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Sirius loved the steady warmth of his wand in his hand, loved the dangerous whizz of a bludger narrowly missing his chest, loved the chaotic spread of food and raucous laughter of the great hall. He held stinkbombs in gently cradled hands, fingers delicately skimming the surface, eyes alight with mischief and anticipation.
When the marauders planned to overtake the Slytherin common room with Devil’s snare, Sirius rolled the seeds over in his smooth, pale palm, admiring the shiny ruby-red seeds that held such potential. He tossed handfuls of the seeds about the room, pretending to be a flower girl at a wedding, while Remus smiled to himself at the raven-haired boy’s antics. Remus meticulously spaced out the seeds evenly around the perimeter, wanting to ensure the success of their prank, and basked in the effervescent glow Sirius emitted on their late night adventures.
Sirius’ eyes shined like reflective pools of silver when a Hogsmeade weekend was announced, clutching his permission slip close to his chest with delight.
Sirius looked at the world, like he was falling in love for the first time.
That was how things were - Sirius looking at the world, and Remus looking at Sirius.
He spoke about Hogwarts like he was in the honeymoon stage - everything was mysterious, exciting, and each nook and cranny was worthy of special attention.
“James, this is the very corridor we first tripped Filch using the invisible wire charm. Of course it’s important!” An easy grin spread across his face at any reminder of his beloved Hogwarts.
Remus was falling too - not for corridors or sorting ceremonies or broom closets, but for dark curly hair that was as soft as a lamb, and knowing silver eyes that met his during a joke, and slender fingers that poured water into Remus’ mouth the morning after a full moon.
The scar on Sirius’ knee, earned after a long snowball fight followed by sledding straight into a tree. The way he stuck his tongue out childishly at James when irritated. The soft pink lips that twisted in concern when Remus was hurt.
Sirius had clutched his Gryffindor cloak and slept with it all night the first couple of nights they spent in the castle. Maybe to remind himself if he found himself in a nightmare that when he woke up, he was still a Gryffindor, still at Hogwarts, still safe, still a marauder.
Sirius’ eagerness to attach himself to the comfort of Hogwarts was familiar to Remus. He saw it in himself, when he would write piles of unsent letters to Sirius over the summer, or when his fingers itched to hold Sirius’ hand for comfort as the moon slowly swelled larger in the night sky.
And when Sirius laughed, head tossed back and his frame shaking mirth, it felt like gravity. Like Remus was being pulled into his orbit, chaotic and lovely and bright.
There wasn’t a part of Sirius that Remus felt done learning about, or felt done adoring. The way he sat primly in the library, remnants of long sessions with an etiquette coach, the way he hiccuped and leaned on Remus’ shoulder when tipsy.
And in moments of despair, it was memories of their loves that sustained them. Sirius would screw his eyes shut as his mother struck him in the back of his heels, and imagine he was curled up on a red overstuffed couch in the common room, the thick scent of hot chocolate in the air, the fire crackling, and Remus’ sweater pulled over his head. When the moon approached fullness and Remus’ hip ached fiercely, when he lay alone and naked and cold on a basement floor, waiting for inescapable pain to erupt, he thought of his love. He thought of Sirius, reading a textbook aloud. Sprinting through the halls with a mixture of panic and elation on his face as he and Remus were pursued by a prefect. Of Sirius curling his fingers around Remus’ wrist and pulling him into a storage closet, his chest heaving with strain and his grin infectious. The feeling of being pulled towards something breathless, glowing, alive. This is what kept Remus sane.
Sirius’ adoration of his home was evident - the exuberance with which he greeted each Great Hall dinner, and each quidditch scrimmage. The way he spoke about the moving staircases that had no rhyme or reason and never apologized for it. He strutted down halls like the castle was built years ago and had been waiting here for him all this time. Sirius looked at his school like it was full of secrets and like he had time to solve all of them.
And anyone with any reasoning skills would see Remus’ adoration laid bare as well. The way Remus rolled his eyes fondly when Sirius would shove his freezing feet under Remus’ thighs when they sat next to each other on his bed. The way Remus knew Sirius got cold and would slyly cast extra heating charms on his hot chocolate on frosty mornings. Even the way Remus could anticipate one of Sirius’ surly moods and would steer the boy towards relaxing and listening to his favorite Bowie record until he felt calmer. Sirius had a sadness from a deeper place than he let on, and Remus would spend any time necessary to soothe him.
There were some days when Remus wouldn’t speak, couldn’t open his mouth for fear the truth might pour out - aching and bright and full of Sirius. Fear he might whisper an “I love you”, or press a kiss to those raven locks when Sirius fell asleep in the library instead of just tucking the his cardigan over the boy’s sleeping form and walking away.
Remus knew why he was named that - Sirius, the brightest star. A celestial being burning too hot and fast, pulling Remus into its orbit. And when the nights stretched on, the castle slept, and sky seemed endless and cold, Remus would trace his star with his eyes, and pretend it was enough. His star was dazzling, warm, and never quite close enough to touch.