The last embers of the fire in the Gryffindor common room are fizzling out, the last traces of light before dawn breaks are resting upon the figures of two boys sat upon a squashy crimson sofa, and a third boy is slumped in a nearby armchair, drooling a little in his sleep. The two conscious boys are cross-legged, facing each other. One is dark haired, with aristocratic features and clear grey eyes, the other is pasty pale, tawny-haired and a pinkish scar is crawling out of his collar. They are silent, although it is the comfortable sort of silence held between friends who do not need to fill the gaps.
"How much longer do you think they'll be, Pads?"
"Fuck knows, maybe James is defective and he still hasn't got it up. That's the fifth time you've asked me that."
"Sorr-ee."
The quiet fell again. Then, the dark haired boy spoke again.
"Hey, Moony, can I ask you something?"
"Uh, I guess."
There was a beat before he actually asked his question.
"Do you ever, um, think about other people, not just other people, you know, other you know whats."
"No, I don't know whats."
"Other guys, Moony."
"Do I think about them? No, all I think about is homework and Hippogriffs."
"Not like that! Like, in that way. The sort of way Prongs looks at Lily."
The aristocratic boy dropped his head and flushed.
"You what?"
"Forget it. It was hypothetical, anyway, it doesn't matter!"
"Sirius, are you gay?"
"Fuck off, no!"
"But you just said! What do you mean?"
"I didn't say I was a fucking queer!"
