So then I took my turn,

Oh what a thing to have done...

Laughter slipped under the thinly veiled guise of exhales from tingling lips as Sirius walked away from his father's study, legs and arms also humming with some slowly building emotion, a single sentence refusing to silence itself in his buzzing mind.

I'm just glad you weren't expelled.

Not expelled. No, he hadn't been, had he? And why not? He had tried to kill someone. To murder them. He had wanted to, even if it hadn't lasted, even if he'd wanted to back out when everything - the implications, the consequences, the possible outcomes - had all lined themselves up properly in his mind in a single moment of clarity like some type of sickening joke of an epiphany as he and James had stood, the latter in complete shock, and watched Snape disappear into the base of the Whomping Willow. Because weren't epiphanies supposed to be a helpful, if also a little condescending, this-is-what-all-those-things-you-somehow-missed-actually-means-when-pieced-together-like-they-should-be-now-DO-something-about-it? Maybe it wasn't, and maybe epiphanies were sometimes just spiteful bitches, because it hadn't been useful at all, to realize what he had done, instead it had all come crashing down over him, and he'd almost gotten lost in it. Almost. He would have he was sure if James hadn't been there to smack him back into the present and bark orders at him to get Dumbledore when he hadn't moved immediately to keep things bloody quiet, Sirius, what the fuck? before running off at top speed to stop a seemingly suicidal Snape.

But despite all that, despite regretting it more now than should be possible (because it had been him who'd come up with the idea, he hadn't been cursed) it didn't change the fact he had still wanted it at one point, more than he could remember wanting anything. More than Remus obviously. Because, hatred wasn't a stronger emotion than say, love - at least he hoped not - but it was consuming in nature, and it wreaked absolute havoc on one's brain, particularly the decision-making part; at least in Sirius's experience. And.. and he wasn't making logical sense.

Not punished.

Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to do so either. The grey-bearded wizard had asked him just one question before sending him home, saying it was the last few days of school and 'to get some rest' because exams were through, so why not? One simple question as they'd sat in the Headmaster's office away from all prying eyes and ears, even Fawkes, who he'd swear had gone up in a flash of flames just before to grant them a few seconds of complete privacy, because he'd seen him look much mangier: Why?

And he'd told him as piercing blue eyes that were capable of sorting the answer out themselves had waited unobtrusively. Because he hated him. With a vengeance. He, Sirius Black, hated Severus Snape. And not for the reasons many would think. It wasn't because he touted hateful ideas and words like that of a stuffy pureblood, where there was no question amongst the school as to his half-blood lineage. Nor was it because of how he was always trying to get him and his friends into trouble and ruining their fun. Or was it because he'd somehow scared Peter and made the most skittish of the marauders refuse to partake in any of their pranks on him ever since the beginning of second term in fourth year, but how, Sirius couldn't figure it. And though oh so tempting, it wasn't even because of the way he made James miserable, the greasy bastard having somehow made friends with Lily Evans when the infuriating witch wouldn't give his best friend—one of the best people Sirius had ever known and would ever know he was sure—a passing glance.

No. No he hated him, because of how the Slytherin watched Remus, in a way no one should watch Remus, not as closely as he did. Like he was studying him. Because Remus had secrets, dangerous ones, ones that if exposed could hurt Remus most of all, and Sirius needed him to be safe. Because he needed Remus.

The same Remus whose secret was now known by the Slytherin, because of him.

The same Remus who would have been held responsible if he had actually succeeded in his attempt and been caught.

The same Remus who knew what he had tried to do.

Hands were covering his face, and he found himself leaning back on the wall in the dark candle-lit hallway, shoes sunken in the deep Slytherin-green runner, a too close flame heating the fingers on his right hand uncomfortably and trimwork digging into his back, his legs beginning to shake with an unknown purpose, and his shoulders following suit as he began to laugh, incredulousness fueling the maddening sound, because he still hated Snape, maybe more so even, because he'd made him realize what kind of person he really was. He'd known ever since fourth and the Greengrass/McKinnon Prefect Bathroom Valentine's Incident (in which he'd been dating one noticeably absent Parkinson) that he was an awful boyfriend, no question about it, and he'd accepted it. He'd accepted it with an easy laugh when he'd been told so during a very public dump the next morning over breakfast in the Great Hall, and the slightly hollow feeling in the middle of his chest he'd eagerly dismissed as hunger, because he had worked up quite the appetite. He hadn't cared that the witch had also accused him of being a terrible person, telling himself he had the best friends imaginable, so while she may have been right about some things, she'd missed there, because a terrible person couldn't be a good friend. And Sirius Black was a good friend if nothing else, loyal and trusthworthy when it truly counted... That is. Until now.

He was the worst friend ever. It had to be the truth after what he had done. After what he had done to Remus. He'd never forgive him, not ever. Maybe he was a terrible person.

The sound of laughter began to bubble from his lips again, but it was more confusing than anything, his chest aching as it shook and mind a swirling maelstrom, and he was sinking. So fast. Legs gave way, and he was sliding down the wall, ignoring the sudden onslaught of disapproving voices from the portraits watching him, and he covered his ears, but they somehow grew louder. He was losing it, he was losing it, but not in a good way.

He was losing it, and he didn't know if he'd be able to find it again. Because he was sinking this time, not floating, he was sinking, and it was terrifying.

"It's fucking cold like this, what happened to your blankets and why isn't the heat charm working in the dorm?" Remus said, his teeth almost chattering as he lay on Sirius's bed in their shared dorm with only a pair of dress socks on, as per Sirius's request.

Sirius grinned widely, perched on his knees with pulled crimson curtains his back-cloth, eyes greedily savoring the sight of the sandy blond spread out before him like an unwrapped present, which was the best kind in his opinion, because really, it was just a useless pretty box otherwise. "You are way better than a pretty box, Moony," he said, smile growing to expose perfectly straight teeth when Remus huffed a laugh, and he began to trace just his middle finger gently along a new scar Remus had acquired the prior full moon that ran from the crest of his right hipbone down to the top of his thigh, running parallel to a blond happy trail. Happy trail was really an understatement in Sirius's opinion though. Maybe treasure trail or perhaps something more—A cool hand planted itself on his chest, pulling his mind back down even though it was pressing, urgent.

"James took my blanket, said he was cold as shite and needed two, don't worry you'll heat up." He shifted up further then, spreading his knees and pressing into the bottoms of Remus's bare thighs, and he nudged them apart a little more - peering down between his legs. "Sexy," he said, his words roughened, like they had been scrubbed with a scouring pad. "You're so fucking sexy, Remus." He whispered a needed incantation, and then his right hand settled fully on cool skin, and it began to slide, leaving a slick trail in its wake that would shine iridescent under a lumos charm, and then it dipped down and inward, searching and finding...

"A-and the h-heating charm?" Remus asked, his insistent words fluttering like they were riding on hummingbird wings as Sirius began to press, his back arching off Gryffindor red sheets quite prettily in Sirius's opinion, because Remus was definitely pretty at times even if he was a wizard, a persistent one at that.

Sirius had always thought the sandy blond's features more handsome with his tone, six-foot frame and casual stance, masculine - possibly more so than himself - because he was a werewolf after all. But sometimes when no one else was around, or Remus was oblivious, he seemed - softer. And at those times he would feel inclined to utilize not so masculine adjectives to describe the sandy blond. Like when he would lay on his bed, stomach down with his legs up in the air behind him, wiggling socked toes almost in Sirius's face, a book from home being lovingly caressed by slender fingertips, as he re-read his favorite lines for the umpteenth time; Sirius couldn't help but think he was cute. Or when he would fall asleep in the crook of Sirius's arm, lips slightly parted, and he'd occasionally snuggle in tighter, sandy eyelashes resting almost on cheekbones they were so long; Sirius would even say he was pretty. And then there was when the wizard's body would bow under the smallest ministrations of Sirius's, like it was doing at that very moment, well then he was definitely pretty—

"Sirius."

Sirius pressed another slickened finger in, sinking further and further into a consuming velvet warmth that pulled a groan in the shape of his name from Remus's lips. Heavy eyes fighting fiercely, refusing to be consumed completely by its natural enemy, pressing eyelids, as they watched muscles flex along with every nuanced flushing expression of pleasure in a rapt fascination as he learned exactly what Remus liked, cataloging it away for next time. Because there would be a next time if he had any say in the matter, even if they had been together two months, which he'd thought for sure was well and far past his capacity; he found he didn't really want anyone else anymore—

No not pretty. Gorgeous. Remus was absolutely gorgeous—

"Sirius."

Grey eyes focused. "Oh, yeah we had to turn it off for the potion James is brewing in the bathroom, otherwise it would explode before it should." He curled his fingers up and towards his wrist to watch the wizard's hips arch up one more time before carefully slipping fingers out and then began to slink up the expanse of Remus's body, eagerly anticipating replacing his fingers with a much more sensitive body part that jumped at just the thought, because somehow, Remus felt better every time. Like magic.

"And why did you let him take it?" Remus asked even as Sirius guided himself between legs that he liked best for how they wrapped around him so perfectly, pulling him closer over and over almost as if they wanted him most, needed him most.

And Sirius smiled down at the wizard, focusing again - because Remus deserved it, he deserved so much - the expression gracing his lips possibly more genuine than anyone had ever seen if they were being honest. "Because I knew I'd have you to keep me warm." He slowly pressed hips forward, unsure tension slowly giving way under an aching needy pressure and enveloping, drawing him in and capturing him fully in a warm velvety embrace he'd begun to crave. Like an addict.

"Moony..."

Then grey eyes had finally fallen shut, having lost the battle but not caring, because they had earned a warrior's death - and then he'd let Remus pull him down and into a kiss, notably warmer skin pressing against chilled, sharing its heat finally. And he'd begun to move, to make more.

Your skin,

Oh yeah your skin and bones.

Turn into

Something beautiful...