As a general rule, Sirius Black was quite secure in his relationship with one Remus Lupin. They’d been aware of their mutual affections since year seven at Hogwarts and had said their first proper “I love you” to each other not long thereafter, at James and Lily’s wedding. The two men had raised a child together, for fuck’s sake.
Yes, Sirius Black was secure with his place in Remus’s heart.
That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t thoroughly annoyed as he was made to witness Remus open yet another love letter that had been placed on his office desk. Remus laughed at the contents to add insult to injury, rather than verbally rebuke its absent author.
Sirius peeked at the note from over his partner’s shoulder. Ah, yes, it would be in French, bloody Beauxbatons students.
“Well, their penmanship could use some work,” Sirius sniffed, unforgiving.
He felt lovely golden curls brush across his cheek as Remus pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, his lips leaving a pleasant and familiar tingle against his skin. Sirius wasn’t swayed, however, as the bastard was still chuckling as he adjusted in his chair.
“Rather, I think the main issue we’re facing is the language barrier. How am I supposed to swoon at their poetry if I can’t understand it?”
“You’re not meant to be swooning at all!” Sirius huffed, indignant at the idea that the love of his life, his darling moonykins, his other, better half, wasn’t responding to this serious offence more properly.
Sirius, of all people, was well aware of his partner's unique effect on people. At first glance, you might think that Remus was someone who kept to himself and his books; a kind-nurturing personality befitting of a librarian, or perhaps a grandmother. Then, when you can’t help but glance at him again – drawn in by his sharp jawline, no doubt – you notice that perhaps he’s got just a glint of a rebellious streak to him when he tells you that no, he won’t say to Professor McGonagall that you’re skiving off class if you don’t tell her that he’s skiving off his office hours. And then, if you’re graced with the opportunity to glance at him a third time, you might be in awe of the fact that yes, in fact, that jumper, which might look bulky and frumpy on anyone else, actually suits his shoulders quite nicely.
Woe betide anyone besides Sirius, himself, who dares to glance a fourth time. That was Sirius’s privilege alone.
“‘Tes yeux dorés sont magnifiques,’” Sirus quoted, “Boring, predictable. Anyone in the vicinity can recognise how lovely your eyes are. Maybe this child needs more time in a language class and less time spent ogling you in your extracurricular lessons.”
Remus looked up at Sirius from over his shoulder, an inquisitive furrow on his brow.
“Pads, are you actually jealous of a student? You can’t be serious.”
Sirius bit down the obvious retort.
“You’ve said so yourself, many times, I might add, how common it is for students to idolise their professors in one way or another. Are you concerned that I would consider abandoning our relationship of nearly eighteen years for someone less than half my age?”
Sirius grumbled into Remus’s shoulder in response. Remus rolled his eyes.
“Sorry love, didn’t quite catch that.”
Sirius responded only by blowing a raspberry at Remus.
“Eurgh, Padfoot!”
. . .
Unfortunately for Sirius, the letters kept coming. Some were obvious attempts at achieving higher marks in return for physical favours (those were promptly discarded) while others were more sincere declarations of affection. His worst nightmare had come to fruition: the school had finally been made aware of what Sirius had known since age fourteen, which was that Remus Lupin was quite the catch.
One innocuous letter among the rest was in Bulgarian, and Sirius hoped that a certain Georgi Petrov wasn’t behind it.
It was getting to the point that Sirius was afraid to leave Remus’s side in the evenings for fear that he would return to Remus’s office flooded with whizzing hearts or fizzy kisses or whatever the hell Madam Puddifoot’s had in its gift shop inventory. Alas, Sirius had semi-recently been unofficially banned from staying on Hogwarts grounds for more than four hours a day, something wholeheartedly supported by Remus. His “enthusiasm for the task” of monitoring Hogwarts grounds was admirable, according to the rest of the Board of Governors, but as Remus had so eloquently put it, his presence was becoming a “hindrance to student learning,” whatever the hell that meant. And so, he needed to use his allotted time sparingly.
Now, despite popular belief among the staff and faculty – many of whom knew Sirius quite well from his days at school – Sirius was completing productive assignments while he roamed the grounds and corridors of Hogwarts, he just happened to be aware of certain shortcuts one could take during these tasks. For example: if his role was to verify the integrity and effectiveness of the teachers, all he needed to do was ask Hermione her opinion, as he was well aware that Hermione attended every class and completed every assignment to the letter, and thus was a suitable judge. Or, say another role of his was to gauge if students and staff were heeding Hogwarts rules and regulations, all he needed to do was quickly nick the Marauder’s Map to ascertain how many students were sneaking out during curfew or ask the Weasley twins which items Filch had banned that week and act accordingly. His role wasn’t complicated, and any boring stiff could do it in four hours. Sirius, however, was no boring stiff and therefore got all of his tasks completed in one hour, using his remaining three to observe lessons, enjoy the fresh air outside, or roam the hallways hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry. It was one of those times strutting down a rather busy corridor when he happened to overhear an unusual conversation from a pair of Ravenclaw girls standing by a suit of armour.
“Do you think it’s real?”
“I’m not sure, he’s far too young to need a cane.”
Sirius’s ears perked up, fairly confident in knowing what their conversation was about. He kept walking, though a bit slower than before.
“Plenty of young people use canes for different reasons though, it’s just that I’ve never seen him so much as limp!”
“Ooh I have, he walked into a class late and was wincing a bit. It could have been the rain bothering a bad hip or something.”
“A bad hip? It’s not like he’s eighty, honestly!”
“He definitely isn’t eighty…”
A pair of quiet giggles.
“Well, I’d help him walk to class if he wanted me to, of course. Be someone to lean on, you know…”
The pair of giggles got louder, and that was the last thing Sirius heard before moving beyond earshot of the conversation.
This was getting out of hand. First the newspapers, then the French, and now his very own countrymen were disregarding his relationship with Remus. Sirius needed to take matters into his own hands, and quickly. He may no longer be a student, but he would forever be a Marauder, and no self-respecting Marauder would let this go on without making his presence known.
First things first: he needed to consult his best friend.
. . .
The following day saw Sirius at Saint Mungo’s Establishment for Long-Term Treatment, seated on an unoccupied bed in the 12th residential room. Sitting in an adjacent bed, staring transfixed at the photographs decorating the wall, was one James Potter. In an otherwise quiet room, Sirius was rattling off ideas for how to make sure that the general public – or at least, the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – knew that Remus Lupin would be accompanying him to the Yule Ball. James wasn’t much one for conversation anymore, but his presence brought Sirius a unique sort of comfort.
“My first thought was fireworks, but it’s not really personal, is it?”
No response, not that he was expecting any. He carried on.
“Additionally, it has to be something that sends a message. I was thinking of bribing the house elves to send him an ice sculpture over breakfast, but that doesn’t sound like something that would resonate with our Moony, eh? And then I got to thinking – the house elves! They can cook up anything Remus would like! They could bury him in a mountain of chocolate, which is certainly more like it. Really, it’s a tried and true classic.” Sirius exhaled a puff of air and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t know, Jamie. You were always better at this sort of thing than I was.”
Though he knew full well that he wouldn’t be receiving any verbal or physical acknowledgement from his friend today, Sirius could picture exactly what James might say in different circumstances.
“You’ll be fine, Pads. You love each other (though Merlin knows why Remus would settle for a bastard like you) which is what counts! You don’t need a grand gesture, just be sincere.”
Sirius nodded to himself and then stood up abruptly, jostling the creaky springs underneath him.
“You’re absolutely right, Prongsie dear. Sincerity is what matters, and sincerity is what Remus would want. Right. Right. I’ll keep it simple… I’ll just ask him over dinner.”
He picked up his wand from where he’d placed it on the uncomfortable bed and pressed a kiss to James’s forehead before striding towards the door, waving to the Longbottoms and grimacing at Gilderoy Lockheart along the way.
“Love you, Jamie! We’ll chat more in a few weeks when I can convince Remus to take a day off!”
. . .
They say the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Sirius knows this to be true, as the moment he had taken a spoonful of his potato stew at dinner, he felt a distinctly unusual feeling crawl up his throat.
Sirius looked desperately at Remus, sitting about ten seats down from him at the teacher’s table, who quickly sensed his gaze. Remus clocked his alarmed expression and raised an eyebrow in confusion.
Well, it was now or never.
“REMUS LUPIN, YOU’LL DANCE WITH ME AT THE YULE BALL, WON’T YOU?”
The chattering of the Great Hall ceased quite immediately as everyone turned and looked to where the staff were seated.
And then, not even a moment later, Sirius erupted in a fit of fire-breathing coughing and spluttering.
Shortly afterwards, Remus reduced his time allotted at Hogwarts to one hour per week.
(He received an apologetic note from the Weasley twins two days after the fact, the letter explaining that they hadn’t realised that the pepper cups from Professor Sprout’s greenhouse would be quite so potent.)
. . .
Sirius was getting used to his banishment, four days in. He was reacquainting himself with the baby blue wallpaper of their kitchen, and once more traversing the creaking hallways of the Black-Lupin-Potter household. While he slept here every night excluding weekends, he had been spending most of his days on Hogwarts grounds, gleefully bypassing the technicalities of his position to bother his partner and godson, so he hadn’t seen the house in the daylight in quite some time. He quite loved their little cottage, and yet, without Remus and Harry taking up the space within its walls, it felt… odd.
He should have known that his reckless galavanting around Hogwarts would be stopped eventually. Following the debacle at dinner that fateful evening, Sirius had tried to explain himself to Remus to no avail, the defence professor’s eyes narrowing sceptically at his words. That being said, because Remus did, in fact, love him dearly, he allowed the additional technicality of Sirius occasionally joining him for conversation in his office via the Floo network.
And so, Sirius knelt before their fireplace at home, his knees painfully digging into the stone floor, his head stuck in the flames, watching Remus grade papers through the green flames.
“Is this what it feels like, being on your knees for someone? It’s quite painful, no wonder you’re in need of a cane.”
“Need I remind you that you’re already on very, very thin ice, Padfoot?”
“Just an observation, is all.”
The pair lapsed back into silence.
Sirius knew that Remus wasn’t mad at him, not really. Remus wasn’t cruel and knew what happened wasn’t entirely his fault, but Sirius knew he had crossed a line. He had been crossing several lines for quite some time. No matter how much Sirius missed his little family, he had quite thoroughly taken advantage of the werewolf’s renowned patience to selfishly cater to his own needs. He had joined the Hogwarts Board of Governors without consulting Remus, he had intruded on his lessons, and now Sirius had quite forcibly brought Remus into a spotlight he knew his partner was uncomfortable with.
And yet…
…watching Remus now, his golden curls backlit by the lovely highland sunset caused Sirius to swell with powerful emotions.
“Hey, Rem?”
“...Hm?”
“I know I’ve used up the hour already, but give me fifteen minutes to pop in? Promise I’ll keep it to fifteen, and I won’t ask to do it again in the future.”
Remus sighed but warily nodded.
“Sure, come on through.”
Sirius eagerly scrambled through the fireplace, palms scratching on the stone floor and robes catching on the wood. He eagerly stood up, brushing the soot from his knees, fully prepared to express his love and gratitude and provide the sincerest of apologies for his actions, when he spotted an envelope next to the stack of assignments that Remus was currently working his way through. Sirius felt his mood sour spectacularly, and couldn’t help his desire to snark.
“Received more French poetry, have we?”
Remus pinched at the space between his brows before turning in his chair to look at Sirius.
“Are you actually joking, right now? Surely, you didn’t ask to join me in my office to berate me for something I can’t control, right?”
“No, listen, I –”
“No, you listen. I know it’s annoying to have someone give attention to your significant other. Believe me, I am well aware of the feeling,” Remus looked pointedly at Sirius, who felt a blush rise to his cheeks, “and quite frankly, I think you’re the one who hasn’t quite considered how your view of the situation could be an insult my character.”
Well… no, he hadn’t considered that.
Remus rose to his feet and moved to stand by Sirius.
“Sirius, when you act like this, it feels like you’re telling me that you don’t trust me when it comes to honouring our relationship. At the very least, it’s like you can’t imagine that I would remain professional in an uncomfortable circumstance. Have you seen me hold onto even a single letter? Have you seen me entertain any inappropriate remark?”
“No,” Sirius muttered.
“It’s because, not even accounting for how extremely inappropriate it would be to encourage such things, I know how much it bothers you! Sirius Orion Black, you are the man of my dreams, and I have loved you since I was fourteen years old, and maybe even before then. I don’t take our companionship lightly, and every day I think about how lucky I am to be in a world where that love is reciprocated. Now…” Remus lowered his voice, and his eyes lost the fervour they’d previously held during his lecture.
“D’you mind telling me the actual reason why you’re so upset with the attention I’m receiving?”
This bastard knew him all too well, it would seem. An image of an empty cottage flashed across his mind.
“It’s really nothing, Rem. Just old hurts.”
“Which old hurts?”
“Remus –”
“Sirius.”
Sirius huffed.
“Look, I’m just tired of being apart from you and Harry. It’s like the two of you no longer need me to be happy, and it feels unfair that the more I’m away from you, the more people feel like they’re allowed to try and take you away from me.”
Silence.
Sirius looked away from Remus’s surprised expression.
“Sorry, ignore all that, I just meant that –”
“Sirius.”
He quieted.
Remus cupped his face gently, and Sirius could see his reflection in his eyes before he was wrapped into a gentle hug. Sirius sniffed and reciprocated, burrowing his face into Remus’s neck.
“Oh, Pads. I’ve been neglecting us, haven’t I?”
Sirius neither confirmed nor denied this.
Remus took a step back, before nodding sharply.
“Right, then. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head to Dumbledore and request a week of leave immediately after the conclusion of the third task and the closing ceremonies. We’re due a vacation anyway, just the two of us. What sounds nice? Where do you want to go?”
A warm feeling filled Sirius’s chest, Remus’s proposition filling him with sorely needed comfort and assurance.
“How does the countryside sound? I know the loveliest little cottage, it’s got the bluest walls you’ve ever seen.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They leant closer together, fully intending to indulge in each other before something sparked in Sirius’s memory.
“Hold on, if you haven’t held onto a single letter, then what’s that supposed to be, over there on your desk?”
Remus’s face contorted in confusion, glancing behind him at the stack of papers. When he turned back around, he looked mildly incredulous.
“Pads, it’s a letter from the Board of Governors detailing some curriculum changes for the next term. You are one of the people who signed off on it!”
“...Ah, I see. That’s all right, then.”
Remus let out a breathy laugh.
“Absolutely unbelievable, you are,” he chuckled.
Sirius grinned impishly.
“Listen, if you really do miss the horde of love letters that swarm you daily –”
“It barely happens once a week–”
“–then I’m happy to take up the mantle. While I’m home away from you and Harry, I can start by sending in at least one message a day, though I could always work my way up to once per hour, if the mood strikes.”
Remus snorted.
“Alright, but only so long as it’s entirely in French. I’ve recently become fond of poetry, too, now that I think of it.”
Sirius swept into a low bow.
“Certainly, my love.”
Sirius got down on one knee and took Remus’s hands in his. He looked up at his partner’s face and saw that the previously jovial mood had changed suddenly. There was longing there, now.
He elected to take a gentler approach to this bit, then.
He took a deep breath.
“‘Au point que j'expirais, tu m'as rendu le jour. Baiser, dont jusqu'au coeur le sentiment me touche,’” Sirus whispered coquettishly.
Remus smiled softly.
“I know this one, it’s from one of the books in your study,” Remus murmured, “ François Tristan L'Hermite, ‘The ecstasy of a kiss,’ right?”
Sirius carried on, not answering.
“‘Enfant délicieux de la plus belle bouche, qui jamais prononça les Oracles d'Amour,’” he said instead, delicately kissing the back of Remus’s hand.
“The most beautiful mouth to ever pronounce the Oracles of Love,” Remus quietly translated back.
“‘Mais tout mon sang s'altère, une brûlante fièvre…’”
Remus looked askance at the floor, his golden eyes glinting. “‘My blood is sick with burning fever.”
Sirius leaned forward to meet his partner’s eyes, not allowing him to break his gaze.
“‘Me ravit la couleur et m'ôte la raison.’”
Remus huffed but met his eyes anyway, a trace of amusement peeking through his bashful expression—a small smile.
“‘It steals my colour and takes away my reasoning.”
Sirius felt Remus’s thumb trace nervous circles on his palm but didn’t break their eye contact to look. He watched instead as Remus got down to Sirius’s level, bad leg trembling slightly during the descent. Sirius couldn’t look away as his partner leaned closer to him from where he was now kneeling. Remus brushed a strand of hair away from Sirius’s face, where it had fallen over his eyes.
“‘Ah! mon Ame s'envole en ce transport de joie! Ce gage de salut, dans la tombe m'envoie…’”
“‘My soul flies away in this transport of joy, this ticket to salvation sends me to the tomb…’”
Sirius stole a quick peck on the lips. “‘C'est fait ! je n'en puis plus, Remus , ma lune, je me meurs.’”
Another peck. “‘It’s… it’s done. I cannot go on…my star, I’m dying.’”
Sirius could feel himself grin in a way he imagined looked stupidly lovestruck.
“‘Ce baiser est un sceau par qui ma vie est close: et comme on peut trouver un serpent sous des fleurs, j'ai rencontré ma mort sur un bouton de rose.”
“‘This kiss is a seal by which my life comes to a close, and just as one can find a serpent beneath the flowers…’”
A final, deeper kiss.
“‘I’ve found my death on the bud of a rose.’”
Their eyes flitted to each other, foreheads touching, the two men lost in each other’s orbit.
“Bit dark, that one was,” Remus murmured, lips still brushing against Sirius’s.
“Yeah, well, we’re not exactly sunshine and rainbows either, are we? Disgraced son of the most inbred family in Britain, and his partner, the Moody Git.”
Remus snorted.
“We really do make quite the pair, don’t we?”
“And don’t you forget it, Moonbeam. I’d like to see some smarmy French prat one up that performance! Bloody poet, I am.”
“You are referring to a child, Pads. Besides, I don’t think it counts if you aren’t the one who wrote the poem.”
“‘Course it does. I did some freestyling, didn’t I?”
Remus snorted, tucking another stray lock of Sirius’s hair behind his ear, before whispering to him in that lilting Welsh of his –
“Rwy’n dy garu di.”
For all the time they’d been together, Sirius hadn’t picked up as much of the Welsh language as he’d hoped, but this was a phrase he knew well and had heard often in quiet moments together. He grinned, more softly this time.
He was forever lost to the orbit of Remus Lupin, a sexy professor and diabolical mastermind extraordinaire. A caring teacher. A doting father. He was forever indebted to lumpy sweaters and too-sweet French toast and crow’s feet around smouldering golden eyes, and he was grateful to know by heart the stories of nearly every silvery scar that formed constellations on his partner’s body.
Oh, how he loved this beautiful, lovely man. His moon, his world, his everything.
“Je t'aime aussi, ma chérie.”