When Sirius awoke the next morning, the first thing he realised was that there was sun pouring through the little crack in the four-poster's curtains. It was Sunday morning, and it must be about eight a.m.: an ungodly hour to wake, in Sirius' eyes. Especially on days when there were no classes.

The next thing he realised was that he was sleeping in someone else's bed. He had burnt his name onto his own curtains, in tiny text, when he was bored last week. He lay at an angle he was unaccustomed to, but he was certain of the absence of his spell.

Remus.

He was in Remus' bed.

Of course. Today was the fifteenth of February, and yesterday, Valentine's Day, he had got together with the person he loved. Abandoned by the stag, who had a girlfriend now, and the rat, who had been in the library, the dog and the werewolf had been left awkwardly, not sure what type of tracks to be making. Sirius had been terrified he would make a mistake and lose his best friend, but it had all gone rather swimmingly.

Peter, the blabber-mouthed homophobe, had left the common room early the previous evening, and had been snoring contentedly when the dorm-room's other three residents had made their appearance. Sirius had got into Remus' bed to try and comfort the upset boy, and he supposed they just fell asleep, entwined in each other. He remembered James drawing the curtains to give them some privacy: good man!

He turned his head round to admire the beautiful, sexy body which lay motionless beside him; all except the steady breathing and the slow, controlled thud of the heart. Padfoot's own heart beat at incredulous rates.

Moony looked amazing when he was asleep. He didn't need to try, he just looked perfect: all the time. Sirius couldn't resist it any longer – he needed to feel their lips together again. As he came down for the kiss, its presence seemed to wake Moony and he reciprocated the gesture, much to Sirius' delight. The pair lay lost in their own fantastic world: the one where everything else would always remain a million miles away; the one that granted access just to the two of them; a luxury which no-one could take away from them. Ever.

It was pure bliss.

A luxury which no-one could ever take away from them.

Or could they?

The magic was interrupted by a sudden, high-pitched squeal from Pettigrew. Remus made coughing noises to feign a rude awakening by Peter. And in a way it was: he had torn them from their kiss, their dream; their dream to be together.

Remus absent-mindedly fondled the soft, dark hair that fell in locks from Sirius' head, and brushed a lonely strand behind an ear, away from those tantalising blue-grey eyes.

"Paaaadfooooot!" Peter was screaming the nickname to make himself feel cooler, but it was no secret he was the runt of the pack. "I'm going to kiiill you when I fiiiind youuu!"

James, apparently woken by the outburst, drowsily asked what on earth gave Peter a reason to make so much noise at such – an ungodly hour. Remus finished his friend's sentence on behalf of Sirius, who daren't let Peter in on his location for two reasons: firstly, they didn't want the blabber-mouthed homophobe to know they had slept together; and secondly, Padfoot explained in a whisper and with a grin, he had placed an exploding charm on Peter's clothes, triggering them to transfigure themselves into confetti the moment the trunk was opened.

"Where the heck is that jerk, anyway?" Peter demanded.

"Isn't he in his bed?" James asked, causing the lovers to grin at each other.

"Then he must have gone for break–" Remus suggested happily. But before he could complete his predicament about Sirius being peckish, Peter ran from the room cursing under his breath. It was just as well, because Sirius really was becoming peckish – but not the type of peckish which had been implied to the runt.

They re-entangled their bodies and resumed their bliss as the fourth and final Marauder put on a dressing-gown and trundled downstairs to find his beautiful, green-eyed, red-headed girlfriend: it seemed, out of the rat, wolf, dog and stag, the only pack member not to be feeling peckish was the rat.

Inevitable.