and still we sleep

The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right,

Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,

Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,

Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts,

First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,

Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers,

And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.

Sirius Black couldn’t begin to count the amount of people he’d kissed in his life.

There were random girls at parties. Sometimes multiple per night. Everyone made fun of him for it, but Sirius would be the first to admit- he was a slutty drunk. The first thing he wanted after a single sip of alcohol was something to stick his tongue into. And nobody, drunk or sober, could resist a kiss from Sirius Black.

Then, of course, there was Marlene. Brilliant, beautiful Marlene with her wry smiles and tongue that tasted like gum and cigarettes and worked magic. Nothing like the random girls Sirius kissed at parties. Marlene, whose body felt right at home intertwined with Sirius’s.

And then there was Remus Lupin. The newest addition to the list.

Sirius had never had feelings for a boy before. He’d never felt the urge to kiss a boy, never found one beautiful like he found girls beautiful.

Sirius loved girls. He loved their tits and their plush lips and skinny waists. Marlene was, in Sirius’s opinion, the perfect girl. The best girl he’d ever met. Bold, aggressive, and carefree- so much like himself in that way- but in Sirius’s arms, she was everything a girl should be: sweet and soft and gentle. She melted in Sirius’s arms, absorbing into his skin until they felt like the same person. Even after they broke up, Sirius thought he would never do better than Marlene.

Kissing Remus Lupin was nothing like kissing Marlene.

Remus was not a girl. Remus didn’t look, or feel, like a girl. Remus was tall, his arms and chest were firm with muscle, his skin rugged and textured from those mystery scars. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t home. He wasn’t safe and sweet; he didn’t melt into Sirius’s arms and become a part of him. He was, even with their lips locked together and their bodies pressed up against each other, undoubtedly Remus Lupin. A boy, firm and masculine.

Kissing Remus was risk, thrill, fear. Kissing Remus was knowing he was doing something wrong, and that knowledge only making it better.

Sirius wasn’t even going to do it. He’d wanted to, of course, but the whole cigarette stunt was as far as he’d planned on taking it. It was as close to kissing Remus as he could get, and in his drunken, horny mood, he was going to settle for it. He hadn’t even expected Remus to close the gap like that, but the simple fact that Remus had been the one to do it sent a little thrill through his chest to think about. Sirius was always the one doing the kissing. He was never being kissed.

It was embarrassing, the way he was getting about this. The way he’d woken up the next morning and, despite his pounding headache, grinned and kicked his feet like a fucking schoolgirl at the memory of Remus’s lips on the roof. The way he’d left his T-Rex t-shirt on underneath his robes the whole day because it was the shirt he’d worn when he kissed Remus and for some stupid reason taking it off felt like being rid of the kiss for good.

Because, of course, he couldn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be some mutual agreement between the two of them not to speak of it. Or perhaps Remus truly had forgotten, though Sirius doubted it. He didn’t see how he could forget about something like that, no matter how drunk he’d been.

He’d been worried, at first, that this would change things. Remus had quickly become one of his closest friends, and Sirius didn’t think he could handle it if Remus decided to become awkward around him, or, worse, go back to ignoring him the way they’d treated each other prior to this year. When Remus greeted him normally in poetry class the following morning, without even a mention of the night before, he’d breathed a sigh of relief. They were still friends, and everything was normal. They were just going to pretend that nothing had happened. Everything would be like how it had been before his birthday. Sirius could do that, easily.

Or so he’d thought.

The problem with this was that he was beginning to go crazy for Remus Lupin.

Sirius Black did not go crazy for anybody. Sirius Black did not have crushes. When Sirius Black was into someone, he went right up to them and kissed them. He did not pine.

Until now.

Every moment spent interacting with Remus Lupin was a moment spent physically restraining himself from throwing himself at him like a schoolgirl with a crush. His voice had just the perfect amount of rasp to it, a slight tinge of Welsh in his accent that made Sirius absolutely crazy. He wanted to listen to Remus talking all day. He wanted to hear him read every poem ever written, even the bad ones. He’d manage to make them sound good. His jumpers were so bloody ugly and yet so cool at the same time, and he wanted to grab a handful of the soft fabric and rest his head against it, fall asleep with Remus’s heart beating beneath his ears. He wanted to run his fingers through his dark blonde hair, wanted to feel Remus’s strong, callused hands tangled in his own black curls, brushing against his scalp, yanking at his roots. He studied the patterns of the scratches on Remus’s face, doodled them in his notebook, wanted to take Remus’s jaw in his hands and explore every inch of that face, feel the texture of the scratches beneath his tongue.

Remus Lupin was everything, and everything was Remus Lupin.

He couldn’t smoke a cigarette without thinking of the taste of Remus Lupin’s mouth, his lips clashing against his with bold, drunken strength. He couldn’t look at the wooden surfaces of desks and wands and hardwood floors without thinking of the deep brown of Remus Lupin’s eyes. He couldn’t look at the scratches marring the walls of the Shrieking Shack without thinking of the ones on the skin of Remus Lupin’s face, the ones he doodled in the margins of his potions notebook.

He had never felt like this before. Not with any girl. Not even with Marlene.

It frightened him to no end. If Remus was a girl, he’d just tell her exactly what he thought. He’d just sleep with her, and it would either go away or they’d keep sleeping together until it finally did.

But he couldn’t tell Remus, because telling Remus would mean admitting it. It meant opening himself up to whatever judgment Remus would throw his way. Remus didn’t feel the same, and he’d become freaked out by Sirius, and think he was queer, and he’d never want to hang around with him again.

And on the very small chance that he did feel the same… well, that thought was even scarier.

Sirius didn’t want to know.

He wanted the feeling to go away. He wanted Remus Lupin to kiss him again, to feel his strong hands in his hair, to feel his lips sucking at his neck and mouth.

He just wanted the feeling to go away.

And it wasn’t as if he could tell anybody. Usually, he’d tell James about something like this, but…

Well, it wasn’t that Sirius thought James would be bothered by him liking a boy. Surprised, certainly, given how much of a reputation Sirius had for his escapades with girls. But he’d no doubt quickly reassure Sirius that they were still best friends and brothers and loved each other no matter what and blah blah blah.

Sirius didn’t want to deal with that. He didn’t like boys . He liked Remus. That didn’t make him queer. It just made him… a person who liked Remus, he supposed.

Marlene, of course, would understand, given her own predicament. But things were still a bit rocky between them, ever since The Incident.

Sirius had taken to referring to the veritaserum night as The Incident in his mind. By now, it had mostly faded from everyone’s memory, though there was still occasional gossip, or even a question asked to his face, about his supposed fight with his mother which had nearly resulted in his death. Sirius ignored them.

The morning after The Incident, however, had been disastrous. Marlene was livid that Sirius had embarrassed Reggie’s little girlfriend in front of everybody, which… alright, not his best moment, especially given that Marlene was trying to impress that Dorcas girl. But oh well. He wasn’t going to apologize to some Slytherin. They were in his common room, after all.

Anyway, Marlene had basically screamed at him, but her anger had paled in comparison to the real horror of the next morning- the gossip. The entire fucking school was talking about his personal business. The pitfalls of being popular, he supposed. His strategy was, essentially, to ignore it until it went away, and the strategy had worked for the most part.

But the real worst part of the whole ordeal- worse than Marlene’s anger, worse than his classmates’s judgemental gazes- had come directly after breakfast that morning. He’d left the great hall with James and rounded the corner to head back to the Gryffindor common room, only to hear a familiar voice in a strangely unfamiliar tone.

He spotted his blonde head almost immediately, huddled in a corner against the wall with two other dark-haired boys. Evan Rosier, his voice surprisingly soft, almost comforting. Sirius was shocked that the Slytherin was even capable of such feeling.

“Reg, look, it’s- it’s okay. It’s not that bad. At least he didn’t say anything about you, huh?”

A hand clamped around Sirius’s sleeve, James, but Sirius ignored it to take a quiet step closer to the group. Reggie was in the center, blocked from general view by Evan and Barty Crouch Jr. His little brother’s state made Sirius freeze in his tracks- he was looking up at Evan, his posture slightly slumped, gnawing on his thumbnail. It was an old habit from childhood that mother had beaten out of him quickly before he’d set out for Hogwarts.

To anyone else, he looked completely normal, if slightly bothered by something, but to Sirius’s Reggie-trained eye, the kid might as well be on the floor in hysterical tears. Sirius hadn’t seen Reggie showing feelings like that in years. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Reggie would be dealing with the effects of the gossip as well.

On one hand, it was a relief to see Reggie, who wouldn’t bat an eye at blood supremacy and abuse, displaying that he had the capacity for anything besides complete apathy. Sirius had nearly given up on him.

On the other hand, Sirius hated it. He hated that Reggie was upset and went to his fucking Slytherin prats of a friend group instead of Sirius himself. He hated the way Reggie looked at Evan, almost the same way his little ten-year-old self would look at Sirius.

Because you’re the reason he’s upset, you fucking idiot, he told himself.

As Evan continued his attempts at reassurance, Barty had turned briefly. His gaze settled on Sirius and hardened. Sirius knew Barty well enough. He’d been Reggie’s first friend (other than Sirius, of course), the boy he sat with on the Hogwarts express on the very first day- Reggie’s James was how he’d thought of him. He’d never particularly warmed to him, always viewed him as a bad influence. Where Reggie was all soft and quiet and easily influenced, Barty was a boisterous contrarian, always seeming to stir up trouble where there was no reason to, and not in a lighthearted way. He had a dark streak in him.

Though they’d never been particular fans of each other, Sirius had never found himself on the receiving end of this dark streak. Until now.

Barty settled him with a gaze that was absolutely murderous, taking a subtle step to block Reggie from Sirius’s view. Though he’d never admit it aloud, Sirius was a bit frightened of him. He had no doubt the fucking kid wouldn’t hesitate to murder him if they were in any other setting. He struck Sirius as the type to pick the legs off of bugs just to watch them squirm. Or crucio them.

Usually, Sirius wouldn’t back down from a challenge, but on that particular day… well, he was pretty much at his lowest. He allowed James to drag him away from the small group before Reggie could even notice he was there. It was probably for the best. If he did get to speak with Reggie, he didn’t know what he’d even say.

But anyways.

Marlene.

Sirius had known, even while she was screaming at him about how she had faked it when they fucked (yeah, sure), that they’d find their way back to each other eventually. He had, however, taken down the porno posters, if only to appease her. She had taken one look at his blank walls later that week and congratulated him on “doing the bare fucking minimum,” but seemed secretly pleased with his development. Although their friendship had mostly returned to normal, she had still pointedly not said a single word about Dorcas to him since The Incident. And Sirius himself certainly wasn’t going to ask; he didn’t need her getting upset about it again.

It wasn’t until a Thursday night over two weeks after Sirius’s birthday that Marlene mentioned Dorcas again. She burst into James and Sirius’s room- James was gone, thank Merlin- near 11PM, with mascara smeared down her face from her red-rimmed eyes. Sirius sat up in bed instantly. Marlene never cried.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Dorcas…”

It was all she needed to say.

Sirius scooched back on the bed so he was against the headboard, and Marlene took the invitation, throwing herself onto the bed beside him.

“Ughhhh,” she groaned, a hand over her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”

“She’s stupid,” Sirius insisted. “You’re too good for her, anyways.”

Marlene turned her head to glance at him, lifting the hand slightly so he could see her quirk an eyebrow up at him. “Am I now?”

Sirius smirked. It was his flirty smirk; he couldn’t help it. Flirting with Marlene was pure instinct, even when his thoughts currently belonged to Remus Lupin. “‘Course,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” It was pure, simple truth.

Marlene smiled, turning her head back to face the ceiling. “Always the smooth talker, Sirius Black,” she said.

“Not with everybody,” Sirius said. “Just you.”

“Sure,” Marlene said, drawing out the word skeptically. “I’ve been thinking your heart belongs to someone else recently.”

“I- huh?” Sirius sputtered, taken aback.

“I won’t say who,” she said. “But I think you know that I know.”

She rolled her head to the side to meet Sirius’s gaze, her own firm and certain. Fuck , Sirius thought, she knows. He was a right idiot for thinking he could keep anything from Marlene.

“Fuck you,” he sighed. “You know me too well, McKinnon.”

She smiled wryly. “Looks like we’ve got more in common than we thought.”

Sirius blanched.

She thinks I’m queer too, he realized. He supposed that was a reasonable assumption to make, when one has an obvious crush on someone of their own gender, but that wasn’t what was going on here.

He wanted to tell her that, but to even speak the word aloud felt taboo. It wasn’t a word to be associated with him. He liked Remus, sure. He’d admit it. But he liked girls. He fucked girls. Whatever he wanted to do was unimportant. And it wasn’t as if Remus was going to do anything with him in the first place, not unless they got mind-numbingly pissed again.

He looked at Marlene, her blue eyes, her choppy bleach-blonde hair. She was staring right back at him, her expression soft and thoughtful. Marlene was who he should be with, he thought. Since their very first year, when they became friends, everyone had expected them to get together. James. The rest of their friends. Reggie. Merlin, even Sirius’s fucking mother had warned that he “better not be thinking of marrying that McKinnon whore.”

Perhaps this was what he needed to stop thinking about Remus. Perhaps he’d just remember how wonderful she was and completely forget all about him and everything could go back to normal. He and Remus could just be regular friends. Sirius could spend time with Remus without freaking the fuck out. He could live his life without his thoughts completely consumed with Remus Remus Remus every second of every day.

He looked at her again, her deep blue gaze, and he could almost see the same exact thought process running around in her mind.

“What a pair we make, huh?” he said.

It was an invitation, and they both knew it.

Marlene shot up and threw herself on top of Sirius, grabbing a handful of his hair and kissing him. Her legs straddled his waist, he wrapped his arms around her, and she melted into his embrace, her lips softening against his. Not bold or thrilling like Remus was, but as he ran a hand up the soft skin of her neck, he thought, maybe he could pretend for a moment that he was just a normal boy who liked pretty girls and wasn’t hung up on something he couldn’t have. Or shouldn’t .

It was a familiar comfort, waking up to a noseful of Marlene’s perfume the next morning, his face buried in the bare skin of her chest, her arms wrapped around him. He yawned into her chest, letting out a sleepy sigh, content to just fall back asleep right there until he felt a little tug on a strand of his hair.

“Hm?” he asked blearily, flopping over to the side so he laid beside her. He turned his head to face her and rubbed his eyes until her face came into focus, eyes tired, but smiling fondly at him.

“Sirius,” she said. “We are such fucking messes.”

Through the sleepy haze of his mind, all he could blurt was, “You didn’t fake it, did you?”

She snorted. “No,” she said. “But still… we have seriously got to stop this.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Sirius breathed.

Remus. His brown eyes, his dark blonde hair, ugly jumpers and cigarette smell and walkman and poetry and raspy voice and Welsh accent.

Marlene was wonderful. He loved her. But she wasn’t Remus.

And he wasn’t Dorcas, a thought that Sirius was almost sure Marlene was currently repeating to herself at the moment.

“That was the last time,” Marlene said definitively, sitting up and throwing the covers off of them.

“Fuck, Marls!” Sirius whined, grabbing for the blanket. The cold air of the room was harsh against his skin with the sudden lack of blankets and Marlene’s body heat. “It’s cold.”

Marlene yanked the blanket out of his grip. “Yeah, and we have to go get breakfast. Come on.”

“Ughhh,” Sirius groaned, rubbing his eyes again and savoring the brief moment of darkness. He was hardly even fully awake. He just wanted to curl back up under the blankets for another hour.

“Sirius, where the fuck are my clothes?” Marlene asked.

“I dunno.”

“Fuck, it’s impossible to find anything in this mess. I’m borrowing one of your shirts.”

Sirius finally mustered enough willpower to sit up and scooted over to the edge of the bed. He watched as she plucked the black T-Rex shirt from the pile on the floor and pulled it over her bare torso, then picked up two pairs of pants- jeans and some miscellaneous black slacks- and tossed the slacks at Sirius. He yanked them on and stumbled after Marlene as she made her way to the door.

“I’m gonna go back to my room and get changed,” she said. “I’ll see you at breakfast, ‘kay?”

“Marls,” he said, grabbing her arm to stop her halfway out the doorway. “We’re good, right? Like, we’re not gonna talk about this or anything?”

She smiled. “I won’t tell him , don’t worry,” she said. 

Her smile grew, no doubt noticing the way Sirius blushed. She turned as if to leave, then whipped back around to press a quick, rather aggressive kiss to his forehead. “See you soon,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Sirius watched her, bewildered, as she walked away, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood floors.

He yawned blearily, rubbing his eyes again, and turned around to head back into his room.

Only to see Remus Lupin standing at the other end of the hallway.

The sight of Remus took Sirius’s breath away, as it usually did these days. His hair was a floppy mess, bleary-eyed from sleep, wearing only a rumpled Gryffindor sweater and grey sweatpants. Seeing him in this state- like he’d just woken up- sent a shiver of desire down Sirius’s spine.

Remus scanned the scene, Sirius standing half-naked in the hallway, Marlene walking out of his room in his T-shirt. He met Sirius’s gaze, expression blank.

Sirius felt a stab of guilt, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. There was no reason, logically, for him to feel that way. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He’d been doing what he was supposed to do- fucking a girl, Marlene, no less, the perfect girl, Sirius’s girl, a girl he loved, and yet- it felt all wrong. 

It wasn’t what he really wanted, only a distraction from it. 

But he couldn’t say that, because he shouldn’t want Remus. He thought being with Marlene would make the want go away, but now, looking at Remus, the desire had only increased, and he only wanted to throw himself at Remus and wake up in his arms the next morning with his face buried in his chest, breathing in his musky scent.

Remus’s expression was unreadable as his gaze flickered up and down Sirius’s body before he turned around and walked back to his room. Sirius’s instinct was to stop him, yell something after him, but he didn’t know what he’d say. He simply watched him go, longing to go after him, some invisible force keeping his feet planted in place.

Remus Lupin was a man of many moods, something one came to know about him after becoming his friend. His good moods, to those unused to him, may have seemed bad, but his sardonic comments on such days were less biting, he was quicker to smile and laugh. His bad moods, however, came hard and fast, seemingly out of nowhere. You could take one look at him on these days and know immediately that he was not having it, that he didn’t want to be engaged with at all. If you were smart, you’d leave him alone.

The bright side of this was that these would only last a few days at most before he’d be back to his normal, slightly less sullen, self. 

For the first day or two, his prickliness after the Marlene incident could have been brushed off as a typical foul mood. 

He didn’t flat out ignore Sirius. They still talked. They were still friends. But Remus hardly ever engaged him outside of the group settings. No longer did Sirius get special sardonic side comments during Dead Poets Society, or smiles reserved just for him. It was like Sirius was just another member of the group. Like Sirius and Remus didn’t have any sort of special connection.

It was bullshit.

Yule Ball was fast approaching, and with it, Christmas holiday. Sirius hated Christmas- fucking hated it with a burning fucking passion- and even the knowledge that he’d be going back to the Potters rather than the Blacks wasn’t enough to sate his distaste and dread surrounding the holiday. More than that, though, he dreaded spending nearly an entire month away from Remus. It seemed good in theory- perhaps it’d be enough to rid him of this stupid crush- but leaving their friendship on this awkward note didn’t feel right. What was to stop Remus from going home for Christmas and forgetting all about Sirius and then coming back in January his old self- completely ignoring Sirius’s entire existence? No more breakfasts, no more whispers in poetry class, no more Dead Poets Society. Just cold indifference.

The thought was nearly unbearable. Sirius had to do something.

The situation was delicate. Normally, he’d just tell someone everything he was thinking, but with Remus, that wouldn’t work. If he told him everything, there was no way Remus would ever want to spend time around him again. He’d probably deem Sirius a freak.

Why did he have to feel this way? Why couldn’t he just like Remus like a normal friend?

Merlin, this was so fucking horrible, and there was no one he could talk to about it. Not Marlene- she was far too close to the situation. Not James- he didn’t need him thinking Sirius was some freak who wanted to fuck boys. And there was no one else he was nearly close enough to even consider speaking to. He was trapped.

One poetry class, about a week and a half after Marlene, he found some reprieve.

Sirius had never been particularly good around adults. He wasn’t shy, per se, just got a little nervous being alone with them.

He wondered why that could be.

So when Professor Keating gestured for him to come up to his desk at the conclusion of class, he’d admit to feeling a bit uneasy. Remus left him high and dry, making a beeline to the door the moment the professor dismissed them without even a second glance in Sirius’s direction.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Black?” Professor Keating asked as Sirius approached his desk, wringing his hands together nervously.

“Fine, professor,” Sirius said, hoping the answer would be enough that he could be dismissed.

“Alright,” Professor Keating said hesitantly. “It’s just, you haven’t seemed yourself lately. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius said quickly. “Can I go, please?”

The professor looked disappointed, but nodded, with a sigh. “Go ahead, Mr. Black.”

Sirius turned to leave, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Professor Keating wasn’t just any other professor. He was cool. He knew shit. He knew about Walt Whitman and poetry and love and passion and all that bullshit. Maybe, if Sirius spoke in very vague terms…

Fuck it.

“Professor?” he asked suddenly, turning back around.

The professor looked up, from whatever paper he was grading, surprise written vaguely on his features. “Yes?”

“Could I…get your advice, maybe?”

The professor nodded instantly. “Of course.”

Sirius took the invitation to take a few steps closer to the desk, wringing his hands together in front of his robes. “Well, you see, Remus is… he’s sort of mad at me, I suppose.”

The professor raised his eyebrows and set his quill down. “Go on,” he said.

“I just, I don’t really get why. He’s so hard to understand, y’know, it’s like, I thought that he-” Sirius stopped himself. “See, I did something recently. And it was sort of… well, it was because of him, I guess. I suppose I just thought he wouldn’t be mad about it, but it seems like he is, but I don’t see why, so I just don’t-”

Professor Keating stopped Sirius with a raised hand. “Mr. Black,” he said. “Slow down, please. It’s a bit hard to follow.”

“Right, sorry, Professor,” Sirius said, shrugging. “It’s just… it’s hard to explain. I wouldn’t have… done what I did… if I knew he was going to be all mad about it. I didn’t think he cared, that’s why I did it, y’know? And I was hoping that by doing it, I could… well, I was hoping that it would make me, er… make something go away, but it didn’t work and now… now it’s all messed up.”

“I see,” said the professor thoughtfully. “Have you said all of this to Remus himself?”

“Well, no,” Sirius huffed, frustrated. “But I can’t, that’s the problem. Because I just-” because doing that would mean acknowledging it. “I just can’t. It’s complicated.”

“Sirius,” said Professor Keating. “Things are complicated when we make them complicated.”

Sirius frowned. “But it really is complicated.”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Or are you making it so in your explanation to me?”

Sirius’s frown deepened. He supposed if he wanted to, he could really explain it in five bloody seconds.

Hey Remus. I know I fucked Marlene but really it was because I wanted to fuck you. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past three weeks since we kissed. I always thought I was only into girls but then you came along and you’re the fittest person at this fucking school and I’m embarrassingly fucking crazy about you and now I don’t even know what to do with myself.

Yeah, fuck no. There was no way he was saying all that.

The professor was smiling at him knowingly.

“It’s not complicated,” Sirius said. “But I still can’t just say it.”

“Hm,” said the professor. He glanced down at the paper in front of him, sighed heavily, then looked back up at Sirius. “You’re a fan of Walt Whitman, aren’t you, Mr. Black?”

“Yes,” Sirius said quickly, torn between excitement at the mention of his newest hero and confusion at the sudden change in topic.

“Walt Whitman- and all the other great poets- they expressed what they felt. Even if they thought they’d be judged for it.”

Sirius scoffed. “I’m no poet,” he said.

The professor smiled wryly. “Maybe not. Or maybe you are, and just don’t know it yet.”

“Well, Walt Whitman- he was perfect,” Sirius stammered, honesty suddenly spilling from his lips before he could think to stop it. “And what if- what if there’s just… what if there’s just something wrong with me? And that’s what I don’t want to say aloud? And like– if Remus knows about that- that thing- it could ruin everything. Our entire friendship.”

The professor frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sirius,” he said firmly.

“Well, you don’t really know me,” Sirius said, rather hysterically.

Professor Keating paused, sighing. “You know I went to school with your parents?” He said suddenly.

Sirius was unable to contain his shock. “What?” He sputtered.

“Yup,” said the professor. “Had a few classes with them and everything. And let me tell you, when I saw the name Sirius Black on my class roster this year…” He shook his head, smiling. “The fucking dread that filled me.”

Surprised laughter burst from Sirius’s throat.

“And then you show up in class, and you’re a Gryffindor , and you recite Sonnet 18 without even stuttering, and you are just… not at all what I expected.” He paused, taking a breath. “And I just found myself wondering how in Merlin’s name those two slimy gits I went to school with had a kid like you .”

Sirius laughed again.

“I don’t know you well, Sirius, but I know that you’re bold, and you’re brave, and you don’t hide from things. Do you?”

Sirius was blushing, unsure of what to do with such praise. He thought it of himself, sure, but hearing it from someone else, an adult no less, was different. He shook his head. “No,” he choked out.

“Exactly.” The professor nodded. “Talk to Remus,” he said firmly. “You’re Sirius Black. You don’t apologize for being yourself.”

Sirius nodded along firmly, feeling invigorated. Professor Keating was smart. He knew things, and if he thought all of that about Sirius, Sirius supposed it had to be true. He didn’t hide from things, like a Slytherin. He faced them. Like a Gryffindor.

“And take this,” the professor added quickly, reaching under his desk to grab a book and holding it out to Sirius.

Sirius took it hesitantly. “The Evolution of Walt Whitman,” he read aloud.

“It’s a biography,” Professor Keating said. “I think there’s some details in there you’ll find particularly interesting.”

“Professor, I can’t take…”

“Oh, it’s alright,” the professor said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I’ve already noticed another of my books missing recently, the one we used for the Dead Poets Society.” He directed a rather firm look at Sirius, though he was still smiling.

Sirius shrugged sheepishly. “Wouldn’t know anything about that, professor.” He held the Whitman biography up. “Thank you for this, though.”

Cliche as it sounded, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest as he left the poetry room. He was Sirius fucking Black, he didn’t hide from things, he didn’t apologize for being himself, and he wasn’t leaving for holiday without speaking to Remus first.

I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?

I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,

My words itch at your ears till you understand them.

-Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"