Remus’ first thought as he entered the banquet hall: It smells like the Man in here.
His second, as his mouth dropped open: Fuck, it’s way bigger on the inside.
It was huge. He’d known they’d go for something grand and classy - showing off, of course - but not that the ceiling would be barely visible, it was so high. The tall, gothic windows lined up barely a metre apart on all five walls. Outside, the sky was almost black.
What kind of room needs five walls? He thought, hugging the chest of his suit.
The chandelier demanded attention, grand and liberally passing out its soft golden light to the room. The floor was half-covered in intricately patterned navy carpet, and held dozens of neatly arranged white-clothed tables, each with six white-clothed chairs to match. The uncarpeted half of the room became a grand, wooden dance floor, holding too many colourfully draped women and generically-dressed men to count. Everyone wore decorative masks to cover their eyes. Some grabbed at one’s attention, while others were more simplistic. His own was a plain white, with small, icy wings of felt on either side. The room was so large, it made him feel tiny. He bit his lip. How was he ever going to find his man in a place like this?
“Drink, sir?”
He jumped as a small, monochromatic waitress appeared beside him out of thin air. Well, not really, but it felt that way. She held up a tray, which in turn held a dozen small glasses of red and clear liquids.
“Water?” He asked, pointing to a clear one.
“White wine.” She clarified. On second thought, it wasn’t exactly clear.
He shook his head, and she disappeared as abruptly as she’d appeared.
Remus surveyed the room as he took a seat at one of the untouched tables. He grabbed his pocket watch, studied it for a moment, before dropping it again. Only 9:41. Most people wouldn’t be going home until midnight, or later. He had time to eat, mingle, maybe flirt with one of the waitstaff before cornering his guy and getting the fuck out of there. Having time, and the faint shadow of a plan, calmed his nerves. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher at the centre of the table, and took a sip.
At 9:57 - he knew, he’d checked his watch a minute earlier - a voice startled him.
“Care to dance?”
A woman held out her hand. Her mask was white, like his, but looked pale yellow in the chandelier’s golden baptismal glow. Hers was much nicer than his faded one, and adorned with tall bunny ears instead of little wings. He stared at her hand, which was chocolate-brown, and her fingers, which were tipped with pale pink gel nails. He could tell she was more nervous than she let on. He nodded, took it, and let himself be swept away into the vibrant mess of the dance floor.
Remus didn’t like being around so many bodies. Even though the song was slow, and the pairs kept to themselves, people were sweaty, and bumping into one another, which meant bumping into him. His partner was wearing too much tangy perfume, and his werewolf nose recoiled at the scent. And slow dancing was too intimate to be doing with strangers, he thought. Even now, though his hold was relaxed and his movements natural, it took hard work. He was not naturally relaxed. Not naturally natural.
This was why parties were not his forte. The forte in question was a quiet, lamplit evening with nobody but himself and a book. But pleasure meant nul without pain. Besides, he reminded himself, he wasn’t there for a part. He was there on a mission. Which he’d better get on.
As they wove through the pairs of dancers, Remus kept an eye out for the subject. It’d be difficult to spot him in a mask, but he was sure he’d be able to tell anyway. . .
“Ow!” His partner hissed from below. Oh, God, he’d stepped on her toe and scuffed her high heel.
“Sorry.” He muttered, his ears burning.
He was grateful when the song ended and she moved to switch. A small grace. He turned to land in the arms of another.
Oh, not grace, wrath, definitely wrath. He’d landed right in the arms of his subject.
Remus knew it would hurt to see him again. But he hadn’t anticipated this. It was like being Petrified while watching another drive a dagger into one’s chest. His breath was quite literally taken away. Yet his feet kept moving. He stumbled to catch up with them.
His subject wore an extravagant green mask that made Remus feel like a dolt to miss him before, though there must have been hundreds of people at the hall. Feathers, sequins, tiny horns - not any one thing, like its wearer. Elegant, but transcendent. Around it, his dark hair hung in curls down to his shoulders. Fake curls, the kind achieved by twisting around a hair straightener, not screwy and natural, like Remus’ own. His green mask matched his handsome tie, and - if one looked closely - the very faint stripes on his dark suit. Behind the mask, his partner’s near-black eyes drunk in Remus as well. Under it, patchy stars of various sizes and shades of green were painted on his pale cheeks.
His partner registered his own surprise quicker than Remus had, and moved to pull away. Remus quickly tightened his hold. Letting his tension free. It felt good, but not good enough to make it go away .
“Oh no,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re not escaping me this time, Sirius Black.”
Sirius gave up trying to move away, and sighed. “That sounds awfully sinister, Moony. That sounds like something a villain would say.” He whispered, drawling.
It was a front, he knew that. Remus knew Sirius well enough to know he didn’t drawl.
Nevertheless, his ivory voice still sent goosebumps aflame across every inch of Remus’ skin. He was grateful for the long sleeves, but nothing could be done for his neck. He hoped Sirius couldn’t see from the angle he was at.
“Don’t call me that.” He growled. Rage again - he’d better keep himself in check. “I don’t care how I sound to you.” He said, calmer this time. But he did, he cared so much. He felt Sirius flinch from under his hold. “We both know who the villain is. And you’ve allied yourself with him.”
“I-” Sirius faltered. That was more like it. Let him suffer.
Rage. He quieted his thoughts.
“Why are you here, M- Remus?” He hissed quietly. “The Order need a new inside man?”
Rage.
“We’re not on a first-name basis.” He said. Very calmly, one might add. “I’m here to ask the old one what fucked him in the head.” Very ragelessly.
“I’m sorry, M-” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I had to.” And behind the mask, there was genuine anguish in his eyes. Story of his life, Remus thought dully.
It angered him. How dare he be sorry. How dare he be genuine. Indifference would have been better. Pride, even. Hate. At least then, Remus could hate him back. That was always easier.
“I can see that you’re angry.” Sirius said softly. And he was angry, but he wished Sirius would lift his hand off his shoulder and touch his cheek and pull him in for a kiss because it had just been so long and he was so close. And no one could ever see when he was angry, because it was never visible. It existed only in his eyes, in his jaw. It existed only in dark rooms when he was all by himself, in the middle of the night. “But it’s because you don't understand yet.”
Remus softened. He liked understanding things. “What don’t I understand?”
The song transitioned into another. Remus tightened his hold on him, but Sirius made no move to pull away this time. In fact, he leaned in, until he was close enough for Remus to feel his breath. His scent was intoxicating: biblichor, coffee grounds, chocolate. Like early morning air, too early, when it’s still dark outside; the insomniac’s walk. Wax. Adnam’s. Sweat, from nothing but thinking too hard. From philosophising too hard. It was then that he remembered Sirius’ annoying habit of using amortentia as cologne. Sick bastard.
Remus stared determinately at the floor, at their feet.
But even there, it wasn’t safe. Sirius moved fluidly, with grace, and it was all that was keeping Remus from disgracing them both with his disjointed footing, as he had before, with the woman. As a result of childhood lessons, Sirius had always been a better dancer than he. A better everything, actually. Remus had never scorned him for it. He’d admired it, as one admires a god. To even think to be jealous, it was laughable.
He had nowhere to look; Sirius was everywhere.
It took Sirius so long to answer, Remus had forgotten what he’d asked. “I can’t tell you yet, M- Lupin,” he said, a low voice. “It’s not safe right now. I’m not-” he hesitated. “It’s all part of my plan. Everything’ll work out, I promise.”
In the background, the song buzzed around Remus’ head. “You make a lot of promises.” He said softly. “Well, just maybe I mean them,” he murmured. “Cute wings,” he said, eyeing his mask. “Angelic.”
“Cute horns,” he returned. “Demonic.”
Then, Sirius laughed. It had been so long since Remus had heard that ugly, barking sound, and he drank it in like a parched man before a lake.
“Come,” Sirius said delightedly. “Let’s get off the dance floor. Men shouldn’t dance together, and certainly not for two songs. People’ll talk.”
“You’ve done worse than dance with me, Black.” He reminded dryly. Then, Sirius was laughing *gain, snorting into his chest, inches away from his aching heart. This is all that is holy.
“Yeah, but no one was there then.” Sirius giggled into Remus’ chest.
“I was there.” The song changed again, and Remus wanted to check his pocket watch. They must have been at it for at least 15 minutes. They had the whole evening, he realised with a thrill.
“You don’t count, you prick.” Sirius sighed, looking up. “I’ve missed you, Lupin.” One of the stars painted on his cheek had rubbed off onto Remus’ white shirt. “Come.”
He followed him to a secluded table near the back of the hall’s fifth wall, and sat on one of the cloth-backed chairs. Here, the music faded into the background. This table had already been ransacked, and there weren’t any untouched glasses. The plates had been used too, with remnants of chicken and potato salad. Where had they gotten food from? Remus’ own stomach growled; he hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been until now. He checked his pocket watch, then did a double take. It was 11:02?! They’d been at it for an hour.
Remus felt cheated.
Sirius heard his stomach growl, and said, “are you hungry? I can get dinner from a waiter-”
“No, sit down.” Remus said. “You have explaining to do. We nearly lost one of our number because you ratted out to the Death Eaters that we knew about their ambush. Why would you do that? You’re meant to be a double agent, not a triple.”
“I’m sorry. Really.” Sirius put his legs up on the chair, hugging his knees. Remus wanted to hold him. “If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself?”
Remus nodded. He was an expert at keeping things to himself.
“I had to prove myself to them. I was meant to be a triple agent, you know. But they got suspicious when everything I gave them turned out to be duds, and that you guys knew all their moves ahead of time.” He looked down. “I had to pick something that would be bad for you guys, but not detrimental. The ambush thing worked fine. You were caught off guard when they attacked sooner than expected, but you caught your bearings quickly.” Sirius fidgeted with a loose string on the sleeve of his suit. “Until then, I was operating under the excuse that I couldn’t tell them much because I needed to keep your trust, but they grew impatient. I needed to make you guys hate me, actually hate me. Firstly, so I could tell them, I told you so. Secondly,” he brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. “So I didn’t have to be a double agent anymore. If the Order starts knowing their moves ahead of time again, they’ll get suspicious once more. I can’t tell you anything; they’d know. And I don’t want to give any more Order plans away.”
“Then. . .” Remus scooted his chair closer. “If you’re done being a double agent anyway, why are you still with the Death Eaters? Why not come home?” To me?
Sirius stared at the carpeting through his mask. “I can’t leave him.” He said finally. They both knew him was Regulus Black. Sirius’ younger brother. “They’re so horrible, Lupin, you don’t even know. They made a guy-” His voice broke. He inhaled, looking up and sitting up properly. “Point is, I can’t just leave him on his own.”
“Well,” Remus scrambled. “Bring him with you.”
Sirius shook his head. “I’ve thought of that. If he doesn’t come, then he’ll know everything. What if he rats me out? I don’t think he will, of course, but. . . you can’t just ask, hey, want to betray this organisation we’re both a part of and take active part in for our sworn enemies with me? I was just kind of thinking about it.” He laughed weakly, nothing like before. “Not even to your brother. If he won’t come with me, I’m finished.”
“Kidnap him.” Remus suggested.
“Hm, so dubious.” Sirius put an arm on the table, resting his chin in his palm. Here, the chandelier’s glow barely reached them. Barely. He chuckled. “Are you sure you’re not the villain, Lupin? Because you have a tendency to say certain things that raise eyebrows.”
“You can call me Moony, it’s okay.” He leaned in.
“Moony.” Sirius exhaled, like he’d been holding it in all night. A dreamy smile played across his lips. Then, he opened his eyes, and looked solemn. “Moony, you can’t tell anyone, okay? They have to hate me. You have to. You’re a good liar. That’s a compliment,” he added, before Remus could put another thing on his be-upset-about-later list. “Secret, okay?” His large, inky eyes looked into Remus’ own.
He nodded. Secret. He was good with those. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Sirius smiled, drumming his hands on the table. “Now,” he said after a moment. “As it’s only - what time is it?”
Remus checked his pocket watch. “11:10.”
“As it’s only 11;10, and I’m here, and you’re here, and we’ve sorted everything out, and everybody likes each other very much. . .” He looked expectantly at him.
Remus sighed and stood up. “Where to?”
“Did you drive here?”
He nodded.
“Wonderful!” Sirius grinned, getting up as well. “The car, then. You can teach me what all the car-buttons do.”
“The dashboard, Sirius.” “See? I’m learning already.”
Afterwards, Remus bared Sirius’ luminous chest, his creamy thighs, and saw everything divine. . .