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Sirius Black cringes at the thought of dancing in front of other people. Don’t get him wrong, he adores dancing and swaying and moving to the rhythm of a song, like there is air beneath his feet and lyrics in his heart. But the idea of dancing among others awakens nightmarish memories of stiff-backed Purebloods and critical aristocratic eyes. He has been to a dozen balls and a hundred family dinners and he can dance the tango, the waltz and the foxtrot like he can fly a broom or bake a cake (though many people were under the impression that he can’t even boil water for tea). However, his extensive knowledge of the basic one, two, three, one, two, three does not, under any circumstances, mean that Sirius receives the slightest amount of joy from doing it before the company of others, much less the company of strangers, and even less the company of fellow students who are disparaging and smarmy. Not even his friends know he can dance.
So it is much to Sirius’ delight and displeasure that Professor Dumbledore announces to the school a Yule Ball for the Christmas festivities. Sirius thinks he can escape it by retreating to James’ for the holidays, but the cunning old headmaster has scheduled it for the night before students are dismissed to their families for two weeks. Sirius feels trapped, balancing precariously atop a double-edged sword. If he dances, he will be laughed at for his enthusiasm; if he does not, he will be laughed at for his lack of enthusiasm. He wonders how easily it would be to escape notice entirely. Not very, he thinks.
Regardless, he plans to enjoy himself. He is Sirius Black, after all.
In the week preceding the ball the entire school is practically humming with excitement. Girls can be seen in the common rooms and the Great Hall and in the corridors between classes practicing their steps and giggling with anticipation, commending each other for turns and spins. Sirius finds it infectious; their cheerfulness and vibrating zeal is intoxicating, yet he knows he cannot join them. It is only the girls who are permitted to express their enthusiasm. The boys are slouched, nervous and resigned, and Sirius is apparently a boy, so he feels he too must slouch and talk only of who will look more fetching in their frock; Marlene McKinnon or Emmeline Vance? Sirius does not appreciate the patriarchy, but gives his input all the same, knowing the girls will be drawing their own bets about the boys. He has asked Marlene to the ball, and feels obliged to vouch for her.
“I still think Lily will look the best,” pipes up James at dinner. He has already gloated about his good fortune of already having a girlfriend and being free of the pressure of asking someone to the ball. Sirius is quietly jealous, and thinks childishly of how unfair it is.
However, that isn't to say he didn't make a scene of asking out Marlene. In true Sirius Black fashion, he gave her an audience for the proposal, and she had been cheerfully fanning herself with the attention and envy of the other girls ever since.
Sirius looks over at Lily, who is beaming at her boyfriend in spite of him stuffing his face with mashed potatoes. Sirius wonders if someone will ever look at him like that; when he is ugly and careless and silly and they smile at him anyway. Marlene does not do it; she hits him with her Beater’s bat and calls him names, but he knows she does not mean it and that it's a part of that violent affection girls are so fond of. Sirius can honestly say he does not mind it – the beating he takes during a full moon is nothing compared to a stick of wood – yet still he longs for someone to hand him a napkin and kiss him sweetly when he has gravy dribbling down his chin just like James has now.
“Have you got your dress yet, Lily?” Remus asks from across the table. He is eating pasta and there are no remnants of it on his face, but Sirius wants to give him a napkin all the same.
“Not yet; mum is sending it tomorrow, though,” Lily replies, grinning and clapping her hands like it is Christmas. Which it is, Sirius must remind himself. He never was overly fond of Christmas.
Remus goes on to ask her what it looks like, and James is listening with heightened attentiveness and a bit of steak hanging from his open mouth. Sirius tunes out, uninterested. He is watching Remus instead; far more engrossed by the way his eyebrows lift when he is talking and how his lips pout sweetly for half a second before he smiles. He had been the one to muster enough courage to ask Emmeline Vance to the Yule Ball and is very highly respected for it, as the other boys had been too afraid of her rejection. Sirius thinks she's very pretty, and she’s awfully nice, and they will certainly make a charming couple, but he would rather have his own arm on Remus’ when they walk into the Great Hall on the night of the ball.
Emmeline is sitting to Remus’ immediate left, batting her eyelashes whenever he looks at her. He smiles warmly at her between mouthfuls of his dinner, but it is not always genuine. Sirius feels somewhat sickened by the sight of such infatuation, but cannot blame her for it. Remus is handsome and he is tall and, more than his physical qualities, he is unwaveringly kind and sweet and she could not want for a better partner. Sirius wonders if she knows just how lucky she truly is. He would do anything to be in her place.
When dinner is over, everyone retires to their respective common rooms and dormitories. With only a week left, there is precious little time in order to perfect any implications that might arise on the big night. Professor Dumbledore may not see it, but he has created a silent chaos of jitters and tears in his school.
James is moping in the boys’ dormitory, pacing the room much like a confused deer lost in the woods. Sirius and Peter are watching him from the floor as though he is a slow-motion tennis rally, heads swivelling from side-to-side as he mutters and wrings his hands and wipes his glasses on his robes until they are more smudged than they are clean. He trips on his own feet and lets out a pitiful wail.
“I’m going to fuck it up!” he moans. “I can’t even walk straight, let alone dance! Lily will think I’m pitiful.”
“You are pitiful,” Remus points out absently from his bed where he does not look up from the book he is reading.
James howls and throws himself at Sirius, who had started to stare at Remus again and is caught by surprise. They grapple with each other for a moment, all arms and legs and elbows, scuffling and nearly kicking Peter in the face. Soon, James is sitting on Sirius’ chest in a position of victory despite his woeful situation. His eyes search Sirius' in a desperate plea for help.
“Padfoot, you have to help me,” he insists. Sirius heaves and coughs painfully with the weight on his chest, his face red from the exertion it requires not to faint. “You can dance, right? Your parents taught you how to dance?”
“No,” Sirius lies awkwardly, finally pushing James off him and letting him tumble to the floor.
“Don’t lie! You’re always complaining about how many formal parties you had to attend!”
James is beyond desperate now, for he needs Sirius in a way that may or may not cross some boundaries (Sirius' boundaries), and Sirius is reluctant. If he wanted to teach anyone to dance, he would want to teach Remus. That being said, he suspects Remus is secretly a wonderful dancer.
But James is his friend; his best friend.
“Fine."
James scrambles to his feet so quickly that it couldn’t possibly be out of keenness, but an extreme form of jumpy anxiety. Remus, who has at last abandoned his book, gets up and retrieves the gramophone from the cupboard by the door, an amused expression on his face. Sirius does his best not to blush at the humiliation he is about to endure before his friends, but fails. He is only comforted by the fact that it is James who asked, and not Sirius who offered.
“Okay,” Sirius begins as Remus chooses a vinyl from their small collection. He is humming to himself and it is distracting Sirius, who loves more than words can express to hear Remus sing. “Dancing isn’t really something that can be taught. That’s what my mum told me when she was, for lack of a better word, teaching me.”
James is puzzled, thick eyebrows quirked and poised to ask a hundred questions, but he says nothing, and Sirius continues. “You can learn the steps and the movements, and you can learn where to keep your hands and arms, and how to not trip over your shoelaces because they are almost definitely going to come undone, knowing you. The thing about dancing is that you have to feel the music; you can’t just shuffle about the floor and expect it to make sense.”
James is chuckling now, his face a lovely shade of tomato at the thought of Sirius feeling the music. “Is this supposed to impress me?” he jests as Remus finds an appropriate record and sets it on the dial. A waltz begins to play.
“No; it’s supposed to impress Lily,” Sirius retorts scathingly. He rips a hair-tie from his wrist and pulls his long hair up into a ponytail away from his face. He lifts his arms and instructs James to do the same. “Now, I’m the boy, for now; I have to teach you how to lead before you can actually do it.”
“Why do I have to lead?” James whines.
“Because the status quo demands it of you,” Sirius snaps. “Quit your moaning and hold my hand – yeah, like that – and your right hand goes on my shoulder.”
James obeys, flustered for a moment, but then relaxing in order to take this with some form of sincerity. Sirius loops his left hand under James’ arm and positions it carefully above his waist. It is strange to think that there really isn’t a waist to help mark his hands’ coordination. He has never danced with a boy before. It doesn't feel as unwelcome as he had been expecting.
“There are six basic steps for the waltz,” Sirius says, holding their bearings. “Three for your left foot, three for your right.”
“That’s where the ‘one, two, three, one, two, three’ comes from,” James says fervently, his understanding slowly pushing through the surface.
Sirius nods. “You start with your left foot; this should be easy for you because you’re left handed. Now, whatever I do, you just need to follow. Don’t try and lead; we’ll get to that later.”
James straightens his back, a determined expression on his face. Sirius feels like a damn fool, and he can hear Peter laughing from the floor. He does his best to ignore his friends’ teasing, but he cannot see Remus, and it makes him anxious. He is afraid to imagine that he is dancing with Remus and not James, and this could result in all sorts of awkward ramifications.
Sirius steps forward and James stumbles, cursing and blushing and looking down at the positioning of his feet. “Don’t look down,” Sirius commands. “If you pay attention to your feet, you’ll look like a prat.”
“How am I supposed to keep from tripping over if I can’t watch my feet?” James says bitterly, levelling his back again.
“Feel the music, remember? Forget about the steps; you’re following for now. Just listen to the music,”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Sirius smiles lightly, chuckling. “Let’s just say I haven’t had the opportunity to dance in a really long time."
The two boys reposition themselves and begin again. Sirius steps forward and James follows, slowly at first, and then uniformly to the music as they come to know each other. It is easy for Sirius, for he knows the steps, and it does not bother him to dance with a boy. James, however, is feeling self-conscious, and doing his best not to peer down at his feet partially out of fear of stumbling again and partially out of the humiliation of having to look Sirius in the eye as he learns something admittedly rather primitive, in his opinion.
The vinyl ends, and Remus resets it. Sirius pauses before they go again.
“Right, now you know the steps, it’s your turn to lead. So, I’m the girl; put your hand above my waist, near my shoulder-blade,”
“But you haven’t got a waist,” James protests weakly.
“And you haven’t got much between your ears, mate. Hand. Above waist. Near the shoulder-blade.”
James submits grudgingly, grimacing at the idea of picturing his best friemd – his brother – as a girl to dance with. It probably doesn’t help that Sirius' hair as almost at his elbows now.
Sirius adjusts his stance uncomfortably, unaccustomed to not taking the lead. His left hand squirms on James’ shoulder while James’ right hand tries to find an appropriate position on Sirius’ lower back. It is only lucky that they are the same height – if a few centimetres in difference – and so their bodies are easier to navigate. James moves towards Sirius and this time the other boy follows, struggling not to dominate.
They shuffle weirdly around the room as the music hums through the walls, James too cautious in his footing and Sirius stroppy in his passive station. As Remus sets the record for a third time, they become at ease and are soon waltzing, circling about the room, avoiding socks and shoes and ties and books in the wake of their steps. Sirius starts to laugh, and then all four boys are all chuckling as they come to a stop.
“Got it?” Sirius wheezes, grinning hugely.
“I think so. I hate to admit it, but we’ll probably have to practice a bit more,” James says, smirking and fixing his glasses, which have fallen to the tip of his nose.
Sirius grunts in agreement and tugs out his long hair, remembering now how much he enjoys dancing. He is almost sorry that it's over.
The music is still playing and James leaves in a hurry to tell Lily of his new talent, dress shoes clutched in his hands to potentially do more show than tell. Peter goes to take a shower and this means Sirius and Remus are alone in their dormitory and the former is agitated and lost. He requires a distraction, but the only distraction that he feels is worthy of his attention is right in front of him, grinning and tall and beautiful.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” Remus says.
Sirius shrugs casually, his charisma like a guarded wall than actual personality. “Purebloods,” he clarifies distastefully. “We’re a disgustingly old-fashioned bunch. If you think running away from home was the most difficult thing I ever had to do, you should have seen me dance with Bellatrix."
Remus laughs, mouth pouting and then breaking into a gorgeous smile. He covers it with a hand, fingers nimble, eyes squinting at the mental image of Sirius and Bellatrix Black waltzing among their family, draped in blacks and greens and silvers. At the sight of Remus’ smile, Sirius’ stomach does things it has no right to do. He loves it. More than that, he adores knowing that he is responsible for Remus’ smile; responsible for even a fraction of his happiness.
Sirius does not even think; he does not take a second to contemplate the repercussions. He grabs Remus’ hand, moving it away from his face to reveal the smile. It lingers only for a second before it is replaced with wide-eyes and a slightly parted mouth.
“I miss dancing,” he murmurs, not looking Remus in the eye. His hand is trembling softly, fingers twitching, torn between staying and pulling away. Eventually though, Remus does pull away, and Sirius watches his feet walk toward the door.
His hand is warm where Remus’ has been. It tingles and he closes it in on itself, heart hammering. He is a fool to think that Remus can ever return his favour; ever return a love that is more than just brotherly affection. Sirius feels he could cry; cry like he is six and his father has hit him again. Cry like he is twelve and his mother mistakes him for Regulus. The back of his throat is thick with tears, bursting, aching to be released.
Sirius hears the small zip of the gramophone and he looks up at last, balling his hand into a fist to fight the tears. Remus is not looking at him, but flicking through the collection of records. Without a word, he slips one out of the box and pulls the vinyl from its cardboard sleeve, setting it on the dial precisely. It whirrs for a second, then plays. Remus kicks off his slippers and Sirius takes a deep breath, swallowing his fear and tears and letting his heart thrum at the thought of actually dancing with Remus. It's not as he imagined it, for they are awkward and out of sync and there is a strange glint in Remus’ eyes that Sirius did not think would be there.
Remus walks over slowly. Painfully slowly. They are so close now, and he reaches out to take Sirius’ hand. But they are too late, or mercifully too soon. The dormitory door bursts open and James emerges, pink-faced and seething. Sirius and Remus jump apart, their faces equally red. James thankfully does not notice, and launches into a rant about Lily’s friends and their 'lack of respect.'
“I just wanted to dance with Lily, and they just start shrieking and yelling and they pushed me down the stairs! You’d think I was trying to perv on them or something!”
Remus goes to the gramophone and takes off the vinyl, putting it back in its sleeve sadly while Sirius reluctantly assumes the position of comforting James, nodding in agreement and grabbing some ointment for the bruise beginning to fester on his forehead from where he had inevitably landed at the foot of the stairs. Sirius tries in vain to ignore the ache in his chest.
*
The Great Hall has been transformed from its warm, gloomy bricks and mortar to a sparkling cavern of frosted walls. Mistletoe and ivy criss-cross the ceiling, which reflects the starry night sky outside. Gone are the four long house tables. They are replaced with small, elegantly furnished ones, large enough to seat a dozen people each and sporting small lanterns which glow orange against the white.
The usual twelve Christmas trees are backed up against the far wall of the Great Hall. There are four trees to represent each house while the rest are decked in gold and silver, lined up like a garland of Christmas cheer and colour.
Sirius enters through the double doors with his friends, dressed smartly in black dress robes and a deep red tie, matching a paisley waistcoat. He feels odd, dressed as a Pureblood, but not required to uphold himself as one. Everyone around him is dressed in somewhat less extravagant greys and browns and he feels foolish again, overdoing it as always.
Marlene is on his arm, beaming around at everyone in the room, attentive to the bristling envy of some of the older girls.
Ahead of them Lily pulls James along, pointing to a free table towards the far right corner of the Great Hall. His hand in hers, she drags him to it before anyone has a chance to take it. Sirius and Marlene trail behind them, followed by Remus and Emmeline, Peter and Mary, and Alice and Frank.
They seat themselves at the table, chatting loudly and laughing. Sirius has no one to talk to, so he contents himself with watching Remus out the corner of his eye. His dress robes are brown tweed with a blue shirt and a golden tie. He looks warm and at ease, all browns and honey-gold’s. Sirius often wishes he could pull off earthy tones like Remus can and be a pleasant onlooker rather than appearing uptight as he does now. Remus looks ready to dance and drink the night away with a grin on his face, whereas Sirius thinks he fits all too accurately the foul description of a Pureblood. He and James both, his friend sporting dark blue, light blue, and beige. At least James has Lily, who has seen fit to wear a dazzling silver-white dress that glitters and charms as she walks and moves. Sirius thinks they make a sweet couple.
Soon, the entire school (except those below third year) are seated and students and teachers alike are browsing through the menus. James is showing Lily how they work while others are ordering, entire meals materializing on their golden plates within the blink of an eye. Sirius pushes his food around his plate moodily, his appetite lost to him. To his right, Marlene is tucking eagerly into her soup and ignoring her partner. He wishes there is someone to talk to; anything to take his mind off Remus.
They have not spoken properly since their almost-dance. The past week has consisted of lingering eye-contact; a silent longing for each other’s company and no opportunity to grasp it. They held hands under the table in Charms the other day, but James and Peter’s constant presence has its drawbacks. They are never alone, and Sirius liked the feeling of Remus’ fingers intertwined in his. It felt like home.
After dinner, everyone is nervous to approach the white dance floor. Lily is first, and she heaves a very disinclined James to his feet. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the Head Boy and Girl, other students slowly arrive on the stage, joined by the teachers as well. Sirius offers his hand to Marlene and she accepts it graciously. She is different in a dress and heels, he notices. She is ladylike and pristine, all smiles and straight posture. He leads her onto the dance floor and he can see by the amazement on her face that she was not expecting him to be such an outstanding dancer.
They dance for several songs. Sirius keeps an eye on his friends, making sure James does not trip and Peter’s laces are tied. James’ eyes are fixed firmly on Lily and he does not break in his strides and Sirius swells with pride. He fails to catch a glimpse of Remus, however, and is downhearted all throughout the last two songs. Marlene takes no heed of this, but she mercifully declines the next dance as her feet hurt. Sirius leaves her at the table to get drinks.
At the punch table he takes two glasses and begins to fill them. He feels someone approaching behind him and turns his head to see Remus leaning past him to also get two glasses. He smells of soft cologne and Sirius’ grip on the ladle tightens, inhaling it like he needs it to breathe.
“Hey,” Remus says, an easiness in his tone that Sirius is not familiar with.
“Hey,” he returns shakily. He pours the last of Marlene’s drink into the glass and hands the ladle to his friend, their fingers brushing. Remus’ hands are warm.
“You really tidy up in a suit,” he whispers into Sirius’ ear. “You look really handsome.”
Sirius burns a startling crimson and nearly drops one of the glasses.
“Thanks,” he utters, heart hammering, crying to escape. He has never met anyone who can bring down his defences so easily. Remus makes him stammer and blush and lose his nerve and Sirius doesn’t want to admit that he likes it.
He darts a glance and sees that Remus is smiling mischievously and Sirius manages a grin in return, making to leave.
But he pauses and goes back, courage restored.
“I’m still waiting on that dance, you know,” he says.
“Aren’t you going to get me a drink first?” Remus hits back.
“I just might.”
They walk leisurely back to their table where Emmeline has joined Marlene, talking and giggling animatedly. Sirius wishes it was just him and Remus at the table, but he knows there will be other occasions. And he does not wish to upset Marlene; she’s rather lovely, after all, especially without a Beater’s bat to aid her in her sarcasm.
They bring the drinks to their dates and sit down to join in the conversation. The two girls are talking about an article in Witch Weekly about the newly appointed winner of the Most Charming Smile Award and Sirius and Remus are not expected to provide any input. Though, Sirius has read the mentioned article, and thinks Remus has a better smile.
The two boys drift onto their own conversation. It is simple and safe, for they do not dare speak of dancing and holding hands. Under the table, however, their feet exchange a different banter. Sirius creeps his foot up Remus’ leg and enjoys the smile it rewards him with. Remus kicks away Sirius’ foot with his own, and they initiate a playful war, grinning and chuckling whenever they slip and kick a chair or the table.
“So, when are you getting me that drink?” Remus asks, ceasing their scuffle and boldly voicing their shared thoughts.
Sirius ponders this for a moment, and then slides his unfinished punch across the table towards Remus, smirking. Remus runs a long delicate finger around the rim of the glass, smiling down at swirl of pink. He fishes out the lonely strawberry and eats it, his eyes not leaving Sirius’. All around them students are milling about the tables, bumping chairs on their way to the dance floor, heels and shoes a flurry of clicks against the stone and the music a blaring thrum from the stage. Sirius notices none of these things.
He opens his mouth to ask Remus if he wants to leave, but over his shoulder he spots Lily and James careening towards the table, Peter and Mary hot at their heels, faces flushed and simpering. Sirius closes his mouth and leans back in his chair, assuming a slightly aloof expression. Remus understands this signal and goes to Emmeline, offering her another drink. They don't talk again for the rest of the night.
The moon is high now and the stars are laughing. Sirius wanders across the dance floor absently, wondering what has become of Remus. He disappeared twenty minutes ago and Sirius doesn’t want to admit that he feels stood up.
There are still a few stray couples on the dance floor, swaying to music that is not there. Sirius wonders if they are listening to it in their heads. Is there a synchronisation of hymns between them? He doesn’t know, but wants to.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets, departing the Great Hall with a sullen expression. The others left well before midnight, having danced and laughed without taking a breath and were now exhausted. Sirius did scarcely less; he even kissed Marlene on the cheek when she retired, though he hopes she knows he meant nothing by it. He is staying behind only to meet up with Remus again.
Withdrawn, Sirius kicks a chair on his way out.
“Leaving so soon?”
Sirius looks up from the ground of the Entrance Hall to see Remus at the bottom of the stairs, two glasses and a bottle of champagne in his hands. He smiles broadly, beckoning Sirius over. He throws the Invisibility Cloak over them and they sneak through the front doors of the castle, dodging Professor McGonagall’s watchful gaze for troublesome students.
They creep around the side of the castle towards the Black Lake, out of sight near the edge of the cliff where the castle is situated. It hasn’t yet snowed, but the lake is beginning to ice over and the wind bites at their cheeks and noses. They lay the Cloak down on the grass beneath a woeful-looking tree and pour the champagne.
“Couldn’t count on me to get you that drink?” Sirius teases, accepting the glass from Remus.
Remus pouts slightly before breaking into a small smile, sipping the champagne. “I got tired of waiting for you,” he says.
Sirius frowns gently. “I didn't know you were waiting.”
Remus only shrugs and hands Sirius his own glass. He shifts across the Cloak and leans against the tree with Sirius, taking the drink back. They rest there, fingers touching, drinking and creasing their dress robes. Their words are exchanged in soft tones, carried in the wind and across the Lake where no one can find them. Sirius just sits and listens to the sound of Remus’ voice, gentle and deep, husky from liquor and sleepiness.
After a while, they run out of things to talk about, and they run out of champagne to drink. Sirius heaves himself to his feet and pulls Remus up with him, their mouths wide grins and their cheeks pink. They dance, steady and gentle. Sirius wants to stay here, in this safe place, in the limbo between worlds and songs and right and wrong. He wants to remain this way, hands together, noses together, moving to music only they can hear. Music Remus is humming to. Sirius was right; Remus is an exceptional dancer. He suddenly realises that Remus is leading, and for the first time in his life, Sirius doesn’t mind.