Work Text:
It’s Sirius’ seventeenth birthday today. He’s an adult now; a man.
It’s a day he’s been looking forward to, talking about, endlessly, for weeks, if not months, if not years.
‘You’ll see, Moony, when I’m seventeen, we’ll go shopping for a motorbike, and a flat, and a watch, and a puppy, and a -’
‘Just imagine, Pookie, when I’m finally an adult, I’ll be able to buy up all the liquor Rosmerta is currently rudely refusing to sell to me. We’ll get good and drunk, well and properly smashed, and then maybe you’ll finally let me snog you while everyone is watching.’
‘Have you heard, Moons? I’m going to be of age soon, and I’ll take you out for a real fancy meal in a real fancy French bistro, none of that cheap chip shop stuff you so rudely prefer; we’ll eat snails and frog bums and you’re going to love it.’
It’s not always easy, being Sirius Black’s boyfriend – one has to listen to a lot of fictional scenarios and imagined futures, many of them involving Sirius’ inflated sense of his own greatness, class and style.
Remus loves it so much.
But he’s especially excited for Sirius today, because the future he’s heard about most has nothing to do with Sirius’ ego at all. It’s the one he’ll only bring up late at night, only when they’re spooning, never when they’re facing each other. It’s the one he’ll talk about when Remus’ fingers are slowly running through his hair, when soft kisses are planted down the side of his neck, as he’s looking out the window at the starry, starry night sky. The sky Remus prefers not to look at, at all, the moon always taunting him, tick-tock.
It’s in those moments, that Sirius will sigh:
‘Just you wait, Remus, when I’m seventeen, I’ll finally be rid of them once and for all.’
Since his parents had never officially disowned him, they had been like a claw hanging over him, a sword threatening to strike, unexpectedly, at any moment.
But this is it. This is it. Today, now, in this moment, it’s finally, actually, Sirius’ birthday.
And he seems grumpy. Off. No, worse. When Remus tries to surprise him, very early in the morning, with a bit of birthday cake he stole from the kitchen himself (what do you want him to do, that’s as close as you can get to making it yourself at Hogwarts), he’s shocked to find Sirius both:
- Already awake, and;
- Seemingly sad and shaken.
He’s sat on the windowsill in the dorm, the sun rising ever so slowly, tinging his long black hair with an otherworldly red hue.
‘Sirius?’ Remus whispers hesitantly as he approaches, careful not to wake James and Peter.
‘Hey – happy birthday,’ he continues gently, as he puts the cake on the windowsill, pushes it towards him. ‘Got you a little something.’
‘Cake for breakfast?’ Sirius sardonically raises an eyebrow. ‘Classic Moony move.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Remus shrugs, pulling himself up onto the windowsill as well. ‘You only turn seventeen once. How -’ he hesitates, studying Sirius’ face, the downward curve of his mouth, the absent-minded look in his eyes. ‘How are you feeling?’
Sirius sighs. ‘The same.’
Remus can’t help but smile in relief. Of course that was it; of course Sirius would have expected there to be some momentous shift within him the very moment he became an adult.
‘Sure,’ he says, still gently, ‘but I mean, did you feel a massive difference right when you turned sixteen, or fifteen, or – any age, really?’
‘Of course not,’ Sirius frowns, ‘but I wasn’t coming of age, then.’
‘Oh, ok, yeah, of course,’ Remus nods his head earnestly. Sirius says nothing, so Remus nudges the cake even closer to him. ‘Eat.’
‘Thanks Moony, but I’m not that hungry. Why don’t you have it? I know that’s what you were hoping I’d say, anyway.’
‘At least blow out the candle, first,’ Remus protests, although his mouth begins to water. It’s chocolate cake, after all. As Sirius grabs the plate, he quickly adds, ‘And make a wish!’
A flicker of – something – crosses Sirius’ face, then he closes his eyes and blows out the candle, passing the plate back to Remus.
‘This is so good -’ Remus says, a few seconds later, his mouth still half full. ‘Are you sure you won’t have any?’
‘I’m good.’ Sirius pulls his knees up to his chin, still looking out of the window with that faraway look in his eyes. Remus is pretty sure a Hippogriff could fly by right now, and Sirius wouldn’t so much as flinch. For a while, there’s only the sound of his fork scraping against the plate, the sight of Sirius’ breath fogging up the cold glass of the window, the feeling of their feet gently nudging each other’s before their legs settle, comfortably intertwined.
Remus wants to ask, he does, but also, he’s worried.
‘It’s just that -’ Sirius finally says, finally, ‘I can still… feel it.’
‘Feel what?’ Remus puts his empty plate to the side, focusing all his attention on Sirius now.
‘It – them. The tie.’
‘What tie?’
‘The tie that binds,’ Sirius shrugs.
Remus looks at him, silently, for a moment more. ‘I’m lost,’ he finally has to admit.
Sirius’ shoulders hunch, and he looks away from the window at last, right at him, with an expression that’s frustrated, bordering on angry. Remus has the immediate impulse to curl up, make himself small, apologise. He should get it, shouldn’t he? He’s been Sirius’ boyfriend for several months now, after all: he should understand all there is to understand about him. But when Sirius speaks, he doesn’t sound angry at all. Just resigned.
‘There’s strong, ancient blood magic connecting all living Black family members with each other, and with our ancestors... – all five of them,’ he quickly quips, never one to pass up on an inbreeding joke. Then, he frowns again. ‘Its aim is to protect, or so they say. It connects us so we can look out for each other. It warns us when one of us is in danger, so we can lend a hand.’
He swallows hard, looking out the window again as he continues: ‘the real reason, of course, has always been to keep track of each other, to allow parents to react the second their child sets a toe out of line. In no one does the magic – the bloody curse, is what it is – run deeper than in the current Black family heir.’
He looks at Remus, his eyes large, scared, desperate. ‘I don’t want to feel them, Moony. I don’t want to feel them anymore. They pull at me, they shout at me; it's like daggers that stab me from within.’
‘Sirius -’ Remus breathes, devastated. All this time, and he’s had no idea, no idea whatsoever. All this time, he’s been complaining about his own blood boiling, turning, twisting, carving him up each month, and all along, Sirius has silently lived with his own curse every day. Meanwhile Remus has been teasing him for being cocky and arrogant and slightly naïve about life outside of the gilded bubble.
Maybe he doesn’t know Sirius at all.
‘You never told me,’ he whispers, finally. He wants to reach for Sirius’ hand, but finds he can’t. He should have known. He should have understood there was more to it. When Sirius had sighed ‘I’ll be rid of them once and for all,’ he should have asked what he meant.
‘Because I thought it would be over, today.’
‘Maybe -’ Remus starts, hesitantly, ‘maybe it only goes away on the exact minute you turn seventeen, you know, the minute you were born.’
‘No,’ Sirius responds, simply, looking out of the window again with a frown. ‘I was born at two in the morning.’
‘Ah,’ Remus says. It’s silent for a while. Remus debates what to do: he wants, desperately, to apologise for being a shit boyfriend, for not having realised, but he also worries that would be him uncharismatically making things about himself. He wants to cry, and hide. Most of all, he wants to fix it, to make it better, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to go to the library to sit in a silent corner with a pile of books to figure out what this means: my boyfriend is being haunted by his relatives from within. But he can’t leave Sirius, not in this state.
‘I thought I could break it when I ran away,’ Sirius shrugs, after a while. The sun is now fully up, and he’s squinting, but still refusing to stop staring outside. ‘But when that didn’t do the trick, I convinced myself that it would happen today. I don’t live with them anymore. I don’t speak to them anymore. I don’t want anything to do with any of them. And yet – she won’t let me go.’
Before Remus can react, there’s a sudden stirring in the dorm room. Sirius quickly sits sharply upright, relaxing his expression, pulling some of his black hair into a quick, messy bun that somehow manages to look deliberately disheveled.
There’s James, running over to the windowsill and pulling Sirius ungracefully into a big hug, starting to loudly sing a horribly off-key rendition of ‘Happy birthday,’ quickly joined by Peter, who stumbles out of bed and rubs his eyes, already singing, too.
‘Big day!’ James exclaims, when the song is finally over, his arm still slung around Sirius’ shoulder. ‘MASSIVE day! Come on, old dog, out with it, what would you like to do first? Open presents? Eat cake?’ (definitely not, Remus thinks) ‘A spot of mischief before breakfast? Or… shall we simply go down to the common room and see what the girls have undoubtedly cooked up for you?’
‘Yeah,’ Sirius says, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah – let’s do that. That will be nice.’
Remus devours his second slice of cake of the morning down in the common room, ten minutes later. Sirius’ birthday really is paying off handsomely for him. Still, he can’t fully enjoy it. There’s a few things pulling on his mind, a plan forming, a plan he really doesn’t want to follow through on; several aspects of it are deeply unsavoury.
He looks over at Sirius, how he’s trying to laugh along at Lily’s joke, how he’s pretending to enjoy the cake that Marlene keeps pushing into his hands, how he compliments the decorations Mary has put up, banners with loud Gryffindor lions roaring and screaming ‘Sir Sirius is Seventeen!’, pretending, Remus bets, the screaming isn’t headache-inducing. Looks at the way his upbeat expression, words, demeanour don’t quite agree with the storm raging in his eyes.
‘I have to run for a second,’ Remus says, putting down his empty plate, fork clattering. He gets up quickly, before he can change his mind. ‘It’s – ehm – it’s all part of a birthday surprise. You’ll see later.’
Great, now he’s going to have to come up with some sort of extra surprise on top of everything else.
He gives Sirius a quick peck on the crown of his head, refusing to look back at his confused face as he runs out of the common room, sprints down the hall, down the stairs, across half the castle, to the prefect’s bathroom. He locks himself in, taking several deep breaths before slowly sinking to the floor.
He takes his wand out with a shaky hand. He can do this. He can. He knows he can: he knows the theory, he’s not-quite done it, tens of times. He’s been holding back on purpose, because he knows what will happen, but he really hasn’t felt the desire to confirm it, hasn’t wanted anyone to see.
He takes a deep breath, thinks of the first time Sirius kissed him, one night last summer in the field behind James’ house. They’d been slightly drunk and giggly; Peter and James had given up and gone to bed hours ago. It had been a new moon, so there’d blissfully only been stars in the sky. Remus was keeping himself busy by admiring Sirius, too drunk to wonder if he’d been staring for too long, too mesmerised to care that Peter and James were definitely gossiping about his embarrassingly obvious crush, back at the house, right now. The straight line of his nose, the intelligence behind his enchanting eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the irreverent cheekiness in his smile. Just the usual, really. Thinking about how he shone brighter than any star in the sky. And suddenly, fingertips had brushed, and Sirius’ lips had been on his, his hands on his hips, in his hair, down his back, his warm, sleepy body against him, overwhelming yet soft.
‘Expecto Patronum,’ he whispers, gritting his teeth, hoping against hope for a cute bunny. A hamster. A capybara.
It’s not. It’s not any of those. Of course it isn’t.
Of course it’s a bloody fucking wolf.
Silver and large, staring at him with wise, whispery grey eyes, head slightly tilted; patiently awaiting instructions.
Remus wants to shoo him away, run his hands through him until he disappears into a grey cloud, a silvery mist, nothing more. No more cruel reminder of how he’s failing everyone with all he can never cease to be.
He grits his teeth. It’s for Sirius, he reminds himself.
‘Listen,’ he says to the wolf, fighting to keep his tone steady. ‘I need you to go to the Slytherin dungeons and find a boy called Regulus Black. I need you to tell him to come to the Prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor, immediately. Tell him – tell him it’s about Sirius. That it’s urgent. Do you understand?’
The wolf nods his head slowly. Had he been anyone else’s Patronus, Remus may have been able to admit he’s really kind of beautiful. But as it is, he just closes his eyes and hisses:
‘Thanks – off you go.’
He doesn’t open his eyes for a good thirty seconds. When he finally does, the wolf is gone – thank Merlin. Now all that’s left to do is wait; wait and hope that Regulus will get the message, wait and hope it will be enough to get him to actually turn up.
He paces the room for a while, then sits on the side of the massive bath, opening the tap that releases large, pink, rose-scented bubbles into the air. The one that releases a purple mist that smells of lavender. The one that runs chocolate syrup – just a little taste to distract him while he waits. The one that just releases a wild mermaid song; you’re really only supposed to listen to it underwater. However, the shrieking and guttural sounds are such torture to his brain that it keeps him from spiralling about everything else.
How long should he wait, before accepting that Regulus simply isn’t interested in coming?
Five more minutes, he tells himself.
Oh, go on, three more. It’s quite a way up from the deepest, darkest dungeons, after all.
He’ll give him an additional two, just for that.
Finally, the doorknob turns. Remus is suddenly nervous, realising he never actually expected Regulus to show, realising he’s never been alone in a room with him before.
Regulus smirks, looking around at the pink bubbles filling the room, popping one almost absentmindedly. ‘Having fun, halfblood?’
His black hair shorter and slightly ruffled, the haughty grey eyes looking at Remus so much like the ones he loves, but missing all their signature warmth.
Remus quickly turns the tabs off; the shrieking ceases.
‘Interesting patronus, by the way,’ Regulus continues in his calculated tone, and Remus freezes up for a moment. Does he know? How?
‘Enough pleasantries,’ he says, slowly. Even though the hair on his neck is standing up, even though goosebumps are on his arms and there’s a sickly feeling in his stomach. He refuses to be intimidated by this slight figure, a full head shorter than him, however surly he may look, however many insults he may throw his way.
‘Fine,’ Regulus agrees with a shrug. ‘Then would you mind telling me why I’m here? I hope you’re not coming to me for relationship advice.’
Remus glares.
‘Don't know what to get him for his birthday? Is that it? Left it a little too late, and now you can’t think of a good enough present for your blood-traitor boyfriend, so you have to go running to his little brother?’
‘I -’ Remus starts, feeling his shoulders hunch. ‘I wasn’t -’ I won’t be intimidated by him, he reminds himself.
‘Oh, did you think I didn’t know that you’re fucking my brother now?’ Regulus spits out, disdainfully.
‘Shut up,’ Remus finally snaps. How does he know that? Is it that curse, their creepy blood-connection? Do they all know, have they put a target on his back, is Bellatrix already on her way over? Is he basically done for?
At the tone in his voice, Regulus straightens up. ‘Fine. You said it’s urgent? You have two minutes.’
Remus takes a deep breath. At least Regulus is here, he tells himself. He came, and that’s a good thing.
‘It’s about this – whatever weird, creepy blood connection your family have going on.’
Regulus furrows his brow. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you're talking about.’
‘No, but I think you do,’ Remus shoots back quickly. ‘Whatever... magic it is, that keeps you all needlessly bound together.’
‘You’re not supposed to know about that.’
Remus shrugs.
‘He wasn’t supposed to tell you – he’s not supposed to be able to tell you.’
‘Well, he told me, and I think it’s fucked. Apparently, your mum won’t release him from whatever’s binding him, and now you’re all stabbing him from within? Don’t you see how messed up that is? Apparently -’
Regulus rolls his eyes. ‘Merlin, Sirius is always so bloody dramatic. Nobody’s stabbing anybody from within.’ He frowns, his eyes following a particularly large pink bubble as it lazily crosses the room. ‘If you must know, it’s ancient magic. Yes, it keeps us bound together. To keeps us protected. It keeps us safe. You wouldn’t understand, you’re just a -’
‘Halfblood, yes, so you’ve said.’
Please, please don’t know about the other thing.
Regulus smirks. ‘Quite right, a halfblood sullying up my brother’s bloodline.’
‘Come off it,’ Remus snaps, ‘it’s not like either of us can get pregnant, there’s no bloodlines being sullied here.’
‘Spare me.’ A cruel expression returns to Regulus’ face. ‘Anyway, I think that’s your two minutes gone. I expect I’ve given you all the information you needed.’
‘No! Wait -’ Remus hates the pleading tone to his voice, but he can’t help himself. ‘Please. I need your help. You have to help him.’
‘Help him do what?’
‘Help him get rid of the cur- the magic. Sirius has made his choice, ages ago. From what I heard, your parents seemed more than happy to be rid of him. So why are they insisting on keeping him bound to your family?’
‘I told you.’ Regulus sounds bored. ‘It’s ancient magic. It doesn’t really concern itself with insignificant little family squabbles.’
‘Come on, Regulus.’ Remus is annoyed to find he sounds more pleading, still. ‘Come on – you know it’s more than a squabble. You need to convince them to take the burden off him.’
‘It’s not a burden to be protected by one's family.’
Remus detects the slightest quiver in Regulus’ voice, hears it reflected in the echo off the bathroom tiles, tries to double down while he’s ahead: ‘It is a burden if you’re suffocating.’
‘This way, we can keep him safe, even through all his mistakes -’ Regulus’ lips are a tight line, the flicker of softness gone.
‘Regulus. Please.’ He’s fully begging –he’s just rolling with it now.
Regulus finally snaps, anger – and something else – flickering over his face. ‘I don’t see why I’d need to explain myself to you, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just -’ he stops, mid-turn, head turning quickly towards the door.
He looks back at Remus; urgently, angrily. ‘Did you orchestrate this?’
‘Orchestrate what? Regulus, what are you -?’
‘He’s here,’ Regulus says, simply, backing away from the door, eyes large.
‘Who’s here?’ Remus asks, panicking at the thought of which ‘he’ could elicit so much fear. Surely he couldn’t mean –?
‘Sirius,’ Regulus says, swallowing hard. In a mixture of relief and panic, Remus immediately starts making his way over to the door.
Regulus hisses: ‘for god’s sake, make him leave.’
As soon as Remus opens the door, there’s a wall of sound, of shouting. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ There’s Sirius at his worst: tall, broad, imposing. Eyes almost, but never quite, as cold as his brother’s.
He’s waving the Marauders’ map around as he pushes his way into the bathroom. Fuck.
‘It’s my birthday, and I’d been imagining spending it with my boyfriend. Selfish, I know. But imagine my surprise when he sneaks off for over an hour, and I check the map just to see he’s locked in here with – with –’ he gestures vaguely at Regulus, who waves back weakly and smirks:
‘I have a name, you know. Or a simple ‘my brother’, will do, in a pinch.’
‘I thought you had no brother?’ Sirius’ blusters. Regulus just smiles a wry smile. Even though he’s shorter and slighter than Sirius, he’s equally imposing somehow.
Sirius turns back to Remus, narrowing his eyes. ‘So what, pray tell, are you doing in here with my so-called brother? Are you snogging him? Trying to collect the Black brothers set?’
‘Bloody hell, Sirius, why would you jump straight to that?’ Remus protests, as Regulus lets out a derisive laugh.
‘I’m just trying to think of a plausible explanation for the two of you to be locked away in a room together for an extended period of time.’
‘And you can’t think of a better reason than snogging?’
‘In a room that’s filled to the brim with pink bubbles and sickly sweet smells? No. Trying to set the mood, are we?’
Remus wildly waves his hand for a moment, trying to dissipate the lavender clouds that are, by now, giving him a bit of a headache.
‘Sirius -,’ he tries to keep his voice calm, to appear unoffended at being accused of cheating on the love of his life with his pest of a little brother. He hesitates, sends a quick, pleading look at said pest, though he doesn’t know why: of course Regulus is of absolutely no help. ‘Sirius, what about… you know… what you told me this morning?’
Sirius’ eyes grow wide. His expression makes it clear that, somehow, that is worse than snogging his estranged brother.
‘I was just -’ Remus continues quickly, ‘I just wanted to find out what he knew. If he could help.’
‘May I be excused?’ Regulus interrupts, sounding bored. ‘I don’t see why I’d need to be part of your little lover’s quarrel?’
Remus is hit with the sensation that this situation is spinning vastly out of his control, that he’s somehow only made everything worse, needlessly trapped them all in a pink and purple hell of roses and lavender, of sneers and insults echoing off golden tiles. Then, suddenly, he hears Sirius breathe, pleadingly:
‘Reggie -’
‘What?’ Regulus snaps, looking, for one brief second, agitated.
‘You have to ask her to let me go,’ Sirius continues, shoulders hunched, all bravado melted away. ‘I know it can be done. Uncle Alphard said -’
‘You spoke to Uncle Alphard about this?’ Regulus spits.
‘Well, yes, of course, I didn’t know who else to ask. And he said, that as soon as he’d severed ties, as soon as he’d been blasted off that bloody tapestry, he was free,’ Sirius swallows hard. ‘So, is that what it is? Am I still on the tapestry? Could you – during the Christmas holidays – would you please –?’
Remus is failing to keep up, once again. Now they’re talking about a goddamn tapestry from which one can, apparently, somehow, be blasted off? Honestly, the Black family madness is unending and completely baffling.
‘You’re not on the tapestry anymore,’ Regulus shrugs, voice small.
‘So then why -’ Sirius starts, exasperated, and begins pacing up and down the room, popping pink bubbles as he goes. ‘Is it so she can keep torturing me? Is it so she can make sure I know she’s still there, keeping tabs on me?’
‘No one is keeping tabs on you, Sirius!’ Regulus is suddenly shouting. ‘Irius, ius,’ the bathroom tiles chime. Sirius stops pacing, stares at Regulus, startled, wide eyed, the final pink bubble bizarrely clinging to his hair. Remus contemplates walking over to him, holding his hand, keeping him steady (and popping that damn bubble), but decides against it. Instead, he hovers in the corner, feeling utterly lost and useless, just studying Regulus’ face. He keeps making… unexpected… expressions.
‘Don’t you understand? If I let go, I won’t know if – I mean, we won’t be able to protect you. When the time comes. When the war comes.’
‘Reggie – you have to convince her – you have to tell her to let me go – she keeps holding onto me, and I’m not sure if it’s out of spite or because she still hopes I’ll come back, but I can’t do this, I -’ Sirius starts pacing again.
But Remus heard it. Caught it. The puzzle pieces falling into place.
‘Wait,’ he says, holding up his hand, interrupting Sirius’ flurry of words. He turns to look at Regulus again, intently.
‘It’s you,’ he concludes.
The room falls silent, four grey eyes on him now; hesitant, pleading, questioning, unsure, imploring, furious. Then, a light goes on in Sirius’ pair.
‘It’s him,’ he breathes.
He turns back to Regulus, slouching in a corner, now looking the other way determinedly, his eyes on a large painting of seahorses swimming along peacefully.
‘It’s you?!’
All is quiet for a moment. Sirius looking back and forth between Remus and Regulus, Remus looking at Regulus only. Regulus, while frowning, still appears to be enthralled by the painting.
‘Reggie -’ Sirius finally pleads.
‘Yes, it’s me!’ Regulus snaps. The seahorses get a fright and quickly swim out of the side of the painting. ‘Of course it’s me! You’re making so many mistakes and I -’ he takes a deep breath, all arrogant composure forgotten. Then, he continues, much less frantically and much more wryly: ‘You thought it was mother? She’s been begging me for months to sever the ties. She says she keeps trying -’
‘But – why? Why won’t you let her? Why are you torturing me?’
‘I’m not torturing you,’ Regulus bites. ‘I know you’re planning to join the resistance, and I don’t want – Sirius – I need to know if -’ his eyes have grown wide and slightly manic, ‘– when, the time comes, for me to bail you out. So you don’t get hurt. Or worse.’
Sirius lets out a laugh with no warmth.
‘This is madness. You want to make sure I don’t get hurt? Leave them. Join the Order with me. Fight by my side. Have my back, in person.’
‘I can’t,’ Regulus whispers, his eyes large on Sirius now, having lost all their signature haughtiness.
‘You can. I’d look out for you. We’d look out for you, wouldn’t we, Remus?’
‘Errr -’ Remus startles, ‘yeah, sure.’
‘Sorted,’ Sirius nods.
‘You know I can’t bloody well join the blooming Order,’ Regulus snaps.
‘You have to let him go,’ Remus reiterates, calmly. ‘She’s stabbing him from the inside.’
‘I told you, nobody’s stabbing anyone from the inside,’ Regulus waves Remus’ words away, ‘that’s not a thing.’
‘She’s doing it right now, you bellend!’ Sirius sneers.
He makes a pained, concentrated face. Regulus and Remus just watch him for a while, confused. Then, Regulus impulsively takes a few steps back, gasping for breath, startled, leaning against the wall.
‘What – what are you doing to me?’ he whispers, wrapping his arms protectively around his chest.
‘Little light stabbing,’ Sirius shrugs, with another grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘Oh,’ Regulus breathes, his hands frantically scratching his arms. ‘Oh.’
‘Please, Regulus,’ Remus says, and Regulus stares back at him, bewildered, his hands stilling. He takes a deep, relieved breath, seems able to stand up straight again.
But then he whispers: ‘I can’t. I need to – I can’t stop – I need to know – ’
He turns, and flees from the bathroom. The bubble trapped in Sirius’ hair finally pops. He looks at Remus, flustered, confused, ever-so-slightly devastated.
‘Well,’ he says wryly. ‘You tried. Now, I believe I was promised an extra special birthday surprise.’
They skip Herbology. Sitting on Sirius’ bed, instead. Sullen, distraught. Even though Remus is having another cheeky slice of Marlene’s birthday cake, it’s not at all how he'd imagined Sirius’ birthday to go.
‘Let’s look on the bright side,’ Sirius groans, letting himself fall back on the covers with a loud thud, hands covering his eyes. ‘I thought he didn’t give a fuck about me. I guess in his own messed up way he… cares.’
Remus laughs the smallest laugh, puts his empty plate on the bedside table, lies down next to him. Finally allowing himself to wrap his arms around him, pull him in, releasing a sigh he didn’t even know he’d been holding.
‘It’s fine,’ he whispers, running his fingers reassuringly (he hopes) through long black hair. ‘We’ll just keep bugging him until he lets you go. He will eventually, if we just annoy him enough.’
Sirius laughs. ‘Yes, I suppose I can keep stabbing the little shit, now I’ve figured that trick out. That should work, right? But, really -’ he looks Remus in the eyes, smouldering eye-contact that, even after all these months, makes him feel weak and molten and soft. ‘Thank you, for trying. I would’ve never guessed – figured it out…’ he bites his lip before cupping Remus’ jaw, pulling him into a slow kiss, hands roaming softly over his back. Remus lets himself melt into it; this is, finally, slightly more like what he’d hoped Sirius’ birthday was going to be like.
Suddenly, Sirius lets go with a gasp. He sits up straight, running his hands through his hair, looking around wildly.
‘Err -’ Remus begins, slightly startled. ‘Are you... ok? Is it – that I’m such a devastatingly good kisser, or…?’
Sirius doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even take the opportunity for banter, which is worrying. His hand is on his own chest now, before he runs it up to his neck, still breathing frantically. Remus sits up straight, too, puts his hand on Sirius’ shoulder, asks, in a much softer tone: ‘- hey… are you -?’
‘I -’ Sirius starts, ‘I don’t feel -’
But before he can say anything else, a silver kitten appears on the bed. It sits up straight and regally, tail wound tight around its paws. Nevertheless, it’s adorable. Instinctively, Remus reaches out his fingers to pet it, but they sink right through.
‘Happy birthday,’ the Patronus says, speaking in Regulus’ voice.
Then, it vanishes into icy grey mist.
