A/N: This is much longer than I intended, but I felt like writing it anyway. I really hope you enjoy and please review, reviews make me happy!
--x--
When Remus entered the Great Hall, one hand clutching on to his bag, which was threatening to split at the seams, the other holding a vial of turquoise-coloured potion from the Hospital Wing, most students were already rounding up their breakfast. He scanned the length of the Gryffindor table, squinting past columns of chattering students, then, spotting Sirius' unmistakable long dark hair at the very end of the Hall, made his way over. As he neared his friends, he quickly stuffed the vial into the pocket of his robes.
"Pass the marmalade, Padfoot," he muttered, passing a hand wearily over his eyes as he collapsed into the chair opposite Sirius.
"Spit it out," said Sirius coolly.
"What?" said Remus, a millisecond too quickly, staring at him.
Grey eyes stared steadily back at him.
"Oh," said Remus finally, when his eyes began to water. "That." Recognizing defeat, he grudgingly exhibited the potion vial. "Happy? It's just for the PMS."
"Right," said Sirius, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. "So you have Post-Moon Syndrome now."
"Amongst other things," said Remus mysteriously, buttering his toast.
James and Peter laughed; Sirius however, continued to look at Remus, his forehead furrowed slightly, drumming his fingers on his plate. "You know," said James, "we should talk about this some day–somewhere so a few of those squealy Hufflepuff girls can hear us … about this PMS thing of Remus."
Remus looked up and caught Sirius staring at him. "Yes, Sirius, I know I'm simply ravishing, but really, you're making me blush," he said, mock-coyly, an amused smile on his lips.
"Actually," said Sirius, shifting in his seat to face James, "I was thinking about the thing I was talking to you about last night, Prongs, you know. About … the hair-cut I was planning."
Remus choked and spluttered and grew very red in the face. Thumping him on the back, Peter said, "Really? That's er … odd, so how come I didn't know?"
"You and Remus had gone down to the Forest before us, remember? Prongs and I were in Flitwick's detention." said Sirius. "Anyway, I looked up a few good charms for –"
"Excuse me?" said Remus, looking at him as if he were mad.
"Yes, my dear Moony?" said Sirius pleasantly, turning to face him.
"You're not."
"Not what?"
"Not going to."
Sirius gave him a politely questioning look.
"This… this hair-cut thing!" cried Remus.
"It's getting a bit too hot, you know," said Sirius plaintively, running a hand through his long dark hair, "Would get in the way," he added significantly.
"But–no–I mean, no, you don't get it–you just can't!" cried Remus forcefully. He pounded the table with his fist and sent a plate of kippers flying.
"But why?" said Sirius innocently.
Remus thought for a moment. "Well," he said evenly, beginning to tick off points on his fingers, "For one, you're the only boy in sixth year to have long hair. It's what makes you so attractive … for, er, girls. They like long hair … a lot. The whole hair metal thing, you know? It's what makes him the most popular subject, I'm guessing, in all the gossip that goes around in the girls' bathrooms and girls' dormitories and wherever else they hang about. It's also the reason why many boys hate you, you didn't find 'Pretty Poofter' written with spray paint on your conditioner after that Christmas Ball last year for nothing, you know. That's only because they're completely, utterly, insanely jealous. Yeah, and the way it hangs over your eyes and forehead and manages to stay so … er, nice even after Quidditch, is … um, pretty amazing too. The main thing is, your hair is what defines you, it's what makes you … Sirius." Remus finished his little speech with a satisfied little nod – that was quite nicely put.
James and Peter were staring at him, their mouths hanging open slightly.
"Er…" said Remus a bit warily.
And suddenly it struck him how exactly he must have sounded to them.
"ThethingisthatyousoundedanawfullotlikesomethingoutofthatmadcharterthingyoftheWeAreOfficiallyMadAboutSiriusBlackClubyouknow," blurted out Peter all in one breath.
James was studying him closely, a grin spreading across his face.
"Oh," said Remus shortly. He proceeded to stuff an entire piece of toast into his mouth, and promptly choked again. "Well," he said, after some time, his tone appropriately dry, "sorry to disappoint, Sirius. Hope you didn't get your hopes too high."
Sirius smiled that lopsided smile, his grey eyes fixed steadily on Remus again. He's doing that a lot this morning, Remus thought. His brain felt oddly light. He wondered vaguely why Sirius had liner just under his eye today; it was all around almost all the time.
It occurred to Remus suddenly that his face felt very hot–and he became horribly aware that he was probably flushed. "Er, I'd better be off for Arithmancy, Hopkins always likes starting a bit early," he said in a slightly high-pitched voice, getting up swiftly and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. Within seconds, he had crossed the Great Hall and was on his way out.
Sirius sat watching his retreating back, an oddly triumphant look on his face.
Mr. Prongs thinks Mr. Padfoot should bring up the subject with Mr. Moony, would do him good to make a major arse of himself again like at breakfast.
Sirius read the note, took one look up at Professor McGonagall, who was teaching Vanishing Spells, glanced sideward at Remus, and bent over the parchment again.
Mr. Padfoot thinks that sounds like a pretty good idea, actually, and acknowledges Mr. Prong's decency in taking time out of his only-six-months-in-advance Valentine's Day card for Miss Evans.
James carefully ignored the last bit and very solemnly gave Sirius an encouraging little nod.
Mr. Padfoot seeks Mr. Moony's advise on the Style Charm that would suit him best, though of course any old cut would make him look simply gorgeous, but still, Mr. Moony's advise is always most valuable – and from today's little breakfast rant, Mr. Moony seems not entirely unconcerned, either.
Mr. Moony points out that in the noun form, the spelling is advice, while in the ve
Mr. Padfoot hates to snatch away Professor Moony's parchment mid-lesson, but doesn't really give a fuck about noun thingies and would greatly prefer discussing the infinitely wonderful and considerably more interesting set of keratinized follicle extensions that grace his head.
Mr. Moony wonders if it looks like he really cares.
Mr. Padfoot has to say it does.
Mr. Moony is so, so sorry to burst Mr. Padfoot's little bubble, but his darling Mr. Moony unfortunately cares more about the freckles on Moaning Myrtle's nose.
Mr. Padfoot doesn't understand that why, then, he is perfectly equal to delivering three-minute-long sermons on Mr. Padfoot's hair, but has never displayed the slightest inclination to visit his pretty Myrtle's bathroom in all these last six years.
Mr. Moony thinks Mr. Padfoot is a git.
Mr. Padfoot seems to have touched a nerve.
Mr. Moony thinks nothing could suit Mr. Padfoot better than a nice cut in layers, cascading curls framing his face, oh so pretty.
Mr. Padfoot would have loved to try that out, it sounds terribly appealing but
And why not try a little fringe in front while you're at it.
Mr. Padfoot is grateful to Mr. Moony for his obvious eagerness to help, and thanks him also for the last input he inserted over Mr. Padfoot's shoulder, but Mr. Padfoot would like to
Mr. Wormtail regrets having to break up this little lovers' quarrel, but must inform Mr. Padfoot and Mr. Moony that McGonagall has looked around at them twice already and looked again just now!
Mr. Padfoot gives Mr. Wormtail the finger anyway.
Mr. Moony must inform Mr. Wormtail that if he hopes to satisfy his voyeuristic inclinations or perhaps even indulge in a dream threesome, Mr. Moony must graciously decline, and basically wonders what the hell Mr. Wormtail is trying to suggest by the L word.
Mr. Wormtail wonders if voyeuristic has something to do with dinner?
Mr. Padfoot reminds Mr. Wormtail that his life happens to be in rather grave peril unless he very wisely chooses to wank off right now.
Mr. Prongs just wrote 'I'd die to drown myself in those RED eyes and run my fingers through that lush GREEN hair', because of all the poking and shoving he is being subjected to, and is consequently VERY, VERY PISSED.
Mr. Padfoot is so touched, he could weep.
Mr. Moony is wondering if 'poking and shoving' is an appropriate term to use for mere handing of notes, seeing as Mr. Prongs himself has been wildly flapping around for glue and scissors at pretty frequent intervals since the beginning of the class.
Mr. Wormtail thinks that's a beautiful line!
"POTTER!"
"Yes, Minnie?" said James, trying to sound innocent.
"Whatever that thing on your desk is, it is most certainly not the essay on Conjuring Spells you were supposed to hand in! Accio!"
The half-finished card rose from James' desk, eluding his fingers, which groped forward and closed in on thin air, and it began hurtling towards Professor McGonagall. Peter watched it fly, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Remus, hiding behind the huge Andy McKay, pointed his wand at it and swiftly muttered, "Concealius."
A blank piece of parchment landed on Professor McGonagall's desk.
She picked it up and examined it, nostrils flared slightly. Sending it back carelessly with a Banishing Charm, she said, "You should thank your stars Lupin has such presence of mind, Potter." How did she know? thought Remus incredulously, slowly coming out from behind his cover. "Isn't going to keep you out of detention, though, Lupin. My office, tonight, seven o' clock."
Remus staggered across the common room and, flinging his bag down on the ground, sank into his usual chair. He lay back, shut his eyes and placed his hand wearily over his forehead. There was not a single person in the room; everyone was done for lunch, which Remus somehow wasn't remotely interested in.
It was then that he realized that it was time he did a bit of Thinking, an exercise he had, quite frighteningly, neglected to perform since morning. Time for an In-Depth Session of Serious Introspection, he said to himself, thinking a little pityingly of his abandoned grey cells. Stretch your legs, button up, and here we go.
Why would Sirius, of all people, want to cut his hair, was Remus' most pressing thought. Sirius, who spent galleons upon galleons on conditioner and shampoo and hair-gel every time they went into Hogsmeade; Sirius, who was literally flocked by pimply third-year boys whenever he was free, all clamouring for advice on how to make their hair as sleek and shiny as his; Sirius, who flicked his hair with shamelessly flirty winks very time he passed a gang of girls, making them go weak at the knees, and thoroughly enjoyed every bit of the attention …
Oh, but he makes you go weak at the knees too.
Remus was a little startled to hear a smug little voice inside his head, and frowned slightly.
The stomach flutters and secret little smiles and all the rest of the routine, too.
That's just bizarre, thought Remus, choosing to ignore the voice. What routine? He returned to his interrupted train of thought. Sirius wanting a haircut just didn't make sense. And what were James and Peter playing at? Honestly, what did they think they were doing, egging him along? And when Remus tried to make him see sense, they'd start fooling around as usual.
You seem to be forgetting that you're the only poofter with a super-massive crush on his best mate around here.
Oy, what are you talking about? Crush on Sirius? Certainly not, thank you very much.
Now, now, Remus, it isn't your fault he makes you feel like a twelve-year-old girl facing her first crush.
Right, so now you're insinuating that I'm gay.
Face it, Remus Lupin. You love him. You adore every little itsy bitsy thing about him. You love him, Remus, you luuuuurve your little Padfoot just so, so, so much.
I do not, and I'm not remotely gay, and this is getting stupid.
Admit it, Remus … how long will you hide?
Sod off.
First sign of love-lorn-ness, being so flustered when pressed about your crush as to use words that have never featured before in your vocabulary, dear.
As long as they don't sound like 'I bloody well fancy you,' it's really none of your business.
Stormy grey eyes, a perfect pair of lips, such a beautiful, desirable body… Admittedly, you do have fine taste.
Remus rolled his eyes, scowling heavily. Until you lot are capable of normal functioning, this session is officially OVER.
"Moony isn't here," said James, looking around the Hall. "D'you think he went to the library?"
"Maybe," said Peter, who had just caught sight of a plate of steak on their House table. "But right now, I'm not going anywhere," he said dreamily, walking towards it.
"Yeah, yeah, get stuffed again, why don't you?," said James dryly as he joined him at the table. He turned to Sirius. "Moony looked really pissed after Transfiguration. I don't think you should've told him all that. You know, it isn't, er, nice… for a bloke to be told he's been fantasizing about his friend, who's, you know, also a bloke … and what the hell are you smiling so much about anyway?"
The rest of the afternoon passed as peacefully for Remus as could be hoped for. At double History of Magic, which they had after lunch, instead of sitting as usual between Sirius and Peter, he made some seating rearrangements, with the result that on one end sat Sirius, James next to him, then Peter, and finally Remus. As soon as Sirius came into class, he flopped down on his desk and began snoring quite dramatically without bothering a "Good afternoon" to old eccentric Professor Binns, who didn't seem to mind much either. Peter started to doodle, but, after threatening for a few minutes to drop off, crashed down at last on his desk head-first. James bent over his Valentine's Day card again, which left Remus to his own devices.
Padmini Bose was sitting in front of him again; having stared at her braided hair long enough already to be utterly tired, he allowed his gaze to wander around the class. Frank was chewing at the end of his pencil; Alice was showing a very pink and fluffy something to Marlene under the desk. He looked over a drooling Peter and a hard-at-work James, at Sirius. He was sleeping peacefully; a lock of dark hair resting on his pale cheek, rising and falling slowly. A small smile curved his lips …Remus found himself wondering what he was dreaming of–whatever it was, it must be a happy thought.
Dying to kiss those delicious lips, are we now?
Remus tensed at once. Damn you; you are NOT going to start again.
Accept it, Remus, there's no escaping the truth … there's nothing you want more in the world than to press him against a wall and kiss him till he's senseless and rip off every shred of clothing on his body and kiss every inch of that exquisite body of his …
Remus felt the heat rise in his cheek. You–you have no idea what you're talking about, he said to the voice, defensively. But his insides still curled up uncomfortably as he searched inside his bag and, drawing out an old battered edition of the Daily Prophet, settled down with the crossword, quickly trying to get rid of the image that had suddenly come into his head.
When the bell rang at the end of the day's lessons, every student, without exception, had completely forgotten that this had been a History of Magic class, and Professor Binns from his table had actually been trying to address them (the unquestionable monotony of the subject, which happened to be the severance of trade relations between goblins and wizards after the 1860's war, notwithstanding), and that there was the slightest possibility that they were meant to have been taking down notes. What did register, however, was that at last they could wake up and leave the room and forget about their books till tomorrow morning–for most, at least.
When Sirius and Peter were done yawning and stretching, and James had very carefully placed his card inside his book, they realized Remus was already gone.
Though Remus hadn't had anything since breakfast, he was in no mood to go down to the Great Hall for tea. Instead, he set off for the library. He sat down at a corner table hidden from the rest of the room by a towering shelf of books, pulled out Magical Herbs and Fungi for his Herbology assignment, and began to read.
Unicorn hair is undoubtedly the most potent magical healer known in Europe. It is widely sought-after for its many curative effects. An infusion of a single strand of unicorn hair with asafoetida oil extract and crushed sassafras leaves, that have to be brought from North America, left to simmer overnight in a brass cauldron for seventeen days starting on the fifth day of the waning moon is known to have healing powers on all wounds and bites from magical creatures, and is even seen to have a neutralizing effect on Basilisk venom. Despite the difficulty bordering on impossibility faced in acquiring it, it is greatly valued for its unique quality of being so smooth, so rich and dark and beautiful, so effortlessly irresistibly alluring, so wonderful to run his fingers through …
Remus sat up bolt upright. When the library came back into focus, he saw that he had fallen asleep over the first page he had started with. He tried to think what he had thought of just before he fell asleep. He had a vague remembrance that it had sent a tingling down his spine … But no, for the life of him, he could not recall it. Suddenly his eyes fell on the clock on the wall in front of him. Five to seven: about time he set off for his detention.
"Sit down, Lupin," said Professor McGonagall, indicating a small desk with a chair in front of her study table. A long scroll of parchment and a quill lay ready for him.
"Er … what do I write?" said Remus, when she returned to her corrections without another word.
"I must not exercise my Charming abilities to save my trouble-making friends from getting caught in future," she said crisply. "Five hundred times."
"But he wasn't –" protested Remus.
"Get going, Lupin, unless you're particularly keen on a plus five hundred."
Remus slowly began to write. Five hundred … should take him till midnight, at least, he thought, feeling a little sick. He looked outside the window at the Quidditch pitch; a practice session was on. Though he couldn't make out much in the dark, he knew it was Gryffindor–James and Sirius had been having practice every evening for weeks now, and Peter was sure to be watching from the sides, his jaw dropping each time James or Sirius made some particularly flamboyant moves. Suddenly a tall Beater streaked past, whacking a Bludger at another player, and his long hair whipped about his face …
Remus quickly returned to his lines.
"I'm asking because I need to KNOW." Sirius was facing Madame Pomfrey squarely, his expression determined. He was still clutching his broomstick, his hair slick with sweat from Quidditch practice.
"There's no reason," said the plump matron evasively, bending over a small pale-looking girl lying on the bed.
"Great," said Sirius, with a sarcastic laugh, "my best friend is taking potions every month for no reason, and I'm supposed to be okay with that? He wants them just because he thinks he needs them, and you let him? Damn you, haven't you heard how harmful medicines taken only for psychological reasons can be?"
"You already know, he needs it after every full moon," said Madame Pomfrey shortly.
"I've noticed," sneered Sirius. "Look, woman, if there's anyone who deserves to know exactly why Remus needs them, it's me, okay? Not–not you!"
"Careful, Black, I won't have you using that tone with me," she said sternly.
"Then you'll bloody well tell me what they're for," muttered Sirius through gritted teeth. "He–you have no idea what you're doing–Remus means the world to me, you can't just …" His voice broke off.
Madame Pomfrey turned her back to him, arranging a bottle inside a cabinet. "If you must know," she said, her voice a little strained, "He needs them because the wolf always … always wears him out … it's been doing that recently a lot–and makes him weak, and–and hormonal … But he takes them mainly because he asked for them himself, and though I wouldn't let him in the beginning, he was quite desperate …. Said he didn't want his friends to worry too much about him …"
Sirius felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Remus had asked for them… he felt a painful twinge of guilt.
Then suddenly Madame Pomfrey said, "And he specially mentioned you."
Remus had lost all track of time.
There was no clock on the wall in front of him; Professor McGonagall hadn't moved from her corrections since his detention had begun.
I must not…
He remembered the Herbology assignment he had yet to finish for tomorrow… no sleep for me tonight, either, he thought, eyes already half-closing with drowsiness.
I must not…
He looked out of the window again: practice seemed to be over. He thought tiredly of Sirius and James and Peter lazing in the common room … Sirius probably surrounded by the usual gang of girls … ready to perform his Styling Charm, minutes away from getting his hair-cut!
Remus began to panic.
Suddenly Professor McGonagall looked up at him from her papers. "Everything all right?" she said, wrinkling her forehead.
Remus' brain started to whir. Should he … could he? … He made a split second decision.
"I'm–I'm not feeling very well," he said, willing the colour to drain from his face.
Professor McGonagall looked out through the window at the waning moon, and uttered a soft "Ah!" of understanding. Her expression concerned now, she said, "Would you like to go to the Hospital Wing?"
Remus was so relieved that she had made the suggestion herself that he almost lost his voice. "Th-that would be v-very helpful, thank you, Professor," he stammered.
Professor McGonagall nodded curtly and returned to her papers. Remus got up slowly and walked as calmly as he could to the door. The moment the door was closed behind him, he broke into a run.
Down the corridor he ran, disregarding a little scream from a small second-year girl as he nearly flattened her against the wall when rounding a corner at breakneck speed; not hearing Peeves' cackles of "Fly, Lupin, fly!"; ignoring Alice's exclamation of "Remus!" as he hurtled past her. He began speeding up the stairs – and then paused against a banister, breathing raggedly, clutching a stitch in his side.
Then two girls walked down past him, giggling–one of them said, "… personally don't know how it'll look, but with Sirius … oh, and Marlene was saying that he's going to do it tonight!"
That charged Remus up enough to run up the remaining flight, three steps to a stride, till he had skidded to a stop in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Gobbing Gobstones, Gobbing Gobstones!" he spluttered.
"Breathe in, breathe out, dear, that's the trick, I'm sure you don't want to pass out," said the Fat Lady pleasantly, as she swung open.
Remus clambered up at the speed of light.
"Don't!" he cried desperately, stretching a hand outwards.
Fifty pairs of eyeballs swiveled around to look at him. Remus stood stupidly, one hand outstretched, body bent forward, his robes half-undone, revealing the white shirt and faded blue jeans underneath.
Sirius looked up from the game of chess he had been playing with James and suppressed a grin with an effort.
"Now what has got you so worked up?" said James curiously, taking in the tousled hair and sweaty forehead.
Remus was ready to faint with disbelief. "Nothing!" he said, in a voice that didn't seem to be his, walking slowly towards them, Sirius still looking as though he found something extremely amusing. "Nothing at all!"
He sat down next to Peter. "And how come your detention with McGonagall got over so quickly?" pressed James.
"Nothing!" said Remus again, fishing out a book from Peter's bag, "Nothing at all!" He lifted the book and held it in front of his face.
"Er … that's mine," said Peter hesitatingly, pointing at the copy of An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration Remus was hiding behind.
"You're not reading it now, are you?" said Remus, his voice muffled behind the book.
"Must be the Toilet Cleaning after-effect, Minnie's been giving that a lot lately," said James, surveying him grimly. "Happens."
"You didn't clean out the toilets, did you?" said Peter, looking at his book a little anxiously.
Remus uttered a noise with dubious implications.
James rolled his eyes and turned to Sirius. "So it's tonight?" he said.
"Yep," said Sirius loudly. "I finally opted for the close crop though, Moony, should be nice, right?"
"Very," said Remus, still behind Peter's textbook.
"You sure about this, though?" said James. "I mean, making it so short and stuff?"
"Prongs, you're speaking to Sirius Black. What d'you mean, sure about this?"
"Well, you know …" said James, vaguely gesticulating. "You could kind of shape it too, without reducing the length and stuff …"
Sirius snorted. "Since when did I take advice from someone who has a clump of Nargles where his hair should be?" He spoke dryly, but his smile was good-natured.
"No, seriously, Padfoot," said Peter, "I hope you've thought enough about this, and you're sure you won't regret it later."
"Oh, I'll never regret it," said Sirius quietly, and for some reason, he looked at Remus. "And anyway, what bloke in his right mind leaves his hair with split ends?"
"You do not!"
Everyone turned around to look at Remus. He had lowered his book; he looked almost offended, as though it had been a personal insult.
"Ooooh," said James, his grin widening, "Ooooh … And what else do you know about Padfoot's hair?"
Remus blushed and hid himself again, mumbling something unintelligibly. James and Peter erupted in silent fits of laughter.
A few minutes later, Remus got up, muttered something about a Charms textbook and nearly fled across the common room up the stairs into the empty dormitory.
Leaving the door ajar, he walked slowly to his bed, which was over by the window and bathed by the clear white moonlight. He sat down at the edge of his bed and stared out at the moon.
It was true, he thought dully, all of it, every word … why hadn't he seen it before? He did love Sirius … he had loved him right from the start. Studious prefect Moony–all the hours buried behind books when they were sitting together–it had all been an excuse, he thought bitterly, an elaborate excuse to watch Sirius without having to join in the conversation, only he hadn't realized it then. Would anyone ever believe that he had studied Sirius so many times more closely than the words in his book, that most of the time, he was hardly aware of what he was reading, and so very, very aware of Sirius' every word, every move, that all the watching was hardly innocent, as he had always told himself
Of course, he thought helplessly, of course he'd always been in love with him … why else would he always be distracted when he was trying to study by the way Sirius laughed, the way his eyes lit up when he was thinking up pranks, the way he grinned at him, making special efforts to make him laugh, and how that warmed his heart like nothing else did, the way he'd fling his arms around his neck from behind, getting him off-balance, if only for a long-drawn tuneful cry of "Moooooonyyyyy!", the way … the way he shook his long hair out of his eyes …
Why else, he thought miserably, why else would it hurt so much that Sirius was going to cut off that hair, which Remus had a nagging feeling he was growing quite dangerously obsessed with, that he didn't really care how much Remus wanted him not to …
"What ails my Moony-moon?"
Remus started; then looked up slowly. It was Sirius–he had come in through the half-open door, and crept right next to him. He knelt down between Remus' knees. Remus tried hard not to let his eyes linger on the hand he placed on his thigh. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Sirius peered intently up at him.
"Nothing," said Remus hoarsely.
"That's the third time you've said that since you came back from Minnie's detention," said Sirius patiently. "How bad could it have been?"
"Not very," said Remus shortly. "I'm fine–you go, they're all waiting for you downstairs."
"Please, tell me if anything's wrong," said Sirius. "You know I can never feel all right you're all down like this, Remus."
"I'm okay … Never mind me," he said.
Sirius hesitated for a second, then he began straightening up. "If you're okay–" he said, making to leave.
Remus watched him rise, as though in slow motion …
Then suddenly, before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "Wait!" he cried.
Sirius stiffened for a moment, then he knelt down in front of Remus again. Something flickered in his grey eyes, but the expression on his face, shadowy against the moonlight, was unreadable.
"You–you can't."
Sirius didn't move.
"I–" Remus leaned forward and kissed him impulsively on the lips.
The moment he drew away, he clapped his hand to his mouth in horror. "Oh no!" he cried, retreating further and further backwards on his bed, tucking his legs under him, "Oh–no–no–no! I'm so sorry–I didn't mean that, I really didn't–I don't know what came over me … I must've …" His voice trailed off as Sirius caught hold of his arm and hitched himself onto the bed in front of him. Curling his fingers around the back of Remus' neck and jerking his head up, he crushed their lips together.
Remus' breath caught in his throat–for a second, his heart forgot to beat–then the very next instant, it began to beat wildly, violently, his finger-nails, he felt sure, digging deep holes into his bed-sheet, though they were too numb for him to feel anything, as Sirius knelt in front of him, kissing him.
Sirius, he thought dazedly, Sirius was kissing him … Sirius was pressing his shoulder against wood, his other hand supporting his hip … Sirius' hair was brushing against his face and neck, leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind… and he was kissing him. This can't be true! Remus thought weakly, this can't be happening, there's something wrong here, you're the 'poofter with a super-massive crush on his best mate', not … not Sirius! But he couldn't protest … it was so, so, so much easier to surrender to Sirius and drown in his kiss that, god, tasted more wonderful than chocolate, more wonderful than anything he had ever tasted before, and let the heavenly feel of Sirius' lips, gentle and teasing and fierce all at once, his fingers touching him at all the right places, his intoxicating scent wash over him …
After what could have been seconds or even hours, Sirius drew away. Both of them were breathing heavily, their lips a little redder than normal.
"I've had dreams about this," said Sirius in a hollow voice. He sat down cross-legged in front of Remus.
Remus felt light-headed … Sirius–had dreams about kissing him? "I've had nightmares about this," he mumbled, touching a lock of Sirius' hair.
"It's only been one day," laughed Sirius.
Remus sighed. "I love your hair so much," he said mournfully, burying his face in it and softly kissing it..
Sirius pouted and tilted his head to the side.
Remus felt a little puzzled to see him look so mortified. Then he laughed suddenly. "And I love the rest of you, too," he murmured.
"I've waited to hear that, so long…" said Sirius softly. "I love you too, Remus, I love you so, so, so much."
Remus turned around and settled himself comfortably in Sirius' lap. Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist. "Promise me you won't take those potions again unless you absolutely need to," he said, burying his face in Remus' shoulder. "Even if it means you'll be my baby after every full moon."
"How did you –" Remus paused, "Promise me you'll never cut your hair till we're both old and half-dead and losing fistfuls of hair anyway…"
"That's not going to happen!" said Sirius, sounding thoroughly shocked. "What's all the Flibbertwit Follicle-Strengthening Formula shampoo I use in aid of then, hmm?"
"Fine then, stay at home, I'm not having any eighty-year-old hags, or blokes, whatever, eyeing you when we go out," said Remus grumpily.
"You have just the sexiest hair, you know, Moony?" said Sirius distractedly, stroking Remus' light-brown locks.
"To come back to the point, I'm going to make sure you don't not getting any hair-cuts in the next fifty years at least!" He half turned and put his arms around Sirius' neck and pressed a quick, hard kiss to his mouth. "You know you'll have to," he added with an arch smile.
"Done," murmured Sirius, "though that isn't going to be exactly necessary."
"Hmm?" said Remus, breaking off abruptly.
"You're such a gullible idiot," said Sirius, grinning. "You actually thought I was going to cut my hair … honestly, Moony, I only did it because I'd loved you for ages and ages and I ... wanted to see how you'd take this … I mean my hair is attractive right?"
Remus' mouth fell open. "And I always thought I was the subtle one," he said, staring.
"Don't tell me you thought I really liked any of the girls I've ever dated," said Sirius, scowling. "If I didn't take them to Hogsmeade, they'd probably spike my drinks with Amortentia. It was self-defence! Now you're different."
"But you–I still don't believe it; you did that–you made me–for nothing?"
"Hey, you can't say it was for nothing," said Sirius, pulling him nearer to him. "Being the blind little idiot that you are, you probably would never have come round…"
"You little tease …"
Sirius chortled. "Moonies should know Padfoots like their hair too much," he said. "Especially if their Moonies like it too."
Remus narrowed his eyes. "But what Padfoots should know," he breathed, and with a flick of the hangings, plunged them into darkness, "is that Moonies always, always get their revenge …"