Any Way the Wind Blows
A Sad, and Often Lamentable, Tale
Part II: The Politics of Problem the First
Clearly, it all began nearly six years ago, on the platform at King's Cross.
But if he was going to be politically correct about this, Remus knew that it actually began a year ago.
But who ever tries to be politically correct anymore?
The point was, this problem had been around for quite some time now, and he'd done nothing to stop its development. There was about .1% of him that regretted this. Actually, that .1% may have just been hunger. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, it was hunger.
All right, then. So he didn't regret any of it. But saying that made everything seem worse; like he was addicted to a drug or something equally non-Remus. Like pink knickers.
Or something.
In any case, Remus had decided that this had all started when he was a first year, innocent and virginal, sitting alone in a train compartment, wondering if he'd end up eating any of the students over the course of the next seven years.
In reality, this had all started when he was a fifth year, still fairly innocent and quite virginal, sitting in the common room and watching the fire.
Well, metaphorically.
Literally, he had been watching Sirius, who, to resort back to metaphors, was just as enthralling, just as dangerous, and just as bloody hot as a fire.
Remus chose not to divulge this information to anyone, living or non-living. Sure, it would make an interesting conversation piece, and possibly be turned into a story to hand down to posterity, but Remus liked his dignity where it was, thank you very much, and he wasn't about to turn into one of those swooning fangirls who followed Sirius everywhere he went. Barring showers (that's where Remus had the advantage, and he liked to pretend to flaunt it).
To get right down to the real point, Remus liked Sirius Black. Loved him, even; a lot. Too much. Proverbial butterflies, singing angels, fireworks, trumpets (are there normally trumpets involved in this sort of thing?), colored lights, weird slow-motion shots, climactic musical numbers (where the singing angels and trumpets would come together), dizzy spells, the whole shebang.
More than anything, there were dizzy spells (and lots of blushing, which wasn't included in the list, but was there all the same--and far more noticeable).
Fine, fine. More than anything, and basically the only thing, there was the blushing.
But occasionally, there were dizzy spells, though most of the time they were unrelated to anything to do with Sirius Black and his fiery good looks. And gorgeous blue eyes. And elegantly messy black hair that fell into his eyes just like so. And his jaw line, which was rather square, but not so square that he looked like some old Hit Wizard named Butch. And his height; exactly five inches above Remus, which was perfect snuggling height, really. He'd read about things like that in books.
Not that, you know, he would daydream he was Scarlett to Sirius' Rhett.
Or walk into things. Like living people.
A hand on his wrist, and Remus was thrown against the wall. Seconds later, there were lips on his.
Seconds after that, there was a loud BANG! A CRASH! And then a CRACK! And Remus J. Lupin knew that he wouldn't be retrieving his scarf; or going back outside; or even getting up the stairs to the dorms, for that matter.
He had most likely just broken his nose.
"Fuck."
A pause, as the blood flow began and increased in one go, and then:
"Fuckfuckfuckohshit."
And that was when Problem the Second reared its ugly head. ("Bloody fucking hell!")
And no, it had nothing to do with the need for plastic surgery.