Orbiting

Wednesday morning came around quicker than Remus would have liked, but this time, he didn’t feel the same sense of dread that he had in the previous days. He went through his usual routine before doubling his pain medication, with the thought he should start looking for a new source before this prescription ran out. He liked Pomfrey and knew that he would have to go back to her for follow-ups and didn’t fancy continuing to find ways to lie to her more than he had to.

James, ever the early riser, was already standing by the door waiting for him when he stepped out of the bathroom. "Ready? I told Peter we'd meet for breakfast before classes."

"Yeah, just need to grab my cane first. Leg’s still a bit off," Remus replied, slowly making his way to where it was leaning against his nightstand. "Actually, I’m probably going to be a bit slow. You can go on ahead, I’ll catch up."

"Don’t be daft, Pete’s always late. We’ve got loads of time," James said. "Besides, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t survive until lunch without scarfing down half the canteen."

Remus had to hold back a snarky retort about how he was actually quite used to skipping meals, but he thought better of it—especially after their recent patch-up. Instead, he pasted on what could be generously called a smile, and the two of them left the room. The truth was, Remus wasn’t sure he wanted to meet James’ friends. Things with the two of them were fine, but he wasn’t exactly keen on joining in with his mates.

As James had predicted, Peter didn’t show up until Remus was already halfway through his breakfast. Though, to be fair, that might have been partially due to the fact that he was eating quickly, eager to escape as much of the hangout as he could. Peter finally wandered in, his small, round figure filling the seat. He was a bit on the plump side, with mousy brown hair that fell in an untidy mess around his face and a pointed nose that gave him a somewhat mouse-like appearance.

“Sorry, sorry, I know I’m late,” Peter set down his plate, “I was up late playing chess with a lad from my history class last night and I overslept.”

James huffed a laugh. “You and your chess.” He nudged Remus. “Peter’s practically a grandmaster.”

Peter gave a modest shrug, though his chest puffed out slightly in pride. “Oh, I wouldn’t say grandmaster—but I’m pretty decent. Been playing since I was a kid. James here, though…” He shot James a teasing look. “He still can’t beat me.”

James leaned over and punched Peter’s arm good-naturedly. “Oi, I’m getting there! Do you have to rub it in every time?”

Peter was clearly delighted by the attention. “Well, someone had to teach you.”

They continued on like that, going back and forth with Peter bringing up story after story about how long he had been mates with James at every opportunity.

Remus forced a polite smile, but it was starting to wear thin. He had no interest in the details of Peter’s chess prowess, nor did he care about their “growing up together” anecdotes. If anything, the way Peter kept dragging James back into childhood stories—especially in front of him—was making Remus feel more like an outsider than ever. The undercurrent of possessiveness was almost palpable, though he couldn’t quite figure out why Peter felt the need to prove anything in the first place.

“Sounds like you go way back,” Remus said, keeping his tone neutral but not hiding the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Peter didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps didn’t care—how uninterested Remus was. “We were practically inseparable growing up. You know, when we were kids, we built this insane treehouse in his backyard. Took us weeks with both our dads' help, and I had to keep James from falling off the ladder half the time.”

James nodded. “Best treehouse ever. You were the one who kept everything sturdy, Pete. I just wanted to make sure we had the highest perch.”

Peter’s small eyes lingered on James, and then he glanced at Remus, his smile barely masking something else—a flicker of something possessive, maybe. Or maybe Remus was just projecting. Either way, it wasn’t lost on him.

James, oblivious to the silent undercurrent, clapped his hands together. “Right! What do you think, lads? Fancy a trip to the pub later? I know we’ve all got stuff on, but I thought it’d be a good chance to unwind, and grab a pint or two.”

Peter brightened at the mention of the pub. “Yeah, sounds good. I could use a pint after last night’s game.”

James nodded eagerly. “Great, I’ll let Lily and Pads know.” at this statement Peter’s expression dimmed a bit.

Remus was already looking at the clock, mentally running through his schedule. He liked the idea of the pub but was less inclined to accept the offer knowing that he might have to listen to Peter subtly mark his territory again. Plus he was still looking for a job around campus to earn some money.

“I’ll pass on the drinks, actually,” Remus said, standing up and brushing crumbs from his lap. “Anyway, got a lecture to attend.” He threw James a quick smile. “Rain check on the pub, yeah?”

James seemed to perk up at the mention of a lecture knowing that Lily was in that class. “Ah, right. Always keeping busy. See ya after classes.”

—

The lecture hall was filled with low conversation as students filed in, settling into their seats. Remus found an empty seat, taking a moment to unpack his things.

Lily slid into the seat next to him just as Professor McGonagall entered the room, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and hair neatly styled into a tight bun. Her black skirt suit was pristine, as was her posture, and there was an air of authority about her that commanded instant attention. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries, simply walking to the chalkboard and beginning to write.

“Good morning,” she said briskly, her voice smooth but firm. “Let’s get started. Today, we’ll discuss the historical evolution of gender roles and their implications in the late twentieth century. More specifically, how gender and power have intertwined over the years, and why that continues to affect the world you navigate today.”

She paused for a moment, tapping the chalk against the board. “But before we begin with the specifics, I want you all to think for a second: How do you see gender? What do you think it means in today’s world?”

Lily leaned over, her tone light but filled with the same curiosity that Remus was feeling. “Wonder how long it’ll take before she starts making us question everything we thought we knew about gender.”

Remus half-smiled, adjusting in his seat. “Not long, I’m guessing.”

Professor McGonagall’s sharp gaze flicked over the class, scanning each student’s face as though weighing them. “The term ‘gender’ has only recently begun to shift from being a biological determinant to something far more complex. For much of history, societies have insisted that there were two genders—man and woman—and that those categories were fixed, immovable.”

She turned away from the board and began to pace slightly, her voice gaining strength. “But today—today, we are seeing the rise of feminist movements, activism, and, most importantly, the push for a deeper understanding of how gender is not just about anatomy, but identity. It’s complex. And it affects everything from employment to relationships, politics, even the way we define power.”

McGonagall continued, her voice steady and commanding. “In the 1970s, the conversation around gender is rapidly changing. We’re at a crossroads in history, where the feminist movement is growing stronger, calling for equal rights in the workplace, in the home, and in politics. At the same time, conversations around sexuality and gender identity are expanding as well. The ‘new woman’ of the 1970s is more empowered, more independent, and asking for a seat at the table. We’ve seen women in the workplace in higher numbers than ever before, but that does not mean we’re anywhere near equal footing with men.”

She paused to let the words sink in, letting the room settle into a contemplative silence.

“I want to challenge you all this semester,” McGonagall continued, her tone now softer but no less piercing. “I want you to think critically about the roles you are assigned simply because of your sex. How much of what you do is because of social expectations and how much of it is you?”

Lily tapped her pen on her notebook, a thoughtful look on her face. “That’s actually a pretty good question,” she whispered to Remus. “How much of what we do is just because we’re told to do it?”

Remus nodded, the idea percolating in his mind. He’d always been someone who thought about societal expectations—how much they shaped people’s lives without anyone really noticing. But McGonagall’s framing made it feel more urgent, more real.

“The way you behave, the way you’re expected to behave—especially in terms of work, relationships, and public life—is often tied to the gender roles that were ingrained in you from childhood,” McGonagall said, her voice cutting through the low hum of the room. “The question is not whether men and women are inherently different, but why we continue to construct these boundaries.”

Remus watched as McGonagall wrote “The Binary System of Gender” on the board, the words stark against the dark surface. “Societies have traditionally placed people into two categories: male and female. You could say these categories were created not only to separate the sexes but also to keep power in the hands of a particular group. Men were seen as the breadwinners, the decision-makers, the leaders. Women were relegated to the private sphere—homes, families, and secondary roles in society. We saw this in the legal system, in the media, in education. And those roles were enforced over time.”

Professor McGonagall paced again, her eyes focused on the students, the weight of her words pressing down on them. “However, the past fifty years have begun to undo some of that, with women entering higher education, joining the workforce, and asserting their voices in public discourse. But do not mistake this for equality. Not yet.”

Lily flipped through her notebook as she processed the point before leaning over to Remus. “It’s interesting–the idea that because we are told that our roles are just ‘what we are’—it’s almost hard to question. And yet, McGonagall’s just laid it all out. It’s like she’s not giving us the option to ignore it.”

Remus thought for a moment, staring at the board where McGonagall was now outlining the historical roots of gender as a system of power. “I think that’s the point. She wants us to see how much of it is taught—how much of what we take for granted is social conditioning. We don’t really think about it, but all these expectations are built into everything. She’s teaching us how to look past what we’ve been told. To see gender not as something we're given, but something we perform.”

The professor turned back around, her eyes sweeping across the class once more. “We’ll spend the semester unpacking these ideas, but I want to start with this thought: What does it mean for you to be gendered? How much of that identity was shaped by the world around you, and how much of it is truly yours to control?”

Remus glanced at Lily, who was scribbling down notes. He hadn’t expected the class to hit him this hard. He was used to more abstract psychological concepts, but McGonagall’s directness, her challenge to think beyond the confines of what society told them, made him feel like he was walking into uncharted territory.

As class wrapped up, McGonagall gathered her things with brisk efficiency, but before she left, she turned to the class one last time. “Your reading for next week is on the feminist movement’s impact in the 1960s and 70s. I expect you to come prepared with questions. This class is not about passive learning—it is about engagement.”

Lily stood up and stretched, offering Remus a wide grin. “Think I’m going to enjoy this class.”

Remus was still digesting everything McGonagall had said. “Feels... important, you know?”

“Definitely,” Lily agreed. “And it’s about bloody time people started asking these questions.”

As they left the lecture hall, the buzz of conversation around them felt different. The questions McGonagall had posed were still hanging in the air, leaving them to wonder—how much of who they were was really their choice, and how much was just a product of everything the world had taught them?

The rest of the day passed easily, and soon Remus was back in his room, cozy in his favorite dark green jumper adorned with scattered black-and-white stitched patterns. He held a cuppa in one hand and the reading for McGonagall’s class in the other, his limbs stretched so long that they nearly dangled off the side of the bed when a loud, rhythmic knock came from the door.

"That'll be Pads," James said, jumping up to answer. "He said he’d meet me here to head to the pub, and I’d know that knock anywhere."

A figure a bit taller than James stepped into the room. His dark hair fell just above his shoulders, curling slightly at the base of his neck. His jeans were form-fitting, and his Black Sabbath t-shirt looked like it was made just for him.

James gestured between them, as though there was anyone else to introduce. "By the way, Remus, this is Sirius. Sirius, this is Remus."

His stormcloud eyes met Remus’s, and he stopped to lean casually against James’ bedpost, never breaking eye contact. "Oi, Prongs," Sirius began, his tone light but playful, "I’ve been thinking. I reckon it’s unfair that you're the odd man out in our living situation." His gaze didn’t shift. He smirked, "I should fix that and let you room with Wormy."

Remus blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up with this strange dynamic. Prongs? Wormy? Pads? What the hell...

James looked amused. "Oh, a sudden change of heart? What’s got you feeling so generous? A few nights of Wormtail’s snoring already making you rethink your life choices?"

Sirius placed a hand on his chest, feigning mock offense. His eyes glimmered, deepening the playful tone in his voice. "You wound me, Prongs. I’m always generous. And if you must know..." He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make Remus feel like he was being let in on a secret. "I cheated, and the guilt is eating me alive."

“Think I’m already a bit lost in this conversation.” The word slipped from Remus before he could stop it.

James shrugged nonchalantly. "There were only double rooms left this year, so Peter, Sirius, and I played rock-paper-scissors to see who’d room together. I lost, so I had to throw my name in the roommate lotto."

“How does one cheat at rock-paper-scissors?” Remus asked, still a little thrown off.

Sirius smirked, all too eager to explain. "It was best two out of three, and Prongs here always goes for rock first," he said with a knowing glance at James. "So I already had one win in the bag."

"Sounds like you got lucky in the second game,” James retorted.

Sirius didn’t seem bothered by James's brush-off. Instead, his eyes slowly traveled over Remus, a deliberate sweep that made Remus suddenly aware of every part of himself. "I’m not so sure about that now," Sirius murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down Remus's spine.

It was subtle, but Remus felt a change in the air. He shifted on his bed, causing his jumper to slide up his torso a few centimeters, exposing the faintest sliver of skin. He didn’t miss the way Sirius’ eyes zeroed in on the spot. A rush of heat swept over him, and Remus quickly reached down to adjust the hem, feeling Sirius’ gaze snap back up to his face.

James continued, oblivious, "Sounds like you won fair and square, Pads. Plus, there’s absolutely no way I’m packing up all my stuff and moving again. I absolve you of any cheating you think you’re guilty of. Honestly, I’m quite fond of my new roommate. Think I may have come out on top after all." He stuck his tongue out to punctuate his point.

But Sirius’s gaze remained on Remus. It lingered with a quiet intensity as if assessing him, measuring something unseen. It didn’t last long—Sirius recovered quickly, his smile returning to its easy charm—but Remus couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was at play. He wasn’t sure if James even noticed the subtle tension between them.

Remus, on the other hand, felt electricity thrumming through his veins. Sirius had a way of making him feel seen—like he was the only one in the room, like everything else had faded into the background. It was disorienting, and it left him with an unfamiliar flutter in his chest, a warmth that made him feel a bit on edge.

Sirius let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, the disappointment vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, can’t blame me for trying," he shrugged.

“Remus, are you sure I can’t convince you to come for drinks?” James asked for approximately the thirteenth time since breakfast.

“I’m fine,” Remus said, his voice almost too quick. “I’ve got reading to do.” He raised the textbook a little higher, hoping the gesture would be enough to signal his need for space.

James wasn’t deterred, “C’mon, you’re not fooling anyone. Lily’s going, and if she can drag herself out, you can too.”

“Well, that settles it, doesn’t it? Plus, you can wash away any guilt for bunking off homework for the night with a pint,” Sirius chimed in.

Remus shook his head, trying to shake off the growing sense of unease. “No, really, I’m alright. I’ll stay here.”

James was already moving toward the door, clearly not expecting to win this one. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t try. You’re missing out.”

Sirius hesitated, his eyes lingering on Remus for a long beat. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be at Three Broomsticks down the road.”

Remus didn’t look up, his fingers tightening around the edge of his book. “Thanks,” he muttered, the word feeling strange in his mouth.

Sirius pushed off from the bedpost and made to follow James out the door. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “But don’t go thinking I’ll let you off the hook next time.”

Remus immediately regretted looking up. Sirius shot him a wink, his expression so confident and teasing that it made Remus want to pull him into the bed rather than let him walk out the door. He quickly masked his reaction, forcing his face into an expression of indifference. But it was clear Sirius had noticed. The self-satisfied smirk that played on his lips told Remus everything. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Remus,” he said, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

Remus let out a breath as soon as the door clicked shut, his mind spinning. Why did it feel like that conversation was far from over?