Alpha, Beta
He meets up with Remus the morning after that, and they sit together for a while, staring at the sunset. It's rather chilly, the wind creating goosebumps all over Sirius's bare legs, which he's hung over the edge of the cliff.
'What's Hogwarts like?' Remus asks, breaking the silence.
'I thought you went to Hogwarts,' Sirius says. He'd shifted through the library of faces he can remember from school many times, and always placed Remus there – with him. Perhaps as a Hufflepuff.
'I'm home-schooled,' Remus replies.
'Oh. It's nice. I love it there.'
'What house are you in?'
Remus sometimes gets like this; eager, eyes alight with curiosity, hands clenched in the fabric of his jeans. Sirius likes it when he does. But he doesn't want to answer that question, because somewhere, inexplicably, he doesn't want to mix Remus in with his life outside of France.
'Gryffindor.'
'Really.' Remus quiets, then turns to look at the sunset again. 'I'd like to be in Ravenclaw.'
'Ravenclaws are swots.'
Remus smiles, though he keeps his gaze on the steadily rising sun. 'I might be a swot.'
They kiss in the antique shop Remus now works in, hot and heavy against a grand piano. The keys groan when Remus stumbles backwards and into them, and an annoyed shout of the owner has Remus pulling away.
'Swot,' Sirius says softly, in protest, tightening his hold on Remus's shirt.
'Maybe I'll kiss you again if you buy something,' Remus suggests.
Sirius buys the piano.
Remus meets him in the storage room of his house, after he's finished helping Kreacher set up the piano legs on four small, glass plates. 'Against the scratches,' Remus explains.
Sirius trails his hands up Remus's back under shirt in reply, and swallows Remus's gasp with his lips.
'What are we doing?'
It's Friday evening. The both of them are lying on the beach, listening to the sound of waves on the sand. The moon is steadily rising. For now, there are stars. Remus is leaving tomorrow.
'Sorry?' Sirius asks, distracted. He's tracing his own star up in the sky with his fingers.
'What,' Remus fumbles, gives up, and attempts a new sentence. 'I want to study at Oxford when I grow up.'
Sirius stops, turns to face Remus even though he can't see him in the dark (though he feels him, hears his quiet, composed breathing), and thinks.
'I'm sure you'll manage.'
'Okay.'
The harbour is full to the brim; families, crying children, carriages, sailors, and luggage – it's all running together, and for Sirius, it blurs into one shape as he squints to try and keep the sun out.
He can't believe it has already been a week. In his mind, the days meld together, making Tuesday into Friday and Monday into Sunday and back again. They're all filled with Remus.
He makes his way through the crowd. It's a magical ship, he can tell – there are house-elves helping with the luggage and a lot of wand-waving is done by someone dressed in a sailor uniform, who might or might not be part of the ship's crew.
Remus's aunt and uncle are standing next to him and they're talking in hushed tones. Sirius can see them, as he leans against one of the ship's steel cables. A magically enhanced voice announces in French that this is the last call for passengers to board.
The grip Remus has on his bag tightens, and he appears to be saying something to his aunt. She raises her eyes and looks around, curiously. Sirius slinks deeper into the shadows. Then she shakes her head, and Remus's grip becomes vice-like, before relaxing.
He smiles, brightly, says his goodbyes, and boards the ship, ticket in hand.
The boat leaves fifteen minutes later. Sirius doesn't stay for the send off.