Dynamics

He awoke with a start. He was at it again. For the third night in a row, he was doing it again. Sirius felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance, wishing fervently that he had remembered to look up on that helpful spell that would block out those horrible, horrible sounds.

He turned to face the window, pillow clamped over his ears. It was no use. It was simply too loud. Sod it all. He'll kill him in the morning. He needed this rest. He grabbed his pillow and blanket, gave a reproachful look at the four-poster bed by the door across from his, and trudged downstairs to the common room to continue his sleep.

It had been most difficult for him to look at his friends in the eye. All of them, to be honest. He didn't know what to think of the problem, really. It started when he came up late from one of his nocturnal excursions with a pretty Ravenclaw fifth-year (really, it was an innocent night-time walk, albeit after curfew), and all his friends were asleep.

Curtains were drawn. He had settled into bed comfortably, after washing up and undressing, when it started.

He couldn't believe his ears at first, and he just laid there, eyes staring straight ahead at the ceiling, fingers clutching the bedsheet in sheer terror. There was no mistaking that voice. He'd spent five whole years listening to that voice in all its forms – in hoarse whispers after a terrible full moon night, in rich pleasant laughter when a prank was amusing, and in tired reprimands before committing chaotic amount of pranks.

No, it was really Moony. No one else had that voice so characteristically his. And yet, …yet it was the same Moony that made all these contented moans, and deep, pleased sighs. Same voice that seemed so unsuitable in voicing out his pleasure – the kind of wanton pleasure he could never imagine Moony to partake in.

"Oh yes," he hissed.

His eyes widened.

"Oh. Such a good book, aren't you?"

He cringed. This was absurd.

"Like it, don't you?"

He shut his eyes tight. Bit his lower lip hard.

"Want more, don't you?"

He nearly sobbed.

He cried out, apparently climaxing. "Ah, I think I'll put you back in Sirius' trunk tomorrow."

And his heart sank. He stayed awake until dawn came, and leapt for the bathroom, leaving his friends still in slumber as he rushed to breakfast.

He lay there, feeling mutinous that he had to spend his night on the sofa. Just because Moony wanted some pleasant personal time – no matter how weird it was. A book, really? Just how much of a bibliophile was Remus Lupin?

"Sirius."

His heart gave an unpleasant lurch, and slowly, he turned around. "What is it, Remus?" He asked slowly.

"You forgot this," he replied pleasantly, handing him his Transfiguration textbook, unaware of the absolute horror reigning the other boy's features.

"It's alright, I don't need it."

"Come now," and Sirius gulped, fighting off the stupid double entendre forming in his mind, "Wouldn't want you in trouble with McGonagall again, yeah?"

"Yeah." He took the book, though reluctantly, and set it carefully on the desk. He wasn't about to use that book. What if…? He let go of it, as though it was burning his fingers.

He wouldn't, would he? Somehow, Sirius felt he wouldn't put it past him to do so.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." With that, he hurried off, leaving a baffled Remus Lupin.

He turned, facing the fire now, eyes staring into the flames as he mulled over the matter. Two nights ago, he found out that Remus had a thing for James' books too.

He felt like a downright cowardly Slytherin when he couldn't open his mouth to protest when Remus handed James his forgotten Arithmancy textbook. His heart had twisted in misery when he saw how James clapped the back of said friend, proceeded to leaf through the pages carefully for a particular homework parchment he had slipped in earlier, and gave Remus a great big hug for being a marvellous friend. His throat became parched when he noticed the amused smile and the mischievous gleam in Remus' eye, and how his fingers curled and uncurled around his wand whenever he was hiding some particularly delicious secret.

He skived off a Charms lesson today (it was the only class he had with just Remus), and went off to the Quidditch pitch (James was there, and he couldn't bring himself to see him either) before running back to the castle and down the passageway to the Shack. He was alone at last, and began thinking the matter thoroughly.

He paced the empty room, eyes staring hard at the floor as though daring it to swallow him whole. Almost wishing it would really open up and engulf him completely, actually.

So Remus had a very, very odd thing for books. Not just any books too. They had to be books from his own best friends – Sirius and James. Couldn't be Peter's. Peter wasn't attractive of the lot, and everyone knew that James and Sirius attracted the girls, sometimes boys. Remus had his own admirers as well too. No, Peter was out of the question.

Now that he had established the facts… what did it all mean? Surely there was a reason for it all. Remus, even in his madness, had rationale behind it. To him, this could only mean one thing…

Remus fancied him. And James.

He stopped pacing, glancing up at the wall, eyes widened as he came to the conclusion.

He didn't know what to feel.

Should he be flattered? Disgusted? Terrified? Indifferent? Just WHAT should he feel?

He knew he was disgusted, first and foremost by Remus' peculiar attraction to their books. Flattered, of course, that he was that attractive to even sway his own best friend. Terrified, because he didn't know what he was supposed to do with the sort of information – tell James? And indifferent, because he knew Remus falling for him wouldn't affect their dynamics as a group of friends.

He decided that tonight was the last night. He'd confront his friend in the morning, even if it took every ounce of that Gryffindor courage he was supposed to have.

OOO

"Er, James, mind sodding off a moment?"

"Oi, I have every right to be here!"

"Yeah, but I need to speak to Moony alone."

"Oh? No, I think I'd stay."

"Get the hell out of here, Prongs, really."

"I think not."

"Alright, alright. What is it Padfoot?"

"Make him go away first."

"No secrets between us, remember?"

"Moony, this isn't about me. It's about you!"

"What you've got against Remus, Black?"

"Oh, shut it you ponce. Moony, please."

"Come on, Padfoot, you can tell us."

"Hurry up, Black."

"You leave me no choice."

"Oh, get on with it."

"James, patience."

"I know about … you."

"Oh? What about me, in particular?"

"Your er, night activities."

"You mean sleep?"

"No… your… activities."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Sirius."

"He's talking about your wanking, Moony. Though I don't understand why he's being such a nun about it."

"Shut it, Potter. You don't know half of it."

"And what, may I ask, is the other half of it?"

He couldn't say it, not with Remus and James peering at him curiously like that. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he averted his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on their faces as he told them the truth.

"I know what you've been doing with our books."

"Oh." A slight pause, perhaps a little surprise there, but not guilt. Or horror, even. He turned to see a gentle smile on Remus' face, almost apologetic.

"Oh?" He narrowed his eyes, arms already reaching out to grip his friend by the shoulder. "OH? That's all you've got to say?"

"Sirius," James began.

"It's alright. I'll explain."

"No, Remus, I'll do it."

"James –"

"No, Potter. Let him do it," he hissed, still staring hard at Remus, whose smile now grew wider.

"Sirius," Remus murmured, leaning closer, eyelid slowly drooping, "Sirius, there's been something I need to tell you."

He gulped, now very much sure that this was a confession. He closed his eyes, feeling the wild thumping of his heart, and the throbbing of his blood that surged upwards to his cheeks. "What is it?" he croaked, suddenly aware of how Remus smelled (and he smelled splendidly like citrus and apple and grass and rain), and how soft those thin, willowy fingers were around the crook of his neck.

"Gotcha."

His eyes snapped open, and he wrenched back, staring at both James and Remus – both now laughing and clutching their sides before collapsing on the floor in howls of laughter.

"What's going on?"

James tried to explain, "Oh, should've seen your face, you oaf," he chortled, and left it at that.

"It," Remus gasped, tears now forming in his eyes from laughing too hard, "was," pant, "a prank."

"A prank?"

"Yeah."

"Prank."

"I don't understand."

"Recorded-"

"My voice."

"Pete-"

"Hid-"

"The books."

"Brilliant."

"My idea."

"Sorry, Padfoot."

"And that's for making a fool out of me in front of Evans."

Both had recovered themselves by now, and Sirius was still bewildered.

"Let me get this straight," he narrowed his eyes at both them, now realizing the full extent of the situation, "You came up with the idea," he pointed to James, who nodded fervently, "to use Moony's voice," he turned to Remus, who still had the gall to smile like that, "and pretend he was wanking on our books, and you got Peter to hide those books somewhere?"

"Yeah, that's really what it is."

"I don't understand something here."

"What is it?"

"How can you not be disturbed by his moaning about books and such?"

"Silencing Charm, Sirius."

"Oh."

"Still, you have to admit it was rather brilliant, don't you think?"

"Sod you, Potter."

"But yeah, Moony fancies you."

"WHAT?"