Chapter Text
Remus
The ride home is always shorter than the ride to Hogwarts, somehow. He knows they’re the same distance on the same tracks, following the same winding path through Scotland and the English countryside. He knows the reason. At the end of this train ride isn’t months of romping around Hogwarts. It’s a four hour car ride home to Coelbren. Where he’ll spend two months missing his friends. The Mischief Makers never get to spend the holidays together. It’s quite annoying. Especially for him, who’s going home to a full moon in a week and a half. He’s been in a foul mood about it for the last hour. As if it isn’t bad enough that he’s got to spend two months with the village boys instead of his friends, he has to start the whole venture with ripping himself to shreds.
It’s Sirius who pulls him out of his funk, because of course it is. Sirius has been the center of everything for a long time. The friend he wishes were something else. It’s getting worse, now. It was easier to ignore when he was just in love with how funny and quick and brilliant he is. But now it’s gone and gotten physical, too. Fifteen looks good on him in a way it doesn’t on almost anyone else. He’s filled out, especially in the shoulders and the chest. His hair is long and soft and his loose curls fall against the white of his shirt like a spilt inkwell on parchment.
And his face. Merlin, his face. Remus could write an epic. He isn’t James, so he won’t, but he could. The lovely shade of his grey eyes. The way his eyelashes are just long enough to fall on the top of his cheeks. The shape of his lips, plump and pink and bowed just right. He hardly ever gets spots, even at fifteen, even after binging on sweets and forgetting to send his pillowcase to be washed.
If Remus weren’t head over heels in love with him, he’d be furious. It’s unfair that Sirius gets a thin, perfectly sloped nose. It’s downright rude of him to have that dip in his clavicle where Remus just wants to lick.
Sirius waves his hand in front of his face. “Are you in there, Moony?” he asks.
Remus pulls himself out of his thoughts. He knows he’s probably red-faced. His cheeks are hot. It’s not right of him to sit here and fantasize about Sirius. It’s one thing to want him. Anyone with half a brain cell would want him. It’s another thing to be sitting next to him on the train and thinking about licking his neck.
“He’s off mooning again,” James comments from where he’s lounged across the bench seat, one leg on the floor, the other on Peter’s thigh. “I bet it’s Dorcas Meadowes.”
Sirius scrunches up his nose. “Meadowes? Meadowes dreams she could get her claws in our Moony.”
That pulls a laugh out of him. He’s surprised it doesn’t come out bitter, but he’s very good at hiding this particularly insecurity. He’s got very little hope for romance, actually; there are very few witches or wizards who wouldn’t mind that their boyfriend turns into a vicious wolf once a month. Dorcas Meadowes would, in his opinion, find herself in a nightmare.
Besides, it doesn’t matter. He’s arse over teakettle in love with Sirius Black and has been for ages. He cried about it to his Mum and Dad one night last summer hols, which was both a relief and terribly embarrassing the next morning. There’s no one else that’s ever even rated on that scale.
“Mightn’t be a witch at all,” he says. And that gets Sirius’ attention. He perks up, almost flying forward to stare into Remus’ eyes.
“Tell me it isn’t Snivellus,” he demands, but his eyes are sparkling in the way they do before a prank or a particularly good joke.
“You’ve caught me.” He covers his face in his hands, hiding the smirk that’s pulling at his lips. “My one true love, and he’ll never have me.”
“Half up Evans’ arse for all eternity,” James mutters darkly.
“Get over her,” Peter advises, not looking up from his comic. “She hates your ever-loving guts, James. She always will. You’ll find her in the afterlife and she’ll still hate you.”
He waves a hand in Peter’s direction. “Ta, mate. Thanks for the pep talk.”
Remus looks away, out the window. The city’s flying by. The last moments he has with his friends until September are quietly slipping away. He hates this. Sirius hates it more, locked away for two months without anything but the occasional owl and maybe, if he manages to play nice, a day trip to visit James. Remus at least gets to go spend a week with the Potters in Godric’s Hollow. He’s going right after he’s recovered from the July moon this summer. It’s only five or so weeks, but it feels like an eternity away.
“Really, Moony,” Sirius says. “We know it’s not Snivellus, so who’s the lucky lad?”
“Slughorn,” he answers. “Those hours I spent with him this term weren’t remedial, Sirius. We’ve been having a torrid affair.”
Sirius makes a retching noise. “Don’t even joke about that, it’s vile.”
He grins. “You asked.”
Something strange and different flashes across Sirius’ face. He looks almost possessive for a moment before it slips away. Remus thinks to himself that he quite likes that look on Sirius’ face, especially directed at him.
“I’m going to try to come to the Hollow when you’re there,” Sirius tells him.
The train’s starting to slow. Peter packs his comic away, back into his bag. James sits back up and yawns.
“They’re going to let you out?”
He shrugs. “I’ll try to behave.” The word rolls of his tongue like it’s foul-tasting. “I can make it five weeks. That’s easy.”
Remus knows it won’t be. Sirius has been dreading this summer for months. He’s got to make it through three different introduction dinners with witches Orion thinks would be good matches for him. He spent considerably more energy plotting how to scare them off than he did studying for his end of term exams. Sirius has already discounted them all, claiming that anyone Orion picks is going to be a bitch not a witch.
He’s probably not wrong. But that means it’s going to be an endless parade of these until Sirius settles on someone agreeable. Which is going to be actual torture for Remus to sit through. The thought of Violetta Yaxly trying to cuddle up to Sirius makes him sick to his stomach.
The train’s stopped now, horn blowing. The last seconds of fourth year slip through his fingers.
James tosses his bag over his shoulder and gives Remus a light punch on the arm. “Firecall me this week,” he says. “And after the twenty-third. I want to see you’re alright with my own eyes.”
Remus nods at him. He doesn’t move to stand. Not yet. He’s going to wait. There’s no rush, not yet.
“I’ll write you a good long screed from Poland,” Peter promises him. “Dad’s got me stuck there for three weeks, but if I find good sweets, I’ll send them.”
“Thanks, Pete,” he says.
Then they’re gone, and it’s just Sirius and him left in the compartment. He can hear the other students spilling out and shouting hellos to their parents and families. He doesn’t want to go. Leaving now means he doesn’t get to look into Sirius’ face for two months.
“Have fun in Wales for me.” Sirius is packing his exploding snap cards back up into his bag. That means he’s going to leave now, too, and that’ll be that. Nine weeks of the village boys, three full moons, and one paltry week in the Hollow between him and fifth year.
“That’s what Coelbren is known for,” Remus says. “Just loads of fun.”
Sirius laughs, thin and sad. “Well, it’s more fun than the fourth floor of an Islington townhouse with only Regulus for company.” He stands up and Remus follows, because he suddenly can’t bear to sit there for another moment if Sirius is gone.
“I always imagined living in London to be glamorous.” Remus frowns. “I suppose the company matters.”
“More than you know,” Sirius tells him. He sighs and shakes his head. His hair goes every which way, which is lovely and annoying. He peers up at Remus through his curls. “I’m going to miss you quite a lot,” he says.
Remus’ mouth feels suddenly dry. “Oh?”
Sirius wets his lips, a little peak of tongue. Remus feels very warm all over. “Well, you’re my favorite,” Sirius tells him, voice low and secretive.
Remus doesn’t know where it comes from. A sudden burst of confidence shoots through him and he thinks fuck this and shoves his hands into Sirius’ hair, fingers tangling in his curls, and pulls him forward into an awkward kiss. Their teeth clank. Sirius’ eyes are wide and shocked.
For a single moment he thinks he’s ruined everything, but it might be worth it to know what Sirius Black’s lips feel like against his, before Sirius’ hands clench hard around Remus’ upper arms and Sirius is, miraculously, kissing back. Remus thinks he could die here a happy man, his hands in Sirius’ curls and their lips together—Merlin, his tongue in Sirius’ mouth. Sirius tastes of toffees from the trolly, which is a thought Remus never dreamed he’d get to think.
He pulls back after too long but far too soon after so long wanting it. He can hardly breathe. Sirius is just staring at him, lips still parted, eyes still wide and shocked.
“You kissed me,” he says, sounding thrown.
“You kissed me back!” Remus hurriedly untangles his fingers out of Sirius’ hair and grabs his bag off the seat.
“You—Salazar, Moony, give a bloke some warning.”
Remus gulps down some air and tosses his bag over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m—fuck. Sirius. I’m sorry.” He goes to leave the compartment but Sirius steps in front of the door.
“No, you don’t just get to kiss me and run away, Remus.” He grabs Remus’ arm again, clutching onto his bicep like Remus is going to suddenly apparate away. He might’ve, if he knew how.
“I’d rather prefer that,” Remus says, tugging his arm free and trying to skirt around Sirius, but Sirius is a wall when he wants to be and he does now.
“You kissed me.”
“I did notice. I haven’t lost my mind.” He gently shoves Sirius back toward the bench they shared on the ride down. Sirius stumbles out of the doorway. “You wanted to know who I was mooning over,” Remus says. He tilts his head and sighs, taking a moment to stare at Sirius’ face again. “You. It’s always been you.” He tears his eyes away from Sirius’ face and slips through the door.
“Moony—”
“I’ll see you next term,” Remus says, not able to bear to turn around. He’s afraid of what he’ll see there.
Sirius doesn’t follow him out onto the platform.
Maybe ten weeks won’t be so awful. It’ll give him time to steel himself for the rejection come September.
***
Sirius’ owl is waiting for him, perched on the ledge of the kitchen window, when he bangs through the back door with his Mum and his Dad. Herald seems annoyed, hooting darkly at him and sticking out his leg. He gets a nip for his trouble when he unties the scroll and Herald takes back off into the night.
Remus considers not reading it for exactly four seconds before he can’t stop himself from unrolling it right there in the kitchen.
Dear Moony
Don’t you ever run off on me after kissing me again. That was incredibly rude of you. Did you know that? VERY RUDE. I don’t appreciate being left hanging like that. You can’t just tell me you’ve been mooning over me and take off to Wales for ten weeks. Now I’ve got to behave so I can go to the Hollow or I shan’t be able to kiss you again until September.
We had loads of time to keep up the kissing—which I approve of the kissing, by the way, you didn’t let me get hardly a word out before you ran off. I very much approve of the kissing, and I would like to do more of it next term. Anyway, loads of time. It took the conductor forever to kick me off. There could’ve been a lot more kissing, is my point, and I’m very keen on continuing doing that. I’m also interested in having a cuddle and sharing our feelings and I want to make you tea every morning.
What I mean to say is that I’ve also been mooning. Quite a lot. You can ask James, he says I’ve been insufferable. Mooning over you, to be clear, since apparently I can’t be shocked that my best mate put his tongue in my mouth without you assuming I didn’t like it, even though I very clearly was enthusiastic. I’ve written some truly embarrassing sonnets about you, Moony. I’ll show you, if you’d like proof.
There’s going to be more kissing, is the point. Loads more kissing. Unless that was a moment of madness, in which case—well, I still would like to do more kissing, and now you know.
I’m not telling Herald to wait. He’ll be cross already, since he’s in a foul mood from the train. But that doesn’t mean you can ignore me. If you don’t answer me, I shall have to run away and come to Wales, which won’t go any way but sideways, so please just write me back.
Yours (and I mean that)
Sirius
Remus presses the parchment against his chest and looks over at his parents, standing by the counter, watching him. A grin spreads slowly across his face.
“Can I borrow the owl?” he asks.