It's Not Real
It’s not real.
Sirius, the Crown Prince of Denmark and Count of Monpezat, has never been real. He’s a potpourri of European royal bloodlines, a conglomeration of Walburga, the Queen’s rules, and most of all, a wreckage of public opinion.
Since he spoke his first word—Kongerige—Sirius has known his role: the pretty, conventional face of the Kingdom. The polite, traditional emblem of Denmark’s youth.
In some ways, he’s a weapon against the new generations’ fancies of change. In other ways, he’s a doll for the older generations’ nostalgia of adolescence. Both a carrot and a stick, an apolitical figure employed to Keep his subjects Calm so that they might Carry On—that’s what Sirius was made for.
Literally, it was the only reason Walburga and Orion fucked each other. And it’s the only reason his parents haven’t disinherited him.
So Sirius’ persona might not be real, might not even be his own, but he is bloody important.
After all, he’s the prince.
More than that, he’s damn good at what he does; when he’s not enraging Walburga with his homosexual trysts and a frightfully “queer attitude”, he’s smiling at the foreign politicians, touching them just enough to make them feel seen and wanted, to make them miss this little country when they depart. He’s hosting fundraisers and galas, cutting ribbons in front of charities and shelters, standing before an endless crowd of photographers, answering reporters’ questions with a confident smirk that charms the younger and attracts the older.
He’s on your feeds, on your news, on your posters—he’s the name you mention in Kiss, Marry, Kill, on your wife’s “fuckable list”, and the one you daydream will sweep you away to royal paradise.
And Sirius loves it. Because he excels at it.
It’s a nice feeling, doing something right.
But it’s not fucking real.
At least, he thought it wasn’t. He thought that Sirius and the Prince could be separated into civilian and superhero, day and night; identical twins with contradicting souls.
Then the boy Sirius had been in love with for years broke his heart with a cliche turned on its head:
“It’s not you, Sirius. It’s your title.”
What serendipitous timing for Sirius to realize that the singular logic that kept him going—the comforting scapegoat of his entire life—was a lie. Because what made something real? What criteria would allow Sirius to divorce the man he was in front of a camera and the boy he was behind closed doors?
They were characters that he created; it was one mind, one body that played the parts. Neither was entirely honest—both felt the same insecurities. So how could Sirius call one real and the other fake, when the Prince and Sirius were two sides of the same coin?
He had grown with two faces and in turn, that deceit had raised him.
Who could blame Remus for wanting one and not the other, choosing the good and not the bad? Sirius had been trying to play that game his whole life, and it took falling in love to show him the ugly truth of himself.
Now he’s broken-hearted with an amateur sex tape gone viral, and he doesn’t have a mask to hide behind. It’s real, all of it.
Even himself.
“I think you should skip class.” Regulus catches up to Sirius in the hallway.
“Why hello, brother of mine. How are you?”
Regulus' blank face tilts to the side. “I’ll repeat myself: I think you should skip class.”
“Nah, I could never be so delinquent, what would Mother-dearest say?” Sirius hoists his bag higher on his shoulder. “Besides, I have a project due in Literature and the thought of letting down Sluggie undos me.”
“Stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
Sirius sighs a little at Regulus, his kind, strange younger brother who never had to play the game, not when Sirius played it for him. As it should be. Regulus deserves to lead a life away as far away from the prying cameras and the pitchforks and torches as possible, and Sirius will spend the rest of his days protecting him from it all. In fact, he intends to outlive Regulus just so he’ll never have to wear the crown.
Sovereignty wouldn’t suit Regulus. He’d find all the pretending intolerable.
So Sirius will gladly pretend for him. No, not pretend, this is who he is now, he reminds himself. This is real. He’s not the fool and the Prince; he’s the foolish King.
“I have a lot of damage control to do,” Sirius says, running a hand through his long hair. “Everyone here is watching, some I’m sure are being paid to feed gossip to the the reporters at the gates, so I will not be hiding, Reg. I will show them that I’m perfectly fine. That, as I said in my statement, I’m not the other person in that video.”
Sirius smiles and nods to a group of students watching him and Regulus. When he winks, one of them blushes furiously.
“Okay, if you have to. But I think that you should give yourself some time—”
“I don’t need time.” Sirius’ time is theirs. That’s the blood contract he signed when he popped out of Walburga’s belly and wailed to the tune of their national anthem.
Regulus grabs Sirius’ arm and pull him to the side of the hallway. “Sirius, you’re scaring me.”
“Why? This is exactly what Fie advised I do.”
“But you’re—you’re different. You’re behaving differently. You must be sad and I’m—I—” Regulus fumbles over his words, eyes darting across Sirius’ face.
With a glance around, Sirius sets his hands on Regulus’ shoulders and walks him through a deep breath, then another. It’s impossible not to look at his own hand in his position, at the signet ring on his pointer finger, at the crescent moon he drew a few days before with permanent market.
It’ll fade eventually, Sirius knows. A few more showers and every remnant of Remus will be washed away. As if it never happened—as if it never had been real. The signet ring, on the other hand, will stay there even when he’s buried.
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Sirius assures his brother. “I’m taking care of it.”
Regulus places his hands over Sirius’. “Are you taking care of yourself?”
“That’s what I said.”
******
Before today, Sirius hadn’t known that Emmeline was in his literature class. He didn’t know much besides the fact that Remus Lupin was his literature partner. It seemed like fate itself was gifting him a consolation prize when Slughorn paired them up.
Sirius knows now it wasn’t.
Years of pining and a summer of Walburga’s confinement persuaded Sirius’ most reckless idea yet: convincing Moony to date him. Call it his breaking point, call it his inevitable mania, either way, Sirius returned to Hogwarts prepared to risk it all, if Remus would only let him.
“Hey,” Sirius’ voice comes out breathy and he clears his throat. “You’re Remus, right?”
As if he hasn’t doodled Remus’ name countless times in every script he knows. As if he hasn’t chanted Remus, Remus, Remus every time he watches him across the classroom, across the hallway. As if he didn’t accidentally moan Remus’ name the last time he had a good lay.
“Yeah.” Remus’ eyes dance with something daring. “What’s your name?”
Sirius has to bite his lip, has to breathe in and out of his nose because this is actually happening—he’s finally talking to Remus after years of watching him like a stalker. He’s never been so nervous before, never cared so deeply that he makes a spectacular first impression.
Summoning the courage of both Prongs and Wormtail, Sirius drawls, “You can call me whatever you want, Remus.”
For a moment Sirius fears he’s gone too far because Remus chokes on his own spit. Sirius knows Remus is gay, he knows because of Grant, the boy that Remus watched while Sirius was watching him. So why is he stunned by Sirius’ cheesy pick-up line?
“Alright then, Black.”
Sirius' heart skips and spins. He can’t help but grin widely, which oddly enough makes Remus scowl.
“I think we’re going to be great partners, Lupin,” Sirius says in all sincerity.
It started like that—hopeful and trusting, banter and butterflies. Though it took every drop of bravery Sirius had, he pursued Remus persistently and found the nerve to lean in come their study date. To do much, much more than kiss Remus.
In the end, they both were burned for Sirius’ courage—Remus most of all.
Maybe if Sirius hadn’t been quite so eager, if he took his time before, to put it plainly, fucking Remus to oblivion, the flame wouldn’t have caught forest fire. But all the what-ifs are endless and useless because what’s done is done. Their night together was a private dream stolen for the public; now it’s time for reality to reign.
So when Sirius struts into Slughorn’s classroom only a few minutes before the bell, he doesn’t pester Remus with questions and not-so-sneaky glances at his perfect jawline and dark brown curls—no, he leans over Emmeline’s table with a devilish grin and kisses her on the cheek.
If Remus is looking, Sirius doesn’t know, doesn’t care—but he cares that everyone else does. That the world sees him as their perfect prince and lets all of this mess with the video flicker out, lets Remus live his life away from Sirius, in title and truth.
“Are you presenting your soliloquy?” Emmeline says, inching toward Sirius as if she might kiss him. She could, if she wanted; Sirius had already given her full permission. It’s not that big of a sacrifice in the scheme of things, even if it makes Sirius’ skin crawl.
“Mmhm,” Sirius matches her low tone. “You know how much I love a performance.”
Emmeline rolls her eyes playfully and Sirius leans even closer, the gazes of the entire class inciting his heterosexual audacity—when Slughorn walks in. Thank god. Sirius walks away from Emmeline’s desk, staring into her dark-brown eyes until the last second when he has to face the amber-brown eyes of the boy he loved yesterday.
The boy he fucked not two days ago.
Remus doesn’t acknowledge Sirius, and Sirius doesn’t acknowledge him. They’re just literature partners. The video wasn’t of them. They don’t even know each other.
But Sirius doesn’t miss the new book, Untouchable, sitting on Remus’ side of the desk; he doesn’t miss the dark circles under Remus’ eyes; he doesn’t miss the notebook full of careful notes, with messy scribbles coating the margins.
It’s one of Sirius’ favorite things about Remus—he’s principled and organized with his convictions, but there’s a messy side to his thoughts, something nearly incomprehensible and utterly poetic. Most people here are intelligent, but Remus?
He’s bloody magic.
Up until this school year, Sirius could only let himself watch from afar. It’s so much worse now that he knows exactly what he’s lost.
“As you all know, today you will be presenting your soliloquies. We’ll start the class with His Highness and Lupin,” Slughorn announces with his usual kiss-ass smile.
Sirius sucks in a breath and moves to get up, but Remus beats him to it, striding to the front with a determined expression.
“This is a soliloquy from the character Ophelia,” Remus says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “The moment before she commits suicide.”
The skin around Sirius’ crescent moon stretches as his fists clench, and he quickly shoves them beneath the table, schooling his expression.
“Well, it isn’t clear whether Ophelia’s death was intentional or accidental,” Slughorn says from the back of the classroom, scribbling something on his clipboard.
When Remus doesn’t respond, Slughorn looks up. “You may begin.”
As if he can’t control his hands either, Remus’s clasps his arms behind his back. His voice is steady when he recites from memory:
“On the edge of oblivion, I remember.
The propriety of my surrender
The night to my vacant white
The impetus for my flight
Idle I served, swift I secede
Broken will be their breed
When the river swallows
What they carved hollow
Mad, mad, yes, I’m mad for he
I’m mad at me
For loving a prince I shan’t
For wielding my father’s cant
To the veil, I accustomed
Until what shined became rusted
But I see, I may see!
What was and will be
Pastel, stained crimson
I grow weary of prison,
Of their coloured neglect
Of the rivers I wept
I shed all their woes
On the edge of repose,
In this floral array
I, finally, disobey.”
Remus looks down, breathing heavily. Slowly, the class begins to clap, some turning to look at Sirius to study his reaction.
Sirius is sure to keep his face uninterested and bored, but his mind races with the words he and Remus wrote together. It was one thing to see it written, but to hear it performed? The pieces of them both are obvious now—jagged from overuse, from abuse, and if Sirius were sensible like Regulus, he wouldn’t peer into the cracks.
Yet Remus’ voice lingers.
“On the edge of oblivion, I remember.
The propriety of my surrender…”
“While I applaud your creative liberties,” Slughorn begins. “You’ve completely misunderstood the character of Ophelia. She was an object, thoughtless, her only trait obedience, and when her true master, her father, died, she fell into madness.”
Sirius feels his muscles tense, though there’s no reason to react. It’s just a character analysis. It’s just a character.
It isn’t real.
“I can’t say I agree, Professor,” Remus responds from the front of the classroom.
“What depths do you see in Ophelia?” Slughorn responds, sounding affronted. “I’m simply calling Shakespeare out on his anti-feminist tendencies.”
Remus nods. “Exactly, I believe her depths were off the page. That’s why I—we chose to write a soliloquy for Ophelia, to offer her a chance to be a full character instead of a plot device.”
Sirius remembers then that this is his project too, that here, at least, he can speak on Remus’ behalf without inciting rumors. “You did offer us full creative freedom in your instructions, Professor.”
“Of course, of course.” Slughorn scratches his beard. “Well then, good job. Next up is Jensen and Sorensen.”
Sirius keeps absolutely still as Remus returns to his desk.
“Why’d you go up?” he can’t help but ask in a hushed voice. “You hate public speaking.”
“Wouldn’t look good if you did it,” Remus says, watching the next speaker fiddle with his papers at the front.
It’s true, of course, Sirius monologuing about madness and rebellious suicide wouldn’t be the wisest PR stunt, but why does Remus care?
Maybe he’s learning the tricks of the trade, Sirius thinks to himself wryly. Remus is more than clever, he knows how to navigate the hungry media, he knows that the less ammunition the world has on Sirius, the less likely they’ll pitch a fit about Remus.
Sirius has to be the perfect prince, and Remus has to be a stranger.
After several awkward soliloquies and a few unexpectedly moving performances, the class finally ends. Sirius is almost out the door when he hears Mulciber and Avery snicker, glancing towards Remus with sneers. “Must be hard being a bøsserøv and a socialist.”
“Don’t use words you can’t define,” Remus says off-handedly, still packing his things.
Avery juts out his chin to the flag pin on Remus’ backpack. “Oh? Then what’s that?”
“The flag of Mexico?” Remus raises his brow.
Avery’s cheeks turn bright red and Sirius moves forward to say something, but Remus shakes his head. They’re not supposed to be seen together outside of class, they can’t be so much as friends, not in public.
So Sirius walks away. Because Remus wants him too.
“The night to my vacant white
The impetus for my flight…”
******
The adrenaline, the rush of seeing Remus, of feigning indifference, crashes when Sirius stumbles into his room. He smiles weakly at Agnes and closes the door on her, sliding to the floor the second he turns the lock.
He wants to open his phone and reread his messages with Remus. No, he wants to text him, apologize for all he can’t do, for all that he’s done.
But he’s done enough. Sirius can’t text Remus ever again.
“It didn’t go well then,” Regulus says from Sirius’ bed.
Sirius can’t summon the energy to be surprised. He figured on of them would be waiting up, if not James or Peter, then Reg. His brother had always been good at that, waiting in his room after a long event or a stuffy interview.
Usually, Sirius would talk Regulus’ ear off, rant about the prying questions, the invasive glances, but this isn’t another of his royal responsibilities, this isn’t something he can whinge and whine about.
He’s not fed up or frustrated. He’s broken-hearted.
“I gave them a show.” Sirius forces a breath. “Remus could barely look at me and I didn’t so much as flinch.”
“You can now if you want. It’s only me here.”
Then, to spite Regulus’ words, Sirius’ phone rings.
He pulls it from his pocket and accepts the call. “Hi, Fie.”
“Sirius.”
It’s Regulus who flinches at the sound of the Queen’s voice. Sirius only sits up, swallowing hard. “Hello, mother.”
There’s a long pause. Then she laughs. “What a mess you’ve made.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“I’m sure you are. For centuries our family has kept their private lives private, and yet you, my heir, are so thoughtless as to leave the window curtains open.”
Sirius winces at the implication—that his ancestors had kept queer secrets too, had hid their entire lives for the sake of the crown.
“The statement you released will not be sufficient,” Walburga continues in a clipped tone.
“Of course not, Emmeline and I—”
“Yes, I’m aware of Fie’s plan. I helped select Emmeline.”
Sirius, still on the floor, picks up the phone and cups it in his palms. He waits for his mother to speak again, knowing nothing he could say would please her. Nothing he’s ever done has.
“Idle I served, swift I secede
Broken will be their breed…”
“For the sake of all of our reputation, Sirius, I do hope that they believe you. If not, there are other options to pursue.”
“What—what do you mean, Mother?”
Walburga sounds more like a queen than ever when she replies: “Do you know the advice my father gave me on my coronation?”
Sirius remains quiet.
“An heir and a spare,” she drawls. “That aphorism is more pertinent than ever, don’t you think?”
“Mother, Regulus isn’t—”
“I expect you to fix this, Sirius.” The call cuts off, Sirius’ lock screen with James and Peter blinking to life.
When Sirius looks up, he finds Regulus stone-faced and stiff. “I won’t let that happen, Reg,” Sirius says.
“It would be ironic.”
Sirius stands and crosses to the bed. “What would be?”
“If she made me the heir apparent.” Regulus’ fingers tap out a particular triplet rhythm, then stills. “Since I’m gay as well.”
Sirius sucks in a breath. “Oh.”
It ought to be a joyful moment, it ought to be something that Sirius can smile at, Regulus coming out to him. But they both know that this is a life sentence.
Queers aren’t Kings.
“When the river swallows
What they carved hollow…”
Sirius takes Regulus’ hand, keeping his voice light. “I’m glad you told me, Reg. You know that I love you no matter what.”
“Even if I commit regicide?”
Sirius laughs at the familiar joke. “Especially then.”
His phone buzzes, but this time, the ringtone means something good. The best person Sirius knows, in fact.
Prongsie: Are you skipping class???? where are you?
Padsie: i could never leave you to the calculus wolves! i’m omw, got caught up w emme
Prongsie: kk see u soon
******
The party had been Sirius’ idea. He didn’t do any of the dirty work, just talked to the right people, donated a few thousand kroner to the party fund, and looped Emmeline in on the gameplan.
He meant to tell Peter and James what he was up to—Sirius never kept secrets from them before. But the lie was easy to tell, the omission simple to leave, what with the anxiety pouring off them in waves. Like Regulus, they were worried about him, and once Sirius would have accepted their concern greedily, would pretend it was Effie holding him tightly, but now he’s through with hiding.
This is who he is. A handsome prince with just the right amount of rebellion, as Remus so aptly described him. He gets wasted at parties and emerges the next day, bright and obedient, smiling for fans across the world.
Sirius lets that reality sink in with every shot he takes, his silver blazer long since discarded, his lightning bolt makeup long since smeared. He’s lost James to the chaos, but Peter and Emmeline keep him company, and Sirius is sure to use them as props for the phones not so discreetly filming his antics.
It’s going perfectly until Sirius pulls Emmeline close for another long, sloppy kiss, and someone shoves past him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Sirius blinks, dizzy from his buzz, from the moving lights, and races to chase whoever shoved him.
The shrieking shack ebbs and flows with the thrum of people dancing, and Sirius has to hold onto the wall in order to follow that black hoodie. When the figure turns into the bathroom, Sirius is quick to slip in behind them.
“What is your fucking prob—” Sirius freezes. He stumbles back into the door, balance thrown by the sight of Remus.
“Mad, mad, yes, I’m mad for he
I’m mad at me…”
“What are you doing here?”
“Did you set all of this up just to have an audience for you and Emmeline?” Remus says.
Sirius is too tipsy, too besotted to lie. “Yes.”
“Was it Fie’s idea? Because it seems like a bloody stupid idea.”
“No it’s not stupid,” Sirius slurs. “Every time Emme and I kiss the less people care about the video. About you. So you’re welcome.”
“Is it working then?”
“Is what working, Moony?” Sirius grimaces at the nickname. He didn’t mean to say that.
“Does kissing Emme help you forget about me? Is that all it took, a pretty girl?”
“It’s not real,” Sirius says on instinct, but quickly corrects, “It’s as real as me.”
Remus looks at Sirius for a long minute then shakes his head. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re the one who shoved me, Lupin.”
“It was an accident.”
“Why are you even here?” Sirius rubs his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Lily convinced me it would be a good chance to…talk. I didn’t think you would go to the party, I was throwing rocks at your dorm window.”
“Standing where Snape filmed us, were you?”
“It’s not funny.”
“No.” Sirius keeps laughing regardless because it’s fucking hilarious, in a dark Danish way, that he got to have his Moon for one night before the universe took him away, that he dared to think a part of himself human, anything other than theirs, that he left his fake girlfriend just to argue with his almost-ex in a shitty bathroom.
Remus gives Sirius a flat look, and he quiets. “What do you want to talk about then? I think we’ve said all we need to.”
“I need to apologize,” Remus says.
“Why? Cause Lily told you too? It’s fine. I have to get back to Emmeline—”
Remus grabs Sirius’ hand before he can open the bathroom door. “Please, Sirius, just let me say something?”
The feeling of Remus’ fingers on his skin siphons all the argument out of Sirius, and he turns around expectantly.
“For loving a prince I shan’t
For wielding my father’s cant…”
“I realize that you’re doing all of this because I asked you to. That you’re pretending to be straight and dating Emmeline so that people stop trashing me online, and that’s not what you wanted. I’m forcing you back into the closet, and that’s, honestly, shit of me. I’m really sorry, Sirius.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Sirius says brightly. “I’m not pretending.”
Remus’ brows fold. “What are you—”
“I like Emmeline, she’s gorgeous and she comes from a good family. My mother has already applauded my decision, and we went viral on Twitter a half an hour ago.”
“It’s a fake relationship, a PR stunt,” Remus says slowly as if Sirius isn’t understanding. “You can break up with her once this all blows over.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“But she was paid to date you.”
“I’ll convince her to love me, I nearly got you to, didn’t I?” Sirius smiles widely. “It was my title that kept you away but I think that’s half the reason Emmeline likes me so this time it will work in my favor.”
And maybe Remus really isn’t so sober because he stumbles back into the sink. “What the fuck are you saying, Sirius? You sound brain-washed.”
Sirius’ vision spins, his stomach twirling with it as Remus rants, “You—you keep reacting to everything instead of allowing yourself to think things through. Your opinions and actions don’t have to be black and white, for or against theirs, you can be more complex than that.” Remus groans. “I know you’re more complex than that.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’re more than the character they’ve made you out to be!”
Sirius gets it, he really does. Remus had been clear that he only wanted the half of Sirius that wasn’t the Prince. But: “This is who I am.”
“It’s not who you are.” Remus shakes his head. “It’s how you’re surviving.”
Before Sirius can ask what’s the difference, Remus’ phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and Sirius squints—is that a new phone?
“My number was leaked online,” Remus explains at Sirius’ confused expression. He holds up the phone to his ear and slips into Spanish. “¿Qué? Más despacio, mamá. ¡¿Qué hicieron?! ¿Estás herida? Ve a la casa de Annalisa. Sí, lo sé, tendré cuidado. Yo también te quiero.”
Sirius fiddles with his signet ring, trying not to wince at Remus’ panicked tone, trying not to dissect the familiar cognates and eavesdrop. “Is everything okay?” he asks when Remus hangs up.
“Another death threat. This time they sent it with a rock through the window.”
The words sober Sirius up. “What?”
Remus types something into his phone, mumbling, “It’s been harmless until now, I don’t know how they found our house but—”
“You’re coming with me.” Sirius grabs Remus’ arm and opens the bathroom. He doesn’t hear Remus’ sounds of protest, not the speakers blasting “Danser Med Dæmoner”, not the sounds of laughter and drunk chants, all he knows is:
Death. Threat.
“Agnes.” Sirius finds the blonde waiting just outside the shack. “We have a code nightingale.”
Her eyes widen and she moves immediately. Sirius doesn’t bother to clarify who is being threatened, and luckily, Agnes doesn’t ask why Sirius shoves Remus into the black car that pulls up a few minutes later.
“Sirius, what are you—”
“Agnes, we need to send someone to guard Remus’ mom, Hope Lupin.”
Agnes nods from the passenger seat, and Sirius slides up the partition glass, turning to Remus. “I should have sent a security team to your house when the video was posted. This is my fault.”
Remus buckles his seatbelt and asks in a shaking voice, “Sirius, what the fuck is happening right now?”
Sirius nearly takes Remus’ hand but thinks better of it. “Perks of being a public figure, we take death threats seriously. We’re going to be on lockdown until they track down who threatened you and your mom.”
“But—no, we can’t be seen together.”
“We won’t.” Sirius looks out the window, Hogwarts’ gothic walls rolling past. “Lockdown means only those with the highest security clearance can be let in. The press won’t be allowed even a mile from us.”
Remus falls back into his seat, shaking his head. “And my mom—she’ll—she’ll be safe too?”
“Yes, I promise.” A few days ago Sirius had dreamed of meeting Hope Lupin, the woman Remus spoke so highly about, the woman that raised the boy Sirius was hopelessly in love—
Sirius snuffs out those thoughts, leaving smoke in the flame’s wake. As he feels the bliss of his buzz fade, he reminds himself that this doesn’t mean anything. That this is for Remus’ safety. That an apology, a death threat, a lockdown, won’t change what’s real.
Padsie: i left the party. going on lockdown.
Prongsie: WHAT?!
Padsie: we’re okay, promise
Prongsie: Who’s we?
Padsie: me and remus
Prongsie: what can i do??? I’m with reggie
Padsie: hi, reg
Padsie: pls tell peter and pls take care of yourself
Prongsie: I told u i’m not having a migraine!!
Padsie: but you’re clearly having a bad day so let reg take care of you. i’m sorry i can’t rn.
Sirius sets down his phone, trying to shake off the image of James groaning in pain on the floor. Trying to shake off the image of James’ strained smile this morning. They need to talk, Sirius knows they need to talk, but ever since Effie and Flea passed, it’s felt impossible to even begin.
“Sirius?”
“Hm.” He turns to look at Remus.
“You’re shaking.”
Sirius tucks his hands beneath his legs and shrugs. He could say a million things—I’m scared that James will be grieving forever. I’m scared that Regulus will have to take my place. I’m scared that I will live and die alone, like my ancestors—but he knows better. Those aren’t Remus’ burdens to bear.
“I’m just cold,” Sirius lies.
The car turns onto the highway and Sirius feels something warm drop in his lap.
Remus’ sweater.
******
Much of Sirius’ childhood has been lost to his fickle memory. He only has whisps of the circus life he was punished with, and mostly, it’s a blessing not to remember Walburga’s and Orion’s negligence. Mostly, Sirius is grateful that he can’t recall the ugly specifics.
There are some moments, however, he wishes his mind held onto.
James has told Sirius about their first visit to Kronborg castle a dozen times. How Effie and Fleamont coordinated a private tour and guided them through the royal apartments and ballrooms, past the chapel, and down to the dungeons. How they watched a play of Hamlet in the courtyard, and the actor recognized Sirius and gifted him his prop skull. How they had lunch with a view of Øresund, the strait of the Danish-Swedish border, and Effie explained the play’s plot scene by scene.
Kronborg castle is technically Sirius’ inheritance. The setting to Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the castle sits at the tip of Sjælland, in a cute, little town called Helsingør. The crown has long since left the stronghold to the tourism industry, but they use the property for the occasional ceremonies and the even more occasional lockdowns.
Sirius has always had a soft spot for the castle. It’s far enough from Copenhagen, from the Queen, but close enough to civilization, and it boasts of both a spectacular coastal view and an even more impressive history. But above all, Sirius loves Kronborg because Effie and Fleamont did, the literature nerds.
So when Agnes pulls into the backlot, and Sirius opens the door to the salt-sea night air, to the Renaissance spires and portas, moats and towers, he can’t help but grin.
“Kronborg is the Bard’s paradise,” Fleamont would say proudly whenever someone complimented the painting of the castle in his sitting room.
“Mierda.” Remus looks around, his feet pulling him into the courtyard as if he’s hypnotized.
Sirius follows closely. “Have you not been here before?”
“No, I—I did as a kid, of course, but I didn’t know who the hell Shakespeare was back then.”
“Come on.” Sirius gestures to the north wing, the sleeve of Remus’ green sweater falling over his wrist. “Let me show you around.”
It’s dangerously easy to forget why they’re here as Sirius takes Remus through the castle, spitting facts about the 17th-century fire and the castle’s many renovations. They fall into that lovely banter of theirs—Sirius a charming sap and Remus a grouchy nerd—and neither cares to burst the bubble, to acknowledge the chasm of pain and regret between them.
But when they make it to the Little Hall full of tapestries with old Danish Kings, Sirius is slapped back into reality.
“Your ancestor, no?” Remus points to the tapestry of Christian IV in poofy pants and a white collar, one small braid dangling over his brow.
“Ah, the infamous drunk and womanizer.” Sirius forces a laugh. “And yet he’s one of the most popular Kings in Scandinavian history.”
Remus dips his head with a scoff.
“What?” Sirius asks.
“It’s worse than that, Sirius. Christian IV started Denmark’s colonization in Greenland and India.” With one last look at the faded woven fabric, Remus moves forward. “But no Dane ever talks about that messy history, do they? Nor the lasting imperialist legacy in the colonies because god forbid we admit to our country’s complicity in global inequality. No, of course not, we’re the happiest country on the earth, white and guiltless.”
Sirius listens carefully as Remus walks along the other tapestries, ending at the poster with the Royal family tree, Sirius and Regulus’ official portraits at the bottom. Regulus managed to sit perfectly still for his, but Sirius? He needed ten breaks.
“I heard that the secret societies at Hogwarts glorify it all, particularly the Indigenous blood on Denmark’s hands.” Remus turns to look at Sirius for confirmation.
“That’s part of the reason I refused their…offer,” Sirius admits. He tries not to think about the other horrors, the old Latin motto they borrowed from the Nazis, Suum Cuique, the “gay tests” they put their initiates through, all the money they wasted on drugs and booze.
“How’d they take your rejection?”
Sirius looks at the poster of his family tree behind Remus, finding Walburga’s cold smile. “They couldn’t do shit about it. I’m the Prince.”
Or maybe they did do something about it, Sirius realizes—Snape got his revenge when he posted the video. Sirius’ title might be the most formidable in the Kingdom, but it’s only a facade of invincibility.
All his life, the crown was supposed to shield Sirius, and yet, it only ever left him bruised.
“What would you do?” Sirius asks. “If you were the Prince, I mean.”
“Dangerous question.”
“I really want to know.”
Remus looks at Sirius curiously. “Why?”
“Because I—” Sirius swallows, contemplating the ugly truth. “I’m good at what I do, being the Prince. And I know that’s why you—you don’t want me, but sometimes it’s the only reason I can get out of bed. So I just need to know…” what I can do better. How I could be better. For you.
At Remus’ confused expression, Sirius curses himself for being so honest, so real. “Never mind.”
“You’re good at being their Prince because they taught you to be. I don’t blame you for finding value in that, not when that’s the only definition of value you’ve ever known.”
“Are you calling me brainwashed again?” Now that Sirius is sober, the insult has found its way under his skin.
“I think we all are a little.” Remus steps forward, and Sirius’ heart thumps loudly in his ears. “I’m sure as fuck a different person with my mom and Lily than at school, and sometimes, when I get a professor’s bigoted approval, it feels good despite everything. Sometimes I just want to be wanted.”
“You’re different because people are arseholes to you—”
“Exactly. This country is full of arseholes and you happen to be the face of it. But what matters is the person you are outside of your role in the monarchy. That’s the person I like.”
Sirius blows out a breath. Remus doesn’t get it, but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand that Sirius is both of those people.
“To answer your question,” Remus says, squinting at the chandelier above them. “If I were the Prince, I’d campaign for educational reform with postcolonial materials, and implement a curriculum on Danish imperialism. I’d also distribute the crown’s wealth into organizations supporting immigrants.”
Sirius winces at the thought of what Walburga would say to that. It’s a brilliant way to start some sort of progressive change, but they would never let Sirius do it. That would involve him having an opinion. That would involve him threatening the very pedestal that holds him up.
“I’m not saying I don’t have power, Remus. But if I tried to do any of that…well, Regulus would quickly become the Crown Prince. I’ll never let that happen.”
“I figured,” Remus says softly. “You can’t even be openly gay, I know they wouldn’t let you take a stand.”
“I wish I could though.”
“To the veil, I accustomed
Until what shined became rusted…”
They fall into silence, and the weight of the night, the faded buzz from the party, thickens the air. It’s almost dawn. Soon enough, the security team would track whoever sent that death threat, and Remus and Sirius would return to Hogwarts as literature partners, and nothing more.
Remus glances at the bay window across the room where the crescent moon sits in full view. “Is there a fire alarm in here?”
“What? No, not that I know of…” Sirius trails off as Remus pushes open the window, the hinges making a sharp squeak. The wind of the Øresund wafts in, blowing across Remus’ curls as he perches on the ledge and lights a cigarette.
“What are you doing?!”
“I think after a few death threats I deserve a smoke.”
Sirius opens and closes his mouth, then concedes that, yes, Remus has a point. Besides, no one has to know. No one gets to know that the two of them are here, alone, for the last time.
The thought emboldens Sirius.
Maybe it’s not real—maybe it will end when the sun comes up—but Sirius can live in the dream for a little while longer. So he sits beside Remus, holding out his hand for the cigarette.
“Have you ever smoked?”
“Yes, Lupin,” Sirius says flatly.
He hums and passes the lit cigarette which Sirius smokes easily. While he’s never been one for cigarettes, he’s a fan of weed when he can manage it, or in other words, when Peter goes to Freetown Christiania to secure the goods.
“So did you grow up in this castle?” Remus asks, taking the cigarette back.
“No. But I visited quite a bit with James’ parents.” Sirius sinks into the fabric of Remus’ warm sweater. “Last time I was here we spread their ashes in the sea.”
That makes Remus pause, and he pulls the cigarette from his lips slowly. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”
“Me too.”
Sirius’ phone buzzes then, and as he moves to look at the message James sent, he fumbles, the phone sliding out of his grip and out the window. “Fuck me.”
Remus leans his head out the window and winces. “No way that’s not shattered.”
“It’s fine, I’ll use Agnes’ phone to text Pete and James.”
“What about Regulus?”
“He doesn’t use his phone save for emergencies.” Sirius smiles, it’s one of his favorites of Regulus’ quirks.
“What about Emmeline?”
“Oh, she doesn’t have my number.” Sirius starts to tie up his hair with his velvet scrunchie. “I’m not supposed to give it out.”
“But you…gave it to me?”
“I did a lot of things I’m not supposed to with you.”
And just like that, the heat between them reignites, the very tug that brought them together a few nights before yanking Sirius’ will like a leash. His eyes travel from Remus’ eyes, across his smooth light-brown skin and down to his lips. When Remus takes another drag, Sirius has to grip the windowsill so that he doesn’t follow his phone to the ground.
He forces air through his lungs and makes himself count to ten in Mandarin, then Arabic, because he cannot be thinking of Remus like that. Their days, or rather, day, of kissing is long dead.
Sirius has a girlfriend now.
Then Remus plucks the cigarette from his lips and slides it between Sirius’. “Bet you’re not supposed to do this with me either.”
“No,” Sirius rasps, blowing out smoke.
To his credit, he doesn’t lean forward—he doesn’t play with fire—he’s nothing but a willing victim when Remus grabs his sweater’s collar and presses their lips together. The second they’re kissing, Sirius opens his mouth eagerly, letting Remus sweep his tongue over his and he can’t help but gasp. “Moony.”
Remus’ hands weave into Sirius’ hair and untie the bun he just put up, and the kiss deepens, Sirius’ skin tingling with all things Remus, all things too good to be true.
Because it is.
“Wait.” Sirius pulls back, breathless. “Wait, we should probably—”
Remus clears his throat, his pupils wide. He passes the velvet scrunchie to Sirisu with a sheepish smile. “I think this is yours.”
“What happened to the cigarette?”
“Oh, uhm…” Remus looks down out the window. “Another victim.”
They both look at each other and break into laughter, and Sirius is relieved that it can be that, something sweet instead of regretting. He’ll never forget the look on Remus’ face the day the video came out—the pain in his expression when he answered Sirius’ question. When he asked Sirius to lie to the world.
“This is what you want?”
“Yes. This is what I want.”
At least in private, Remus can want something more. At least in private, he wants a part of Sirius.
“In the spirit of doing things we shouldn’t, can I tell you a secret?”
Remus hums, leaning back onto the window frame. “What’s that?”
“I’ve had a crush on you since our first year.” Sirius hugs his knee, resting his cheek on the top. “Actually, that’s understating it. I’ve been obsessed with you. That’s why I knew what you were reading, why I knew about…Grant. I’ve, uhm, been watching you?”
Remus takes a moment to respond, mouth opening and closing. “I’m both flattered and terrified.”
“Seems an appropriate reaction,” Sirius says with a chuckle. He’s glad to admit to all of it, to let these last moments together be honest and open before they return to the world of closed closet doors.
“I tried to change literature partners,” Remus blurts after a moment.
“You what?!”
“It was after I thought you ditched me…I know now you were taking care of James, but I thought you ghosted me, hell, I thought it was all one bloody prank—”
Sirius’ gut twists with anger that Remus thought him capable of such cruelty, that this cruel world made him think the worst of everyone. “I told you I was being sincere.”
“Can you blame me for second-guessing?”
“No. I just wish you weren’t so fucking set on me not liking you.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Remus says in a quiet voice.
“Guess not.” Sirius can feel Remus inching away, so he moves on quickly, “I haven’t finished Things Fall Apart yet.”
“That’s okay, you will eventually.”
But he won’t get to talk to Remus about it—he won’t be allowed to even watch him anymore. At least he had that before Snape stepped in.
“I’m tired of being everyone’s enemy,” Remus breathes, and the timbre of his voice sends chills down Sirius’ back. “I want to go somewhere I can be proud of being biracial and Mexican, somewhere I can actually speak my mind and not risk expulsion.”
“I promise you that Copenhagen is much better than Næstved in every regard,” Sirius says, trying to offer Remus a brighter future, a place he can look forward to living in.
“Maybe, but I’m going to the States.”
“Because they treat Mexicans so much better there?”
Remus laughs a little at that. “Definitely not, but there’s at least a community of Mexicanos. And I can go to a school where I’m not the only POC there, that’s—I need that. I’m so tired of hiding who I am for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.”
“I really hope you get in. I mean I’m sure you will, you’re the smartest in our class.”
“Glad you recognize that,” Remus says with a smirk.
“You deserve somewhere you can be happy.”
“You do too.”
Sirius has to look away from the sincerity in Remus’ expression. The same care that he saw in Regulus’ face the day before. It’s a nice sentiment of course, but it’s not reality.
He assumes the confessions are done then, that they have both exhausted their wells of truths for the night when Remus says: “I think you look like a painting and that makes me viscerally upset.”
Sirius doesn’t miss a beat, “Well I think you’re magic.”
Remus’ breath catches, and Sirius can’t help but grin at his victory. If he could, he’d spend his whole life trying to catch Remus by surprise, spoiling him with compliments.
They’re both leaning forward instinctively when he hears a voice say, “Your Highness?”
“In here, Agnes!” Sirius calls out.
The blonde comes through the opposite door and sighs at Remus and Sirius sitting at the window. “Ms. Lupin is being escorted to Kronborg.”
“Thank you.”
Agnes holds up Sirius’ shattered phone, which she apparently collected from the castle’s courtyard. “I’ve sent someone out to replace this.”
Sirius bites back a smile. “Right.”
“Lastly, the south wing has been set up if you and Mr. Lupin choose to sleep,” Agnes says teasingly.
“We’d like two beds, Agnes,” Sirius says.
She looks between them, smirking at how close they’re sitting. “Of course, Your Highness.”
When her footsteps turn the corner, Remus shakes his head. “Does she know about you being…?”
“She was one of the first people I came out to. It happened by accident, mind you, but I was glad to tell her. Glad to tell someone besides James.”
“What do you mean by accident?”
“Oh, she walked in while I was sucking—”
“Qué chingados,” Remus cuts Sirius off with wide eyes. “Nope, stop that, I don’t need the specifics.”
“You’re not going to ask me if it was James? You seemed pretty concerned who I slept with when we were—”
“New topic,” Remus groans, shifting his legs pointedly. “Let’s talk about literally anything else.”
Sirius isn’t sure if Remus is playing prude or hiding jealousy, either way, he’s nice enough to move on. “You did a great job in literature.”
Remus appears genuinely surprised by that. “I felt like I was going to throw up.”
“It only added to the performance,” Sirius teases.
“Slughorn clearly didn’t think much of it. Did you know he talked for ten minutes about Clara and Elias’ Hamlet presentation? I timed it.”
“To be fair, it was a great soliloquy.”
“By the worst character in the show!”
Sirius’ mouth falls open in full-blooded offense. “You did not just diss Hamlet like that.”
“You yourself said Ophelia was the superior character.” Remus leans forward, eyes lighting up the way they always do when he gets going about literature.
“She is but that doesn't mean Hamlet isn’t also outstanding. He’s the bloody protagonist, Remus!”
“Well I’m certainly not trying to praise Ophelia’s suicide but at least she did something whereas Hamlet stood and groaned about what to do for most of the play,” Remus says.
“He was weighing his options!”
“Not doing something is still making a decision and a procrastinating one at that.” Remus’ hands gesture widely then fall with a slap onto his legs.
“Hamlet staged the revenge play. He killed Polonius.”
“By accident. And all of his incentive was at the whims of his dead father, an unreliable ghost. Everyone calls Ophelia a tool of her father, but Hamlet is one too.”
A gust of wind coats Sirius’ skin in goosebumps. “What exactly would you have him do then? You critique him for hesitating and critique him for following through.”
“I’d have him make decisions of his own accord. ‘To thine own self be true’ At least if he dies in Act V’s bloodbath, he’ll die himself.”
“And what if his life was his father’s legacy? What if that was all there is to him?”
“Are you calling Shakespeare’s most famous character shallow?”
“He’s a puppet.”
Remus scoffs. “Then why doesn’t he fucking clip the strings!”
Sirius realizes then how close they are, and he sits back briskly, putting as much distance between them as possible. Remus’ words nestle into his mind, taking root in the dry, forgotten soil, rotten with neglect. “We’re not talking about Hamlet anymore, are we?”
“We never were, Sirius.”
Neither says anything for a moment, the wound reopened too raw for words. Then Sirius swallows. “If I give up the crown, I’m nothing, Remus. Nothing.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“No, you want it to not be true. But it’s real. This is who I am.” Sirius slides off the windowsill and tries to catch his breath, tries to untangle his thoughts.
“Maybe this is who you’ve had to be for most of your life but that doesn’t mean you can’t leave it all behind,” Remus says softly. “People change and grow, Sirius. That’s healthy.”
“It’s easier if I don’t. This is what I’m good at Remus. I’m good at being the Prince.”
“Are you?”
“Please don’t.”
“Because I think you have a lot to fucking say but you haven’t. I think you’ve been hiding yourself behind a mask, letting only James, Peter, and Regulus see who you actually are.”
“Who the fuck am I then?!” Sirius pulls at his hair, pacing the floor. “I need you to tell me because I can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not—you—you keep confusing me so just tell me. Please.”
“I think you’ve been told who you are for long enough, Sirius.”
“But I see, I may see!
What was and will be…”
Before Sirius can respond, footsteps sound across the hall.
“Agnes, can you give us a moment—” Sirius cuts off at the sight of James in the doorway.
******
Though James’ appearance is the reason that Remus leaves, mumbling an excuse about getting some sleep, though James’ appearance can only mean a headache, likely literally and figuratively since he really shouldn’t be skipping school, not when he’s a prefect, and though Sirius has a million things to tell him, but doesn’t know how—the feeling of James’ arms around Sirius is reviving.
And Sirius can’t feel anything but gratitude.
“Thank you for coming,” Sirius says into James shoulder.
“I’ll always come, Padfoot. Wherever and whenever.”
Sirius leans back to inspect James’ face and make sure he isn’t in pain. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fucking worried, that’s how I’m feeling.” James moves to the open window but Sirius has had enough of that.
“Let’s sit over there.” He points to the small ottoman couch across from a tapestry of the Danish peninsula.
“So. Death threat?” James asks when they sit. “Tell me Remus’ mom’s okay.”
“She’s safe, yeah, on her way here right now. I’m just upset with myself really, I should have prepared for this kind of response, sent him a security team or something.” Sirius can’t help but feel disappointed in his own security team too—isn’t this exactly what they try to prevent?
Or maybe since it was Remus’ life on the life, not Sirius’, they didn’t have to care.
James blows out a breath. “It’s hard to expect the absolute worst from people. I don’t blame you for thinking they wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“Is Pete and Reg at school?”
James looks up with wide eyes, his doe-eyes Effie used to call them. “Uhm, yes. Of course.”
“What? Why are you acting weird?”
“I’ve got to uhm…” James scoots closer to Sirius on the cushion, then scoots back. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
Sirius watches his best friend, adding up the bounce of his leg and the way his hands flex and close. “Why are you so nervous, Prongs? What’s going on?”
“I’m gay!”
The sheer volume of the announcement stuns Sirius, but not the words themselves. He’s expected James to be queer for a while now.
“Or I mean, I’m pansexual, specifically.”
“That’s great, James. I’m proud of you for telling me.” Sirius can’t help but feel deja vu, what with Regulus coming out to him the day before. That had been more of a bittersweet surprise, this, on the other hand, he’d been looking forward to for a long while.
He thinks if Effie and Fleamont hadn’t passed it would have happened a lot sooner. A lot of things would be different, would be better, if they were still here.
“Are you seeing someone?” Sirius asks, eager for good news. James deserves someone who will utterly adore him, he deserves a person with a heart as big and full and bright as his.
“Yes?”
“Why do you sound confused about that?” Sirius laughs.
James looks around the room, knee still bouncing a mile a minute. “It’s all very new so I don’t really know what labels or—well, I don’t know the details, I just know what I feel and—and what he feels.”
“And it’s good, right? You’re happy about this?” Sirius asks because he isn’t sure based on James’ behavior, he’s acting like the time Fleamont caught him swiping a pack of beers when they were much too young, even for Danish standards.
“I’m so happy, Sirius.”
The use of his real name instead of Padfoot is unsettling. “Ok, now you’re officially scaring me—”
“Regulus. Reggie. I’m—he and I are together.” James blinks. “I think?”
Sirius’ first instinct is to laugh but thankfully, he doesn’t, because James has every air of sincerity. No, James is looking at Sirius like he’s desperate for him to approve.
“Prongs, what the fuck?”
“I know I should have told you but I’ve liked Regulus for as long as I can remember and there’s no easy way of telling your best friend that you’re in love with his brother—”
“In love?!”
“Mmhm.” James gulps. “I didn’t want to keep it a secret from you or from Peter but I messed up at my parents’ funeral and I kissed Regulus and he said he didn’t want it but apparently he just needed to get comfortable with the idea of kissing, you know how he takes a while to adjust to new things, and then last night he kissed me, really kissed me. Because he wanted to!”
“That’s—that’s great,” Sirius stumbles over his words.
“You think?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Sirius shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to be supportive, I’m just shocked. How did I not realize this sooner?”
“I’m really good at keeping secrets.”
“Not from me you aren’t.”
James nods. “Fair.”
“I’m happy if you’re happy. And if Reg’s happy.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”
Sirius only realizes himself then that there is. “Regulus can’t date you, James. Not openly.”
“I know and that’s okay.”
“Is it?” Sirius takes James’ hand. “You’re not a subtle guy, Prongs. I know you want to be loud and proud about the people you love.”
“Is it pathetic to say that I’ll take whatever he gives me?”
Sirius groans because he’s thought the same thing about Remus. “Oh bloody hell, we’re both ridiculous.”
“At least we’re in it together.” James gives Sirius a small smile.
“Always.”
They both fall silent then, and Sirius feels the words, the courage bubble up, as if Fleamont’s hand is resting on his shoulder, encouraging him. “Prongs, I—I’m sorry that it’s been hard, that we haven’t talked like we used to.”
James squeezes his hand. “If that’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, Sirius,” James insists. “I’m struggling more than I’ve let on. It’s not just the migraines, I’m—I think I need to see a therapist.”
Sirius blinks. Peter had suggested that many times to James after the funeral, but he adamantly refused it. “That’s…a great idea.”
“I’m tired of feeling like this,” James whispers, and Sirius’ chest cracks with the pain in his voice, this time not made of migraines but pure grief. He sighs. “Aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Sirius asks.
“Come on, Pads. I’m not the only one waging wars in my mind.” James’ lips twitch down. “You don’t have to talk to me for me to see how miserable you are.”
“I’ll be fine. This is a rough patch.”
“Your whole life has been a bloody rough patch.”
“Pastel, stained crimson
I grow weary of prison…”
“What am I supposed to do, James?” Sirius scoffs. “First Remus, now you. This is my life, there is no world in which I can leave it behind. Even if I abdicated the crown would haunt me, I’m a fucking public figure they’ll never let me live in peace. Besides, I’m good at this. I’m good at being the Prince and I’ll never force Regulus to take my place.”
“I don’t know what you should do either,” James breathes. “I just know that something has to change.”
Sirius leans forward and falls onto James’ shoulder. “I want to change,” he echoes Remus’ words. “They won’t let me. That’s all there is to it.”
“You know what my Far would say, yeah?”
“What’s that?”
“Have a nap, eat a snack, take a walk. Then make a decision.”
“The rule of three,” Sirius snorts. “He was a wise man.”
“Yes. He was.”
Sirius sits up, realizing something with a laugh. “He would have been so happy that you and Reg got together.”
James’ eyes quickly become glossy with the memories of Flea and Regulus together, hiding away in the office with only books and each other for company. “I think so too.”
******
The coast of the Øresund is a welcome reprieve come sunset. True to Fleamont’s instructions, Sirius gives himself a couple of hours of sleep, a solid breakfast, then drags his feet out of Kronborg’s stone walls and into the daylight.
He feels himself sigh when the sun hits his face.
“Of their coloured neglect
Of the rivers I wept…”
Balancing on the dark pebbles by the edge of the water, Sirius scoffs. What the hell is he even supposed to think about?
There are only two options: carry on or let it go. The former would mean enduring Walburga and her minions till his last breath, and the latter would mean making Regulus bear the burden. Both would demand a life of cowardice, of hiding.
Sirius kicks a rock into the water, watching it sink beneath the surface.
The truth is that Sirius is filled with opinions, practically bursting with all that he can’t do, that he can’t say. Years of political plots, backroom business deals, and under-the-table quid-pro-quos have shown him the underbelly of Denmark, but he can never openly criticize it; the indifferent rhetoric of global politics is one he’s fluent in. One he loathes he knows so intimately.
It’s ironic, of course, that Sirius knows exactly how to undermine the truly powerful—the ones who set bigoted precedents with fortunes made of bloodshed and impoverishment, the ones who fuel the cycle of the elite and the exclusive. He knows their secrets, he’s been witness to their sketchy game of legal loopholes and financial fraud. But he can’t do anything about it.
Right?
“I shed all their woes
On the edge of repose…”
He’s a trained tool, his only responsibility publicity. He’s the very product of the nation’s greatest triumph, the monarchy. He’s the face of Denmark, even after death.
Just how far would the public go for the people’s prince?
Sirius chuckles at the very idea of it, the silence swallowing his laughter hungrily until the thoughts shift from mockery to spite.
Maybe instead of being their tool—Sirius can be a tool for something better, something he can actually believe in. He, the face of the next generation’s elite, the latest copy and paste of hundreds of decades of dynasty, can tear the tapestry, or even better, inspire his beloved fans to do it themselves.
He can be the hero turned anti, the prince embracing queer.
“Fuck.” Sirius gasps, the water reflecting his laughter like a megaphone. “I can burn it all from the inside.”
******
“Te quiero mucho, estoy tan orgullosa de ti, mijo.”
Remus looks away first, his head snapping from his mom to Sirius.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Sirius says quickly, still hiding in the doorway.
“No, of course not, come in, Your Highness.” Her smile is just like her son’s, Sirius realizes with a start—wide and a little mischievous. Though she likely didn’t sleep last night, she looks utterly gorgeous, her dark hair pulled into a perfect bun to show off her round eyes and thick lashes.
“Please call me Sirius, Ms. Lupin.”
“Then please call me Hope.” The hem of her maroon dress swishes as she stands from her the edge of the bed. “My ex-husband’s last name is one I wish I could be rid of.”
Sirius’ confusion must show on his face, because Remus explains, “It’s easier if we don’t have a Mexican last name here.”
“That’s…” Sirius looks from Remus to Hope. “Horrible.”
Hope crosses the room and Sirius expects she’ll shake his hand, but she embraces him instead. She smells like something vanilla. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you, Sirius.”
“It’s my fault that it—”
“No,” Hope interrupts. “It is not your fault for falling in love.”
Sirius feels his cheeks flush. Is he that obvious? “Right, uhm, sorry, Ms. Lup—I mean, Hope.”
She pats his cheek and turns to look at Remus. “I’m going to find some food. I’ll give you two some time alone.”
Sirius smiles at the way that Remus rolls his eyes, at the way Hope winks in response. It makes him think of Effie, but not with the usual sharp ache, something softer, the blade blunted with fondness.
“I came out to my mom,” Remus speaks slowly when Hope leaves, as if not believing it himself. “Not that she didn’t figure it out from the video but it—it was nice to hear that she, well, she still…you know.”
The third person to come out in the last twenty-four hours, Sirius thinks to himself. Only Remus didn’t get a choice in the matter. “Hope seems like a great mom.”
Remus nods, watching Sirius with something close to pity. But he’s not thinking about his own mother right now. For once, Walburga and her eternal expectations are the last thing on his mind.
“Can I ask you something?”
Remus raises a brow.
“Where do you want to go? For college, I mean.”
“Depends on where I get a scholarship.”
Sirius hums. “And if you don’t?”
“Then I’m not going,” Remus says flatly. “That’s why all of this is so important, Sirius. I have to be a perfect applicant, I need a full-ride scholarship otherwise I’m stuck here.”
“How much is tuition in the US?”
“Sticker price? I’d say around $100,000 to $200,000 for all four years.”
“Bloody hell.” Sirius slumps onto the edge of the bed, the covers still a little rumpled from where Remus slept.
“I know.” Remus sits down beside him—close but not too close.
So Sirius scoots closer.
When their thighs touch, they both seem to straighten a little, eyes locking as the magnetic field becomes too strong for either of them to resist.
“Remus Lupin, on behalf of the crown, I’d like to offer you complete funding for college.”
When Remus doesn’t react, Sirius continues, “It’s part of our new initiative, you see, where the Prince goes off his bloody rocker. I have to get Regulus’ agreement, of course, but the heirs of the House of Glücksburg have some fascinating plans in the works. Reparations to the victims of the crown among them.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“There you go again, doubting my convictions.”
“What if you get disinherited?”
“I took a walk.”
Remus looks at Sirius blankly.
“And I realized that I’m good at my job, so good that I’m the one that the public loves. Not the Queen and certainly not her entourage. I’ve spent my entire childhood building an image that they can worship. If I play it right, when Walbuga tries to kick me off the family tree there’ll be a riot.”
“This is a dangerous game—”
“I’m tired of playing it safe, Remus.” Sirius twists his signet ring. “And I think I’ve been underestimating myself. It’s a risk, I know it will be, but I’m confident I can do it.”
“Do what exactly?”
Sirius smirks. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Remus looks Sirius up and down, then flops onto the bed, covering his face with his hands. His voice is muffled when he says, “I’m not going to refuse your mother’s money. I actually would take a lot of satisfaction from using it if I don’t manage a scholarship.”
Sirius laughs, lying down beside him.
When Remus drops his hands, his eyes are solemn. “But Sirius, are you sure this plan…are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve been truly excited about my life, my title…for as long as I can remember,” Sirius admits.
“But are you sure this is safe?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t end up like Diana.” The joke does nothing to ease Remus’ frown. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got people here that will look out for me.”
Remus turns to the ceiling, where yet another ancient chandelier hangs, meticulously dusted, shining with crystal probably imported from Madagascar. Sirius keeps his eyes on Remus, however, drinking up the scrunch of his brow as he thinks Sirius’ words through.
“Is it wrong of me…” he trails off.
“What?”
“I want to ask you to run away with me,” Remus breathes. “And I know that’s unfair for so many reasons, and it probably wouldn’t even work—”
Sirius grabs Remus’ chin gently and turns it to his. He kisses him softly, nothing more than a sweet peck. “Thank you for asking.”
They look at each other, the goodbye unspoken in the breath between them, the apology passed with another soft kiss, this one of Remus’ doing.
“Maybe when it’s all over,” Sirius begins with a small smile. “I’ll come find you.”
“When what is all over?”
Sirius sits up, shaking his head. “This is one thing you don’t get to know, Remus. For your safety…but also in case it doesn’t work.”
He feels Remus’ shoulder press against his and they blow out a breath together.
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be,” Sirius recites one of Ophelia’s best lines.
Remus nudges him, his tone a cross between teasing and scared. “When I said that change was healthy I didn’t expect you to consider treason.”
“I’m not,” Sirius answered honestly. “I intend to continue playing their game.”
Only this time, he’ll be the one that wins.
“I decided as long as I'm going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”
Sirius turns to Remus with a slack jaw. “Did you just—you just quoted TWILIGHT?!”
Remus’ eyes crinkle at Sirius’ reaction, and he just has to kiss him again, because bloody hell, he’s adorable, and he’s reciting Stephenie Meyer because of Sirius’ ridiculous obsession with collecting the series and—
“I love you,” Sirius blurts. “I know that’s strange and sudden and we barely even know each other but I do. And I think I still will when—when—”
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Remus wipes his tears off. “You’ll come find me when it’s all over,” Remus repeats Sirius’ words.
“Yeah?”
Remus kisses Sirius. “Yes.”
“In this floral array
I, finally, disobey…”