A/N: I wrote this on a train rattling through the English countryside. If only it had been the Hogwarts Express. (Then it might have run on time.) Thanks to ObsidianEmbrace, my ever-brilliant beta.

The train jolted to the left, sending the compartment door crashing to a close. Sirius didn't flinch. He was well past that. He'd been past it before the train had even jumped on its tracks.

He stood rigid as the train rattled madly around him. The last two minutes had made the world a hollow and humiliating place, and it was barely half ten. Everything was hellish and hateful, and he should have left Pandora's box the hell alone.

He wondered where he'd land if he left the train early.

A door slid open directly ahead. Head down, Sirius raised a palm to whoever it might be, hoping they'd be smart enough to go on their way and leave him alone. When the door clicked obligingly back into place, Sirius released a muffled sort of groan. He moved to a window and pressed his forehead against the film of condensation there. It wasn't that he didn't realize he was being pathetically melodramatic about the whole thing; it was just that he didn't particularly care.

He was pathetic. His pride had been wounded, picked up, kicked in the shins and thrown down again. The whole thing was starting to make him feel physically ill.

And he'd been so sure that Remus would –

Sirius slammed his eyes shut and knocked his head against the glass. Remus. He couldn't shift that image of Remus from his mind. The way he'd drawn back. The way he'd just sat there, cheeks shot red with anger. The way he'd looked at him, like it had been two years earlier and Sirius had just betrayed him all over again.

Sirius hissed through his teeth. He should have just left it, shouldn't have said anything. That much was obvious. But he'd been so sure of himself, so certain that he'd read things correctly. He had been watching for months, waiting, collecting little proofs. Here, a glance; there, a nudge.

A fat lot of nothing.

"Hell," he mumbled, cheek pressed roughly to the window. And then he hauled himself upright and clattered on down the carriage, because Sirius was not the sort to collapse in a heap and be quiet about it. He'd left the compartment to get the hell away, and get away he would.

He crashed his way through door after door after door, causing a stir, gritting his teeth, refusing to look anyone in the eye. More than a few heads poked out to see what the fuss was about, but Sirius stormed past them all. He was good at that, the storming. He'd been practicing all his life.

And then his hands were tearing uselessly at a locked door, and he found he could go no further. Cursing, he turned and collapsed back against the door, spine etched into cold metal and fingers tangled in his hair.

He near fell over when his best mate promptly opened the door.

"Hullo? Oh, it's you." James twisted around and spoke back into the compartment. "Hold on a sec, won't you? I know, but it's Sirius. Yeah, I know we're meant to be… yes, I know it's our first Heads' meeting, but – but – steady on! Just give me a minute. One minute. Right. Back soon."

Sirius, having turned on his heel about two words in, started irritably when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. The hand then disengaged, found new purchase in a good gripful of jumper, and hauled Sirius around.

"What's up with you, Moaning Myrtle?"

Unwilling to shove his mate away, if only to avoid the inevitable fuss and tussle, Sirius merely raised his shoulders and looked away.

James gave him a worried sort of shake. "What's going on? Are the others all right?"

Sirius shrugged again and made to move away, but James was having none of that. Muttering darkly under his breath, he grabbed Sirius about the neck and dragged him into the nearest empty compartment.

Once they were both more or less seated, James turned to Sirius and fixed him with a look. It was a very Head Boy look, the sort that Sirius ordinarily would have enjoyed making fun of.

"Well?"

"What?"

James threw up his hands. "What's happened to you? You look like somebody's boggart."

Sirius folded his arms and leaned back, utterly unable to think of a decent cover story. James knew him too well to be easily lied to. And there was no way Sirius was going to tell him the truth. He was miserable and pathetic and his humiliation quota was thoroughly spent for the day.

"You've been turned down, haven't you?" said James wisely, and it was hardly a question.

"Bloody hell," Sirius mumbled into his hands, rather wishing he was dead.

"Romantically dismissed. Booted off the love train. Rejected."

Now he wished James was dead.

"I should've seen it immediately," James continued, looking disturbingly shrewd from behind his crooked spectacles. "Should've recognized the signs. Didn't quite expect this from you, though. You've spent enough time taunting me about it. Who was it, then?"

Sirius said nothing.

James' teasing concern now sharpened into curiosity. "What, you won't tell me?"

When Sirius failed to refute this, James frowned. He started to speak and then stopped, eyeing Sirius with an odd look on his face. And then he started again. "Not – "

"Don't," said Sirius roughly, lifting his head long enough to shoot James a dark look. "Just imagine who or what you will, and let's move on to Quidditch talk or mischief making. Anything. Please."

James shrugged, looking more than slightly disappointed, yet a touch too knowing for Sirius' taste. "Fair enough. Your call."

The train leapt to the right, and they both braced themselves against the table. After a moment, James cleared his throat, but Sirius did nothing more than move his fists to his lap and glare at them. Conversation suddenly seemed a very special sort of hell.

But James couldn't leave it for long. "Merlin, Padfoot," he started hesitantly, running a distracted hand through his hair. "You're taking this rather hard, aren't you?"

Sirius snorted. "Bit rich coming from Mister Lily Evans himself."

"Yeah, but that's it exactly. It's like we've done a role-reversal, and now I'm the one playing the insensitive prat. And you; well, you're acting like me at a self-pity party."

Sirius gave a half-hearted flail of despair.

James stared, and then snorted. "Well, I hope I'm not this pathetic."

"Oh, you are."

Sirius dropped his head to the table, emphasizing the point. At least James understood. He was the only one that could, really. And now Sirius finally knew what his best mate had been banging on about all these years. He almost wished he'd been a bit more sympathetic.

James made an impatient sound from above. When he spoke, his voice sounded mildly disgusted. "Surely not."

"Hmm?"

"You're not giving up just like that, are you?"

"Hmm."

"'Course you're not. That's not Marauder talk. That's not my Padfoot. The Sirius Black I know may be a haughty berk without much sense, but he's not a bloody coward."

Sirius sat up and glared. "Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? You've been trying for Evans for three whole years without a scrap of success."

James shrugged, a strange little smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "Pride is overrated, my friend, and dignity doubly so."

"Hasn't got you the girl yet."

"'Yet' being the operative word. I'll get there in the end, you know." James propped up his glasses and leaned forward on his elbows. "You have to earn it, mate. Pay for it in blood, sweat, and dignity. Especially dignity. And sooner or later, you'll win the prize." He cracked a grin. "Or get locked away. Either way, it's how you get there that counts."

Sirius snorted despite himself. "And they made you Head Boy?" He didn't know why, but something in James' overbearing little speech had made it slightly easier for him to breathe.

"They did, the nutters."

"Dumbledore's gone wrong."

"No doubt about it."

"You'll bust me out from Azkaban, will you?"

James grinned. "Can't. I'll be in there with you, won't I?" He stood up, rubbing his hands together in the no-nonsense manner of an accomplished Quidditch Captain. "Now, with the power vested in me by our most venerable and bearded nutjob, I order you to get off your sorry arse and try it on again. I've got to get back to our lovely Head Girl, or she'll have my bollocks."

Privately, Sirius believed that Evans had long been in possession of his best mate's bollocks. He smiled to himself and then stopped when he remembered exactly why they were there.

They both stood, James looking oddly pleased with it all. He clapped Sirius on the back as they left the compartment. "Sirius Black, brought down to my level at last. It's good to have you on board, mate."

"Sod off," Sirius replied, but his mouth quirked upwards at the edges.

James gave him a goodish punch in the shoulder, took a few steps towards the Heads' compartment and then paused. He turned and fixed Sirius with a more serious look. "If you're going through hell…"

"Keep going," Sirius finished, digging his hands in his pockets and wondering if he had the nerve to do a James Potter after all. He'd never realized how brave his best mate really was. Taking a deep breath, he glanced up and found that James was already most of the way through the compartment door.

"Send my love to the Head Girl," he called half-heartedly. He heard proof of an indignant Evans' reply, and then James stuck his head back out the door.

"Say hullo to Moony for me."

Sirius spun on his heel, shoulders up around his ears. He almost flew through the compartment door at the other end. James didn't know, did he? He couldn't. He did. Of course he did, the enormous meddling prat.

Strangely enough, after a few moments of cardiovascular aerobics, Sirius found that the thought of James knowing didn't bother him too much. James was hardly the worst of his problems. What he needed now was courage. Bravery. He could do that. He could put himself on the line, again, for the second time in twenty minutes. He could face rejection and carry on. If James could, Sirius could.

He would.

He did.

"Moony, a word," he all but barked as he wrenched open that final bloody compartment door. Peter dropped a set of gobstones in his haste to clear the scene. Sirius would have felt for the fellow but for the utter gut-shriveling terror he felt instead. Remus' face, at first rather grey, had soon turned a very familiar reddish colour.

Sirius swallowed but it was too late to turn back now. He swung himself onto the seat opposite Remus and gripped the edges of the table so hard that he wouldn't have moved had the train jumped once more.

"Right," he began, the authoritative tone all but evaporating from his voice as he struggled to retain control and composure. "Right. Well, the thing is – "

"What do you think you're playing at?" Remus interrupted hotly, voice sounding as tightly compressed as Sirius' insides.

Sirius stopped, heart thumping in his throat. "Sorry?"

Remus leaned forward with a scowl brushed black across his face. "What I meant to ask," he started, biting the words out with uncharacteristic venom, "was what sort of game you're playing today? Because I'm telling you now that I won't be a part of it, and if it's meant to be funny, well, it's not. It's not."

Taken aback, Sirius released the table edges and stared. "I don't know what you're talking about." He suddenly wished he'd asked James for more specific advice.

Mouth tight, Remus made to stand and presumably leave, but Sirius caught at his robes and tugged him back to his seat. This wasn't going at all as expected. He ought to have been rejected again by now, and he'd be damned if he'd thrown over before he'd even made his attempt.

Remus glared at him, breathing rather harder than usual. It was clear that any talking was going to have to happen on Sirius' side. He shut his eyes for a minute, and then crossed his arms, propping a foot on the table to block any attempted escape from the other side.

"There's no game, Moony. Don't know where you got that one. There's nothing here but my severely wounded pride. And I just – wanted to check. That I'd got your answer right."

Remus said nothing, and Sirius supposed that said it all. He took a deep breath, suddenly unable to look Remus in the eye. "But now I've checked, so – so I should probably be off, then. Right."

Every awful thought and feeling from half ten flooding back through his body, Sirius hoisted himself from his seat. All he wanted was to leave without having to look Remus in the eye.

"Wait."

Sirius wrenched himself around, hands already on the door. Remus was standing too, staring at Sirius with a new look on his face, almost but not entirely unlike a frown. Sirius' mouth was too dry to speak so he simply waited. He waited and didn't take his hands off the door.

Remus swallowed hard. "There's no game? You… meant it?"

Now it was Sirius' turn to stare. "Yes, of course I meant it! Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" His hands slipped from the door as he took a step back towards the table. Remus shrank back into his seat, returning once again to that familiar red hue. Neither spoke for a moment; then Sirius cleared his rather scratchy throat.

"You thought I was joking?"

Remus covered his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Sirius had to take another step closer. "What else was I supposed to think? You'd never… We hadn't… Look, it just seemed like one of your wild impulses. Like the time you told Wormtail that he'd slept through his Charms exam. Or that time with – with Snape. You just leaned back in your seat, said, 'you and me, Moony, how about it?' and then got up and left. What was I meant to think?"

Sirius slipped into his seat. He had no idea what any of this Moony babble meant, or whether it would even make a difference in the end, but he thought he should probably explain himself more clearly. The thought made him nauseous all over again.

He looked directly across at Remus. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. "You were meant to think that I like you, idiot. Fancy you, even. Interpret that as you like."

If every last strand of his dignity hadn't been balanced on a knife's edge, Sirius might have found the whole situation quite amusing. He'd thought at the time that he couldn't have made himself any clearer, and here it turned out that he hadn't been clear enough. The clearest thing of all right now was that Remus was entirely taken aback.

"You like me?"

"Yeah."

"You want us to – to go out?"

"For starters."

"Sirius."

Sirius even managed a weak smirk. He didn't know where Remus was going, or if Remus himself knew where he was headed, but for now, Sirius had not been rejected, and a tiny shard of hope began to bite into his chest. He clung to it, and used it to spring for one last piece of bravado.

"So how about it then?"

Remus shook his head, and Sirius almost died, but then something miraculous happened. Remus smiled. He smiled, and shook his head once more.

"All right."

Sirius gaped. "Is that – do you mean – yes?"

"Yes."

The train leapt a good three feet off the tracks, and Sirius was standing before he knew what his legs were and why they'd moved.

"Careful," said Remus, prefect coming to the fore, but Sirius had already clambered over the table and onto his side. Remus looked nervous now, and much, much closer, but the magic word had been given and the train had taken off, and Sirius could barely believe that he'd been to hell and back in less than an hour, and now this, this, was heaven.