Work Text:
Two a.m., Halloween night, the Gryffindor Common Room.
A fire burning low in the grate, red-gold embers, the light flickering over the bunched carpet, pillows spread across the floor, afghans in Gryffindor scarlet and gold draped over the sofas.
Crumpled sweet wrappers, half-full cups, empty Butterbeer bottles and a handle of Firewhiskey with the last amber dregs at the bottom.
Eleven and a half jack-o’-lanterns floating between waist- and knee-height and slowly sinking even lower as Sirius’ charm wears off.
One half a jack-o’-lantern a pile of orange mush on the floor, casualty of Mary McDonald’s overenthusiastic elbow.
A set of false fangs covered in fake blood, belonging to a fifth-year named Thaddeus Peterson, who’d dressed up as a werewolf and terrorized all the girls by threatening to bite them. After an hour of half-delighted screams, James had claimed a headache and confiscated the teeth. Remus had felt something unclench in his chest, then, and Sirius had unobtrusively wrapped a hand around his ankle and squeezed.
A discarded bed sheet with holes cut for eyes, which Peter had abandoned somewhere between doing shots of Firewhiskey and running to the bathroom to puke up shots of Firewhiskey.
A single glass-green bottle on its side on the rug, left over from a volatile game of Spin the Bottle that had resulted in an impressive number of kisses, a lot of serious blushing, and a spectacular fight between Hogwarts’ head boy and girl that elicited first laughter from its audience and then startled silence.
Lily Evan’s ring, heavy gold with a green stone, which had left a red mark on James’ face where it had caught his cheek when she’d slapped him. The noise had resounded through the room, the shocking smack of skin on skin, followed by James’ gasp of pain. Lily had stared at him, at the red welt, and had burst into tears.
A pile of crumpled tissues and several empty chocolate frog boxes.
Green light shining through the high window, from where, outside, the Dark Mark still hangs in the sky. It had appeared at the stroke of midnight, bursting bright over the castle. There had been whoops of appreciation in the common room at first when the green glow had spread eerily through the party; but then some third-years had looked up out the window and screamed.
A knocked-over side table, caught by someone’s ankle in the ensuing panic.
A scorch mark on the stone wall where a second-year had startled and accidentally shot sparks out of her wand.
The rug by the portrait hole just slightly askew where McGonagall had entered, several minutes after the Mark had appeared, to tell them all that no one had been hurt: Just a prank, no need to get hysterical, do get ahold of yourselves, McDonald, Pettigrew. And then, in a low voice, to James and Lily: Make sure the first-years are all right. And come see me first thing tomorrow morning.
A half-full bin bag, evidence of a cleanup effort begun and then abandoned by James and Lily, who are now upstairs sleeping in the first-year boys’ and girls’ dorms, respectively, because they had all been too frightened to go to bed alone.
The sound of the fire dying, and a light rain starting up a low tap tap tap on the window, and the silence of a nearly-empty room.
And in the middle of it all, pressed tight together on a rumpled sofa in the near-darkness, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, kissing and kissing and kissing.
Remus’ fingers gentle on Sirius’ cheek. Sirius’ hands at Remus’ waist.
The fire dies, and the green light fades, and they forget to notice.