Beautiful (Day)

You finished your last O.W.L. this morning, and even though Potions has never been a good subject for you, you let yourself forget that your potion was violet instead of plum and lean back against the tree behind you. Sirius, slouched next to you, is uncharacteristically quiet, not sulking, not angry, just quietly content. When the wind changes direction, you think that you can hear him humming under his breath.

It's not so much his humming that makes you turn your head, but the random thoughts frolicking merrily in your mind, most of which revolve around him. You turn your head just so; you're looking at him, but can easily pretend that you're studying the clouds to his left.

He's reading something, but you're not sure what it is, though you strongly suspect it's nothing remotely educational. Sirius is very intelligent, but he hasn't enjoyed being cooped up for two weeks, studying for O.W.L.s.

He hasn't noticed that you are studying him with a fair degree of intensity. His hands, tanned like the rest of him from Quidditch, seem darker against the bright white of the paper he's holding. You look briefly at your own hands, smaller, paler, with jagged nails and a crooked ring finger on your left hand. You think that sometimes you shouldn't like the way your hand looks on his shoulder, moonpale and delicate, but you do. You almost like how you can think of so many reasons why you and Sirius shouldn't be right together. You like that both of you can defy them so easily.

The sun moves from behind a cloud, so bright in your eyes that you see black spots in your vision before you lazily think to look away. And because you're young and quite possibly in love, everything makes you think of Sirius. He's always reminded you of the sun, even though he should be a star. His smiles are always flashes of sunbright joy, but if you look at him longer, he's a vision of dark hair and dark skin dancing before your eyes. When it's dark and you've sneaked into his bed, his eyes are dark as well, pupils dilated as he strains to see you through the night, when the curtains are closed and the moon is locked behind a window.

You're glad that the moon keeps to itself, mostly, when you're with Sirius. As surely as he is the sun, you are the moon, but you can't bring yourself to be proud of the fact. So fragile looking, silvery-bright, but you know its vicious pull better than anyone. Silver and gold, the moon and the sun, just like this moment and the boy you think you love. Exams must have exhausted your brain more than you'd thought, because you can't form an intelligent thought to save your life.

Sirius lifts his head, saving you from your awful, cliché almost-metaphors. "Rem? Are you alright, there?"

You laugh, a little, and reply, almost singsong, still gazing at the clouds. "Perfectly fine. Just looking. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Sirius tears his eyes away from you, looks out at the rolling campus before him. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." He pauses for a moment, eyes scanning the landscape, and then, "hey, look. The bird there, in the tree."

"What about it?"

"S'pretty, is all. How it's red, and the tree's green. It looks nice." He couldn't have possibly known of your rambling thoughts only moments previous, but you still give a surprised sort of laugh. Instead of replying, you smile widely--one of his smiles, really--and kiss him. As you break apart, you pull him down so you're lying halfway on top of each other, and your hand is pale against his, your hair light against his own blue-black tangles. Usually, you would think that he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, but today, he's most beautiful when he's with you.

~fin