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It began, as so many of the Marauders’ misadventures did, with a heartfelt sigh and declaration of boredom from one Sirius Black. The four Gryffindors had sprawled out in front of the common room fire intending to study, though Sirius had long since abandoned that mission and Remus, fresh off a full moon, had already fallen asleep in his chair. James, eager to alleviate his friend’s suffering but also knackered from quidditch, suspended work on his Potions essay to half-heartedly contemplate their predicament.
When no solutions were forthcoming (where was Snivellus when you needed him?) James absentmindedly balled up a piece of parchment and flicked it at Remus’s sleeping form. It met his nose with a soft but satisfying crunch. James insisted he wasn’t aiming for Remus’s face, but no one believed him. Sirius’s lips twitched and his eyes flashed with mischievous glee when Remus didn’t so much as flinch and he immediately began crumbling up another piece of parchment which, unfortunately, had the introduction to Peter’s Care of Magical Creatures essay on it. But sacrifices were necessary in the name of sport.
At first, the rules were simple: they’d take turns, the ball needed to make contact with Remus, and whoever woke him lost. Then, after Pete threw a wad the size of his pinkie nail, regulations for the size of the paper wad were added. When Remus refused to be woken some twenty minutes later, a scoring system was implemented awarding points based on where the paper wad made contact (high-point targets included eyelids and inner ear). Bonus points were awarded if Remus flinched or twitched as a result of a hit. When one of Peter’s shots caused no flinch, but Remus shifted fussily a few seconds later, there was a great debate over those bonus points. Said debate got a tad yell-y which, ironically, woke Remus.
Fortunately, Remus had a knack for falling asleep frequently and in odd places. The Parchment Ball Challenge was renewed the next day during the last half hour of History of Magic. Professor Binns was either oblivious or just grateful not to have wads of paper aimed as his own spectral head for once so he let it slide.
But try as they might, the Marauders could not wake Remus. The game entered its third round that evening in the common room. There were so many piles of crumpled up parchment littered over Remus’s prone form that it looked like a blizzard had passed over the couch. Still, Remus hadn’t so much as stirred.
Then Lily Evans swanned through the common room throwing a comment about environmentalism over her shoulder (“Why not just set the Forbidden Forest on fire if you hate trees so much?”) which made James frown guiltily. Thus, the game evolved.
The new objective: stack various objects on Remus. After an argument over the new game’s name that had to be tabled (Sirius wouldn’t accept anything except Stack Attack), James started with a pillow, which made an excellent base. Peter, also thinking long-term, added another pillow. Sirius, feeling obnoxious, added a quill nib down so it stuck out of the pillow like a feather in a cap, and was called various names until he agreed not to be such a coward (and the others agreed to be less boring). No repeating objects became the compromise and soon Remus was covered in a myriad of items including a scroll, a shoe, a wizard’s chess bishop, and loosely capped inkwells of various colours (the added element of risk made the repetition admissible). The inkwells were, predictably, an error in judgment. Remus shifted, the entire tower of miscellaneous objects fell, one of the wells collided with Remus’s temple, and green ink spilt onto his hair. He awoke, unamused.
At one point per object, the man to beat was James with seven points.
They had another opportunity to compete the next day at dinner. Remus was mostly sitting up, his elbow on the table and his chin propped on his fist, which was a thrilling challenge.
Ultimately, McGonagall cottoned on (either she heard the half-whispered argument that ensued when Pete levitated a single pea onto Remus’s shoulder or caught sight of the rolls of bread stacked precariously on his head like the Tower of Pisa) and threatened to deduct points if they didn’t stop playing with their food. While McGonagall didn’t yell so much as speak sharply, Remus jerked awake at the reprimand. One of the rolls on his head bounced into the gravy boat, splattering all four of them with sauce.
Peter won the round with a measly high score of four (the pea was not counted) and James retained his title of tournament champion.
By the time of the next round, they’d agreed on a scoring rubric for the items to be stacked upon Remus. Objects the size or weight of a quill would only be worth a half-point, while larger and heavier objects would be worth more. Bonus points for creativity or danger.
Remus was comatose on the common room couch, sprawled on his back. Sirius was watching firelight flutter across Remus’s hair, bringing out thin streaks of gold, when Peter kicked off the game. He placed a pillow on the side of Remus’s tilted face (a good base with the added benefit of muffling noisy debates regarding the scoring system). James then stacked a book on the pillow. Sirius huffed in displeasure; these were fairly boring objects worth only a point each (also they covered Remus’s face).
Flipping his dark hair over his shoulder, Sirius drew his wand. He levitated a candelabra, whose flames Evans extinguished with a horrified flick of her wand before returning to her game of chess, onto the book. Three points (would have been four without Evans’s interference).
Pete added a (tightly capped) inkwell next to the candelabra. James rolled up a wall tapestry and, after a quick debate over if it was worth one point or two, laid it across Remus’s feet.
“How many points would I be worth?” Sirius asked with a devilish grin.
Peter and James met his grin with wolfish ones of their own.
“Seven points?” Peter suggested and Sirius made a face.
“Nah, Padfoot had a big dinner. Eight.”
“Sold,” Sirius said, nodding at James before turning his appraising gaze to Remus.
The objects they’d added so far were on Remus’s face or feet, which left plenty of real estate for Sirius to distribute his weight, which would be key. Cautiously, Sirius moved Remus’s arm that was draped over his stomach to his side. When Remus didn’t stir, Sirius climbed onto the couch, balancing over Remus on his hands and feet like a cosy game of twister. Slowly, he lowered himself down so his head was on the junction of Remus’s chest and shoulder and his legs bracketing one of Remus’s. It was at the moment Sirius’s chest was flush against Remus’s that he realized this may have been a mistake.
Remus slept on, James and Peter clamped hands over their mouths to stifle their snickering, and Sirius tried valiantly to school his expression into one of a person not unduly pleased to be lying on his friend.
The game continued, with James and Peter now determined to catch up to Sirius and Sirius determined to not sigh after each inhale of Remus’s scent (hazelnut and ink, the latter, ostensibly, from that time they spilt ink on him).
Peter immobilized a first year’s pet toad, Buffy, and put it on Remus’s feet. Two points. James summoned his broomstick from the dorm. Three points. Staying put, Sirius levitated a crystal ball and added it to the growing pile at Remus’s feet. Two points. Peter added a plant from the windowsill. Two points.
Sirius listened to the hypnotic thump of Remus’s heart and when Pete and James weren’t looking nuzzled his head against Remus’s jumper.
As James carefully balanced last year’s quidditch trophy on Sirius’s back (four points), Remus exhaled a soft huff and shifted his head.
They all froze, staring at Remus with wide eyes. The tower of objects balancing on the pillow on his head lurched but by some miracle didn’t collapse. After several tense breaths, James slowly released the trophy and stepped back.
The air thick with suspense, Sirius summoned a cushion and dropped it on the back of his legs. One point.
Peter announced he thought of something but he’d need to leave the common room to acquire it. It was after hours, so James summoned his invisibility cloak and together they slipped through the portrait hole, leaving Sirius sprawled across Remus pretending it was a completely normal thing for him to be doing.
Fortunately, it was late and the few Gryffindors remaining in the common room were too engrossed in their own activities to ask questions.
Well, all except one.
“Why’re you on top of me?”
Sirius started, nearly toppling the trophy balancing on his back. Remus kept still. His voice was scratchy with sleep.
“How long have you been awake?” Sirius wasn’t sure why he was whispering.
“Few minutes,” Remus murmured.
“I’m worth eight points,” he explained.
“Mmph.”
“You smell nice,” Sirius whispered, the compliment tumbling from his mouth without permission from his brain.
Remus’s eyes were obscured by the pillow but Sirius could see his lips twitch. “You’re welcome.”
“I complimented you, Moony.”
“Mm, but you’re the one enjoying my nice smellingness.”
“That’s not a word.”
“Am I comfortable, too?”
“Very.”
Remus chuckled and the slight movement of his chest sent a tingle of electricity up Sirius’s spine.
“Stop that! If you knock anything over, they’ll know you woke up and I lose.”
“I thought you were winning, Mr Eight Points.”
“I am but I added the last object so if you wake up now, I’m disqualified. I need this, Moony, I can knock James off the leaderboard.”
“So, you’re asking me to pretend I’m still asleep until the next person plays?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I?”
Sirius nuzzled his head against the soft dip under Remus’s clavicle. “More time to cuddle with me?”
Sirius intended for it to come out as a joke, but the sincerity in his voice was obvious even to him.
Remus didn’t have a chance to respond, because Peter and James were climbing back through the portrait hole holding a shield and sword that appeared to belong to one of the suits of armour on the fourth floor.
“Alright, Padfoot?” James asked.
Sirius nodded, his eyes on the line of Remus’s jaw.
Remus didn’t announce his newly conscious state. Peter gingerly laid the sword across Sirius’s back and backed away slowly. Four points.
Remus still didn’t ‘wake up’. Instead, he subtly shifted his hand rested between Sirius and the back of the couch so his thumb could slip under the hem of Sirius’s jumper. Goosebumps erupted on Sirius’s side where Remus’s thumb skimmed lazily back and forth just above his hipbone.
James laid the shield across Sirius’s backside. Four points. (“Ooh Prongs, you tied Sirius.”)
Sirius was having a difficult time focusing but managed to summon a knitted hat from across the room and place it on his own head. A paltry half-point.
Peter added a goblet and Remus kept caressing Sirius’s side.
James levitated a rather heavy bronze statue of a griffin off one of the bookshelves. He gently lowered it onto the cushion on Sirius’s legs with the steady hand of a muggle heart surgeon. Four points.
James’s smirk fell away as Remus grumbled, “The fuck?”
Remus sat up rather theatrically, knocking the tower of things off his head and Sirius onto the ground. The sword and shield clattered together loudly and the griffin somehow managed to land on top of Sirius’s knee, causing his leg to jerk reflexively, sending the crystal ball into the fireplace where it exploded. Loudly.
“I win!” Sirius shouted, ignoring the aghast expressions on the faces of the other common room inhabitants. He leapt to his feet, bowing as if he were on a stage and the audience was showering him with roses. He glanced at Remus, whose face was flushed, probably from being smothered for so long by several pillows and another person.
James buried his head in his hands in defeat while Peter applauded Sirius before flicking his wand to release Buffy the toad from her stupefied state. Peter was always sensitive to the needs of small animals.
“Should we return the medieval weapons?” Pete asked James who shook his head glumly.
“What’d they need them for? Defending the castle? Psh, I’m going to go cry myself to sleep.” James started up the stairs with the exaggerated slowness of a child on their way to time-out.
Peter stared wide-eyed at the mess for a moment, no doubt imagining McGonagall’s wrath if she found they’d robbed a Hogwarts knight. He then grabbed the sword and shield, staggering a bit under their weight, and slipped out of the portrait hole.
Sirius glanced around the room and noticed the last Gryffindor stragglers had left during the raucous conclusion of their game. He and Remus were alone.
“So,” Sirius said, inanely.
“So.” Remus was eyeing the mess of clutter at their feet and rubbing the back of his neck. “You going to put all this all back?”
“Nah, winners don’t clean up.”
Remus kept his eyes on the mess while Sirius kept his eyes on him, noticing how the pillow had pressed his tawny hair into odd angles and now several curls were determined to cover his left eye. His face was still flushed which Sirius decided was sufficient evidence to do something rash.
His fingers threaded into the soft hair at the nape of Remus’s neck as he turned his face up to meet Sirius’s. Remus’s lips parted to exhale a softly surprised “oh” that Sirius felt against his lips in the instant before they met Remus’s.
Remus’s lips were soft and tasted like smoke from the fire. It took him several terribly long seconds to kiss Sirius back, but when he did unbearable happiness shuddered through Sirius’s sternum.
Sirius wanted to kiss him in a slow, seductive sort of way that would ensure Remus fell quickly and resolutely in love with him. However, Sirius never had much self-control when emotions were high. His lips moved impatiently against Remus’s and the fingers in his hair twitched as he stepped closer. His tongue pressed unabashedly into Remus’s mouth, drawing a soft sound from Remus that launched Sirius more fully into his frenzy.
A garbled sort of squawk from across the room caused Remus to wrench back. Sirius reluctantly turned his head to see James standing on the second step to the dorms, his mouth open and eyes wide.
The three of them stood there stock-still. Sirius’s eyes darted back to Remus, whose hair was mussed and cheeks were pink but his face was the impassive mask he instinctively donned in moments of stress. It was the face that convinced McGonagall that Remus Lupin had nothing to do with the toilets singing profanity-ridden sea shanties, no certainly not.
James gaped for a few more seconds before he stiffened and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. A chill ran through Sirius as if someone had opened a window.
“Moony,” James said accusingly, “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Remus blinked.
“It’s just awfully suspicious that I, the reigning champion, was thwarted when I’m about to retake the lead. And then,” James waves his hand at the two of them, “this happens.”
Remus must have been rendered mute from the experience of having Sirius’s tongue in his mouth because he didn’t respond.
“I have to ask,” James continued with a long-suffering sigh. “Was the integrity of the game compromised?”
Remus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Er… might’ve been.”
Sirius gasped in betrayal as James punched the air.
“Yes! Padfoot’s disqualified. Still top of the leaderboard!”
Sirius crossed his arms and scowled petulantly at Remus. “Traitor,” he grumbled.
James crossed his arms over his chest, smiling proudly. “So, what’s going on here? You two boyfriends now?”
Remus made a weird gulping sound and Sirius rolled his eyes.
“Prongs, could you give us a minute?”
James nodded magnanimously and stood there another moment until Sirius widened his eyes at him meaningfully.
“Oh! Alone, yeah sure,” James said and bounded up the steps to the dorm.
Sirius turned back to Remus, his brain whirring as he tried to summon the words that would convince Remus to be exactly what James had guilelessly suggested. But Remus’s lips were red from their kiss and Sirius couldn’t think of a single syllable. So, instead, he stepped forward and kissed him again.
Peter’s reaction was more of a squeak than a squawk followed by the slap of his hand over his eyes. Peter clumsily felt his way towards the dormitory, accidentally starting up the girls’ dormitory steps before they transformed into a slide and he toppled to the floor. He crawled like a three-legged dog (one hand still over his eyes) as he felt his way to the correct staircase and scrambled up it, helpfully calling “Prongs’ll think you cheated!” over his shoulder. Presumably referring to the game but also maybe Sirius and James’s undying platonic (they insisted) devotion to one another.
Sirius and Remus hardly noticed.