She's a waitress and she's got style ... *FIC POST*

*HAPPY BIRTHDAY narie*

And just for you, ficcage! (I'm sure it could do with a second beta reading but I'd feel utterly lame if I didn't present the whole on the designated day)

Title: Wandering, Gets You Down
Pairing: Remus/Sirius (duh).
Setting: Hogwarts, years six and seven.
AU: Remus is in Ravenclaw and doesn't really know Peter, James and Sirius. Consequently, there is no Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.
Rating: Not sure. Suggestions of physical desire etc. - help would be appreciated here.
A/N: A big thank you to daisy_does, who made it better with her beta. I think of this as The Little Birthday Ficlet That Could (Become a 5600+ Word Monster). Various semi-quotes and vague scenarios, as well as the title, borrowed from the song "The Boy With The Arab Strap" by Belle & Sebastian. For those who know the song, I hope the references are not too contrived :) (therein lies the danger of song fic).

This does feel like a premature birth but the birth day was foreordained and mother lost track of time. All comments are welcome :)



Sirius slouched into a seat on the bus and fell back into the well-worn leather, kicking against the metal footrest. "Fuck them all," he shouted inside his head. He pulled his cord jacket closer around him and stared out the window.

The bus hurtled from place to place and Sirius lost himself in the blur of green and white, buildings and landscape, seen in scattered headlight snatches. He spoke only to tell the conductor that his stop could wait and really, it would be better to let the witch and her three children off first, and then the elderly wizard, and yes, the cuddling couple too. Truthfully, more was communicated through eyebrow raising and head nodding than any verbal utterance.

Eventually, as morning approached, it was only Sirius, a vagabond-looking man, two well-dressed witches and a boy his own age. With his legs pulled into him across the double seat, Sirius watched the boy. Sirius knew him, vaguely, from Hogwarts - he was in Sirius' year, in Ravenclaw, name of Lupin. He had the mussed-hair look of someone who'd been sitting on a bus for too long and had read his magazine through at least two times. He was now looking out the window with his face turned up to catch the first rays of the morning sun. His hair was brown, but there were hints of gold at the tips, creeping like winding tendrils as the sky slowly brightened. He looked tired and calm and Sirius felt with utter confidence that he was not someone for whom things came easily.

Sirius shut his eyes, not wanting to leave the comfort of the bus, not even wanting to arrive at James' where he would be looked after and vindicated. Arriving there would require explanations, articulations, damnations. He never wanted to mention his bloody family again.

Through squinting eyes he watched the Lupin boy as the sun filtered in and washed him in pale yellow light.


The first night that Sirius spent at the Potters, he and James bunkered down in James' room with a bottle of Firewhiskey. They both got riotously drunk.

"Best fuckin' thing you've ever done, Siir," James expounded to his crowd of one.

"I hate them. I will never see the tyrant parentals again," Sirius said solemnly, pausing and then taking another swig.

"The thing is, they're relics. You can't sit on the fence and be all snotty about purity and blood lines and doing away with the rabble, and pumping money on the side to corrupt politicians and dubious political organisations ..." James waved his hands around as he lost hold of his point. "What I'm saying is they can't treat people like shit and expect to reign over some old order when good and evil are being battled out for real. You have to take sides eventually, yeah?" James finished, definitively.

Sirius was holding a glass and carefully filling it with liquid the colour of precious topaz - dense, glossy russet. "This one's for you, Andromeda," he said under his breath and downed the measure in one go. He sat himself on one of the twin beds in the room as James looked at him from a boozy sprawl on the other. Sirius opened his mouth to say something important, a change of subject, and instead found his eyes closing and his head spinning as he fell sideways onto the bed.


The second night at the Potters they went at the Firewhiskey in a more dignified fashion.

"Lupin was on the Knight Bus," Sirius stated as he and James sat on the floor flipping through Quidditch and Muggle music magazines.

"Hmm, that bloke from Ravenclaw you mean?" James muttered distractedly.

"Yeah that one. What's his first name again?"

"Remus, I think. Yeah, definitely Remus Lupin. He's a prefect."

"Yeah, right." Sirius skipped through some pages about David Bowie, paused and then continued, mentally resolved to finding out the tour dates for next summer.

"Seems a decent chap," James continued suddenly, "I ran into him once, he was hexing a book on the Dark Arts that Snape had stashed behind the library stacks. I gave him some creative input."

Sirius snorted and took a sip of his whiskey. "Wonder what he was doing on the Knight Bus?" he mused.

"Who knows. Don't know much about him. Don't know his family."

Sirius leaned back against the bed and remembered gold-tipped strands of brown.


Sirius, as a rule, liked libraries. He particularly liked the library at Hogwarts because it had variety. Prior to leaving home for good, some part of Sirius had looked on visits to this library as an affront to the intrinsic brutality and maliciousness of his family's collection. See here? Books on Fairy culture and customs. And there? Werewolves and how they've been mistreated by Muggles and Magic People for centuries. Now that the break had been made Sirius walked through the entrance and felt like he was visiting a reliable old friend.

He headed to the section on memory charms and surveyed the selection for Flitwick's current assignment. People thought Sirius and James breezed through their subjects and it was true, to an extent. The trick to their success was background reading. With an understanding of the basic principles and major and minor variables, Sirius could wing it, if necessary. Without the reading, even the illustrious Potter and Black would be floundering with the lesser mortals.

Hence, Sirius went to the library and usually during the quieter times: between classes, after the last class, the hour before it closed. He cultivated the 'unprepared genius' image with a fluctuating level of attentiveness.

He was examining the spine of an old text when a hand appeared, reaching for a book a couple of spaces along. The hand was clearly masculine and marked by shining linear scars against a stark backdrop of smooth, clean skin. Sirius' eyes tracked the ripples to the sleeve of a black robe, and then swept up over a compact shoulder, along a pale neck, eventually coming to rest on Remus Lupin's face.

Sirius stepped back and bent his head a few times to get the kink out of his neck.

"Hello," Remus Lupin smiled at him.

"Hi," Sirius grinned back. Remus looked back at the shelf, pulled a book down and stood next to Sirius, trailing his eyes over the text calmly. Sirius looked back to the shelf and felt bashful and stupid for doing so. Techniques for Effective Memory Charms, that was the book he'd been looking at. He pulled it from the shelf and stood and read the contents page three times. The turning of pages to his right was the only indication of time passing.

And then there was a polite clearing of the throat. "Umm, could I have a look at that book once you're done ... ahh, Sirius?"

Sirius looked up and saw Remus smiling at him again, almost-shyly. "Sure," Sirius found himself saying as he tucked hair behind one ear. "Remus, right?" and he thrust the book at him.

"Right," Remus said, taking the book dubiously. "I meant, when you're finished with it."

Sirius stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he over-gesticulated to compensate. "Nah, I've read it, just double-checking something."

"Right, cheers then," Remus said, turning the book over in his hands expectantly. "Umm, have you read this one," he added, holding up the book he'd started with: Fundamentals of Remembering.

Sirius looked at the fingers holding the book. "Oh yeah? Cheers." As an afterthought he said, "It's a good one, this. Understanding the brain first, then working through the memory charms. That's the right way to go about it." He ran the phrase over in his head and wondered whether it sounded clever or inane. "More people should read it," he finished.

Remus regarded Sirius momentarily. "It is good theory - Jenkinson definitely had things around the right way." The tone carried gentle but genuine admiration. Remus looked Sirius in the eye before shooting him a fleeting grin. "But I wonder about the ethics of memory charms." Sirius noticed the furrowed brow under the mess of fringe.

"I think, in most cases, people should live with their bad memories," Remus concluded.

"Or find other ways of forgetting them," Sirius said waggishly.

Remus grinned.

Lying in bed later, Sirius pondered Remus Lupin's admiration, wondering if it was bestowed only on outstanding theoretical magicians.


Sirius had taken to getting drunk on the weekends, within the confines of Gryffindor Tower. Though he did indulge occasionally during the week it seldom deteriorated into complete intoxication. If Sirius had given it any thought he'd have realised he never drank alone - Peter or James or both were always there to suggest a game of chess or to lead discussion on issues of special interest - currently girls, Bowie, the Death Eater movement, school dating habits and skin magazines.

On Friday nights the senior Gryffindors would gather in either one of the boys' dorms and welcome the weekend in with relatively sedate and restrained drinking and moderately clever banter. Gemma Taylor, a seventh year whose parentage consisted of Witch and Muggle singer, had charmed some boxes over the summer - a spell similar to that used in Howlers - to play her favourite Muggle music.

Inevitably, Sirius would dance.

He was a charming drunk. The hint of red to the cheeks and nose did nothing to detract from his arresting good looks; indeed males and females both agreed it added a rather endearing touch. And even more so once he started dancing. Sirius was comfortable enough in his own body to carry himself with saving grace, even when he was hit by an occasional drunken stumble. Sometimes he would let the girls paint him with make-up in the style of old-school Bowie.

"Sirius really is a big old softie," Alice Buchanan said to Peter one night, watching Sirius shimmy with her not-completely-sold boyfriend Frank, whom James had offered up at Sirius' hollered request for a dance companion.

"And stunning at that," mused Gemma with equal fondness.

Sometimes James or Peter had to hold Sirius up in the bathroom as he retched from the bottom of his belly.


As part of his holistic approach to charms work, Professor Flitwick liked to vary his assignment format, mixing individual projects with partnered and group assessments. When the sixth years were set a partnered assignment, James quickly laid claim to Lily Evans, who was not only beautiful but stellar at Charms and, most importantly, not scorchingly hostile towards him at present. Sirius supposed that left him with Peter but in any case Peter would sort that out; Sirius was not accustomed to asking.

They filed out after class, James jabbering on about the tide having turned. To reinforce this point he ran across to Lily to thank her once again for agreeing to work with him. With sad knowing Sirius and Peter shook their heads.

Sirius was staring absently, and thinking abstractly of many things, when he saw Remus Lupin across the hall. He was standing side-on, talking to some other Ravenclaws, with his books held in the crook of one arm. His hair had grown longer and was spilling to the edge of his collar. Though looking rather pale he did not, to Sirius, seem sickly. Strangely enough, his pallor almost added something to his appearance - something like nuance.

The Ravenclaws started drifting down the corridor as Sirius watched. His eyes were about to slip back to the James and Lily debacle when Remus turned and looked at him. Feeling an unexpected mix of emotions - including alarm and embarrassment - Sirius threw a broad and then slightly more casual grin in Remus' direction.

He realised walking over that Remus was also wandering towards him. "Hey." "Hello." They stopped beside a window.

"How are things?" Sirius asked, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes.

"Much the same," Remus said, nodding. He paused. "Another Charms assignment even," he said abruptly.

Sirius noticed he was less pale in close-up; there was a definite pinkness to his cheeks.

"How did you do on that memory charm assignment?" Remus asked.

"Umm, full marks, actually." Sirius said.

"Mmm, so did I," Remus replied. "I think Flitwick likes a bit of his Jenkinson, you know." He looked at Sirius and started laughing when he saw Sirius begin to smile.

"I think you're right," Sirius said, chuckling too.

Hovering silence crept in as their laughter faded. People began to move down the hall in earnest; Sirius felt his hands push hard against the fabric of his pockets.

"Uhh, who are you working on this assignment with?" Sirius blurted, astonishing himself.

"Umm, probably my friend ... but I don't have a partner lined up, actually."

"Well, neither do I. So if you wanted to work with me ..." Sirius' delivery was quick and sharp; he was ready for a quick escape if it all ended horribly.

"Umm, yeah, that'd be good," Remus said.

"Okay. Good. See you around then." Sirius walked off towards Peter, who was still leaned on the opposite wall watching a now-sheepish James. Sirius turned impulsively and gave Remus a jerky wave.

In unspoken accord, Sirius and Peter stepped in to rescue James from Lily and her group of friends. As James vented, Sirius recovered from his own brush with social clumsiness.


Before the first study meeting, on a Monday evening, Sirius drilled himself to say "Remus" rather than "Remus Lupin".

"So, should we start by reading through the list of basic texts, and jot down possible points as we go?" Remus suggested as they settled in at a table.

"Sounds good to me," Sirius said. "I'll go grab some books." He jumped up before something else occurred to him. "Or you could choose some as well? Only if you want to, obviously ..." He trailed off into self-conscious silence.

Remus looked a bit startled. "Umm, no, it's fine. We'll start with whatever you get."

Sirius walked away silently cursing his escalating edgy tendencies.

Late on Tuesday evening, Remus came across Sirius at the end of one of the stacks. "Is that Firewhiskey?" he asked.

Sirius gaped before fumbling for an answer. "Err, yeah." He added an affirming "Aha" as an afterthought.

Remus looked at him strangely for a while and then said, "Ahh, would you mind if I tried some?" Sirius proffered the flask as if on reflex, and then watched as Remus took a goodly sip, grimaced and wiped his mouth neatly on the sleeve of his robe.

"As I suspected, Muggle whisky is much nicer."

"You've had Muggle whisky?" Sirius asked, surprised. He hadn't thought that Remus would drink.

"Yeah, my parents sometimes let me have a little." He paused, appearing to think something over. He continued. "You see I get ... ill sometimes and a bit of whisky can take an edge off the pain - bolster me up, I mean. It's an old-fashioned Muggle remedy, my Dad being one - a Muggle I mean."

Sirius didn't know what to say.

"As a consequence he's not too keen on Firewhiskey - we never have it in the house."

Sirius felt he needed to say something, as an exchange or as a justification, he wasn't sure. "Well my family has been Magic for innumerable generations, so of course we partake in a variety of extravagances, including furtive drinking." Not a bad display of gentle wit, he thought.

"Good to see you're continuing the fine tradition," Remus smiled.

Sirius' chest tightened as he returned the smile. I am revolting. He couldn't stop thinking about it after he got back to the dorm.


On the Wednesday night Sirius went to bed with the idea in his head that he might possibly like Remus a bit. The thought had struck him as the contents of his flask disappeared down the shower drain after that night's study meeting. From within the blanketed darkness, Sirius thought about being attracted to a boy. He was slightly alarmed when he noticed his breath coming fast, and his skin tingling and, oh God, his groin throbbing, he'd tried to ignore it. That was nothing new, of course, but to be getting hard thinking about Remus?

There was nothing for it but to run his hands lightly up and down the skin of his arms and across the warm plane of his stomach, prickling now with the cottony contact of his t-shirt. He hesitated as his fingers reached the string-tie of his pyjama pants; after a moment's decision he began kneading and clutching at his thighs through the fabric, all the time picturing Remus and thinking of being near him. It was unnerving, like the reality of being near Remus, and it was scary thinking about the delicate hair and the pale skin and the scarred hands that might be touching him. And then Sirius couldn't help himself, he had to shove his hands inside his pants and rub and imagine and after that it was all over very quickly. He slumped beneath the clammy layer of bed covers and tried to think things over rationally.

Most of the time Sirius didn't know what Remus would say or do next and it was interesting. Remus had poise, he didn't gush and he cast the best charms in sixth year besides himself and Lily. Yet most people could never quite remember his full name.

Remus seemed pure, the way that most people obviously weren't. As he turned his head into the pillow Sirius admitted, glumly, that Remus made him think of fresh fallen snow.


It felt odd to arrive at King's Cross Station at the end of term and be greeted by Mr and Mrs Potter rather than his family's moody house-elf. Sirius tried not to see his brother walking away with downcast eyes as the said house-elf bustled silently-grumpily behind, Regulus' trunk magically levitated between them.

He settled in effortlessly to the bedroom next to James' and into the routine of the house, but he couldn't quite dismiss the feeling of being an intruder. The ease with which the Potters included him as one of the family occasionally had the contrary effect of stirring guilty and resentful thoughts. James' grandparents were so damn nice and grandparenty that Sirius sometimes went down to Sunday lunch in a dirty t-shirt and overly-worn jeans in some misguided tribute to James, the truly deserving grandson, sitting beside him in clean cords and a button-up shirt.

This was a minor concern of the summer, however. The major concern was that they'd missed Bowie in concert with Iggy Pop only a few months before; Sirius couldn't resolve himself to this loss. James shared his disappointment but couldn't help laughing: "Iggy Pop - a name fit for a wizard," he mused. He suggested going to London to see a new band called The Clash, in a 'proper' Muggle club with alcohol and smoke and older chicks. James had a cousin who made really convincing fake IDs.

They met up with Peter on the day of the gig at the local pub, about midday, and began experimenting with Muggle booze. Though they couldn't pinpoint the difference between Scotch whisky and Firewhiskey they found themselves proclaiming with complete confidence that "the Muggle stuff is stronger, whereas the Wizard stuff is spicier, thus lulling gullible wizards into feeling pissed." They workshopped that phrase over several hours.

Sirius managed to stand up straight on the walk to the nearest Wizard pub, while James and Peter stumbled along the pavement. They made a precarious floo to The Leaky Cauldron (Peter: "Where are my legs?") and from there entered into Muggle London. A lengthy stop at a curry eatery restored some of the group equilibrium.

The fake IDs were sufficiently authentic to secure entrance to the club and Sirius sealed the deal with a winning smile to the witchy-looking door lady. Inside, the club was heaving with sweating bodies and noise; Sirius saw Remus standing at the bar immediately. He was wearing cord jeans and a black t-shirt and his hair was clinging to his neck. Sirius felt drunk for the first time that day.

He waved Peter and James over to a vacant patch of floor and moved towards the bar. It was three-deep at least so Sirius stood behind the girl standing behind Remus and waited. He watched Remus play with the Muggle money in his hand, he watched him catch the barman's eye and place his order with a grin, and he watched him take a sip of his pint of lager, shut his eyes and lick his lips clean of froth. Then Sirius watched him turn around and make to manoeuvre his way politely away from the bar.

Remus saw him; Sirius felt stuck in his gaze. He turned carefully back to the bar, leaned in and got the barman's attention and then walked towards Sirius slowly with a pint of beer in each hand.

"You don't want to brave the bar, you'll be stuck there until the bands come on," Remus shouted into Sirius' ear as he handed over a glass.

"Thanks!" Sirius mouthed as he took a sip of the warm liquid. " 'cept I have to line up anyway for Peter and James," he said leaning into Remus and pointing to the two standing obediently in the spot where he'd left them.

Remus laughed and shrugged. "They look fairly well tanked already."

"They are! We started early," Sirius said in his best sober voice.

"Well, The Clash won't be on until about 3 so they oughtta pace themselves." At the sound of one of the support bands sound-checking Remus stepped closer to Sirius until they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. "I'm settling in for the long haul myself," he said, nudging Sirius.

"I'll join you!" Sirius said, flashing a grin. At that moment he felt thankful for all things Muggle - the packed clubs, the alcohol, the music and the close-fitting clothes.


Remus eventually braved the bar again, as he seemed to know when to push and when to hold his ground, and bought double vodkas for the four of them with the money Sirius had pressed into his palm. Sirius helped him carry the drinks.

"So, are you here by yourself, then?" Sirius asked in a casual tone.

"Some friends were going to meet me - do you know Gretchen Harris? She grew up near me, she goes to Hogwarts. And her punk cousin. They're probably here, actually, somewhere. And Jeremy - Tompkinson - Ravenclaw - he made it to London but got waylaid at The Leaky Cauldron. He might venture out later."

Sirius nodded sagely and 'hmmm'-ed.

"Isn't it odd how you can go to school with people for seven years and never know people in the same year as you?" Remus said, with a lopsided grin and meaningful lift of his eyebrows.

"You're right - never heard of them," Sirius said, bursting into laughter mid-way through. He eventually took a deep breath in and braced himself in crossed arms to avert an inebriated-giggling collapse. Feeling more composed he braved a look in Remus' direction.

At which point Remus himself fell into a fit of giggles.


The Clash did eventually come on. They were all drunk by that stage, though Remus and Sirius were keeping a better hold of themselves than James and Peter, whom Sirius derided as "soft cocks". The Muggle alcohol seemed to have added a lewd edge to his charming drunk self, so much so that he'd stopped thinking about what Remus was thinking. As it happened, Remus grinned and laughed at the display, like he'd been doing most of the night.

They moved forward into the crowd at the sight of the band, Sirius "Wooh"-ing and "Yea-hhh"-ing into the sweaty crush of bodies. Thinking had ceased and he was feeling and being hit by disconnected thoughts and images. //So hot//my hip shoved against his//sweaty//his sweat//want to smell it//this is living//music//Muggles, so cool//he's hot, can feel it//yeah!//The Clash!//Remus//I could touch his shoulder//.

As the last chord reverberated Sirius lingered in an adrenalin haze of love for all mankind and punk musicians in particular. A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his spellbind.

"Oh my God. That was so good. So bloody good," Remus shouted. "The Clash, we saw The Clash." Sirius blinked before joining in with the delighted outburst, to which Peter and James were now adding. Remus was hyper-excited and his beautiful, scarred hand was grabbing Sirius' shoulder. It was stunning.

They made there way over to some couches, where James slumped forward after one more drink. Peter said, "Screw the Ministry, I'm getting a band together" and grilled Remus about the best way to make this happen, under the impression that Remus, knowing actual punks, was privy to the finer workings of the scene. Sirius forced another whisky on him after which Peter fell into a rambling state of semi-consciousness.

It was going on 5 am, and Sirius and Remus were still making a decent fist of things, sipping vodka, sunk into the shabby vinyl couch. Remus was holding his glass up, as if to examine the sensual play of vodka upon bitters and soda water, but there wasn't enough light for him to actually see.

"Where did you get your scars?" Sirius asked, watching him. "I mean, what happened?" he added, only partially managing to suppress a chuckle.

Remus leaned back into the couch cradling the glass close to his chest. He seemed deep in thought. "Bad memory," he finally said, bringing his glass up to his chin. "It's not a problem," he said, turning his head to Sirius, "but I don't want to talk about it."

Sirius was in a muddle, watching Remus drink his vodka mix. When Remus twisted in the couch and started talking about Bowie's latest album the moment slipped gradually into the general jumble of Sirius' mind.


Sirius' main objective for seventh year was thinking up a strategy for making a successful move on Remus.

He was pretty certain that Remus liked him, in some indefinable way. He was not so sure that Remus thought about kissing and touching him or that Remus would want to be known as poof within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Sirius wasn't sure about being labeled a poof himself.

He was becoming accustomed to feeling stabs of doubt and displacement but it didn't mean he had to like it. There'd been so many opportunities: nearly touching Remus' arm as they sat relaxing by the lake on the odd weekend afternoon; almost asking him about the unknown quantity that was his love life; verging on accidentally leaning in too close to point out something in their homework. Months of such brinkmanship added up to one frustrated and impatient Sirius Black. "Enough of this!" he grumbled into his pillow one early winter morning. He got out of bed, crept into the showers, got dressed in his robes, got back into bed and fell asleep.

In the real morning, and with shoes on, Sirius strode down corridors and ran down steps until he reached the Great Hall. He wasn't interested in breakfast.

He couldn't ignore the sickeningly rapid beat of his heart and the cold sweat on his forehead. He had to cough to get over a sudden choking in his throat and then he forced his legs to start moving over to the Ravenclaw table. It didn't help that he could see Remus already, his back towards him across the expansive room.

"Ahh, Remus, hi. I was wondering if I could see you ... ahh, have a chat with you sometime today?"

"Umm, of course. Sounds important?" Remus had tilted his head quizzically at Sirius.

"No. No, nothing to worry about. I just want to ... talk over something." Sirius kicked himself, against the heel, for not having rehearsed the wording of his request. He didn't want speculation, not from Remus or anyone else.

"Okay - after last class? I'm fairly busy today."

Sirius nodded, not feeling relieved in any way. Remus also looked slightly anxious.


They met in an empty class room on the ground floor and leaned against adjacent desks, saying nothing.

Sirius had never been more nervous in his life. Telling his parents that he'd been sorted into Gryffindor had nothing on being rejected and humiliated by the boy he was in love with. Why would this feeling of nausea never go away?

"I want to ask you something, Remus," Sirius finally said, slurring the words only slightly. "Do you ... umm. Are you - would -"

"Sirius, I have to tell you something." Remus' voice was steely.

Shit! He's not gay! He knows I fancy him! Sirius panicked.

"I'm really not somebody you should get close to," Remus said, as if pronouncing from on high.

Sirius didn't dare look at him; he was swamped by desolation. "I'm sorry," he said hesitantly, hoping he didn't sound churlish. "I shouldn't have ..." He got up to leave, feeling Remus' eyes on him as he walked towards the door; he hadn't thought it would hurt so much.

"Sirius?" The softer edge to the word still cut because it was Remus.

"Sirius. Wait a minute." Remus had grabbed his arm.

"What?" Sirius said sourly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Clearly something you're not interested in. So let me go, thanks."

"Just hang on, will you! Tell me what you came here to tell me!" His fingers circled Sirius' bicep like manacles.

"Why? I've already humiliated myself!" Sirius spat.

"How?" Remus sounded genuinely intrigued.

Sirius looked at him - he did want to tell him, just once. "I love you. But don't worry about it. I won't ever mention it again." Sirius wanted nothing more than to get away from Remus' awkward hold, now that he'd said it.

"You wouldn't love me, if you knew about me. So forget about it, okay." Remus' eyes had locked on his and the words seemed spoken directly to his soul.

"You're a git. I love you and nothing will change that," Sirius threw out with all the honesty he had in him.

"You're the git. Sometimes things aren't all they seem."

"Let me go, you idiot." They were starting to tussle.

Remus cut in with a tone verging on threatening. "Exchange secrets, okay - I won't tell anyone you're gay, if you don't tell anyone my secret."

"Okay," Sirius growled.

Remus dropped his hand from Sirius' arm. "Right. Well, I'm a werewolf."

"Uhh ..." Sirius thought his stomach must have dropped out of his body; ironically, he also felt close to vomiting. He forced himself to take long, relaxing breaths, eyes rigidly focused on the squares of stone at his feet. "So tell me you feel the same now you know the truth," he heard Remus say.

And then the words echoed into his consciousness.

This was Remus. Remus was a good person. The truth slowly reasserted itself.

"You're a werewolf?" Sirius gasped, wishing he could disguise it.

"Yes." Remus was regarding him with a closed face. Sirius fixed his eyes there, searching for something. Something other than cool brown eyes and a shocked white face and //that's why he has scars//.

"You're not gay?" Sirius found himself saying, his arms hanging by his sides, his legs pinned gawkily to the floor.

Remus paused. "I think I might be gay."

Time became an instant.

Sirius was moving, he didn't know how; the palms of his hands were still giving off sweat. He stepped forward and hauled Remus into an embrace. Kissed him, took him in, tested things out, soundly.

"I think you're gay," Sirius whispered into Remus' ear just as Remus said, "Yeah, I'm gay."

They burst out laughing, rocking against each other in a clenching circle of arms and backs and chests.


Sirius hadn't thought much about life after Hogwarts. The last six months had been taken up with Remus, and then suddenly there was the Express and collectively baffled goodbyes at King's Cross.

He walked through the flat trying to diffuse his nerves. He couldn't quite believe that this place was his and he ran his fingers along window sills and walls, looking for the boundaries, perhaps trying to plant some part of himself into the surfaces, the space.

The Knight Bus was very unpredictable. It paid no heed to normal rules of time. Sirius was going slowly crazy.

Would Remus like the flat? Would Remus still be happy to see him, and in the same way?

He walked around, waiting.


"It's so weird that this is mine," Sirius whispered into the space separating them. They were cross-legged on the floor and Sirius could see his breath stirring through Remus' fringe, just slightly.

Remus smiled warmly. "You have to own it." He dropped backwards, unwrapping his legs and extending his arms. "Lie down and feel it."

They lay on their backs with their eyes closed. Sirius could feel the carpet springy beneath his head. He could sense Remus beside him, and their fingertips, not-quite touching, tingling under the force of an invisible, unshakable pull.

Sirius was aware of Remus taking his hand. The carpet was against his back and there was a sparkle behind his eyelids and his home was all around him. All around them. His hand crept around Remus' and up along his forearm. He tugged.

"Hey!" Remus yelled, offended.

"Come here," Sirius murmured and tugged again, with better results: Remus rolled into him, propped against his side.

"Let's listen to Bowie," Remus said, softly, quirking an eyebrow.

Sirius choked on a laugh and then let it out. "I thought you were going to suggest something ... more suggestive," he managed.

"That's because you have a filthy mind," Remus said, nestling into denim and soft cotton. "And a filthy laugh."

Sirius snorted. "You love it," and he hugged him tight.