Stumble Upon It

º

There was a paltry eight people in the Great Hall when they entered for a late breakfast, only one of them a professor (Albus Dumbledore, at that), and they were all seated together at the head of what was usually the Hufflepuff table. This had been the usual arrangement given that there were only thirty-some total people living in the colossal school for the time-being and it would have been exceptionally impractical to ask the elves below to prepare food for all the five vast tables.

Remus settled next to a dark young girl with big eyes who tried to smile at him with trepidation before averting her eyes to her nearly empty plate. He remembered how seventh years had seemed to him at eleven or twelve: daunting and very tall. It made him laugh inside to think that he might wield anything like that power over Hogwarts' current children; Remus, unlike many older Slytherin students and a notable few Gryffindors (James and Sirius indisputably among them), could hardly be considered scary. Well. With the exception of his "furry little problem." He hated how that whimsical euphemism had stuck and privately cursed James for its invention. Here he was resorting to its use in his own inner monologue.

"That's right, sweetheart, be smart, be afraid," he thought silently and cynically. "Everyone's afraid of the big, bad wolf." With an innate knowledge of exactly how severely he would break, shatter, eviscerate and shred any eleven-year-old girl who had the misfortune to be within the same range this one now was during a full moon, Remus' appetite deserted him briefly and he paused midway through transferring toast from a platter to his plate.

"Ah, Messrs. Black and Lupin. Grand of you to join us."

Remus turned in time to see the Headmaster grin warmly at them before he immersed himself in some avid conversation with the gruff looking Slytherin next to him. Directly and inversely proportionate to the old man's level of enthusiasm, she grew progressively more surly and her nods and noises of scarcely polite concurrence became more terse as Dumbledore chatted about, apparently, Puddlemere United's unprecedented and regrettable losing streak. "It's that Keeper of theirs, What's-His-Face Blodgett, who's dragging them down; Puddlemere never had a problem with defense before this season--" His soliloquizing was interspersed, however, with the occasional comment on socks or arcane theories of myomancy (which, if the Slytherin girl had been listening nearly as closely as Remus was, she would have noticed it was all utter tripe and that Dumbledore was curbing back a wry smile even as he spouted off ludicrous fallacies of his own capricious invention, testing to see if she was paying any attention whatsoever).

"-- and that's why if one sights a brown mouse pilfering grain stores before the new moon, it foretells of a flood and if one observes a white mouse reading a newspaper, it prophesies that a member of one's family is in danger of contracting dragon pox. But-- and this, I warn you, is the most sinister case of all-- if one spots a mauve mouse dancing a polka with a bowtrunkle, one may infer that the world is coming to an end. Enchanting subject, divining the habits of mice, don't you think? Miss Gulley?"

Remus, effectively roused from his bout of brooding, could not stifle his quiet fit of laughter. The old wizard turned toward them then, his eyes crinkling behind his glinting spectacles. He took a final bite of poached egg. "And how are you boys this lovely holiday?"

"Just fine, sir," Remus answered, still restraining a snort.

"I hope you'll manage to keep yourselves out of trouble for once. Especially you, Sirius Black. But, naturally, I'm sure you will. I'm all for granting seventy-fourth chances, myself." Sirius smirked unabashedly. "For instance, our dear Mr. Filch accosted me just the other day saying he thought someone had been larking about the roofs of Hogwarts!"

A bit of bacon lodged jarringly in Remus' throat, but Sirius revealed no signs of alarm.

"And I-- of course-- assured him that it was a preposterous idea and that no one, least of all you two, would be foolish enough to do such a thing." Dumbledore took a deep swallow of grapefruit juice as though the matter was settled. Nevertheless, as he returned the glass to the table, Remus felt sure he caught sight of a knowing wink from the Headmaster.

"Heavens no, professor," Sirius replied with a roguish smile and Remus was momentarily scandalized by his boldness.

"You know, had anyone been harebrained enough to take such a venture, though, I feel it would be my duty as head of this school to ask them never to do it again and give them the minor task of scouring out the Owlery. Our feathered friends would surely appreciate it," Dumbledore suddenly, gripped by an afterthought, continued. He chuckled.

"A fitting punishment, sir," nodded Sirius, acting for all the world like the entire exchange was hypothetical. Remus felt a great rush of amusement and affection for both the Headmaster and his friend (affection, granted, of somewhat different sorts), but was not particularly looking forward to scrubbing the Owlery later.

º

Remus raked a stiff wire brush over a wooden perch, scraping dried bird droppings from it; he roused slumbering barn and tawny and eagle owls out of his way as he worked.

"Not the most disgusting sentence, this. Better than just about anything in the dungeons," Sirius said, surveying the flagstone floor's squalor.

"Speak for yourself. At least dirty cauldrons don't bite you," Remus replied as a large and proud-looking grey owl snapped irately at his hand.

"Yeah, but there's air up here. Feels like prison down there, y'know? I'll take shit and cheek from owls any day over that." Sirius prodded a fluffed and sedate bird who quickly jolted to attention and glared at him with yellow eyes-- Sirius quailed mockingly. "Evanesco!" he commanded the floor and a scanty swath of dirt and crushed rodent bones disappeared.

It was cold and mildly foul work, but they continued with it, free of supervision. Professor Dumbledore hadn't demanded they do it, hadn't even mentioned it after his vague suggestion at breakfast, but Sirius and Remus felt that it was firmly implied they see to the job and neither of them even mentioned skiving. The Marauders respected the Headmaster and his eccentric tactics where they might otherwise jeer at or be resentful of other teachers' regulations, their power trips. Dumbledore didn't act like an authority figure, so there seemed to be no use in rebelling against him.

"Scourgify," said Remus as he finished with the owls' perches and turned his wand to the last remnants of detritus on the floor. A film of lilac bubbles bled out across the Owlery and Sirius fought to avoid falling as they crept under his feet.

Laughing and steadying himself against the wall, he sluiced away the suds and bits of grime with a hasty "Aguamenti."

"That's that," pronounced Sirius, giving his own horned owl a genial pat before springing down the steps. He'd given the fierce and decidedly Spartan bird the unfortunate and inappropriate name of Valentine when his parents-- who were still then on speaking terms with their eldest son-- had given her to him in February of their first year. Sirius was a fan of irony.

"Oi, Padfoot, wait for me!" Remus called after him, dashing down the spiral staircase as well.

When he reached the bottom and appraised the seventh floor corridor, he detected no visible sign of Sirius but heard the receding pound of sprinting feet heading back toward Gryffindor Tower. Oh, James and Sirius had been playing this juvenile game since second year-- racing headlong at chance moments and without warning from wherever they were in the castle to the dormitory, first one to jump and touch the lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling wins. This term, James was lording six whole victories over Sirius (out of fuck-knows how many total races run over the years). They rarely tried to include Peter or Remus mostly because they refused to participate and always lost by miles anyway.

Remus sniggered and ran.

º

Rounding a corner and skidding, Remus caught a flash of black robes whipping out of sight as Sirius turned down the home-stretch-- to his surprise, he seemed to be actually gaining on him. He ran all the faster and arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait just as she slammed closed in Sirius' wake; Remus gasped the password and gave chase through the maze of squashy common room chairs, vaulting inelegantly over one to tear up to the boys' quarters on Sirius' heels.

And just as Sirius leapt, arm outstretched, toward the iron lamp, Remus bolted through the dormitory door and dived at him, ensnaring him round the knees and sending them both staggering to the floor.

Shouts of raucous laughter ensued as the two of them wrestled, barely avoiding the obstacles around them-- trunks and various belongings. The grapple did not last long in light of the fact that Sirius was significantly stronger and soon his knee found Remus' chest and shoved him hard to his back. Remus panted, defeated, and winced at a stitch that had formed some time ago in his side.

In a second, Sirius had removed his knee from his friend's chest and settled astride him, his hands pressing Remus' shoulders into the rug.

"I win," he asserted, looking down at him with an amused and triumphant expression.

Remus' breathing was labored and he sensed his cheeks flushing. He could only hope Sirius presumed both to be a result of the physical exertion. "Tell him to move and laugh it off," Remus thought frenetically. But he couldn't get the words out.

Even as his mind stalled, rendered immobile with an understanding of their present position, Remus saw the spirited look melt from Sirius' face and knew something in his manner must have betrayed his nervousness. Remus expected him to clamber away, disconcerted, and maybe apologize brusquely before leaving in embarrassment, but he didn't. Sirius looked at him for some moments, his features completely indecipherable, and then leaned forward.

And kissed Remus carefully.

When he didn't scream or heave him off, Sirius deepened the kiss and moved one tense hand from Remus' shoulder to his temple where he pushed his fingers uncertainly into his hair. Remus was stupefied and somewhere in his hindbrain he was elated. It was not a short kiss and it might have been very good if Remus had been collected enough to really kiss back.

Sirius stopped and retreated a few inches to hover above Remus.

"Why did you do that?" was all Remus could say after a moment.

A tarnish of dismayed doubt crossed over Sirius' face and he quickly moved a few feet away. Remus sat up.

"Because--" he said hoarsely and paused. "I thought you wanted me to."

"Oh." Was that the only reason Sirius had done it? If he hadn't done it for himself as well then it was only an awkward gift (a fleeting, unmentionable one without a future) and, Remus thought, that would be more heartrending than if it hadn't happened at all. He was desperate for this episode to not be one of alienation. He needed to say more, but he didn't know what it would be. "Just because you thought I wanted it?" he stammered.

"Well. I don't really know." Sirius' voice diminished and he looked away toward nothing in particular.

"I mean, okay, I did," Remus confessed. "But--"

"So you are gay."

"What? Er... kind of." He stared at his lap, feeling nauseous at the way this exchange was progressing. Tiny beads of sweat were condensing on the back of his neck. "So. Only to test and see if I'm gay?" he said in a perilous whisper, almost more to himself than Sirius.

Sirius, catching the hint of resentfulness in his tone, spun around, looking concerned. "I didn't intend..."

"It's fine. Yeah, I'm bisexual, there you go." Remus bit off the words sharply. He stood and moved away toward his own bed, his utter disappointment and-- yes-- anger increasing horribly with each step. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was upset with himself or Sirius. He hadn't planned to continue but suddenly was exhausted with a lifetime of inhibiting himself.

"Why do you have to prey on everyone's weaknesses, Sirius?" he asked, his voice rising. Sirius met this accusation with a blank stare, but Remus persisted. He realized that, subconsciously and underneath the cloud of lust and fascination, he'd thought this about his friend for a long time. He felt demeaned.

"You and James. Sometimes not everything is a goddamn game. People aren't things you figure out and play with and conquer. Thanks, but I don't need to be teased. I don't need to be an afternoon diversion of yours. I already provide you with enough entertainment every full moon anyway." He didn't shout, but he set his expression like steel-- he would never forgive himself if he suffered some wretched breakdown right in front of Sirius.

Sirius rose from the floor and approached him cautiously but without the marks of his earlier air of uncharacteristic passive consternation. He looked almost curious and said nothing to defend himself against Remus' verbal assault. "Maybe he knows it's true," thought Remus bitterly.

"That's what you think of it as? A weakness?"

Caught off-guard by this question, Remus only gaped at him.

"Because, if so, that's a pretty rough thing to say about yourself."

Remus recovered and took a deep breath to respond. "Alright, maybe 'weak' is a bad way to say it, but it's just another social stigma to deal with, right? And I don't know what that has to do--"

"Remus," Sirius interrupted with an inflected note of resolution. "Moony, mate, you're not a victim here, okay? Why do you have to be so defensive all the time? Can't you ever just take shit as it happens and go with it?"

Some of his antagonism dissipated and Remus felt the acidic distress in his chest and throat begin to ebb, but there was still in him a tremor of... defensiveness. Realizing this, he let it slide.

"Besides," Sirius added. "If you want to lower your self-esteem and say being bisexual or gay is weak that's your business, but I won't have you insulting me with talk like that." And here the corner of Sirius' mouth twitched and threatened to become a smile; he crossed his arms in what might have been a parody of offended self-respect.

Remus felt his mind and muscles go slack. "What? Are you saying...?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

"Oh."

He'd been wrong, Remus realized. Sirius wasn't playing with him, wasn't mocking him... far from it. Remus experienced a rare moment of being both wrong and happy simultaneously.

º

"Oh," he repeated lamely, and tried not to look directly at Sirius. When he inevitably did, however, he knew this was an opportunity on which he was supposed to be acting. Making eye contact, he was distinctly aware that Sirius' hadn't just capriciously granted him with that privileged information. Spontaneously, Remus reached up to him who was marginally taller and drew his head down toward him, brushing their lips briefly together before pulling him into a hard kiss. And Sirius, in a move that sent adrenaline and warmth coursing through Remus, responded accordingly by biting mischievously at his lower lip and enfolding him in a steadfast embrace. Their two tongues snared and Remus felt Confunded, electrocuted by this episode that, mere days and hours ago, he'd been sure he'd never experience.

"I'm going to wake up at any minute," Remus thought distractedly and knew it wasn't true as he, with a tremulous hold on the other's shoulders, set to kissing Sirius' collarbone; he grazed his teeth delicately along it and was rewarded with a bottomless, powerful sigh from Sirius. Remus' heart swelled and he adored Sirius for that sound, craving a situation in which he might have incentive to do it again.

Remus was very hot, he realized in a detached sort of way-- as though he knew it, but didn't feel it. He scuffled with some laces and at the clasp at his throat and then dragged his robes over his head, discarding them. Sirius shortly followed suit. With one less material layer separating them, their bodies touched in interesting fashions.

Suddenly Remus, on an instinctual and dizzying impulse, dropped to his knees. At Sirius' acute pant he looked questioningly up at him, one hand poised at the other boy's belt. "You've got to be kidding," he huffed good-naturedly, even as his eyes widened a little, looking poignantly vulnerable. Remus felt tongue-tied and the only response Sirius received was his belt falling loose. With no more than an infinitesimal hesitation to boost Remus' encroaching insecurity Sirius said, "Oh, go on then."

Remus' hands trembled erratically; "Make this good..." he thought to himself before all sentient thought was drained from his head by the hum of Sirius' soft moan-- a moan which Remus had provoked and which encouraged his tongue further.

The act, overall, was a little awkward: Remus was passionate but unpracticed and, in some obscure corner of consciousness he was trying to gauge how long he'd be able to cope with his own level of physical excitement, with the force of his emotions. Regardless, Sirius' deep gravelly breaths grew louder, more harried... Tossing his head back against the bedpost, he let out a wordless cry and Remus sat back on his heels, look up at Sirius, whose face glistened faintly with drops of perspiration. Sirius gazed back approvingly and swiped his damp, sleek hair out of his eyes, nodding and saying sheepishly, "Hanging in there? Good."

Stooping down, he took hold of Remus and deposited him in one swift movement onto the mattress, stealing with poise-- like a cat-- up the bed and over him. He kissed him fervently but only for a split second before sliding his hands down to unfasten the length of his shirt. Arriving at the last button, Sirius pulled away momentarily, but he abruptly froze and peered down at the boy's right side, his forehead furrowing. "What? You've seen this before," thought Remus frantically, intensely self-conscious.

His scars. True, Remus sported a lot of scars (ragged, self-inflicted wounds and thin, white scratches) but the marred patch on his ribs was the worst of it and was the vestigial consequence of his original werewolf bite at five years old.

Sirius, with extreme tenderness, touched his lips to the fang marks, his fingertips gently tracing the scores in the pale flesh and Remus cringed, not liking that attention should be drawn to them.

All discomfort vanished, though, when Remus-- having been distracted-- realized that Sirius was making his gradual, searing way from Remus' blemished side downward. "Please, just..." he thought incoherently. He didn't have to wait long and his hands were soon clutching convulsively at the sheets even as Sirius' nails dug into his hips. Remus ground his teeth together, arching his back and breathing out Sirius' name in one long exhale. His world was one of unfathomable satisfaction and pleasure, a delirium of feelings.

With his eyes closed, Remus felt but did not see Sirius creep forward and settle heavily against him. He opened his eyes flutteringly and a thin shaft of weak, winter afternoon sunlight met them. His pupils protested, contracting, and Remus turned away from the window.

"I can't believe we just did that," whispered Sirius from Remus' shoulder, his words tickling his throat. He sounded blissful, discomfited and fatigued all at once; Remus, who was unfamiliar with the latter two conditions in the expressive repertoire of his friend, patted his sprawled arm shyly.

Remus shook his head. "Neither can I."