Title: Operation Remus Lupin (and the Consequences of Celia Vane's Other Intelligent Endeavours)
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Warnings: Made-up characters. Language, sexual references. (I sound so professional!)
Summary: First in a five part Halloween story. (This part 2,421 words)
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine. Oh yeah, and Celia. Lucky me.
Author's Note I've been working on this for quite awhile, but I never like to post things that aren't completely finished, so I waited until I was done to put this up. Therefore, the next few parts will be posted in the week before Halloween. I'm actually pretty proud of this, so hopefully you won't get too sick of the constant updates. xD;; ALSO, I'D LIKE TO THANK MEGAN FOR BEING AWESOME AND KEEPING ME FROM CONSTANTLY SWITCHING THE NAMES AROUND. THANKS MEGAN. O:

-

Wind tugs at pale blonde hair, the veil she's using to mask her stare as her eyes expertly follow the two figures on the edge of the lake. She makes another mark on her parchment, shifts her position, and smoothes her skirt across her thighs. This rock was obviously never meant to be used as a bench. And someone like Celia Vane was not meant to be sitting on it to watch two boys who, as far as she can tell, aren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Only it isn't what they're doing that's supposed to be interesting. It's who they are. Or at least who one of them is.

And that one is named Sirius Black.

Celia Vane has been the head of the Sirius Black fan club since her fourth year, when she was first nominated for the position, ousting Abigail Hood from her former place - even though the other girl was three years older. Of course, Abigail was furious, but, as Celia always chimes, the people do have a right to choose. And Celia is a much better leader than that chubby-faced Abigail could've ever been, anyway.

Celia has plenty of proof, too. She's had three anonymous bake sales, all extremely successful (you'd never know how eager people could be to support a cause when they have no idea what it is). She's cleverly introduced people to Sirius who've never had the courage to speak to him before, using methods like note-passing and Quidditch scrimmages. She's doubled the club's popularity (although, she has to admit, that might have something to do with Sirius increasing in age and reputation as he went from a charming fourth year to a positively dashing seventh year), and even lured in quieter girls who were practically unaware that this is where they belong.

And most importantly, after three years of her loving autocracy, the club's existence is still a complete secret, which is, of course, one of the major goals of every fan club ever to go through Hogwarts. It's still important for every girl with the intention of dating Sirius to be seen as the "pursued" rather than the "pursuer", no matter how many times they dig things out of wastepaper baskets. And fortunately, to the male population, the club is nothing more than a sneaking suspicion.

But despite all her devotion, tonight, Celia would still rather be sending someone else out on a so-called "Sirius Stalk". It's hopelessly dull - she can't see anything, and without much to gossip about, or even a good view, these things aren't nearly as exciting. Normally she sends the younger members out to report back to her and leaves the more important Stalks, like Quidditch matches, for herself. But tonight she happened to stumble upon him, and, well, old habits die hard. She rearranges her hair again, but it doesn't matter because the sky is growing dark; no one can see her, and she can't see anything but hazy outlines of black and brown. She hates autumn - it always makes her feel old and tired, aching muscles and fading tan lines as the days grow shorter and shorter. Everything is dead.

As she watches, a tall shadow that she knows to be Sirius (because, she thinks sarcastically, she's been sitting on a goddamn stone for an hour to watch him) skips stones across the lake, occasionally turning to speak to his companion, who seems to actually believe that he is reading, although it's clearly too dark to see the words.

She can't hear anything of the conversation from where she is sitting, either, on a chunk of granite that's nearly halfway across the lake from where they are. Maybe they aren't even talking. Really, her Astronomy homework is more interesting than they're being right now, which is definitely saying a lot. She glances down dubiously. Name this moon phase. Honestly. Who really cares?

Celia scrawls her way through the homework, for the most part, making up whatever pops into her head. When the wind picks up again, she's too busy pinning her parchment down to even notice that a paper with a list of potential club members has escaped her school bag - and when she does, she doesn't have the energy to go pick it up. It's cold and she's tired and if she shifts her position the wind will find all places of her that aren't desperately clamped together.

She really doesn't care about some stupid scrap of parchment anyway. She has other copies.

"Is this yours?"

It would be nice, of course, (and much more romantic) if it was Sirius, but it's only the friend. Remus. The sickly one. He's standing at an arm's distance, and she snatches the paper from his pale hand before he even starts to move away. He doesn't look back at her. Which is really less attention than she deserves from him. Honestly. Sometimes she wishes the club wasn't so much of a secret, if it meant she'd get a little more respect around here.

"Thanks," she says, belatedly, and Remus halfway turns with an awkward smile before hurrying off again.

She crosses her arms across her chest and watches as he strolls back the way he came. She should've been paying more attention. Apparently he and Sirius had migrated from one side of the lake to the other as the evening dragged on, and the books Remus was using previously sit rejected for the new ones, taken to a place where Sirius can more easily torture the squid.

Then Sirius is striding by with his cloak draped carelessly over his shoulders, and Celia doesn't even have a chance to say anything to him because he's too busy murmuring to that damn Remus. Celia gathers her books.

That was, of course, going to be the end of it. This would be all there was to this particular stalk, and Celia would go back to the dorm, cold and bad-tempered - except she raises her eyes one last time to watch them go, staring after the pair as they meet up a few feet after they pass her, all bent heads and murmured words - intimacy. And there's something off about that.

Remus' mouth moves and Sirius starts smirking. Celia knows she shouldn't be wondering if he's sniggering about her (she's way too confident for that), but she does anyway. Something peculiar sends a strange sort of warmth down her spine, and she stares, transfixed, until they blend into the dusk.

And suddenly, Celia starts to think there might be more to this than she saw before. Like all of Celia's plans, it's fully organized before she's even thought it out completely.

It's time for the next club meeting.

-

The water glitters, the sun melting into the clouds in big splashes of sunset pastels. Everything seems to have that bittersweet taste of last, sour in the air and in each stone that Sirius feeds the lake. The last autumn (brilliantly bright leaves dying peacefully, swirling to the ground in gusts of cool wind) at Hogwarts, the last precious year of maps and crimson curtains and Gryffindor. Remus is painfully aware of all of it, like the way Sirius seems somehow off tonight, skidding rocks across the lake and towards the squid's tentacles because he knows it makes Remus wary.

He wonders if he feels it too, but now doesn't seem like an appropriate time to ask. So Remus just watches him, discreetly, through his eyelashes (he's perfected his subtlety), and turns a page in the textbook he isn't really reading, because it's dark and dusty and he can't see the tiny print - only the dark outline of Sirius' body in the cool sunset, and because he's squinting away Remus misses the last, record-breaking throw, stone hopping victoriously across the cold water.

It gets chilly early at Hogwarts, but September is still too soon for thick jumpers, really, and he's uneven with too much warmth under his robes, the cold numbing his hands and nose.

Sirius is a champion rock-skipper.

"Did you see that? Twenty-five," he boasts, "We ought - we ought to get James out here again for a rematch again." He picks up a few more rocks from the pile he's collected at his feet, "Or you could throw some, but you know, you never actually seem to try very hard."

The last time Remus tried skipping rocks he remembers Sirius' breath on the back of his neck, the arm snaked around his waist to demonstrate form, and his pebble plopping pathetically into the dark water.

"I think I'll pass," he says dryly, raising his eyebrow and shaking his head at the book as if the fault is somehow somewhere in the text. Maybe it is. Potions has always been the one class he detests.

For a moment Sirius looks like he's going to say something else. He stares at the stone in his hands while Remus stares at Sirius, but then he stops, turns back towards the lake, and violently flings the last flat stone over the water. Only seventeen skips, this time.

Sometimes they have this, now, the heavy awkwardness that came when they started pretending everything is back to normal (even though everything obviously isn't). A stretch of time that was clogged eyelashes and loneliness is barely behind them, when Sirius finally did the worst thing he could ever do. When Remus realized that he wasn't as forgiving as he'd thought he was, when the pieces stopped fitting so very well.

Remus forgave Sirius' prank with little production, returning with quiet acceptance, sliding his chair back next to Sirius' in the library, then in the common room. Now they're talking again. Small steps. Slow, but still something. Sirius may feel elated, but Remus still sees the problems; they spend far too much time trying to make everything go back to being the same.

But things aren't the same, as Remus points out when Sirius pauses to clear his throat before continuing on with plans for snowball fights and complicated pranks. Because hearing Sirius go on about this is almost as painful as to hear him talk about girls.

"James doesn't have the same kind of time anymore," Remus interrupts slowly, fingers creeping to compulsively smooth out the imperfect crease in his book. "He's head boy."

Sirius waits almost as long as Remus did before answering, and Remus keeps fidgeting with that paper, forever creased in imperfection after someone carelessly shut it on a bent page.

"Oh, sorry. I wasn't aware of that," Sirius mocks, rolling his eyes - because James hasn't shut up about being a head with Lily Evans since he got the badge. Sirius still seems to be swallowing words, and Remus can see that he's looking over the lake instead of towards him. "Don't be so depressing," he says instead, complete with a kick to the ground and a bitter laugh, "Not everything changes, Moony."

Remus only shrugs, turns back to the paper.

As the time passes, he huddles closer within himself, locking his arms around each other, and suddenly he realises that he's shivering. They still aren't talking about it, which is fine, because all throughout his life, Remus thinks he must have become a world-class expert at Not Talking About It.

Sirius coughs and Remus wonders if he could probably earn some award for this, avoiding everything that needs to be said, because he's only tempted to say, "It's getting dark earlier, huh?", except that he already has.

But Remus can't fight the clattering teeth, and before he can stop himself Sirius is tossing him his cloak and shuffling back through the tall grass (still ragged and wild, oblivious to the coming chill). "Let's go inside, then," he mumbles, "Oh - get your stuff." They'd migrated closer to the castle when a girl had taken their usual spot, and Remus walks towards where she's sitting. He's gathering the books when he notices a paper on the ground that isn't his, crumpled and stained by dirt. He picks it up, turns it over, and frowns at the blonde girl a few feet away.

"Is this yours?" he asks, stepping closer to her. Her expression is odd, and she immediately jerks the paper away as if she's somehow been offended.

It's almost as awkward as it was with Sirius. Remus starts to turn away.

"Thanks," she sniffs, and Remus mumbles something like "sure" or "'welcome" in response over his shoulder and takes a few quick steps to return to Sirius, waiting by the lake and staring past him towards the girl.

"Who is that?" Sirius wonders, "It's so fucking dark."

"Caroline Vane," Remus responds, proud to actually know her name, because all the females at the school have always seemed to blend together to him. "She dropped something."

In the bleak darkness, he discerns a nod while Sirius taps a light to his wand and starts walking. Remus struggles to keep close, because he's too cold to bother removing his hands from his pocket and perform his own lumos. Leaves crunch beneath their shoes as they head back towards the courtyard.

"Strange to see her all by herself like that," Sirius comments suddenly, something mischievous lurking in his tone. He hasn't even bothered to put his cloak back on. "You'd think she was hoping someone would talk to her."

"Hm." Remus watches the ground in front of him, seeping reluctantly into the wand's light. Only the few steps in front of them are visible - the spell must be weak. Remus doesn't like it when Sirius gets like this. "What are you on about?" he asks finally, careful to keep any real interest out of his voice.

Sirius shrugs casually. "You know. Celia. She's pretty gorgeous, right? Maybe she fancies me."

Remus relaxes a bit, and then nearly stumbles over a tree root. "Do you?" (Just because he's used to this.) "Want her, I mean."

"I might," Sirius says, and just like that, the conversation seems to lose any value it might've had. Remus breathes warmth into his hands, stiff with the cold, and shrugs noncommittally as they turn into the courtyard.

"Good luck with that, then."

Sirius smirks, "Oh, you know I don't need - Oi, Prongs!" A boy turns towards them, a familiar face with large glasses and slim nose, but Remus can't really be glad to see him, can't be glad to go inside to warmth and the feast.

He's sort of lost his appetite.