Embers
The common room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the dying fire. Most of Gryffindor had gone to bed, leaving only Sirius and Remus behind. The dim glow of the embers cast long shadows against the stone walls, flickering across their faces in shifting patterns of gold and orange. It was late—too late, probably—but neither of them made a move to go upstairs.
Remus sat slouched in one of the armchairs, flipping idly through an old Quidditch magazine. His legs stretched out in front of him, socked feet resting on the rug, posture relaxed. But Sirius had been friends with him long enough to recognize the way his fingers toyed with the edges of the pages, the way his eyes flickered over the same paragraph more than once. He wasn’t reading.
Sirius, for his part, was staring into the fire, head tilted back against the chair, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest that hadn’t quite left since earlier. Since Remus had looked at him like he knew something Sirius didn’t. Since Remus had grabbed his wrist, and Sirius had felt something twist in his stomach that he didn’t have the words for.
It wasn’t a big deal. They’d brushed it off. That’s what they always did.
James and Peter would be expecting them to have a prank plan in the morning, and that was what Sirius should have been thinking about. Not this. Not whatever this was.
“You’re brooding,” Remus said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, scratchy with exhaustion.
Sirius scoffed. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
Sirius rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at him, but Remus wasn’t even smirking. He was still staring at the magazine like the conversation wasn’t worth much thought.
It should have been easy to brush it off, to banter like usual. But Sirius hesitated, the words getting caught somewhere in his throat. He was brooding, and he knew it. But he wasn’t about to admit that—not to Remus.
“Just tired,” he muttered instead, shifting in his chair. He folded his arms over his chest like it might help keep the thoughts in.
Remus hummed, unconvinced but not pushing. He turned another page, glancing at the same article for the third time.
The fire popped, embers shifting. Outside, the wind howled against the tower windows, rattling the glass.
Sirius hated it. The silence. The weight of the air between them. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was charged, and he didn’t like how aware of it he was.
Remus stretched out his legs a little more, then let out a deep sigh. “James and Peter are going to expect us to have a plan by breakfast.”
Sirius huffed a laugh, grateful for something—anything—else to think about. “James expecting plans is rich. When has that ever been his job?”
Remus chuckled, finally looking up. “Fair point.”
The shift in conversation should have lightened things. And maybe for a second, it did. But then the quiet crept back in, and Sirius was left with his thoughts again.
He was fine. He was. It was just—earlier. That stupid moment. That stupid look Remus had given him. That stupid way his chest had hurt for no good reason at all.
Sirius shifted again, a little restless.
“You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever’s eating at you?” Remus asked.
Sirius frowned. “Nothing’s eating at me.”
“Right,” Remus drawled. “Because you always sit in complete silence and stare into the fire for an hour when nothing is wrong.”
Sirius scowled at him, but Remus only raised an eyebrow in response. His expression was mild, but his eyes were sharp, watching Sirius a little too closely.
“Moony,” Sirius said, forcing his voice to sound light, casual. “Not everything has to be some deep emotional crisis, you know.”
Remus gave him a slow, considering look before shrugging. “If you say so.”
And that should have been the end of it. That should have been where Sirius made another joke, and they moved on. But he felt it—the way Remus let the subject drop so easily. Like he expected Sirius to deflect. Like he knew.
Something about it made Sirius’s stomach twist.
He turned back to the fire, watching the flames flicker. His hands twitched, restless, so he rubbed them along the arms of the chair, focusing on the smooth wood beneath his fingertips.
A moment passed. Then another. Then—
“Caitlyn’s nice,” Sirius blurted out.
He regretted it the moment it left his mouth.
Remus, who had just turned another page in his magazine, paused for half a second before glancing up at him. “What?”
Sirius forced a smirk. “Caitlyn. The girl you’ve been spending all your free time with. You like her?”
Remus blinked, clearly thrown by the sudden shift. Then he let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “You sound like James.”
Sirius laughed, but it was just a little too sharp. “James is always going on about your love life.”
Remus gave him an amused look. “That’s because James thinks everyone is as lovesick as he is.”
Sirius snorted. “Fair.”
There was a beat of silence before Remus shrugged. “I like Caitlyn well enough. She’s fun. Clever.”
Sirius didn’t know why that irritated him. He forced his expression into something indifferent. “So, are you going to ask her out, then?”
Remus tilted his head at him. “What’s with the sudden interest?”
Sirius smirked, leaning back against his chair. “Just making conversation.”
Remus gave him a long, unreadable look. Then he let out a soft chuckle. “Sure.”
Sirius hated how that sure made his skin prickle.
He didn’t say anything else, and Remus didn’t push.
The conversation faded out again, leaving them in that same heavy quiet. The fire crackled, the wind howled, and Sirius tried to ignore the way his heartbeat had picked up.
Remus sighed and shut his magazine, setting it aside. “I should go to bed.”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved.
Remus hesitated, his gaze flickering over Sirius like he was waiting for something. Like he knew there was something left unsaid.
Sirius kept his face neutral, refusing to give anything away.
Finally, Remus exhaled and pushed himself up from the chair. “Night, then.”
Sirius forced a grin. “Night, Moony.”
He watched as Remus stretched, running a hand through his already messy hair, and made his way toward the staircase. He didn’t look back.
And Sirius shouldn’t have wanted him to.
The fire crackled softly, and Sirius let his head drop back against the chair, shutting his eyes. The silence of the common room pressed against him, and for the first time in a long while, he hated it.
Because now, there was nothing left to distract him from the thing he wasn’t ready to name.
Sirius didn’t go to bed right away.
The fire had burned low, smoldering embers casting a dull, orange glow over the common room. The thick scent of melted wax and charred wood hung in the air, mixing with the faint traces of cologne and dust from the bookshelves lining the walls. The hour was late enough that even the usual crackle of the flames had softened, leaving behind only the occasional pop and shift of cooling logs. The castle itself seemed to breathe in the silence, its old stone settling with faint creaks.
He knew he should go upstairs. Knew that if he stayed here too long, James would eventually wake up and come looking for him, demanding to know why he was brooding like some tragic hero in one of those awful Muggle romance novels Remus liked to pretend he didn’t read. But his legs felt heavy, and his mind was tangled, caught somewhere between exhaustion and a restless sort of awareness that wouldn’t let go.
His hands, still loosely curled in his lap, felt too warm.
Remus had been so close earlier. Not in an unusual way—Sirius and James had slung their arms around each other a thousand times before, had tackled Peter onto the floor in wrestling matches that left them all breathless with laughter. Physicality had never been something he paid much attention to. But tonight, it had been different.
Not because of the touch itself, but because of what had happened after.
The silence. The charged moment. The way Remus’s breath had hitched ever so slightly before he pulled away.
It had been nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Except now, sitting here alone in the dim glow of the fire, Sirius couldn’t shake the way his heart had pounded—just for a second—like the tail end of a fight, like the moment before a broomstick dive.
It was just a trick of the mind, he told himself. One of those fleeting, out-of-nowhere feelings that didn’t mean anything.
Sirius had spent years training himself to ignore things that didn’t matter. It was a necessary skill in the Black household—knowing what to let go of, what to smother before it could take root.
And this? This was one of those things.
He exhaled sharply and pushed a hand through his hair, forcing himself to let it go.
There was nothing there.
Just a weird night. Just his mind playing tricks on him. Just—
His gaze flickered to the stairwell where Remus had disappeared minutes ago.
Sirius clenched his jaw and shoved himself up from the chair.
He wouldn’t think about it anymore.
By the time he climbed the stairs, the dormitory was steeped in quiet, save for Peter’s soft snores. James had sprawled out on his bed, one leg hanging over the edge, his arm flung dramatically across his face. The enchanted stars he had painstakingly stuck to the ceiling last year were still glowing, tiny pinpricks of light mimicking the night sky.
Sirius barely glanced at them as he pulled off his sweater and dropped onto his mattress, yanking the covers up as if that could block out the thoughts still pressing at the edges of his mind.
He shut his eyes.
Willed himself to sleep.
But when it finally came, it wasn’t deep, dreamless rest.
It was restless. Charged.
And somewhere in the haze of it, there was a warmth—something lingering at the edges of his subconscious. A breath of laughter. A familiar scent. A touch that wasn’t quite real, but wasn’t quite forgotten either.
Sirius woke to the sounds of the castle stirring—muffled voices, footsteps in the corridor, the faint clang of breakfast dishes being moved around in the Great Hall below.
His body felt heavy, like he’d been caught in an uneasy sleep for too long. He rolled onto his side, pressing his face into his pillow, hoping for just a few more minutes of quiet. But reality crept in fast—the way it always did.
The events of the night before came back to him in pieces. The common room, the fire, the way Remus’s hand had curled into his sleeve for that split second too long. The way they had both brushed it off.
Sirius groaned and flopped onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face.
He was being ridiculous.
Dragging himself upright, he ran a hand through his tangled hair and glanced around. The dormitory was empty—James’s bed was unmade, Peter’s trunk had been rifled through in its usual chaotic way, and Remus’s side of the room was as neat as ever, his books stacked methodically on his bedside table.
Sirius took his time getting dressed, not because he was feeling particularly leisurely, but because part of him dreaded walking into the Great Hall.
Not because of Remus. Obviously.
Just… because he hated mornings. That was all.
By the time he finally made his way downstairs, breakfast was well underway. The Great Hall was buzzing, students gathered in groups over plates of eggs and toast, last-minute homework being scribbled in the margins of parchment. Over at the Ravenclaw table, someone had a small enchanted radio quietly playing a Bowie song, the sound just barely rising over the chatter.
Sirius spotted James first, sitting at their usual spot, half a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth as he gestured wildly over a parchment that looked suspiciously like a Quidditch strategy sheet.
“Oi! Sleeping Beauty finally emerges,” James announced as Sirius slid onto the bench beside him. “You missed Peter nearly choking on a sausage.”
Peter, who was still looking a little pink-faced, muttered, “It went down the wrong way.”
Sirius smirked. “Tragic. How will we ever recover?”
“You can make it up to me by not being an arse in Potions today,” Peter shot back, stabbing his fork into his eggs with great dignity.
“No promises.”
Sirius reached for the teapot, pouring himself a cup, only half-listening as James launched into some tirade about the Slytherin team’s lack of proper Chaser technique. He wasn’t even particularly hungry, but he grabbed a slice of toast anyway, tearing a piece off absently.
And that’s when he felt it.
A shift.
Nothing big. Nothing obvious.
Just the faintest awareness.
He didn’t have to look up to know Remus had glanced at him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Sirius to feel it.
Which was stupid.
Because Remus was acting completely normal—stirring his tea, nodding along as Peter mentioned something about Charms. He wasn’t tense. Wasn’t awkward. Didn’t look like someone who had spent the night thinking about anything strange or noteworthy.
And yet, Sirius’s pulse still kicked up half a beat.
Annoyed at himself, he took a deliberate sip of tea, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Pretending there was nothing to notice.
Remus wasn’t even looking at him anymore, for Merlin’s sake. He was flipping through his textbook, running his thumb along the edge of the pages in that absentminded way he always did when he was thinking.
It was just another morning.
Another normal, completely fine morning.
Sirius shoved a piece of toast into his mouth and forced himself to focus on James’s increasingly dramatic reenactment of last week’s Quidditch foul.
The rest of the day dragged.
Potions was a disaster, but that wasn’t unusual.
James nearly blew up their cauldron trying to prove a point about improper stirring technique, and Slughorn had given them all a long-winded lecture about precision before finally waving them off with a resigned sigh.
Charms was slightly better, if only because Sirius was good at it, but even that didn’t hold his attention the way it usually did. He could feel himself slipping into distraction, his mind wandering at all the worst times.
Every now and then, without meaning to, he’d glance toward Remus.
Just in passing.
Not because he wanted to, obviously.
Just… because.
And every time, Remus was just there. Sitting at his desk, fingers tapping absently against the wood. Scratching a note into the margin of his parchment. Rubbing his thumb over the cover of his book like he always did when he was thinking.
Things Sirius had seen a million times before.
But today, they felt different.
And he hated it.
By the time the final bell rang, Sirius was practically vibrating with the need to do something. Anything to shake off the restless energy building under his skin.
He considered suggesting an impromptu duel in the courtyard—something to let off steam—but the rain outside had started up again, making the stone corridors feel damp and chilled.
Instead, he threw an arm over Remus’s shoulders as they made their way back to the common room, grinning lazily. “Full moon’s coming up. We should do something mad.”
Remus huffed a laugh but didn’t push him off. “We always do something mad.”
“Yeah, but something big this time.” Sirius smirked. “I say we make James jump in the lake.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You just want to see him suffer.”
“Obviously.”
Remus shot him a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “We’ll see.”
Sirius grinned, satisfied.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Easy.
Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn’t spent half the day catching himself staring at Remus’s hands.
Like there wasn’t something humming beneath his skin, something nameless and infuriating and impossible to pin down.
And then, just as easily as it had come, the moment shifted.
Remus reached up, brushing Sirius’s arm off his shoulder as they stepped into the common room. A casual gesture. Something he’d done a hundred times before.
But Sirius felt it.
The warmth where Remus’s fingers had ghosted over his sleeve. The way it lingered for just half a second too long before Remus shoved his hands back into his pockets, already looking toward the fireplace.
Sirius swallowed hard.
Ignored the way his skin burned.
And didn’t think about it again.
The common room was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth, the rain outside making soft, rhythmic sounds against the castle windows. It was the kind of evening Sirius usually liked—cozy, low-lit, filled with the quiet hum of other students murmuring over their books or sprawled in armchairs, half-dozing.
Usually, this was the time of night when he and James would start getting restless, plotting something idiotic that would inevitably land them in detention. Or maybe he’d be throwing wads of parchment at Peter’s head, trying to get a rise out of him.
But tonight, the air felt different.
He could still feel it.
The warmth of Remus’s shoulder beneath his arm earlier. The way he had brushed Sirius off so casually, like it was nothing, like it hadn’t mattered at all.
Which, of course, it hadn’t.
Sirius slumped into his usual spot on the couch, stretching his legs over the armrest and making a show of getting comfortable. Remus was across from him, curled into the corner of another armchair, his knees drawn up, a book balanced on one leg. The firelight made his hair look a shade lighter, turning the usual tawny brown into something closer to gold. He was wearing one of his old jumpers—the navy one with the slightly frayed sleeves—and it was ridiculous how much he looked like himself, how nothing at all had changed, and yet—
Sirius let his head fall back against the couch and shut his eyes.
He needed to stop.
This was nothing.
Just a weird night. A weird week. A weird, restless feeling that had latched onto him and wouldn’t let go. He got like this sometimes, caught in his own head, overthinking things that didn’t deserve to be thought about. It would pass. It always passed.
“Looks like we’re in for another storm,” Remus said absently, flipping a page in his book.
Sirius cracked one eye open. The window behind Remus was streaked with rain, droplets gliding slowly down the glass. The sky outside was dark, thick clouds rolling over the castle grounds.
Sirius made a lazy sound of agreement. “Hope it keeps up all night. James snores less when there’s thunder.”
Remus huffed a soft laugh, still reading. “That’s not true.”
“Absolutely is.” Sirius stretched out, crossing his ankles. “It’s like some kind of cosmic balance. Loud storm, quiet James. Clear night, he’s shaking the whole bloody tower.”
Remus didn’t argue, just hummed in response, still absorbed in whatever he was reading.
Sirius watched him for a beat too long before dragging a hand through his hair and forcing his gaze toward the fire.
This was fine. Completely normal. They were just sitting in the common room, like they always did. Sirius was tired. That’s all this was. Just a long day, too much thinking, too little sleep.
He exhaled through his nose and rolled onto his side, letting the warmth of the fire seep into his skin.
Time passed like that, slow and easy. The sound of turning pages, the occasional murmur of conversation from a few younger students in the corner, the steady patter of rain against the windows. The warmth of the fire was making him drowsy, and for a moment, he thought he might actually fall asleep right there—
Then Remus shifted.
It was nothing. Just a small movement, adjusting his legs, maybe stretching a bit. But his knee bumped against Sirius’s where they were both sprawled out on the furniture, a brief, feather-light touch that neither of them acknowledged.
Neither of them moved away, either.
Sirius swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
Stupid.
This was so stupid.
He wasn’t thinking about it.
He wasn’t.
Because it was nothing.
Just space. Just warmth. Just one of those meaningless little things that happened when you shared close quarters with people for seven years.
The fire crackled. Remus turned another page.
Sirius clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay still, to not react, to not notice the way that single, fleeting point of contact had sent something stupid and restless flickering through his chest.
Eventually, Remus pulled away, shifting again, knee no longer touching his.
Sirius exhaled slowly.
Didn’t think about it.
Didn’t let himself.
And when Remus finally yawned, stretching his arms over his head and shutting his book with a quiet thump, Sirius made himself look completely at ease, as if he hadn’t spent the last half hour feeling like a live wire for absolutely no reason at all.
“I’m turning in,” Remus said, voice thick with sleep.
Sirius, without missing a beat, smirked. “Getting old, Moony?”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Some of us actually need sleep, Padfoot.”
“Tragic.”
Remus shook his head, amused, and rose from the chair, stretching once more before heading toward the stairs.
Sirius didn’t watch him go.
Didn’t let himself.
And when he heard the dormitory door close softly behind him, he let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair.
Stupid.
So bloody stupid.
But it didn’t matter.
It would pass.
It always did.
And by morning, he wouldn’t even remember it.
At least, that’s what he told himself.