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Remus was sure that he couldn’t be blamed for not noticing. At least, he didn’t want to blame himself, because that would just be embarrassing. He was smart, after all, wasn’t he? He’d been labelled with many adjectives in his short, (occasionally) miserable life, and smart was one of the more flattering ones. He’d been told he was perceptive, even, which made this all the worse. But no, no— he’d picked up on it first, hadn’t he, when Peter had gotten starry-eyed over Richards? And he always knew, didn’t he, what Sirius was going to say to his many admirers before they asked?

(Sirius always said no.)

Remus continued to stare across the common room, quill still frozen midair. No, no, no. He would not accept responsibility. If he hadn’t noticed for years— well, then, that was simply because it had always been there, hadn’t it? It had been there, in fact, that very first day on the Hogwarts Express...

“Oooh, did you get Circe? Swap, Pete, go on, then—”

“No way, I need her. I don’t have a backup.”

“You don’t need a backup, for Merlin’s sake—”

And then Remus, already overwhelmed and claustrophobic on the busy train, had tripped and banged a knee—and, horrifyingly, his nose—against the compartment door.

He had barely had time to straighten up, rubbing his face and seething with embarrassment, before the compartment door was shoved open with a bang.

“Oi!” the boy barked. Remus flinched. “It’s crowded out here, innit? Wanna come sit with us?”

And Remus had blinked. Hazel eyes gleamed behind square glasses, just below the unruliest head of black hair he’d ever seen. The boy was grinning crazily at him.

“Me?”

For surely the boy, dressed in brand-new robes with a garnet clasp, could not be speaking to him. But he nodded, still grinning, as Remus tried to wipe his watering eyes discreetly.

“’Course, you. Come on, then, need help?”

“Yeah, alright,” Remus had said, amazed— and then the wild-haired boy was lifting one end of his trunk, and shouldering back into the compartment.

There were only two other occupants: a dark-haired boy in the far corner, eating Licorice Wands and reading the newspaper, and a small, heavyset boy, munching on a Chocolate Frog and examining a layout of cards. His small eyes went wide at the new interruption.

“I’m James,” James panted, “and this is my mate, Peter.”

“Remus,” Remus panted back, and they shoved the trunk onto the rack together.

“Hi,” Peter covered his smile with his hand, words slightly muffled by chocolate. “Alright?”

“Brilliant,” said Remus, feeling dazed and happy. “Who’s this, then?”

He regretted asking at once, for the dubious flash of blue eyes from the corner made it clear the three of them were not together; but James was unbothered.

“No idea,” he said cheerfully, and dropped down next to the stranger. “Budge up, then, mate, there’s four of us now.”

The dark-haired boy raised an eyebrow. “Us?”

“Us,” James said. “And tear off a bit of that licorice, eh?”

Both eyebrows went up, and the paper was lowered. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to,” James said, and grinned in that scruffy, charming, wheedlesome way that only James Potter could manage. “Chuck us a Wand, go on then. You’ll be my favorite.”

And the boy had scoffed— but Remus, now sitting next to Peter, saw that the hand dipping back into the bag brought forth not just one, but a whole bundle of licorice strings. James took them, beaming.

“Cheers, mate. What’s your name?”

The boy, having picked up his newspaper again, gave James one last wary look.

“Sirius.”

And James continued to smile, and, slowly, slowly, Sirius began to smile back. It was small—tentative—but it was there. And then Remus noticed that maybe Sirius’s haughty look was concealing a faint blush. And maybe—just maybe— Remus’s heart was not the only one pounding in that compartment, for novelty and nervousness, for the fear and thrill of new beginnings.

And so, had it not been spelled out for him from the very start? It had; and yet, Remus reflected, he’d thought nothing of it that first year, when James and Sirius had gotten on thicker than a custard cream. It only made sense, knowing the pair of them. Sirius was the dynamite and James was the flame, and Remus was fairly certain that they’d set a record for double detentions in their first month at Hogwarts. And if Sirius’s eyes, so reserved only weeks ago, now gleamed with pleasure when he looked at James, if he nudged James for his attention right before showing off in Charms— well, that was only natural, wasn’t it? They were best friends. And if James stayed up all night working on some ghastly bit of Transfiguration just so he could use it on (and dazzle) Sirius, if he saved his new freestyle Quaffle tricks for when Sirius was around, well, then, that was natural, too. They were friends— best friends.

And Remus, for the first time, had friends of his own. Three correspondents to write to— he could hardly believe it. Peter’s letters came back short and smudgy, Sirius’s curving and elegant, and James’s prompt, scrawling, and rambling.

I’ve written Sirius loads, I’m a bit worried about him, to be honest. He says he feels cooped up in his house, and I don’t blame him. Can you imagine living in London, shut in with that lot for the summer? I think I’d off myself, wouldn’t you? It’s a biological miracle that our S came from a family like that. I’ve told him that he’s got to come stay with me, and I really hope he does. You’ve all got to come stay with me soon, you and S and Pete. We’ll have a grand old time.

So he’d written Sirius loads, had he? Remus believed it. They shared even more secret smiles that second year, like they’d come to know things about each other that others didn’t. They all did their due duty to extracurriculars during first term— Peter joined the Gobstones Club, Sirius taught Remus chess, and James, bless him, tried out for the Quidditch team on a day that could’ve gone into the history books as one of Hogwarts’ wettest. If the train and the letters weren’t enough, then that day surely should’ve been.

“You’re not going,” Remus had said, aghast.

“I am,” Sirius said stubbornly, armed only with his wand and a black umbrella. “I’ll be fine.”

“You most certainly will not!” Remus leapt in front of the portrait hole, book laying forgotten on the sofa. “You’re mad, you’re not even wearing a mac!”

“I have my wand,” Sirius said, as if explaining that one plus one was two. “Don’t worry.”

“Have you looked out the window, mate? You’ll be blown away. He told us not to come, remember? Said he’d hex us if we caught our death colds watching him—”

“That’s because he’s a mother hen and a prat,” Sirius said. “I’m going to watch him fly.”

And so Remus, grumbling, had nipped upstairs for his slicker and accompanied Sirius down to the pitch.

Peter, who would have sooner cut off a hand than miss anything Quidditch-related, was already there, draped in many layers of poncho and eating Every-Flavor Beans. He waved, grinning in surprise, as they half-walked, half-swam through the stands towards him.

“Didn’t expect to see you lot!”

He had to shout to be heard over the rain. Sirius had fixed himself and Remus up nicely with a charm from the standard two grades above them, and was now going to work on Peter.

“Impervius!”

“Oi!”

“I’ve only water-proofed you!” Sirius hollered, now scanning the rain-shaded sky. “Where’s James?”

“Oh. Thanks, then!” Peter offered them some beans, brushing water out of his hair. “He hasn’t gone yet, Chasers’re trying out one-by-one. He’s flying last!”

It was impossible to hear anything being said in the air, so they shared the candy and squinted into the dark sky for James’s familiar outline.

“That is not shepherd’s pie.”

“It is!”

“I dunno what kind of shepherd’s pie you’ve been eating, Lupin, but—”

“He’s there!” Sirius shouted, shooting out of his seat and nearly upsetting the carton of beans. “He’s there, just there, d’you see?”

“Where?” Peter demanded.

“There!”

And Sirius either would not or could not sit back down, but hung out of the rain-slicked stands so far that Peter groaned and fisted the back of his robes.

“You’ll fall, Sirius!”

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

“C’mon, then!” he was screaming into the wind. “C’mon, put the ball through the hoop, you tosser! Show me some moves!”

And James did.

It was Remus who upset the Bertie Bott’s for good, sending them flying into the second row when James got past the Keeper for the fifth time. No one cared.

“How can he even see?” yelled Peter, as they all jumped up and down like maniacs. “He’s blind without his specs!”

“He’ll have charmed them!” Sirius shouted, still dancing around gleefully. “He’s the one that showed me the spell, the git!”

It was over soon after. James Potter, twelve years old, had outflown every other prospective Chaser, including several murderous-looking seventh years. There was no hope of hearing the captain’s announcement, but it didn’t matter— Sirius was already running ahead of them, sprinting out onto the pitch. A moment later, the conquering hero hit the ground with a splash of mud and a yell of fury.

“You prat, you prat, I told you not to come—I’ll hex your legs off, you wanker—”

And Sirius, whose Impervius Charm was wearing off, rushed at James with his dark wet hair flying— and James hit him sharply over the head, laughing, as Sirius lifted him around the middle and spun him around and around.

“You did it! You bloody did it!”

Yes, Remus had been there, cheering along with the rest of them, and surely he’d seen the look on James’s face when Sirius had finally put him down? Burning, furious love—the kind that can only be expressed through kissing or hitting—and, sure enough, the two of them boxed each other around the ears a time or two more before clashing into another hug, still yelling.

And if that hadn’t been enough— now that he was thinking about it— it was during the following year that the looks had begun. The three of them had worked out his secret by then, and, to his utter astonishment, did not flee from the wolf. Instead, they stuck around, and stuck by him. Sometimes they even came so far as to visit him in the hospital wing after the full moon. This was an illicit practice, as no one, technically, was supposed to know he was there, but Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to turn a blind eye.

“...and Binns only told us it’ll be on our O.W.L.S. once the lecture was over. So it’s a good thing we’ve got Sirius, since he’s the only one thick enough— sorry, clever enough— to find History of Magic interesting—”

“Shut up, Potter.” Sirius elbowed him, flushing slightly around the collar. “Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not smug,” James smirked, smug as a bug. “Anyway, we have those notes for you, and I did the ones from Minnie.”

“Thanks,” Remus said gratefully, and reached for the parchment. “Where’s Peter?”

“Breakfast,” Sirius rolled his eyes, patting Remus’s foot. “He wanted to bring you back some sausages, he reckons the ones from the Great Hall taste better.”

“Yeah, they do,” Remus agreed. “You guys are the best.”

“Don’t mention it,” James said at once. “D’you want anything else? Rolls? Pumpkin juice? Toast?”

“I’m alright,” Remus said, amused. “Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure? There was a good-looking bit of bacon with your name on it—”

“The sausages’ll be plenty, James, honest.”

“Alright, then. So, how’re you feeling? I can skive off Potions and sit with you, if you want—”

“Mr. Potter!”

“Only joking, Miss!” James hollered. “But seriously,” he continued in an undertone, “I can get the cloak and come back, Remus, it’d only take me a few minutes.”

And Remus’s heart had filled, and he patted James’s hand.

“That’s okay. Thanks, though. You’re a good mate, but you need the Potions practice, eh?”

James had scoffed, distracted enough in defending his academic honor that he couldn’t see, as Remus could, the glowing look that Sirius was giving him as he fussed over their friend. It was arresting in its tenderness. Sirius, while equipped with a good heart and a roaring sense of humor, was prone to bouts of handsome haughtiness. This look wasn’t like that— this look was filled with vulnerability, with adoration. It softened his features and made him better-looking than ever; and Remus, now that he thought about it, remembered wishing on some absent level that James would turn and see it, the berk. Instead, he’d given Remus’s shoulder a light punch before dropping a Chocolate Frog into his lap.

“At least take that.”

“Thanks, James.”

“It’s nothing,” James said anxiously. “Just want you to be alright, eh?”

“And have a reason to miss Potions,” Remus teased, tearing open the Frog with his teeth. James, looking more delinquent and tousle-haired than ever, had begun spluttering again.

And still, Sirius had been sitting there in the sunlight, staring at him with that look on his face.

It wasn’t the first time that Remus had caught him at it, and it wouldn’t be the last. The summer passed in a whirl: Sirius had been whisked off to France for the holidays, and they all suffered accordingly.

It gets worse every time I come home, Remus. They can’t even talk about Beauxbatons without mentioning how many ‘Mudblood brats’ go to school there. And every single bit of sight-seeing we’ve done has somehow been related to the Black family… forget Paris and the countryside, right? Let’s spend our entire holiday staring at a crumbling mansion, and banging on about how great we are! My mother is even considering moving the family vault to a bank over here so they don’t have to keep ‘consorting with those filthy goblins’. I’m so ashamed to be seen with them. Please send a vial of poison as soon as possible.

And if Sirius’s letters were sulky and miserable, they were nothing compared to James’s.

This is the worst summer ever. It’s a good thing you and Pete are getting here next week or I might actually off myself. I haven’t even been flying much! I’m going to lose my spot on the team if I’m not careful, which is ironic, because all I want is for school to start again. I just can’t believe Sirius has to be in France all summer. There might as well not even be a holiday! I tried to convince Mum and Fleamont to let me go to Paris for the weekend— I could take the train and fly the rest of the way, no problem— but of course they wouldn’t hear of it. I should’ve just gone without asking.

Peter’s notes, at least, were commiserating.

I’ve marked all the summer full moons on my calendar. The next one is two days away. Are you doing alright? I hope so. James and Sirius aren’t. They won’t shut up about how much they miss each other. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over.

And it was over, eventually. Remus hadn’t been there to see them reunite, but he’d seen the immediate aftermath on the journey to Hogwarts: the yelling, the wrestling, and then, finally, the hours of hard talking, right up until James fell asleep with his arm around Sirius and his hand in Sirius’s bag of Licorice Wands.

Remus had been worried that Sirius’s smile would split his face clean in two.

That fourth year was when they’d begun sharing chairs in the common room. No one seemed to notice much. They touched all the time, those two, so James wedging himself in next to Sirius to read the Prophet wasn’t so strange. They sat next to each other at dinner, too, never across, as if the prospect of eating one meal without knocking knees together was simply unfathomable. Sirius took to waiting on James’s bed during particularly long Quidditch practices, falling asleep there more often than not; and Remus, lying awake reading, had never heard James try to move him when he finally came in.

It was on James’s fifteenth birthday that Sirius had given him those twin mirrors, and, at first, Remus had nearly died laughing. It just made too much sense: two mirrors for his two best friends, the two superstars of the school. Sirius, especially, was on good terms with mirrors— by that point, his hair was falling past his shoulders, his maturing face bringing out those blue, black-lashed eyes more than ever. He was the tallest of the four of them, long-legged and leanly broad, and Remus was sure that the entire school would’ve had a free-for-all if Sirius ever said he was looking for a date. Strangely, though, Sirius never asked out anyone.

“What’re you doing, James?”

“Hm?” And James had turned his disheveled head, blinking in the dim light of the common room, sun streaming from the mirror in front of him. “Oh, nothing. Just talking to Sirius.”

“Where’s he, then?” Remus asked, unloading his bag onto the table. “Forest?”

“Nah. Just upstairs.”

And Remus had glanced at the mirror, only to be met by the sight of Sirius, sprawled on his bed in the sunlit dormitory, fast asleep. He glanced back down at James, whose Arithmancy essay was wrinkling slightly beneath his elbows.

“Oi, isn’t that due next hour?”

“Yeah,” James said, not looking up.

“Struggling there, are you?”

“I never struggle, Moony,” James yawned. “You can’t rush genius.”

“No doubt,” Remus agreed. “You’ll smudge it if you write too fast. Come to think of it, the ink on mine still looks a bit wet. I think I’ll leave it out, right here.”

James glanced up at him and dimpled. “Bless you.”

“’Course.”

And Remus had crossed the common room, and he’d watched James, hadn’t he? Seen the look on James’s face?

Sirius, in truth, was handsome even when asleep— his facial structure was enough to make up for the bedhead, and even the bit of drool— but James was looking at him in the two-way mirror like he was the sun the planets revolved around. Like he would have been content— no, happy— just to sit there and stare at Sirius forever.

Remus had never seen that look on James’s face before. He didn’t even look at Lily Evans like that. Nearly fifteen minutes later, despite the proffered Arithmancy essay sitting only a foot away, he still hadn’t picked his head up off the table. Remus began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep, and glanced over on his way back out of the portrait hole.

He hadn’t. He was still just sitting there, staring at the mirror with that look on his face. Sirius had begun to snore softly.

The summer before fifth year had passed in another blur, this time comprised of complicated Transfiguration books and extended stays at the Potters’. Sirius was there so much that he seemed to have practically moved in. Night after night passed with the four of them huddled around charts of Animagi, and, as he’d done for the past two years, Remus tried not to get his hopes up. James, however, was insistent.

“I’ve sorted it, Moony,” he would declare, with ink on his forehead and his wand shoved behind his ear. “I’m telling you, this is the year.”

And Sirius would glance at him, and James would glance back, and then they’d both grin like loons while Peter pored over their notebooks in the background.

The two of them would stay up into the wee hours of the morning, talking. Remus could hear their voices from next door. Sometimes they would have ten new pages of notes to show for it the next day. Sometimes, they’d have nothing at all.

And then there had been the day, in fifth year, when they’d finally managed it. Out to the forest the four of them had gone under the cloak (“We’re not staying in the dormitory, James, what if you’re an elephant?” “I’m not an elephant, Moony, I know I’ve got hair, at least—”), and flopped down amongst the roots in the weak October sunlight.

And they’d tried for hours, the three of them, whiling away their Sunday in Remus’s name. James, in particular, had paced about and read Trolwart’s Guide to Terribly Tricky Transfiguration until he was sweating and his hair was sticking up like porcupine quills.

“We’ve done everything, I’m sure of it! Everything!”

Remus glanced at Sirius, who was propped against the trunk of a laurel. Trolwart’s had already fallen victim to James’s notorious throwing arm twice during the Animagi quest, and Remus wasn’t sure its binding would survive a third encounter.

“James,” Sirius patted the ground in front of him. “Come have a rest.”

“I don’t want to rest—”

“James,” Sirius said again, in that tone only Sirius could strike— half ‘I understand’, and half ‘I’ll jinx you into a jelly’. “Come have a rest.”

And James had favored them all with one last frustrated glare before slumping, wiping his brow, and throwing himself down beside Sirius.

“C’mon, Jamie,” Sirius said, and smoothed the rumpled black hair. “Patience.”

“That’s what you always say,” James sighed; but he relaxed under Sirius’s touch, the pet name taking all the fight out of him. “But we’ve been waiting so long, and we’ve been trying for hours—”

“It took us four days just to work out the first advanced Switching Spell,” Sirius pointed out, still petting down James’s hair. “This’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done. Just have a rest.”

Sirius had continued in this James-soothing vein, murmuring calm encouragement; and Remus, soothed in turn, had turned his gaze towards the castle as James’s breath evened out. Different emotions were warring inside of him: gratitude, fear, anxiety, hope, despair. Was it possible, really? Was it possible to tame the wolf, even a little bit? There, visible between the slim trunks, was the Whomping Willow— the place where, in less than a week’s time, he’d have to endure his first transformation of the school year. Alone, as always. Unless, of course…

“Whoa,” Sirius breathed.

Drowsy and distracted, Remus turned slowly— and then, his breath had hitched.

“James…”

Because Sirius’s hand, buried in James’s hair moments before, was now resting on the side of a kneeling animal, rising and falling with its breath. A huge animal, with a glossy maple coat, a muscular body, and something massive on its head…

Antlers...

“A stag,” Sirius whispered. He was sitting as still as a stone. “Oh, you lucky bastard…”

The stag snorted, and Remus and Sirius both jumped. Peter, asleep on the ground, jerked out a snore.

“That’s right… you can still hear me, can’t you?”

And Remus had trembled, hardly able to believe it, as the stag’s heavy head turned, its powerful neck shifting. It fixed Sirius with its liquid-dark eyes, huffing out a breath, and Sirius, in awe, stared right back. His hand, so slowly, began to stroke the wide side.

“Bloody hell… Can see where your glasses go, and everything…”

The stag blinked. White patches did, indeed, form rough squares around its eyes.

Sirius’s hand moved tentatively to its spine, and then to its neck. A moment later, his fingers were brushing over the velvety antlers, with something that looked close to reverence on his handsome face.

“Gods,” Remus heard him mutter. “You’re bloody gorgeous, you brute.”

Remus thought the stag looked incredibly pleased with itself then, if stags could do such a thing, making it look even more like James than it had already done.

“Gorgeous,” Sirius repeated. “King of the forest, isn’t that what they say?”

The stag looked more pleased still, and Remus started to laugh. The sound seemed to jolt the boy and beast across from him back into the real world, and, after a second, Sirius began to laugh too.

“Remus—!”

“I know,” Remus choked, smiling through a blur of happy tears. “I see.”

“He’s amazing!”

“I know. D’you think— can I pet him?”

The stag snorted and tossed its head, as if to say, why aren’t you over here already?

They’d had a good time waking Peter up that day.

Fifth year had come with its own challenges, however. They’d all been sitting in the library one fateful spring day, talking about one of James’s favorite subjects, when something happened that never had before.

“So, anyway, that formal is coming up and I’m thinking of asking her—”

“It’s coming up? When?”

“Two weeks, Pete,” James said patiently. “Better mark the date if you want a chance with Richards.”

Peter began stammering. Remus and Sirius grinned. James continued.

“So, should I ask her? It can’t hurt—”

“I dunno, mate,” Remus said. “I overheard her talking about going with Alexander.”

“What?” James protested. “That wanker? I— he— I—”

“—like him, Prongs,” Sirius supplied. “You like him.”

“What? I do not!”

“You do,” Sirius insisted. “You told me that he helped you with Arithmancy in third year, and you showed him how to use a beater’s bat one time. You’re cool.”

“No we bloody well are not!”

And for once, Sirius had sighed, rolled his eyes, and ran his hand through his hair. Impatience was an emotion usually carefully hidden when on the subject of Lily— this was a sharp departure from tradition. Remus and Peter glanced at each other.

“Why, Prongs? ’Cause he asked out Evans?”

“Yes!”

“Right,” Sirius said, relaxing back in his chair and crossing his arms. “And do you have any actual claim over her?”

“Claim? I wouldn’t—”

“But you are,” Sirius said, and now Peter and Remus’s heads were following the conversation like a tennis match. “That’s how you’re acting. Haven’t you asked her out six times already?”

“Seven, but—”

“And what has she said every time?”

“‘No’, but—”

“Do you really not know how she feels about you?”

James hesitated. “I do, but—”

“Then why do you keep harassing her?”

“I’m not harassing—”

“You are,” Sirius said, and tilted his chair back on its legs. “Merlin, James, you want an eighth ‘no’? Quit bothering the poor girl.”

Remus was sure that he, Peter, and James could have caught flies with their mouths. James, of course, found his voice first.

“So you’re saying— you’re saying I should just give up? You’re saying I’m not— good enough?”

Sirius rolled his eyes again, and let his chair fall back onto the floor with a thunk.

“Oh, c’mon, James.”

And he scooped his unopened bag off the table, slung it over his shoulder, and stretched in the sunlight. His jumper rose up, showing an inch of olive skin above his waistband, and Remus winced— James had started ever so slightly, and his glasses had flashed.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Mate,” Sirius had said, somewhere between sympathy and annoyance, “she doesn’t even know you.”

And then he’d strode out of the library, leaving James to stare after him with the expression of someone recently clubbed over the head.

How had Remus not heard the silent, hanging end on that sentence?

He and Peter had exchanged another amazed glance. James was oddly quiet for the rest of the day.

And then, the very worst had happened. Sirius had told them all about his struggles with his parents, of course, but anyone could see that there was something going on that winter. Remus suspected that only James knew the full extent of it, but Sirius’s increasingly dark moods and avoidance of the mail delivery spoke for themselves. He had always been impulsive, but now he was taking on a reckless edge— almost like he didn’t care what happened to him anymore.

And then that morning had come.

The full moon had been a strong one, and Remus knew that it would take some time to recover. He woke up in the hospital wing, like always, and his friends were at his bedside, like always. He’d turned as he stirred, ready to begin the recap immediately— and then, through the haze of drowsiness, Peter’s face had swam into view. Far from his usual rosy good-naturedness, he looked gray and pinched.

“Wormtail—?”

And then, waking up further, he saw James. Face bruised, glasses cracked, arm in a sling.

His blood turned to ice, and he sat straight up in bed, wide-awake.

“James—oh my god—”

“Relax, Moony,” James smiled. He looked tired. “I’m okay.”

“You are not,” Remus said, horrified. “Oh gods, did I do that? What’s happened? And where’s— where’s Sirius?”

They both gave him such sad, pitying looks that his heart dropped to his feet.

“No.”

“He’s alive,” Peter said in a strange voice. “And you didn’t do that.”

“I didn’t? But then—what—”

“Relax, Remus,” James had said again, pushing him gently back onto the pillows. “We need to have a talk.”

The days that followed had been some of the worst of Remus’s life. The three of them agreed that shunning Sirius completely was too likely to be a death sentence, but that didn’t change the fact that Remus had never been so angry. He felt used, used to play some stupid, absurdly dangerous trick on Severus Snape. He would’ve been made into a killer, and by one of his best friends. How was one just supposed to get past that? But it was the same problem as always— Sirius just didn’t think. And they had never not spoken like that, the four of them. If there was one thing Remus could say for James, it was that he knew when he’d fucked up, even if he wouldn’t admit it-- and he knew when one of his friends had fucked up, too.

I should’ve known right then, Remus thought. At the very worst time? I should have known.

Sirius had been staring at his breakfast, not bothering to eat, and Remus was scribbling so ferociously on his homework that his quill kept going through the parchment. None of them were talking. What was there to say?

And then the mail had come.

The Black family’s eagle owl swooped overhead, and Sirius winced— and then a red envelope was falling, straight down into his untouched eggs.

It was a Howler.

It drew all four pairs of eyes like a magnet. Peter made to say something, then thought better of it; Remus turned his eyes back to his homework. Why should he be fussed if Sirius got yelled at a bit more? He deserved it. Even James was silent.

The envelope began to smoke. Sirius’s knuckles whitened on his wand.

“Confringo!”

There were screams as the envelope exploded along with Sirius’s breakfast, splattering the entire Gryffindor table with porridge. Every bit of food had been blasted off the plate, along with the Howler, which had blown up with the force of a small bomb. Only trailing cinders remained. The gold plate smoked menacingly, a black starburst in its center.

“What the hell, Black!”

“—gravy in my hair!”

“Why would he—”

Remus glanced up at the high table, expecting fire and brimstone. Sure enough, McGonagall was standing, pushing along the aisle, her nostrils white. Then he chanced a glance at Sirius. He was still staring at where the Howler had been, covered in porridge and bits of blackened parchment. He was trembling.

“Move!” James had hissed, and then he was shoving Sirius down the bench and wrenching his still-smoking wand out of his hand. “Give me that!”

Sirius stared at him blankly, like he couldn’t understand why he was being spoken to. James didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was shoving his own wand into Sirius’s hand and flecking his glasses with oatmeal.

“Mr. Black!”

McGonagall had swooped down on them, opening her mouth furiously. Then she saw the smoking wand in James’s hand.

“Mr. Potter—?”

“It was me, Professor,” James said, looking calmly up at her through a cross-hatch of porridge. “Not Sirius.”

McGonagall drew herself up to her full height. “Mr. Potter, kindly do not insult my intelligence. Mr. Black, detention.”

And to Remus’s horror, he saw that Sirius’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were shining. Tears. Remus had never seen Sirius cry before, and despite his own anger and hurt, he couldn’t stand the thought of it happening here, now, when every eye in the hall was upon them. Even Sirius had a limit, and it seemed that one more person yelling at him, one more detention, had pushed him over it. But not, apparently, if James had anything to say about it.

“No, Professor,” he insisted, pushing his splattered glasses up his nose. “It was me. “

She glanced at him. “Then why, Mr. Potter, is only your left side covered in eggs?”

James gazed steadily back at her. “I don’t know, Professor.”

They stared at each other. Sirius stared at James.

McGonagall glanced between the two of them, and her expression softened infinitesimally.

“Very well. My office, Potter, seven o’ clock tonight. Do not be late.”

She cleared the mess with a wave of her wand before striding back up to the high table. James said nothing, but began draining his pumpkin juice as though nothing had happened. Sirius, for his part, put his head down on the table and did not come up for a long time. He never let go of James’s wand.

If the four of them could make it through the Snape incident in one piece, Remus was sure they could make it through anything. It had taken time, of course— time, and tears, and many conversations about trust. But the year had ended, and they’d all bid goodbye on the platform with affection, if not their usual rambunctiousness. Sirius, in particular, fell silent when he saw his parents making their way through the crowd, carefully avoiding brushing into anyone. It was not, Remus knew, out of politeness.

“See you lot,” Sirius mumbled, gripping his trolley. James caught his shoulder.

“Come stay with me soon, Padfoot, yeah?”

“Sure,” Sirius said miserably, not quite meeting his eyes. “Have a good holiday.”

And then he was gone, and James was staring after him. Peter had had to say James’s name three times before he looked around.

‘Soon’ had come a lot more quickly than any of them expected. The letter arrived the week after their farewell, so long that the Lupins’ screech owl could barely carry it. Remus, who was used to James’s novel-length letters, knew at once who it was from. He was not, however, prepared for what it contained.

My dearest Moony,

I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first? Actually, in a way, it’s all good news. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.

Sirius has run away from home, and he’s here staying with me. I always knew this would happen eventually— I didn’t think it’d be so soon— but after last year, I can’t blame him. Good thing my parents like him. Although, I don’t understand how anyone can’t… Fuck the Blacks, fuck pureblood mania, and fuck anyone who’s ever abused their kid! I’d turn every last member of his family into lemurs if I thought it’d help anything, but you can’t force love. What matters now is the people that do love him. I’m trying to be careful and not smother him, but Merlin, it’s difficult when all I want to do is hug him until he hexes me. He needs the three of us now more than ever, and I’d love it if you came to stay in July. I’ve already asked Peter, and he says that…

And still, Remus hadn’t realized. How had he not realized?

He’d been in Cornwall last summer, and unable to go. Peter had gone to Egypt. When the four of them finally met up on the Hogwarts Express again, he’d been shocked at the change in Sirius.

He had always been handsome, no doubt about that, but three solid months of love and care at the Potters’ had done wonders for him. He’d put on muscle, filled out, and his olive skin had tanned in the English countryside. His black hair was longer than ever, sweeping over his shoulders and far past his collarbone. His blue eyes were alight. And, best of all, Sirius looked happy. Well-rested, well-fed, and moving more casually than Remus had ever seen him.

James, too, looked different. While he wasn’t quite as tall as Sirius, he had caught up to Remus in height, and he had also (finally!) gotten some semblance of a haircut. The new, clean frames on his glasses didn’t hurt either. If Sirius looked happy, James was practically glowing from the inside out. Remus wolf-whistled at the pair of them as they made their way across the platform.

“Well, now! Who are these fit young gentlemen?”

“You’re one to talk, prat!” James exclaimed, bounding the last few steps and tugging him into a hug. “Stayed away all summer, it’s a wonder we even know you!”

“Alright, Padfoot?” Remus grinned, patting James on the back. Sirius grinned back and threw up the devil horns.

“Never better, Messr. Moony.”

And it seemed to be true. Now that he actually considered it, everything had been changing— everything had changed, and this year. He’d just been too oblivious to see it.

But there were reasons for that. Sirius still hung out of the stands every Quidditch match, yelling James on. James still saved his best bits of Transfiguration for when Sirius was around. They still shared armchairs, and Licorice Wands, and read the Prophet together every day. They stared at each other all the time— just never at the same time. None of that had changed.

And yet, things were different— Remus saw that, now. Or, perhaps not different, but well-pruned and watered. In bloom.

Because this year, Remus knew, Padfoot and Prongs had been going out on nights when there was no moon at all, and running through the forest together. They were sharing the same bed more than ever, with Sirius sleeping as Padfoot whenever James was feeling stressed. When Sirius slept as a boy, he would fling the covers off and sprawl as far as possible, and James would be reaching for him, even in sleep. James was always reaching for Sirius. Only their legs would be tangled together, like the roots of two saplings grown too big to ever be separated.

And it had been Christmas Day only a few months ago, and James, who had been missing his parents, was standing at the window and staring out over the grounds. It was late at night, and Remus was nearly asleep in the good chair by the fire— he knew that he needed to get up and go comfort James, but his limbs felt made of lead after the Christmas feast and several firewhiskeys. There was no one but the four of them in the dormitory, and Peter had long since passed out upstairs from too much eggnog. Sirius had gone up to see to him, and James, standing and watching the snow fall, didn’t see him come back down the stairs. But Remus did.

And then Sirius was gone, and a massive, jet-black dog was in his place. Padfoot lifted his nose and sniffed the air, and then, slowly and silently, padded over to James.

James jumped when the dog pushed under his hand, and then he smiled, wiping his eyes hastily.

“Happy Christmas, Padfoot.”

Padfoot licked his hand, and James smoothed over the shaggy head, allowing a few tears to run down his face.

“Sorry. It’s just— they’re old, you know. I worry.”

Padfoot whined and rubbed his cheek along James’s leg, and James had looked at him with such pained tenderness that Remus felt an ache in his own chest.

“Oh, Sirius...”

It was a sigh, a letting go— and James sank to the ground below the window, taking the dog’s huge head in his hands.

“You great handsome brute… you beastly thing, you…”

He shook the dog’s face gently as he said it, and Padfoot whined again, settling onto his haunches between James’s legs.

“Great black devil! My monster, you are…”

And the monster barked, and pushed his nose against James’s, who took him by the face and shook the both of them until Padfoot was practically wriggling with canine joy. It was rather funny to see on such a large dog, and he was in real danger of bowling James over, but James didn’t seem to care. He was laughing, and crying, and when Padfoot licked the tears off his cheeks, he buried his face in the shaggy black coat like he never wanted to come out.

Remus had been pretty drunk. He’d forgotten most of that until right now.

In fact, he had forgotten several things about the last six years until right now.

He lowered his quill.

Because there, across the room, was Sirius— very much in human form— being chatted up by Charlotte Desmois. And there, at Remsus’s side, was James, glowering and ruffling his hair darkly. His Astronomy homework lay forgotten in front of him.

They couldn’t hear everything Charlotte was saying, but the gist was clear enough. She was a nice girl, and the fact that she was petite, blonde, and stacked didn’t hurt her popularity in their year, either. Sirius, who towered over her, had been kind enough to seat himself in an armchair and was now looking up at her with those cool blue eyes.

“She’s French, you know,” James muttered to Peter, frowning. “Are they speaking French?”

“I dunno, Prongs, I can’t hear them,” Peter said, still bent over his own essay. “What’d you get for number three?”

James, still staring across the room and now sulking down into his chair, didn’t seem to hear him.

“Ninety degrees to Venus,” Remus supplied.

“Thank you, Moony,” Peter said pointedly. James, ruffling his hair for the thirteenth time, again seemed not to hear him.

“I dunno what everyone sees in her,” James grumbled. “She’s not that good-looking. What do you think, Pete? She’s not that fit, is she?”

Peter, now absorbed in his Astronomy textbook, made no response.

“Bit fit, yeah,” Remus said.

James looked betrayed. “She is not. And her chamber pot still had a pig’s tail during O.W.L.s last year, do you remember? Disgraceful.”

“Mine still had hooves,” Peter reminded him, sounding hurt.

“That’s different,” James said immediately. “Anyway, she’s blonde! I thought Sirius liked dark-haired birds?”

Remus simply had no choice but to turn and gape at him. Peter seemed unfazed.

“Yeah, well, Desmois’s in high demand, isn’t she?”

“Who cares?” James snapped. He slumped even further into his chair, now positively glaring, his hair looking as though he’d been electrocuted.

Across the room, Sirius said something, and Charlotte laughed. He grinned back at her and stood, nodding. A moment later, she’d gone out the portrait hole, and Sirius was ascending the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

“Where’s he going?” James said at once, sitting up straight. “What’re they doing?”

“She left, Prongs.”

“Yeah, but he agreed to something! He nodded! Didn’t you see?”

Was this really happening right now? This could not be happening.

“No, I didn’t, because I’m doing my homework.” Peter finally looked up, first at James’s disheveled state and then down at his parchment. “Mate, you’ve drawn Io and Europa on top of each other.”

“Have I?” James was now craning his neck trying to see if Sirius was coming back down the stairs. “Look it over for me, would you?”

And then he was standing, running both hands through his hair to try and flatten it, and moving across the room to where Sirius had vanished.

Peter made a sound like ‘tch!’ and bent over the parchment, rolling his eyes and pulling out his wand. “Ridiculous.”

“What?” Remus was still feeling gobsmacked by his recent revelation. He hadn’t woken up this morning expecting to relieve every year he’d spent at Hogwarts, and subsequently lose all faith in his own powers of observation.

Peter was now poking at Io, pulling carefully until it levitated off the page in a tiny ring of ink.

“I said,” he said, dropping it into its rightful place, “they’re getting a bit bloody ridiculous.”

Remus froze again, and he turned his head very, very slowly.

“They?”

“Yeah. Padfoot and Prongs.” Peter looked up, scratching his nose. “Don’t you think?”

Remus stared at his friend. Peter stared back, looking slightly nonplussed.

“Moony?”

“Yeah,” Remus said slowly, setting down his quill. “Yeah, they are.”

He glanced around the room. Everything was normal. Marlene and Mary were chatting on the sofa by the hearth. George’s cat was playing with marbles under the window. James was in love with Sirius. The sky was blue. The grounds were turning green again. Sirius was in love with James. The giant squid was waving its tentacles lazily out of the lake. Nothing had changed.

“Right,” Remus cleared his throat, and got to his feet. “This has gone on long enough.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter sighed. Then, as if realizing what was happening, he looked up apprehensively at Remus, who was cracking his knuckles.

“Er, what exactly are you going to do?”

“Make them see sense,” Remus answered. “Now.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Okay, but be careful— don’t get in the middle of it. You know how they can get.”

He mimed several jabs and right hooks, squinting like a prizefighter. Remus snorted with laughter.

“I’ll try.”

And he wiped off his quill, closed his book, and strode across the room, feeling as though he was seeing clearly for the first time in years. Gods knew James always caused trouble when he was irritated, and Remus took the stairs two at a time, determined to head him off at the pass.

As it turned out, James had already plowed through the barricades.

His voice, loud and demanding, was carrying all the way down the stairs. “—to Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“No,” came Sirius’s voice, sounding half-amused. “Why?”

“Well, she was clearly asking you something!”

“Yes, she was. What’re you on about?”

“I’m on about Charlotte Desmois,” James snapped. “Or did you forget already?”

“Dunno what you’re so fussed about,” Sirius said, annoyed now. “It’s not like we had plans.”

“So she did ask you!”

“I never said she didn’t ask.”

James swore, and there was a thunk that might have been him chucking something, or maybe somebody getting clouted over the head.

“Calm down, Prongs,” Sirius snapped. “I’ve watched you ask Evans out a million times in the last three years.”

“I’ve barely spoken to her all term! And anyway, it was eleven, not a million—”

Sirius laughed derisively. “Oh, eleven, then, excuse me.”

“Why d’you care about that?”

“I don’t,” Sirius said pointedly. “All I’m saying is, until I’ve asked Desmois out eleven times, you’ve got no right to complain.”

There was a silence— Remus could almost imagine James gaping in horror.

“That’s not true,” he said finally, and Remus could hear him beginning to pace. “You complained. Right before the eighth time.”

“Merlin’s pants,” Sirius said, sounding seriously irritated now.

“You did! You remember, don’t you? In the library!”

“The library?”

“Don’t lie to me, Padfoot! I know you know what I’m talking about!”

“I don’t,” Sirius said, affecting his favorite brand of haughty indifference. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

James huffed, a distinctly stag-like sound. “You said that I was cool with Alexander, and that I was harassing Evans!”

“Oh, right. Last winter, was it?”

“Shut it,” James growled. “You’re not fooling anyone.” He paused. “You said she didn’t know me.”

“Did I? Well, I was right.”

“Yeah,” James said, sounding suddenly strangled. “You were.”

There was another brief silence.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sirius,” came James’s voice, quieter than before.

“Dunno what you mean.”

“So she did ask you, then?” James pressed on, getting louder again. “You said she did.”

“Yes, she asked.”

“And?” James demanded. “What’d you say?”

“I said no, Prongs,” Sirius deadpanned, in his oft-practiced, much-perfected, you’re dumb as dirt voice. “Didn’t I already tell you that I’m not taking her to Hogsmeade?”

“Well—well, you’re being very cagey about this whole thing!”

“No, I’m not,” Sirius said, sounding more annoyed than ever. “What the bloody hell’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” James said, a bit too quickly. “It’s just— well, she doesn’t know you either, you know!”

“Yeah, and you don’t see me mooning over her, do you?”

“No,” James said, sounding sulky now. “Wish you would do a bit of mooning once in a while.”

“And what d’you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean! Girls throwing themselves at you every time you walk down the corridors— for six years, Sirius!”

“Yeah, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve turned down every one of them!” Sirius yelled.

“I have noticed! What is it, then? No one’s good enough for the bad boy of Hogwarts?”

“Sod off! Why d’you care if I’m never interested in anyone?”

“Well because—” James spluttered, “I— because—”

“Spit it out!”

And then there was the dull, distinctive thump! of a fist connecting, followed by another. Some more squabbling, scuffling, and another muffled thump! thump!

CRASH! Remus jumped— somebody had been pushed up against the wall. And then, at all once, inexplicably, unmistakably, there was the sound of lips colliding.

He froze, unsure whether to shake his head or burst out laughing. There was quiet now, broken only by the sound of kissing and heavy breathing. And then—

“Sirius,” James gasped.

“Jamie,” Sirius whispered.

More kissing. Judging by the sound of it, it was getting rougher.

Okay, that was quite enough of that.

Remus turned and crept back down the stairs as quietly as he could, shaking with silent laughter. Gods, they were idiots. But, of course, if they were idiots, then he was an idiot too.

He crossed the common room, grinning broadly, waiting for Peter to look up from James’s essay. When he finally did, he looked positively alarmed.

“Oh, gods.”

“Don’t look so worried, Wormy,” Remus winked, dropping back into his armchair. “It’s sorted.”

“Oh, gods,” Peter said, looking more alarmed than ever. “What did you do?”

“Well,” Remus said truthfully, “nothing, much. It seems they were, ah… coming to very similar conclusions right about the time I got up there.”

“Oh, good,” Peter relaxed. Then he stared at the essay in front of him, and sighed. “Guess we’d better get them a decent engagement present.”

“Definitely,” Remus agreed. “It’s been a long courtship.”

“I’ve got some Licorice Wands upstairs,” Peter said resignedly, and pushed away the parchment, making to stand. “I was saving them for emergencies, but you know that’s their favorite—”

Remus threw out an arm. “Erm— I wouldn’t go up there for a while, if I were you.”

Peter stared at him for a second, and then collapsed into paroxysms of laughter, nearly upsetting his ink bottle.

“Wormtail!”

“Sorry,” Peter hiccupped. “It’s just that— blimey, I thought this day would never come.”

“Why don’t you finish James’s essay for him? And I’ve got some Bertie Bott’s around here somewhere…”

“Yeah, let’s just eat all the ones that aren’t black licorice and give that to them.”

“But the squid and bouillabaisse look exactly like those.”

“Who cares? I’m finishing James’s homework for him. If you need any evidence that it’s a momentous occasion, that’s plenty.”

“Fair enough,” Remus agreed. “What d’you wanna bet one of them’s going to have a black eye?”

“Sickle says it’s James.”

They spent the next half hour sorting through the beans and chortling. The minutes ticked by steadily, and, slowly but surely, the common room emptied. The essay was finished at half past two— the beans were set aside at quarter till. The closer three o’ clock became, the more Peter checked his watch. Finally, at ten till, he glanced up the stairs.

“Morgana’s magpie, we’re gonna be late. You’ve gotta go get them, Remus.”

“No way,” Remus said, revolted. “You couldn’t pay me to go back up there.”

“You cannot let this essay go to waste,” Peter whined. “Please, Remus.”

“Absolutely not. You can do it, if you want to risk it.”

Peter had just opened his mouth again when, thankfully, there was a thump and a curse on the stairs. A moment later, James and Sirius tumbled into view, looking rather rumpled. Both of their collars were buttoned all the way up.

“Damn,” Peter swore. Sirius was sporting a lovely shiner.

“Victory,” Remus grinned.

“What’re you smiling about, Moony?” James called, sounding distinctly punch-drunk. Remus winked.

“My moron friends. C’mere, we’ve got something for you.”

They both straightened up, looking guilty, so in sync that it was almost comical. Peter motioned them forward frantically.

“Hurry up, then, we’re going to be late!”

As soon as James was near enough, Peter shoved his bag into his arms and perched the roll of parchment on top. “There. I finished it. Congratulations, loves.”

“Congratulations—?”

“And this is for you,” Remus plopped the half-empty carton of beans into a bewildered Sirius’s hand. “Mind you share with Prongs, now.”

“Share with—?”

“Now, let’s go,” Remus smiled, shouldering his own bag. “Sinistra’s going to have our heads.”

And he turned towards the portrait hole, but not before he’d seen the look James and Sirius were giving each other. For once, they were staring at each other at the same time— and, Remus had to admit, their expressions were extremely familiar. Sirius’s eyes were shining (you barely even noticed the bruise), and the tenderness he reserved only for James was softening every line of his features. James was glowing, looking at Sirius with his heart burning out of his face. It couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d written it across their foreheads.

Remus pushed the portrait hole open with a smile, accepted the Sickle that Peter was pressing into his hand, and listened contentedly as someone behind him got cuffed around the ears. Yes, the sky was blue, the grounds were turning green, and things were in bloom. Violently in bloom, indeed.