in Potions, because he's completely hopeless, bless him, but for some reason – possibly a slim, dark-haired reason – he picked the NEWT anyway, and as you measure out ingredients and make notes on the side effects of Amortentia you've tried once or twice to breach the topic gently. He's never said anything about it to anyone, you suspect, and you know pushing things like this away will make it harder to deal with when it comes around, which it will, of course, because things like this always do. Every time you mention Sirius' latest conquest there's a quiet tremor, his guard slips for a second, then he laughs and says eventually he's going to run out of girls and then what will he do with his time? You've tried giving him the Look, the one that makes your roommates break down and tell all, the one you thought you had perfected, but it hasn't yet worked on Remus. He's had practice at hiding things; you know this, though he doesn't know you know. He's a very private person, Rem, not one for drunken confessions or outbursts of feeling because of the secrets he carries, and doesn't want getting out. There's more than one secret, though, you're definitely sure of that.
When you broach the topic of relationships, asking him if he's taking anyone to Hogsmeade, he likes to turn the conversation around and ask you the same question, usually mentioning James at some point or other, which makes you slightly uncomfortable because if you're honest, James isn't as annoying as you make out these days. You still call him Potter, but only to his face, in your head he's James and sometimes rather nice. He smiled at you in Transfiguration yesterday and you felt a little light-headed. You told yourself it was because of the open window but deep down, you know there's something else there. The proud, stubborn part of you refuses to give in to it because that means James has won, although he's never really treated it as a game, not really. Perhaps part of this is the fact that after three years, he still hasn't given up, and still finds sweet or amusing ways of asking you out. You complain about it, but secretly you're rather flattered that he's so determined to be with you. You suspect Remus has guessed some degree of this, but you're not going to tell him. Maybe you're as bad as each other, joking around the subjects you know need to be talked about because everyone should have someone to talk to, but avoiding them because facing them means admitting they're there, and then you have to do something about it.
He lent you a book last week, by one of the Great Russian Authors whose names all sound the same, and when you opened it a small piece of parchment fell out. At first you thought perhaps it was just a scrap of parchment, or a note passed in class, but being an avid reader yourself you know that small pieces of parchment left in books more often than not hold some secret thought that came to you as you were reading, that you had to write down for fear that it might burst out the next time you were talking. You tried not to open it, but after six agonising days you couldn't help yourself. The contents have made you surer than ever.
It was messily written; not like Remus' usual neat script, and not as eloquent.
fuckfuckfuckFUCKfuckFUCKFUCK
Maybe if I wait it will go away.
But it's like pressing on my chest always hard to breathe and it's crushing me
even though I don't really mind, not really
bastard.
Remus never swears. You think the worst thing you've ever heard him say was 'Just so bloody ridiculous', when he was really angry. Maybe he's different when he's just with the boys, but you don't think so. But the note, and the looks, and the pain in his eyes when he sees Sirius kissing a girl, and the swift changes of subject, and the fact that he always, always lets Sirius get away with things, makes you sure and makes you want to talk to him about it and get him to say it out loud.
You know he won't, though. If Remus was left to his own devices on this, he would leave it and pretend it wasn't there and be heartbroken his whole life, and maybe always regret not taking a chance and making himself vulnerable. And the worst bit is, you think that if he did say something, that it might come off better than he thinks, because every so often you catch Sirius looking at Remus and it's the same way you see Frank look at Alice, or James look at you before he looks away, sort of protective and wondering and a bit fierce, and you think there's a chance that someday something might change between them. For now though, you're insightful enough to know not to meddle, because although your matchmaking abilities are heralded across Hogwarts, if Remus and Sirius do ever figure everything out it needs to be on their own, the two of them, and it needs to be slow and careful. Soon, you hope, one of them will find the courage – they're supposed to be bloody Gryffindors, after all – and say something, anything, so you don't have to watch it destroying Remus any more.