Chocolate. Chocolate or books. Chocolate, books or an afternoon in the privacy of the Room of Requirement. Sirius could think of numerous gifts to bestow upon the werewolf, but none of them quite cut it. Besides, Peter had already beaten him to that first option, ordering a batch of chocolates from Honeydukes, which just so happened to be his favourites. Not that Peter had even paid enough attention to the boy to realise. This merely served to frustrate Sirius further, pointing out just how inadequate that particular idea had been in the first place. Remus would have liked them well enough, but Sirius wanted more than that. He wanted to catch the werewolf off guard with something lasting, something worth the stream of thanks that Remus never failed to offer in return, as if saying it once simply wasn't enough regardless of what that gift was. It could be an animated book of what was essentially porn and Remus would still offer his thanks, even if he despised it.
Of course Sirius had considered that too. It was the kind of gift he normally would have given his friends on their birthday, and it would have been hugely appreciated too. By anyone but Remus. The truth of the matter was that this year was different. This year, Sirius was more than a friend. He was Remus' best friend. His boyfriend. Or whatever. He should have known exactly what to get the other boy. But he didn't. And there was nothing quite so unsatisfying, quite so infuriating, as that simple fact alone.
Sirius had attempted tried to probe James for the answers as they made their way back up to the Gryffindor tower after that week's Quidditch practise. James had yet to find out about the shameful handholding, passing touches or the stolen kisses between classes. At least Sirius hoped this was the case. Yet when he'd confessed that he hadn't the slightest idea what to get their furry friend, the smirk that crossed the spectacled boy's lips was unnerving. It was mocking, almost mirroring his own expression whenever James came to him in anguish, muttering something about a certain Lily Evans. It was knowing, as if Sirius' actions were all too familiar.
"Forget it," Sirius said in dismissal, a feeble attempt to correct his mistake. Pointedly turning his attention elsewhere, the torches which hung in brackets along the corridors or the great shadows they cast at his feet, he'd hoped James would simply let it drop. Only he hadn't. James gave him a quick side glance from behind his glasses before releasing a thoughtful sigh, contemplating the matter before he answered. He was choosing his words, and carefully, evident in the fact that he chose not to raise the matter of why Sirius was fussing so much over this in the first place. James had always been too smart for his own good. Not only that, but he'd always been able to read Sirius' mind or tell what he was thinking from simply looking at him. Oh how times had changed. Again, Sirius hoped. Had he known everything Sirius had been thinking or feeling over the past couple of months, surely he'd have let on by now.
"Well, Moony likes books, doesn't he," James began. It was the most sensible answer, though far from being the most helpful. "That's what I got him in the end. Actually.." James' voice came to a halt. A quick glance from Sirius was enough to confirm that James hadn't come up with this himself, that he hadn't the foggiest idea either, a hint of guilt etched in his features. But it was gone within a second, replaced instead by expression of sickly sentiment as he continued. "Lily helped me out on this one. I think it was Yeats, or something. Poetry. You know how Moony likes that stuff."
So its Lily now, is it? Sirius thought bitterly. The name sounded strange to his ears, especially from James who had forever called her Evans. Even more startling was the affection with which James said it. It seemed his blundering charm had finally won out. Normally Sirius would have clapped him on the back, making some remark about how things were finally looking up for him, crude but kind none the less. But Sirius had little time for that what with this pressing on his mind. Remus' birthday was only just around the corner and he still hadn't gotten him anything. Not only that but he'd never wanted to shower gifts upon the boy more than he did now. It was ridiculous, pathetic even, but from where Sirius was standing he couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more than Remus.
Sirius had even tried to tempt the answer from the boy himself, interrupting their study session in the library with a gentle nudge in his side. Remus had set down his quill only begrudging, certain that this was just another plea that he accompany Sirius to the kitchens for a break when they had only been at it for an hour.
"What is it, Sirius?" he whispered, instinctively casting his eyes over Sirius' shoulder as if to check the vicinity for the ever lurking librarian, Madam Pince.
But the library was almost completely empty. There was a faint scratching of quill on parchment that could only just be heard from a table a few shelves away, but apart from that the area around them was deserted. Sirius was already sitting pretty close to Remus, as close as the boy would allow given that he was wholly intent on getting at least some work done in the library. But he stole the opportunity to close another inch or two of the space between them, his hand instinctively finding Remus' and interlocking their fingers as he spoke.
Worrying about Remus, something which Sirius spent far more time doing than he'd ever intended or desired, left him feeling utterly vulnerable. Painfully so, in fact. The simple contact of Remus' fingers in his, calloused from all those nights spent tearing at the walls of the Shrieking Shack and blotched from the ink from his quill, was enough to dispel some of the fear he felt about this, this being him and Moony and everything that came with it.
"You know how last year I got Prongs that book for his birthday?" Sirius asked, his voice lowered so as to suit their surroundings. He knew Remus would only get grumpy were he to get them chucked out of the library so soon. Besides, this way Remus had to lean just a little closer in order to hear his words, and when he did, his ears immediately started to go red.
"I would hardly call that a book, Sirius," Remus offered as a retort, already picking up his quill in an attempt to keep Sirius from dragging him down dangerous path.
"Exactly," Sirius continued, his lips already twisting into a smirk. "Moony, what do you want for your birthday? This is your last chance. Otherwise.. how does a dog collar sound?" Sirius leaned closer to the boy next to him until his lips were at his ear, the brush of breath warm against Remus' skin warm. "I'm already yours, Remus. You could tie me up and d-"
"N-no. Nu uh. Merlin, Sirius.." Remus scrambled with the words, immediately getting his feet and snatching up his book from the desk in an attempt to put as much space between himself and Sirius as was possible without going too far out of his way. As he moved between the shelves to return the book to its appropriate location, Sirius merely flopped back in his chair and released a heavy sigh.
"Bloody hell," he breathed. The truth of the matter was that he almost knew Remus too well. Remus didn't like birthdays. He didn't like the attention, he didn't like the friendly affection that came with receiving gifts, but more than anything he loathed that moment when he had to peel back the wrapping paper. For in that moment everyone's eyes were upon him. It didn't seem to matter that the Marauders saw him almost every single day of the year, not to mention that they'd witnessed him at his most defeated.
Sirius knew exactly what Remus wanted. It was something which only he had ever provided. But it would cost him.
"What is it?" Peter asked, his expression one of mild perplexity. Both he, James and Sirius had squeezed onto Remus' bed in an attempt to barricade him from leaving. Their presence had forced him to temporarily set down his textbook so that they could bestow upon him their various gifts. Remus had already opened Peter's, then the package from James. Now he had finally come to Sirius'.
Neither James nor Pete knew what he had gone for this year, thus they watched with equally keen eyes as the last of the wrapping paper, little more than some old parchment held together with a string, was unfurled. As it fell to the floor, Remus ran a hand over the intricately-bound leather cover of the book, tracing the gold etching of the a sun amidst stars with the tip of a finger. Of course it wasn't just any book. Remus knew precisely what it was, but Sirius supposed it would take more than a glance for the others to recognise it.
"It's a journal, Pete," James kindly supplied as both Remus and Sirius failed to.
Sirius didn't pry his eyes from the werewolf, not until he'd been assured that he'd gotten it right this time and that his effort hadn't been a complete failure. And for a moment Sirius almost thought he'd seen trouble flash across Remus' features. His grip on the book tightened as if clinging to it fondly, only a flicker of movement that no one but Sirius could have noticed for no one but Sirius was watching him quite so intently. And then Remus did precisely what Sirius had feared he would do, that which he knew was inescapable for Remus had an almost perverse interest in the feel of paper, yearning to caress the page that would eventually hold his deepest thoughts.
Only Remus wasn't met with the blank page he'd expected. Had he not been fearful of giving himself away, Sirius would have smirked as the werewolf drew the book ever so slightly closer to his chest before closing it completely. Yet from his expression, there wasn't the slightest hint of anything being awry.
"So it's empty?" Peter asked.
"That's what a journal is, isn't it?" Sirius snapped, his patience waning and his temper flaring up in an attempt at defence, hoping to stave off any further questions for the time being at least. In all honesty, there had been a time when the whole notion of writing down your feelings had been completely lost on Sirius, just as it was on Peter even now. Not only that, but he'd even called Remus a girl for wasting his time on such things. He'd never meant it of course; he'd simply seen a book like any other and books had a hold on Remus than Sirius would never have. He'd bene jealous, ridiculous as that was. Only matters had changed. Now, he understood Remus, just as he understood that feelings were worth far more than anything else. Feelings were irreplaceable.
Remus gave Sirius that look, the look of warning that he always shot in his direction when he'd thought he'd been too curt with Peter. "Yes, it's empty," he said, a blatant lie. Remus was a master of deceit, so much so that few even recognised that about him. It had proved pretty useful these past few months. Placing the book atop a pristine copy of The Collective Works of W.B. Yeats and a shiny box of Honeydukes' chocolates, Remus turned to look at his friends.
Here it comes, Sirius thought, already rolling his eyes as he knelt back against one of the posts at the end of Remus' bed, an obnoxious grin plastered to his lips.
"Thank you. Really, thank you. Honestly, you needn't go through all the trouble." Remus' eyes rested on Sirius a moment longer than they should have. He was curious, curious as to what he'd written and it was slowly picking away at him, already threatening to render him mad. "That's it though, right? Birthday's over? Are you going to force a bottle of firewhiskey on me, or am I free to indulge in my gifts as I please?"
It wasn't anything other than what they had expected. Remus' indifference about his own birthday had become routine long ago, though it still left them baffled. It was merely one of the peculiar facts about Remus Lupin, of which there were many, that they'd never quite comprehend. This time, it was James who tackled it.
"You've never gotten out of it before, Moony," he reasoned, a wide grin tugging at his lips as he rose from where he perched on the end of Remus' bed, crossing the room to his trunk . "This year is no exception. We'll meet you at the Astronomy Tower, or you'll face the penalty."
"Five shots of firewhiskey, in a row," Peter chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. There was something sinister in his expression, as if he'd enjoy seeing Remus suffer from such an ailment. It wasn't something they saw often, after all.
James retrieved not one, but two bottles of firewhiskey from his trunk before gesturing towards Peter to join him. "We'll see you two shortly," he said, departing with Peter on his tail so swiftly that Remus didn't have a chance to argue if he so wished, let alone outright refuse.
Remus' gaze fell to his hands, subconsciously toying with the fray at the end of one sleeve. Eventually the thumps of James' and Peter's feet on the stairs faded into silence. Sirius could sense that Remus was dying to read it, yet he didn't want to be here when he did. It was too… honest. Sure, Sirius had professed his feelings to Remus in the past. But he didn't make a habit of it. It turned out revealing flesh was far easier than bearing his soul, even to this particular individual from whom there was no hiding.
Remus' hands moved to the book, but Sirius shifted so as to take hold of them instead, closing some of the space between himself and Moony. "I know you keep a journal," Sirius began. "Fuck, I know because I've read it, but that's not my point. You like to write, and there may have been a time when I gave you crap about it, but.."
Sirius cut himself off, stealing a glance at the werewolf as if the mere sight of him was enough incentive to continue.
"I wrote the first entry. So.. so if I'm ever the biggest prat in Marauder history, you can look back at it and know that I'm a prat who.. nevermind, it's all in the book."
Sirius brought his mouth to Remus', every fibre of his being aching to be with the boy. But James and Peter would have him flayed were he to lead Remus astray when they'd put all that effort into decorating the Astronomy Tower with paper mache, and carried his turntable along with a great pile of records all the way up the stairs. Even Sirius had to admit he felt a certain anticipation about that night, events which had yet to unravel before them. Merlin only knew they could use a little firewhiskey in their system. Although he didn't immediately release Remus' hands from his clasp, Sirius pulled back and rose to his feet.
Remus remained speechless, his eyes almost narrowed as he watched Sirius take a few reluctant steps towards the door before disappearing altogether. And then Remus was alone with nothing but the book. What had been a flame of curiosity was now a searing desire to know just what Sirius had confessed. But it was with reluctant hands that he retrieved the book from where it lay, opening it to reveal the scruffy letters of his friend. Remus was a quick reader; he always had been simply because he'd always held a peculiar fondness for books. Yet he had to read it twice so as to let it sink in, and as he did, heat rose in his cheeks and he worried at his bottom lip, a habit which when witnessed by the raven-haired boy, never failed to tempt a strangely warm smile from his lips. After reaching those final words, words that had never before escaped the lips of the other boy, nor his own lips for that matter, the book slipped from his palms, hitting the floor with a dull thud and a mumbled curse from the werewolf.
It was slowly beginning to dawn on James that Firewhiskey could uncover even the most coveted secret. By morning, neither Remus nor Sirius would remember the way their hands naturally gravitated towards each other until fingers linked, meeting in the most natural of unions James had ever witnessed. Luckily Peter had passed out long ago, slumped against the stone wall of the tower with a streamer of paper mache decoratively draped across his front. As great as the fourth Marauder was, he lacked the tact when it came to the subtleties of those around him, especially when drunk. He hadn't seemed to notice the way things had changed this year, how Remus and Sirius seemed to get along more than they ever had in the past and how as a result he and Pete saw alot less of them. Merlin knows what they were doing. In fact, James would rather not think on it too much.
Only now suspicion had been confirmed. It didn't startle James, and that wasn't because he was drunk. He could feel the lingering burn of firewhiskey in his throat and the warmth that blurred his senses until the world struck him as a softer place. But he felt as if he'd known for some time. It made sense. And it reminded him alot of himself and Lily. A secret smirk crossed his lips at the thought of his friends faces were he to confess this. He could almost see it now, the pair of them bickering about who was what in the relationship before they finally realised it was James they should be taking issue with. Only they hadn't heard it.
Getting to his feet, James gave Peter a gentle kick with his foot in an attempt to wake him up. It took a moment before he stirred, then another moment before he'd untangled him from the mass of paper mache which threatened to consume him entirely. Placing the bottle of firewhiskey down upon the cold ground before the pair, James gave them a salute which at the time seemed appropriate.
"Happy Birthday, Moony," James said, his steady voice indicating that he was hugely more sober than his friends despite the fact that his glasses were askew and lips tugged into a stupid smile. All the while, Peter scrambled to his feet, paying little attention to the others in his foggy, firewhiskey-induced state. Clapping him on the back, James directed him towards the stairs, muttering something about drunks and how this must be why he'd gotten the honour of Head Boy in the first place. As he retreated down the stairs, a semi-conscious Wormtail by his side, he could only just hear a soft murmur of words pass between them, too affectionate for James to be mistaken for anything other than what he'd expected. Other than what they were. Words spoken out of tenderness for the other in something that superceded friendship almost entirely. A smile lingered at James' lips as he thought to himself once more, Happy Birthday, Moony. For the first time in years, James suspected Remus might have received that which he'd always wanted. Unkowingly, that is.