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“Why are your letters with Moony always so weird?” James asks. He is peering so far over Sirius's shoulder as Sirius writes that the quill feather brushes against the tip of his nose. In the six years they've been friends Sirius has slowly acclimatized to James's encroachments. Personal space is a plural noun.
Sirius pauses; the tickling stops. “Wouldn't you be more surprised if letters between Moony and I were normal?”
“Fair point.” James goes back to pacing the bedroom impatiently. It is summer, the sky is begging for more brooms. “Why do they always have to take sooo looong?” James asks.
“Isn't Peter downstairs harassing your mum into making more shortcake? Get him to fly with you. It'll be a service to me and your mum.”
“Our mum.”
“Our mum. Though maybe I should call her mummy. That's a very Black-esque term for a mother.”
“Whatever you want.” James pats Sirius's shoulder on his way out. A casual gesture for a casual guy. James is the kind of guy who can casually share his mum with his best friend. Share his house. Share his whole life.
“I'll be out to join you guys as soon as I'm finished.”
“Ok, so in that case, we'll see you next week.”
Sirius rolls his eyes and chuckles but once James leaves and he is in the privacy of the now-empty newly-his-own bedroom he can let himself think about it: his letters with Moony were increasing in both frequency and length. He could easily lose track of time and find out hours later that twelve pages had passed. Moony had even remarked in one reply letter that, Your previous letter's length, measured out with a ruler (because, yes, I am that guy) was longer than all of your History essays in the past year at Hogwarts.
But if anyone is to blame for this rather demanding new hobby, Sirius reasons, it's Moony.
He shouldn't ask such interesting questions, or make such asinine conjectures that Sirius feels honour-bound to spend paragraphs debating. Honestly, how can he really believe that muggle magicians spend whole years perfecting something as boring as sleight-of-hand? How can he really think Superman could overpower a werewolf but Batman couldn't?
And then there were the wild ideas which only Moony could think made sense and it was up to Sirius to talk him down. Really, Moony, trying to fashion a wand with a werewolf claw as a core? And just what kind of magic would you be hoping to perform with such an instrument?
But it was the obscure personal questions which really kept Sirius writing. Maybe it was his own vanity being spurred, but he found it utterly impossible to resist writing entire dissertations when the prompts being provided were questions like: How would you visually describe the sensation of taking the first bite of a delicious food? What is a more aesthetically pleasing depiction of a sun – one with rays that radiate outwards, or just a bright circle?
What also took a lot of time were the requests for illustrations. Sometimes Moony would ask Sirius to include drawings. Sirius dabbled in drawing, and many edges of his essays were filled with patterns and scenery sketched from memory. Moony was always fascinated with Sirius's illustrations. He said it was like comic book art, only more serious. So sometimes his letters would have requests for various strange creatures or scenes: Please include a depiction of Cerberus being lulled to sleep by a self-playing harp; what would the offspring of a unicorn and a harpy look like, please illustrate your answer.
Sirius has a lot of opinions, combined with good taste and natural style. It's a fact. So, it's about time one of his friends took an active interest in exploiting the natural resource that is Sirius Black-isms. It's a shame to let such a fine mind go untapped. So he drew, and he wrote.
And if his correspondences happened to take more time than what some, more boring, people might deem normal, so be it! If Moony has to be stuck in Wales by himself all summer, then by Godric, at least he can rely on the creative genius of Sirius Orion Black to get him through until September.
* * *
But then something happened. Something huge.
There was one question that did more than demand an in-depth multi-page response. One question, did something, to Sirius.
In the letter that arrived on the 18th of August 1977 buried between Moony's commentary on the death of Elvis Presley and his droll take on the symbolism of Jupiter's largest moon being named Ganymede was the seemingly-innocuous question: what's something that makes you feel happy every time you see it?
You.
That was the automatic response that arose in Sirius's mind. The moment he read the question he heard his answer, you, Moony. Too swift to be a fabrication. Too instinctive.
Sirius prides himself on never being surprised. He is too knowledgable. Too world-weary. Too street-smart. The very definition of unflappable. But that answer surprises him. The force of it, the way it grabs him by the guts and leaves him breathless. The surprise is enough that he forces his mind into a state of open honesty and really thinks about how he feels when he looks at Moony:
I'm happy every time I see him. Even just catching a glimpse of his shoulder in a crowded hallway. I look for him in every room I enter, and feel disappointed if he's not there. It's not just happiness, either. Happy is seeing a beautiful sunset or a pretty girl's smile, but seeing Moony is something more than happiness. It's an aching peace. It's a wonderful paradox: a deep tranquility tinged with the devastating fire of anticipation. It's almost as if.... It's kind of like... It's what I would imagine, oh shit. I fucking love that boy! Madly.
It's the shortest response he's ever given to one of Moony's questions. He writes simply:
You asked what is something that makes me feel happy every time I see it: the moon.
That was honest enough. The real truth of the thing he would keep locked in the tallest tower of his well-guarded heart. At least for now. The real answer will be kept prisoner, never to see the light of day, and kept alive on rations of letters. Long letters. Ridiculously long, and increasingly teasing letters. Which were delightfully returned in equal length and with equal speed.
Sirius would feel a secret thrill when James would exclaim, “Wow, he's already written you back? Didn't you just send your response to him two days ago?”
* * *
“I still don't understand why Moony can't just come spend part of his holiday here.” James mentions again when Sirius is anxiously awaiting the Potter's owl return, having been sent on official business by Fleamont, “It would be easier for the owls, you guys are flying them ragged.”
“He can't.” Sirius says simply, even though he also isn't sure about the reasoning. He has asked Remus that same question multiple times and he is always met with evasive or enigmatic replies.
“But why?” Asks Peter. “We're wizards we can travel easily and he'd love to be here with us, the full moon has already passed.”
“Yeah but all we do is fly and swim, and Moony does neither of those activities.” James counters.
“He swims. He said he's been swimming loads this summer.” Sirius, self-appointed Remus-expert, feels the need to clarify.
“But he never swims in Black Lake at school.” Peter says and Sirius secretly feels the boy can be a bit dim at times.
“Yeah that's different. He doesn't want to take his shirt off in front of the other students. Which is such bullocks because his scars give him character. They make him look tough and exciting.” and sexy, Sirius thinks. Sirius has had many thoughts about Remus's scars during this summer. Many many thoughts, and all were exciting and sexy.
James just looks sympathetic, “Yeah, he's too self-conscious, so what if you've got a few scars!? You should still get to enjoy swimming!”
“Well, he does. In Wales, apparently.” Peter, who has never been moved to such fits of idealism seems perfectly content with Remus's amount of swimming and would appreciate getting back to the discussion of girls.
* * *
There are three distinct sounds which would, for years to come, have the power to transport Sirius right back to those last two weeks of summer holiday in 1977, they are:
1. The sound of water running over a summer-shallow creek bed. Sirius, James, and Peter spent almost every day down at the creek on the edge of Potter's estate cooling off. They strung up fairy lights and hammocks among the trees that lined the creek. Most days James reads Quidditch weekly, while Peter ogles a few girlie mags (or writes to sketchy “penpals” from advertisements in the back of said magazines, always having to include a few sickles or knuts for “owl feed”), and Sirius writes to Moony, or brings a selection of his favourite Moony letters to re-read.
2. The song Don't Go Breaking my Heart, by Elton John. Sirius was not the only one with a penchant for muggle music and this song was a particular favourite of Euphemia during that time. She was always humming it under her breath. In some subtle act of alchemy it was hearing that which transformed her from a mother-figure to his genuine mum. He adores her. And because of that, he would always adore that song.
3. The sound of two pecks and a scratch. This is the signature delivery sound of the Lupin family owl, Twm. Remus once wrote him that the owl's full name is Twm Sion Cati, and when he had asked what the poor owl did to deserve such a thoroughly un-pronounceable name, he was told it was the name of a legendary Welsh Robin-hood figure. Since then, Sirius calls the owl Robin. Robin recognizes his Sirius-given name; Sirius recognizes the two pecks and scratch and has an uncanny ability to hear it against the window from any room of the house, and will come running immediately. Because he is part dog, it is all rather Pavlovian, but thankfully he does not salivate, instead his heart beats more quickly and he blushes. Two pecks, scratch, blush, and stammer.
* * *
If James or Peter find the letter writing between Sirius and Remus excessive, they keep it to themselves. Sirius knew his secret was safe. It was hiding in plain sight. Because, while Sirius and James are certifiable Best Mates, Remus and Sirius are close in a different, rather esoteric way that the other Marauders all know and accept.
The thing is, even before the summer began there was an increased closeness between the two boys and it was generally determined that it was due to Sirius's animagus form. Sirius and Remus relate not only as fellow Gryfffindors, dorm mates, and Marauders, but also now as canines. As pack. So if they tend to spend long hours side by side on the couch when multiple other seats are available, or if they disappear at parties to smoke cigarettes outside by themselves, or follow each other into the bathroom to continue conversations, well, these things are all just the “quirks of dog-hood”, as James calls it.
Sirius knows it's more than that. He is now honest with himself. He came to a point in the summer, after his initial shock on August 18th, when he realized that actually he has harboured these feelings for Remus for many months, possibly even years, already. The problem, as Sirius sees it, is that now that the genie is out of the bottle he's not sure his impulsiveness can sit back and let nature take it's course. Nature, after all, causes floods and hail storms, the decimation of indigenous species, and other untold miseries. He can't leave his tender heart in such cruel hands. He's a man of action, after all. But what to do?
* * *
Sirius has a mini-panic the day before heading back to Hogwarts. Maybe it will be awkward in person? Maybe their newfound closeness is an Olm and it can only survive in the caves of curled parchment? Maybe this season of fevered letter writing is just a platonic summer-fling, something bred of boredom and heat-adled hormones, and back at Hogwarts they will act as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Remus is shy, after all. Sirius swoons to remember Remus's pink cheeks and the way he tugs his sleeves when embarrassed.
And the most terrifying thought of all: what if Remus doesn't like Sirius back? What if he only ever likes him, but never likes him? These thoughts are too much, too painful, and whenever Sirius feels himself spiral into this dreaded territory, he pulls out the letters from Moony with the most persuasive clues and re-reads the evidence. Maybe, the hopeful little part of him thinks, just maybe.
* * *
The worst is being so close and yet so far.
On the Hogwarts express Remus has to go to the Prefect carriage and Sirius feels this is a personal affront to their friendship.
James and Peter can't quite understand what has triggered Sirius's stormy mood. They know he had been excited to return to Hogwarts. And what makes it all the more frustrating is that Sirius knows it doesn't make sense to say that Remus should sit with them because they have a lot to catch up on, because they have nothing to catch up on. They are fully caught-up. They have talked more this past summer than all the past six years combined.
But it hurts. And what little he did see of Remus only served to confirm that Sirius is, in fact, utterly and desperately crazy about him.
So while Peter and James play games and annoyingly get the lyrics wrong to songs they sing out of tune, Sirius pretends to be taking a nap, and compiles a mental list of all the ways Remus has changed over the summer: for starters, he is slightly taller, just an inch, but enough for Sirius to have noticed it right away; he also has an adorable tan, which must be from the Welsh swimming; his curled hair is slightly longer, and sun bleached; and Sirius couldn't entirely be sure, and maybe it is only wishful thinking, but he thought he saw something of a twinkle in Remus's eye, the kind he gets when he is keeping a fun secret, or planning an epic prank. But maybe, and this is all wild theorizing with no basis to make any expectations, but just maybe it is also the twinkle of being in love. With a boy. With his best friend. It's a fucking gorgeous twinkle.
Sirius sighs so loudly that James elbows him, thinking it is a bad dream. It's not. It's a good dream.
* * *
They sit beside each other at the feast, but there are so many people asking so many questions, and so much conversation happening that aside from a few furtive glances and their knees pleasantly knocking into one another it is pretty much the same as every other meal at Hogwarts.
That night Remus has to go on his prefect patrolling. And then when he finally returns it is the girls who keep him in the common room and give him endless stupid updates about their summers and their crushes and their haircuts and—Sirius doesn't even know what! Eventually Sirius leaves in a huff and is so agitated that he pretends to be sleeping when Remus—finally—comes into the dormitory.
“Padfoot?” Remus's velvety smooth voice rolls over Sirius, doing funny things to his stomach. He is on the point of pretending to “wake up” when he feels the lightest touch against his forehead as Remus smooths his hair back and whispers “G'Night, Padfoot,” in an impossibly soft voice.
He dies. He had a body once, but it has now dissolved into sugar crystals and dandelion cotton. He is weightless and sure that if the wind blew hard enough he would scatter and children would giggle to collect him, he might even be able to grant wishes. The curtain softly closes and he listens to Remus readying himself for bed and complaining to James and Peter about how early Padfoot goes to sleep. He falls asleep smiling.
* * *
“Wake up, sleepy head.” Remus is pushing against Sirius's shoulder. “Why'd you go to sleep so early, anyway?”
“Hummph.” Sirius pulls the covers higher up over his head. He is actually wide awake, but he really likes the feel of Remus pushing his shoulder and nudging up against him.
“Come on, Padfoot. Let's go to the Lake.”
“The Lake?” Sirius makes more of an effort to sit up now. “Why'd you want to go there?”
“I thought we could go for a swim before breakfast. James and Peter have already gone and I said we'd meet 'em down there. But we have to hurry, I don't want to miss breakfast, you know how hungry I get.”
“You? Want to go swimming?” but Remus is already sauntering off, getting alarmingly further and further away. So Sirius quickly throws on some swimming shorts and a faded t-shirt. Maybe that's why he's in such a rush, muses Sirius, maybe he's checked the map and no one is there right now. Maybe before breakfast the Lake is empty. Weird though, he's never cared to swim here at Hogwarts before.
* * *
On their walk down to the lake Remus tells him a bit about his favourite place to swim back home, the abandoned slate quarry. It is all stuff Sirius remembers from his letters, but then Remus says he'd like to take Sirius there sometime and that he's sure Sirius would be able to jump into the water from the highest ledge, a place he has measured and deemed safe enough but still not attempted. He says he has stood on the edge and looked down but then lost his nerve and climbed back down instead of jumping.
Sirius doesn't believe this. Remus is the bravest person he knows. He has watched Remus rip himself open and howl at the moon in fits of wild abandon. The thought of him on an edge he would not jump from is a cute story, and makes Sirius want to grab him around the waist and pull him into a kiss. But Sirius is too scared. Because Sirius, unlike whatever Remus may think, does not jump off cliffs. Even when the water below looks like perfection, with golden curls and the faintest freckles.
It is a warm morning and the blue sky reflects off the surface of the Lake. There are at least a dozen other students. Some laying out on blankets, some sitting in groups chatting, and quite a few in the water—including Peter and James who are taking turns racing each other short distances, which really means showing off their swimming prowess to whichever girls happen to be nearby—giggling Ravenclaws apparently.
Sirius was so busy being distracted by Remus's easy movements walking through the castle that it is only now that he realizes Remus brought a towel. A towel!? As if to swim. And he tosses it casually on the ground and kicks off his shoes. Sirius does the same eyeing this strange Remus-imposter. James and Peter have caught sight of them now and are waving at them, beckoning them to come in and join.
“The water's warm!” Peter shouts.
“Yeah, yeah, we're coming.” Remus shouts back.
And then, like a scene in a Hollywood movie, Remus takes the bottom of his long sleeve sweater—because he's Remus and he never, no matter how hot, doesn't wear a sweater—and actually begins to pull it up and over his head.
Sirius's jaw literally drops.
Remus stands there now topless, his body covered in glorious tattoos. His chest and shoulders, down his arms. The shapes and dark ink all blend together and it is balanced and it fits his body better than a sweater and the scars have blended into the tattoos and disappeared among the different pictures which somehow come together to create one fluid piece that perfectly reflects Remus.
One of the Ravenclaw girls is the first to break the silence, loudly swearing. Then someone else on the beach wolf-whistles. James starts yelling, “Holy fucking Merlin! You bastard, you didn't even tell us.” But Remus, smug wonderful werwolf that he is, just turns and looks directly at Sirius.
Sirius feels his brain stop working. There is only a hard pressing heat replacing all cognitive processing. Thankfully he is still holding his towel and it covers what's happening in his swim trunks.
“Do you like it?” Remus asks shyly. As if it isn't the single most perfect thing Sirius has ever seen. As if he doesn't know he has become the actual embodiment of sexual fantasy, rock-n-roll incarnate. Godric, fuck, this boy is really gonna kill me, Sirius thinks, when thinking finally resumes.
Sirius just nods dumbly and when Remus runs off towards the water, Sirius follows. James and Peter are swimming over to Remus. James punches his shoulder and Peter looks at him like he he has once again flipped the tables on whatever they thought they knew about him—which seems to happen at regular intervals where the young werewolf is concerned.
“Bloody brilliant.” Peter says and Sirius is actually jealous he said that because it's exactly what he was thinking to say, his mind slow to process much beside an intense desire to run his hands over all the patterns and shapes.
Remus just shrugs, “Had to do something so I can finally swim with you guys. I'd rather be the guy covered in tattoos than the guy covered in scars or the guy who swims in a sweater." He laughs. He is fucking beautiful when he laughs.
“I love that you put a Marauders banner across your chest.” James says, looking impressed. “Maybe we should all get it?” He looks down at his own chest which suddenly looks dismally empty.
“Yeah, that word covers the scar I got in second year. And I had to represent my boys,” Remus smirks, pointing out the dog, stag, and rat on his upper left shoulder, beautifully rendered and covering two other scars he's had since before coming to Hogwarts.
Now that the shock has worn off Sirius is getting a good look at Remus's body. And Sirius recognizes everything. It is all the illustrations he sent to Remus. And even just the descriptions he sent. What he pictures when he closes his eyes at night. What he sees when he eats delicious foods. All of it has found some space on Remus. And underneath the word Marauders, in the center of his chest is the moon. It's full. The thing that makes Sirius happy every time he looks at it.
Sirius still hasn't said much, he's too dazed. And suddenly he thinks he might start crying, which is weird because he hasn't cried since third year, not since the night Remus ripped himself up proper and Sirius found him the next morning in the hospital wing. That was the morning that Sirius vowed to become an animagus.
Remus looks at him, eyes searching, wondering if Sirius sees all his own artwork and answers to the questions he has asked him that summer. Sirius smiles at him, hoping to convey everything he can't find words for, hoping he won't actually cry.
“What does that one say?” Peter is pointing to the words that start over Remus's heart and continue onto his side.
“Haf o gant o lythyrau. That's Welsh.”
But before explaining what it actually means, and before Peter could think to ask, Remus dives under the water and grabs Peter's legs and throws Peter backwards. Sirius forgets how strong Remus is until he sees things like that. And then all three of them are trying to tackle Remus and tackle each other and they are declaring water wars and jumping off of each other's shoulders. The whole time they are being stared at by basically everybody at the beach, as the Marauders often are, although now Sirius can't help but notice every single girl can't take their eyes off Remus, and quite a few of the guys too. Remus stands out. Instead of scars, he is all art. He is set apart, made better. Someone whose name you might whisper when laying the first stone to build a palace.
Eventually they tire themselves out and it's decided to go back to the castle for breakfast. “It might be late, but we could stop at the kitchens for sandwiches.” Peter suggests.
Once they're dry and clothed again James and Peter start walking up the path but Remus grabs Sirius's wrist and whispers, “Will you take a walk with me?” Sirius nods and Remus calls out, “We'll meet up with you guys in a bit.” James just shrugs and Peter nods.
Sirius looks at Remus. Remus looks at the students on the beach, still eyeing the two Marauders with interest. Sirius says, “Let's go out towards the forest path.” They both know the one he means and begin walking. The path is always empty because it looks like it will enter the forest but instead, at the last minute, it veers off and there's a bench you can't see from the other paths that looks over the Quidditch field.
Sitting on the bench Sirius is the first to speak, grinning at Remus. “You really can't stand to let a year go by without another big surprise for us can you?”
“There haven't been any surprises since fourth year when you guys found out about Greyback and my dad.” Remus says innocently.
Sirius snorts, “Not true! Last summer you came out to us.” He is blushing when he says it.
Remus rolls his eyes, “Oh come on, that was hardly a surprise. I'm pretty sure you could all tell I was gay since the Hogwarts express first year.”
Sirius braces himself. He thinks of Remus and of how brave he's always been and he lets the words find their way out of his mouth even though he's fucking terrified. “Could you tell I was? From that first train ride? Can you tell now?”
Remus looks at him. His eyes are twinkling and it's so distracting Sirius almost can't think straight and he's pretty sure it's the first time he's ever acknowledged this to anybody. And he wants it to be Remus who hears it. And he wants Remus.
Remus just shakes his head. “No.” he says, his face impassive, “I couldn't tell. Are you?”
Sirius just nods and bites his lip.
Remus exhales slowly. “Ok,” he says, “that makes this part a little easier.” He takes off his shirt again and Sirius is having a hard time to breathe steady. Remus now points to the Welsh writing Peter had asked about. “I wanted to tell you what this one is. It's the most special to me.” Remus says and Sirius can see he is almost shaking. Sirius reaches out and traces the writing with his finger tips, then lays his hand against Remus's heart. Remus closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, he looks like he is either in ecstasy or being tortured, or both.
“What does it say?” Sirius breathes.
Remus takes a deep breath, “It says, summer of a hundred letters. Do you know we exchanged exactly one hundred letters between the two of us?”
Sirius shakes his head but his eyes are wide, his hand still pressed to Remus's heart.
“I was panicked you might send one last one, but I didn't think so. I had told you I'd be leaving early in my last letter.” Remus is rambling now. Sirius moves his hand from Remus's chest up to his cheek. Remus inhales sharply.
“Kiss me.” Sirius whispers while leaning forward. I jumped, he is thinking. From the highest ledge.
Remus gently takes Sirius's face between his own hands and places his lips on Sirius. It is tender, it is divine. It deepens and Sirius, while they are still kissing, moves forward and Remus grabs his hips and pulls him onto his lap. Their lips find one hundred different angles of pleasure with which to connect. Their breath intermingles and their hands get lost on pilgrimage to the holy sites of each others bodies.
Remus kisses like the world is still a good place; despite wars and werewolf bites and vicious parents. He kisses like Sirius is a treasure and he can't believe his fortune. And Sirius kisses him back with all the longing of years spent slowly sitting closer and closer beside each other, hoping others won't notice or care, because they can't not. Because no force could keep them apart. Because it's just simple physics that this is happening, that they would kiss and hold each other on the edge of the forest and whisper the secrets of their affections and drink in each other's declarations.
All of this was written in the stars, as it is now tattooed on Remus's skin, held under Sirius's hand.