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It wasn't often that Gryffindor Tower was cold, but when it was, no fireplace or spell could warm anyone up. Remus didn't mind the cold; waking up once a month completely naked and almost out in the open had strengthened his resistance.
But now, three days after a particularly bad full moon in the middle of December, Remus felt the cold embedded in his bones. The truth was that this particular night affected him more than usual, and his body was still feeling it, even days later. Pomfrey said it was to be expected, so he didn't worry too much, but that didn't stop his new scars, still a little fresh and tight, from hurting twice as much every time he tried to get more comfortable on the couch with his book in his arms.
Remus sighed. It wasn't that he was cold for pleasure, but somehow all his sweaters were in the laundry basket, and he refused to wear something that smelled so deeply of sweat, so he would have to wait for the elves to wash the clothes and leave them in his trunk tomorrow morning. Until then, he would suffer from hypothermia.
He shivered a little and tried to curl up more. He felt exposed. He was only wearing his Gryffindor uniform, and while many students wore only that every day, he did not. He missed his damn sweaters.
“You're going to catch pneumonia between now and January if you keep this up, Moony.” Sirius's voice made him lift his head a little. and felt his heart begin to beat wildly. Sirius had that effect on him all the time.
Sirius, all arrogance, was leaning against the staircase leading to the dormitories, and Remus noticed that, of course, Sirius wasn't wearing a sweater either. He seemed to radiate sunshine everywhere. Was he the only one freezing to death?
“Fuck you,” Remus replied as he gave him the finger and went back to his book. Sirius whispered something Remus couldn't hear, walked over to him, and threw something in his face.
His sweater. His damn sweater.
“Wear it and keep it. It's too big for me, and I don't want it taking up space in my trunk.”
Sirius sat down right in front of him, staring at him as Remus surreptitiously touched the fabric. It was warm, as if it had just been worn, and it smelled like Sirius down to the last fiber. The smell of leather and contraband cigarettes entered his nostrils and remained imprinted on his heart. It smelled like everything he could never have, and a selfish part of him seriously considered keeping the damn sweater and claiming that little piece of Sirius as his own.
“Fuck you, Sirius, this costs more than my life and Pete's put together, there's no way I'll...” But Sirius had already stood up and was walking away, not without turning around one last time.
“Put the damn sweater on, Remus.” And he walked away, leaving through the portrait.
It took Remus about ten minutes to let go of his pride and put on the stupid sweater. The cold was now getting to him, and the truth was that the need to feel Sirius a little closer was stronger than the need to try something.
The moment the sweater went over his head and settled on his body, Remus felt like he was going to die. It was too much Sirius. Too much for his own good. The sleeves fit just the way he liked them—a little longer than his wrists, to hide the scars and bandages—and for a moment he wondered where Sirius had gotten such a large sweater. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him and decided he shouldn't think about it for the sake of his sanity, regardless of the fact that he was probably wearing the sweater of Sirius Black's latest fling.
Twenty minutes later, Remus fell asleep, smelling more like Sirius than himself, and in less pain than he had been an hour ago.
Sirius entered through the portrait after midnight, but not before fighting with the painting to let him in, which made his already bad mood worse. He had gone to talk to his brother, which never went well, considering that their parents had now disinherited them both, Sirius for being gay and Reg for not being the perfect daughter they wanted. His brother was still determined to defend those scumbags and try to “give them another chance.”
He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the lanky figure sleeping on the couch.
His stomach fluttered. Remus was wearing his sweater. It was his sweater, and a selfish part of him wanted to believe that, by wearing it, Remus was somehow like him too.
Although he tried to appear relaxed earlier, the truth is that he had been planning this for weeks. He discovered that the elves only washed the clothes that were in the laundry basket, which explained why James' shirts were always scattered all over the floor. He simply had to hide Moony's sweaters until he ran out of them, and then put them all in the basket at the same time. That way, he would have nothing to wear and would accept the one Sirius had bought just for that occasion. It was dark blue with a huge star on the chest, and she wore it several nights and moments before giving it to him, because part of her wanted Moony to smell like her. She knew it wasn't Remus's style, but she needed to make it believable that it was too big for him and he didn't want it anymore. Of course it was too big for him; she bought it in Moony's size.
He approached carefully so as not to wake him and looked at him. He looked peaceful. It was rare to see Remus like this, and his heart swelled knowing that, indirectly, he had caused it. He smiled with satisfaction and slowly brushed a strand of hair from Remus's forehead.
“You're the luckiest bastard in all of fucking Hogwarts, Pads.” Sirius jumped back when he heard James' voice. James was leaning against the same spot Sirius had been standing hours earlier, watching the scene with a huge, ugly, sickening smile.
“Rot in hell, Potter.”
“You did it, you son of a bitch!” James exclaimed excitedly as he approached Sirius, trying to be quiet enough not to wake the boy on the couch. Sirius gave him the middle finger and a dirty look. “I'll be honest, I didn't have faith in your plan. To tell you the truth, it was doomed to fail.” James continued as he put his arm around his shoulders, still wearing his sickly sweet smile.
Of course it was doomed to fail. Almost everything could have gone wrong, like Remus deciding to wear a dirty one again for another day, or Sirius counting wrong, or Remus having more sweaters hidden somewhere, or him borrowing one from Peter. There were so many things that could go wrong, and yet Remus was asleep, curled up in his sweater with the most peaceful look on his face in days.
Sirius's heart felt like it was going to explode when he noticed, in the days that followed, that Remus started wearing his sweater to sleep every night, and that he put it on almost every afternoon when they sat in the common room, with James trying to punch a hole through one of his lungs with his not-so-subtle elbows.
So Sirius began to devise another plan: how to kiss Remus Lupin without ending up with a black eye.