"Soooo, James tells me Kerrigan went barking mad about you standing her up last Saturday?" I tease, raising my eyebrows at Sirius.
It's two in the morning and it has been quite a night.
After James and I made up for missing dinner with our stolen food, he went up to the dorm to sleep, knackered from one of his before-sunrise Quidditch practices. Peter, having given up on the Potions essay Slughorn assigned, followed. Which left me and Sirius, inevitably falling into a deep, hushed conversation, as the common room started to empty, about everything James had told me after Potions class.
The discussion solicited more tears and shakiness from my end, with extra comfort given in return. We talked through the passing hours, the conversation getting lighter as the time flew and we finally landed back into our usual state of joking and friendly bickering.
Somewhere along the way, Sirius crept up to our dorm, coming back carrying two generous bottles of Firewhiskey. He just held them up and said simply, "My dad isn't good at choosing hiding places and it's been a long night". Considering everything I'd heard in the past few hours, this was more than enough to induce me to take the first mouthful of the burning drink.
That's how we end up here, alone in the common room, taking. We're sitting cross legged, in front of the blazing fire that mitigates the chilly night, side by side, leaning back on the sofa. My head is starting to feel dizzy and I can feel the overwhelming warmth taking over my body as I wait for Sirius, who is already popping the second bottle open, to respond.
He nods thoughtfully as he takes another swig of the Firewhiskey. "Uh-huh, well," he slurs slowly, "She was not... my type anyway."
"Aaaand why is that?" I ask, too intoxicated to hide the huge smile of relief on my face.
"She's... her", he says matter-of-factly. "All feminine and whiny and... feminine. She's good at Quidditch at least, I'll give her that."
I chuckle, confused, and down another dose of Firewhiskey. Forcing the burning liquid down my throat in a gulp, I tell him, "If you're gonna keep shagging every girl in school, then you're gonna have to get used to feminine."
"I haven't shagged anyone in a while, actually," he says softly, before yawning.
"In a while as in the past week?" I mock, pressing one of my hands against the floor for balance, the other bringing the bottle to my lips for another drink.
"In the past eight months."
I choke on the liquid, sputtering and coughing.
"I'm insulted by your surprised reaction. Doubtful?" he says, calmly, with a lazy smirk on his face.
My eyes widen, the effect of the Firewhiskey not helping my baffled thoughts.
"B-but... all the girls you took out. Your cocky shagging jokes... The –"
Winking, he cuts me off, "All for show, Moony."
"I don't get it..." I say in defeat, as I watch him ingest another strong dose.
"I just don't feel like it, I guess. I mean, the girls here are nice looking and everything, but they just aren't worth all the meaningless one night stands and draining excuses. It's frustrating," he whines, pouting.
I laugh, still not believing him. "Didn't know you felt like that about the girls at school. Maybe you should try jumping a bloke's bones for once."
Sirius raises his eyebrows at me and I freeze, trying to replay in my mind what I just said. Did I really say that? Bloody hell. How exactly do I take that back? I'll just pretend it's a joke. Blimey. This is what I get for being within a yard radius of both Firewhiskey and a very alluring Black.
"I mean, like –" I attempt to recover before he interrupts.
"Yeah, I should. I've always thought what that would be like," he says nonchalantly as he throws his head back, chugging down the remaining contents of the bottle before setting it aside.
My heartbeat speeds up and my hands get clammy.
"Funny," I manage to get out, faking a sarcastic tone.
He shakes his head in exaggeration as he shifts himself in front me so that we are now sitting face to face. "No, no. I'm serious."
"Yes, you are," I reply immediately.
"That joke's getting old," he says, making a show of himself rolling his eyes.
"So are you."
"Yeah, I am getting old. Which is why I should at least try being with a bloke. At least once, I reckon."
I try to hide my overriding mix of emotions. "You can get any bloke you want, Pads. Just pick one and I'll be here waiting as you figure out whether you're an utter queer or not," I tease, sticking my tongue out childishly.
"Who would you pick?" he asks, laughing at my remark.
I laugh. "I'm not answering that, you arse. We're dealing with your crisis here. How about James? Peter?" I tease.
He cringes, snickering. "No thanks."
The alcohol gives me enough of a boost to joke "What about me?" in a tone of mock confidence.
"I would," he instantly replies with a straight face which I can only assume is fake.
"Haha, very –"
"I would."
"Yeah, sure, oka-"
"I would"
"Right, look –"
"I would"
Getting frustrated, I mutter, "Will you just quit it, Pad –"
Before I could finish saying his nickname, he leans forward, his lips come crashing down on mine. His warm hand cupping my face, the other on my thigh, steadying himself.
A jolt travels throughout my body, every part of me stiffening. My eyes are wide open, trying to take in what's happening right in front of me.
He breathes heavily between kisses, and I feel myself melting, giving in, my eyelids fluttering to a close. I slide my hand up his chest as I return the kiss with more eagerness, drowning myself in the ecstasy of his soft lips. His hand on my thigh clutches tighter, sparking every nerve, as the passion grows.
Trying to avoid getting thrown out of balance, we untangle our crossed legs and find ourselves on our knees, our lips still colliding and not a single inch of our shivering torsos not touching. I part my lips slightly, copying his, feeling his tongue snake through, amplifying the heat he pours into every kiss. He stops cupping my face as his hand grabs the back of my head, pushing me closer, as if there is more space between us to fill. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him tighter against me.
Our kisses intensify, with every fleeting second. Grabbing any trace of each other we can reach, every aspect of our magnified fervor grows even more urgent and just when it seems like the frenzy that isdevouring us could go on for an eternity and more, we pull away.
I stare at him with wide eyes, fazed and thrown back from what just happened to see his face as stunned and dumbfounded as mine. He opens his mouth, as if to speak and then closes it.
I rub my temples roughly as I move up to sit on the sofa. With my elbows resting on my knees, I look at him, worried. He stands up and starts pacing back and forth, his hands running through his silky hair, panic evident in his beautiful gray eyes.
"Sirius..." I manage, a crack evident in my voice.
"Bloody fucking hell", he mutters, still pacing.
"Look –"
Before I can start, he halts in front me, and rubs his eyes fiercely with the heels of his hands. I look at the floor, my head pounding.
"Merlin, Moony, I'm so fucking sorry I just –"
"Yeah, I know, just –"
"Blimey, I can't do this."
By time I look up, he's already disappearing through the portrait hole.