A/N:I know this chapter is a bit short, but I promise to update in around the next couple of days!
Also, I know you guys are itching for some reciprocated official slash-y feelings between the two boys, but I'm sorry. I honestly just want to be realistic and loyal to my characterization. That is, with Sirius being confused, oblivious, and defensive and Remus being scared, unsure, and passive. And while I do promise for development, I'm sorry to say that it will take quite a while for the negative traits to break down enough for them to be together. I've planned out this story already, and I promise all of this is building up to something you're looking for. If this isn't enough, I'm happy to recommend a lot of Wolfstar fics where they're together already or with quick lead ons, but if you're willing to stick with me, I hope you know I'm doing my best and trust me with my characterizations and plot :) If you're the latter, I thank you so much, it means the world to me. If not, then I understand, we've all got our preferences on story developments, but I hope you check in when I do complete the story with the happy endings and everything. Either way, I love you guys and I'm very thankful for the support so far. There's still a long way to go, so it would mean the world if that support is ongoing.
Anyway, enjoy! :)
I don't know how long this restored friendship can last. Sirius always did go particularly soft on me during the full moon, but whenever we fought, it became understood that the okay-ness of it all was limited to the threshold of the Shrieking Shack.
The sun is shining brightly through the faint snowfall outside and I am sitting crossed legged, leaning against the dingy wall. Next to me, is Sirius on his stomach, frowning at an empty roll of parchment, quill in his hand. We face the empty the room that has become a sort of home to us.
It has certainly been aging faster under our care – or lack thereof. The scratches and splits in the peeled walls and the wooden floors are a given due to my monthly transformations. But there are also stains from James and Sirius's various experiments. Holes from when Peter let a stolen Bludger loose. Prominent scorch marks from when James practiced one of his date proposals to Lily (this particular one included roses going up in dancing flames that matched the color of her hair – it didn't end well). Gashes on the floor from when I plotted out our first plans while my other three oh-so-helpful friends were already arguing about which charms to use. I even waited until I plotted everything out until I informed them that they were all wrong.
I look around the room fondly as I take a swig from the bottle of Butterbeer Sirius brought with him last night and give in to his frustration. "Okay, fine, I'll help you out. You really should bring your book next time if you're planning to do homework though."
He beams up at me. "Thank Merlin. Okay, so what exactly is the Third Law of Motion?"
"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction..."
He tilts his head in confusion and I sigh.
"Like, you know. Like, every force has an opposite reaction force. Equal in size, but opposite... I swear, why do they even teach us this? I can think of a hundred magical objects that don't comply with this at all."
But my complaint falls on deaf ears, as Sirius is already scrawling away, not even pausing as he asks me questions.
He finishes the rest of his essay, complying with my suggestions and taking note of my examples, and rolls up the parchment triumphantly, thrusting it in the air as he sits up.
I roll my eyes, an amused smile straining against my need to hide how adorable he looks. "That isn't even due until Monday, Sirius. If only you treated every subject like you do Muggle Studies, you'd beat me and James. Maybe even Lily."
Lily is the top of year, that isn't even up for argument. She has a flawless record, minus her difficulty in Transfiguration. But even then, she manages a well-earned E on her O.W.L.S., the only exception among the long list of O's.
I am next on the list, sometimes being beat by James. To my utter dismay and admiration. James is probably one of the smartest people I know, but like Sirius' smarts, it never fully shows. People think that I do his homework or that he gets away with his charm. Although I can't say that those accusations are never true, most of the time it is just that he has a brain that no amount of skipped classes and detentions can tamper with. Most people get too blinded by the showmanship and mischief in his pranks to see the actual brilliance in the intricate plans. By the fact that he sleep in class too much to see he only does because he already knows his stuff. By the fact that his basilisk-long list of violations to see that it didn't mean he wasn't a genius.
Sirius would definitely be tough competition too, if only he didn't skip twice as many classes as James and didn't deliberately blow things up every other Charms class. With the exception of Defence Against the Dark Arts when we discuss the war, he only ever shows full interest in Muggle Studies, the only class he has actual trouble with.
"Psh, right. You three are bloody geniuses," he mutters, leaning back against the wall and popping open his own bottle of Butterbeer.
I open my mouth to argue with the thoughts running through my head, but he beats me to it, right when I am about to wonder why he was acting so humble.
"If I let my intelligence shine through, three broken egos are hard to fix up again. Especially James'. So I'd rather not bother with the mess," he says grinning.
That's more like it.
"And," he adds, "I can feel James straying away from his irresponsible, troublemaker days. I need to be enough for the two of us."
I shake my head, chuckling, although he does have point. Not just of James, though. Sirius, too, is growing up. Of course, they still do the occasional prank and they disrupt classes when they get bored and such. But all of it is just for fun now, unlike the in old days when they targeted people, went over the line with pranks, and didn't notice when they crossed the line from funny quips to just plain disrespect. I guess ever since the Prank, they have been more careful with what they do. And for that, I'm thankful. "Yeah, yeah, sure."
He smiles again and gulps down his Butterbeer, then winces. "Ah, a bit cold there. I should warm it up," he remarks, but doesn't follow through, downing it.
I laugh. "At least there isn't any alcohol in these drinks this time."
Sirius chokes, sputtering out his drink.
Did I just say that out loud? My mouth goes dry, despite the warm liquid that has just coursed through it.
He clears his throat, placing his bottle on the floor. "Ah. Yeah... I guess"
I said it out loud. Sirius is not right. I am definitely not a genius.
Running my fingers nervously through my hair, I avert his gaze. This, however, is pointless as he gets up and dusts himself off. "We should get going to breakfast."
I look up at the raven-haired boy in disbelief.
Are we never going to talk about it? Are we always going to keep dodging the touchy triggers? I'm too exhausted for that. As much I love the idiot, I don't mind just being his friend if the alternative is only being able to get along properly once a month.
I stand up, flinching at the sharp jab of pain at my side, and say something that makes me ready myself for the consequences of what I let leave my mouth. "Are we really never going to talk about this?"
He puts on a practiced smile. "What's there to talk about?"
"Are you really going to make me say it?" It takes all I have not to scream it at him.
His face falls to a frown. "Just leave it, Remus."
"And continue this parade of bullshit?" I snap. "You couldn't even look me in the eye before last night, Sirius. Is that what it takes for us to act like actual friends? A monthly dose of insurmountable pain and humiliation on my part in this shack? "
Sirius stares at me. I don't know which one of us is more surprised at my outburst.
Composing himself, he sighs. "Why do we have to talk about it? It meant nothing."
"Then why have we been acting like we've just met?"
"I just –"
"Why have you been taking longer routes around the castle to avoid me?"
"I've been really –"
I should stop. But I can't. I don't know why I have to let all this bitterness out like water from a busted dam. But I do.
"And why," I talk over him, "did it make you doubt whether you wanted to be here with me on the full moon?"
I notice the desperate tone in my voice and I feel ashamed for it. However, I keep my adamant stance, waiting for his reply.
But he catches me off guard.
"Are you actually," he hesitates, "suggesting that it did mean something?"
It's like I can feel a physical sensation of being stripped of words. Like something wrings my tongue dry out of anything sensible and I scavenge through my brain for any trace of something that can save me now. I should have just kept my mouth shut.
His question is a good one. Even I don't know the answer to that. But I know that any reply that comes out truthfully will do nothing but worsen things.
"No," I say, knowing deep down I am fooling myself as much as him.
He crosses his arms over his chest, scrunching up the blue hoodie he's wearing. "Then I see no justifiable point."
"But..." I start helplessly before he cuts in by stepping forward. Only inches separated us now.
I gulp inaudibly and feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing. My hands go clammy, despite the white blankets of cold outside. Attempting to hold his grey glare, I fixate my eyes to his, disregarding the hammering sound of my heart. It is so loud that I catch myself worrying that it might shatter my still healing rib cage.
"Tell me that this," he gestures to the minuscule space between us, "means something more than low tolerance to alcohol and a shit load of misdirected teenage hormones gone terribly wrong, and then we can talk about it. Tell me," he challenges.
I will the tears threatening to edge over my eyelids to dry up, my chin shaking with repressed heartbreak. The impatient stare in his eyes tells me I should reply now.
"Tell me," he repeats.
"I can't." But I want to.
Then the tension built up in him seems to vanish as he backs away. "Well that settles it, doesn't it?"
I give him a half-hearted, "yeah".
We stay like that for a while, standing in the lifeless room. The lack of warmth mirrors the chilly aura of my thoughts. Sirius breaks the silence eventually.
"We should get going, the game –"
"Yeah," I don't let him finish, and before I can see his reaction, I'm already making my way out of the room.
As I make my way to the trapdoor that conceals the passage back to Hogwarts, I can hear Sirius scrambling after me.
You fucking oblivious prat, becomes my silent mantra the whole way back to Hogwarts.
