everyone
You’ve been dreading Potions all day, and Remus can tell. Tapping nervously on the strap of your bag, you navigate down the chaotic hall before turning into a less crowded offshoot. You roll your shoulders, exhaling deeply.
“It’s just a lecture today, right?”
“It’s going to be fine,” Remus says, catching you off guard. You haven’t brought up Sirius since your confession at the hospital wing last night.
“Yeah,” you dismiss, “it’s whatever.”
“He’s not upset.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
“You’re a shite liar.”
“I hate you, so, so much,” you mutter, cracking your knuckles, “I just don’t want him to know I can do that kind of magic, is all.”
“Having a talent like that shouldn’t be something to hide.”
“I don’t want anyone to know, especially not him. He might tell people. It would be annoying. I don’t even know why I can do it. They might expect more than I can give. Or, Dumbledore might find out, and it’s so against the rules-”
“You’ve never cared about the rules.”
“Whatever, I do for this.”
“You’re scared of the attention.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You so are. You’re scared people would see that you’re special. That they'd want to talk to you.”
You scoff, “I’m not special, and I’m not scared of people.”
Remus stares at you blankly, and you roll your eyes.
“Maybe I’m scared of people, like, a little. It’s just personal, you know? I don’t want to be even more of a freak than I already am,” you wince in embarrassment at how moody teen you sound. You’re not social, and you’re not the type to talk about it. Your awkwardness isn't something you particularly love about yourself.
Remus’s eyes soften on you, and you avoid his gaze by staring ahead at a gold-framed portrait hung at the end of the corridor. It’s a painting of a couple haughtily posing at the viewer, robes full of ruffles and powdered wigs perfectly quaffed. They’re bickering, their penciled eyebrows furrowed and their lips pulled into matching snarls, pushing each other out of the frame.
“He won’t tell anyone. Promise. If he does, I’ll actually kill him this time.”
“Please do.”
Remus opens the door for you, and James greets you both with a grin. You settle into your newly assigned seat, taking out a roll of parchment to scribble on to keep your hands busy. Your heart races every time the door’s hinges squeak, but Sirius’s horrid head of hair is nowhere to be seen when Slughorn starts the lecture. You turn around to send a questioning look at James, glancing at the empty desk. He only shrugs.
“The use of belladonna in complex poison antidotes has a high risk, high reward factor- the flower is extremely unstable, and can result in the antidote doing the opposite of its intended use. Only in the most grave of circumstances-”
The classroom door opens with a startling creak, cutting Slughorn off and turning every head to the back of the classroom. Sirius stands unashamedly in the doorway, a slight smirk on his face.
“How kind of you to join us,” Slughorn cries, gesturing to Sirius’s seat.
“Sorry, Professor. I overslept.”
“It is two in the afternoon, Mister Black,” Slughorn drawls, causing a wave of stifled laughs, “take a seat. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your tardiness.”
Sirius meets your eyes as he slides into the seat next to you, grinning smugly. You break the link and try to focus on Slughorn’s lesson instead. You begin scratching notes, Professor Slughorn’s droning voice echoing throughout the room, already losing your interest. You tell yourself it’s all in your head, but you swear you can still feel the heat of Sirius’s gaze on you- there's a sharp prod on your forearm, and you look over to see Sirius’s face far too close to your own.
“Do you have any extra parchment?” he whispers, nose almost touching yours, his expression mischievous and sharp. He’s giving you that look he does when he’s trying to get on your nerves- a quick, sly something that cuts through his half-lidded eyes and makes his lip curl up. You immediately sway backwards and nod, swallowing hard. Mentally cursing the heat pooling in your cheeks, you turn away to rifle through your bag. You hand a roll to him, and his fingers brush yours. “Thanks,” he smiles, dimples popping. Irritation flares in your gut.
Less than two minutes go by before he nudges you again. You look over, annoyance beginning to bubble to the surface despite your best efforts. He gestures to the page in front of him, eyebrows raised.
Aren’t you going to ask why I was late? Or apologize?
Godric, even the way he writes is obnoxious. His handwriting is horrible. It’s large, messily formed cursive, the tails of his letters extending theatrically far; and he uses too much ink, leaving blots across the page. You look up from the parchment, giving him a deadpan glance, before sliding the sheet closer to yourself to scribble your reply.
No.
Your handwriting looks neat next to his. He reads it, looks up at you with a teasing smile, and then scribbles,
Even after your little temper tantrum in the shack?
You grit your teeth. You had a tantrum, not me.
I didn’t pull magic out of thin air! He underlines the I and dots the exclamation point with a smug look.
Your stomach churns at the sight of those words on paper. It makes it seem more real. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes before you write,
I’m really sorry I pushed you. You keep your gaze on the paper instead, stomach churning.
It was impressive, honestly. Why didn’t I know you could do that?
You reluctantly meet his gaze and shrug. Your eyes quickly flick away. He picks his quill up again.
I’m sorry I was a prick. I was just shocked you were there. It’s really dangerous.
You blink, realizing he was actually trying. Maybe he wasn’t messing with you. You furrow your eyebrows. Two apologies in a week, must be a new record.
He grins, It is.
I can take care of myself, you clarify. Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need it.
Sirius bites his lip. You try not to stare. I know you don’t, I just need to give it.
You look blankly at his words, having no idea how to respond. You’re suddenly aware of your sweaty palms, the racing of your heart, the numbness of your legs, and his gaze is overwhelmingly hot on the side of your face-
“Mister Black, what do you think?” Slughorn suddenly catches your attention, causing both of your heads to snap forward. You scan the board quickly, realizing he must be asking about-
“Crushed mandrake root could work to stabilize it if belladonna was used,” Sirius shrugs.
Slughorn raises his eyebrows. “Correct, Mister Black. Crushed mandrake root, in comparison to…” Slughorn reluctantly goes back to the lesson, disappointed he was unable to embarrass Sirius yet again.
You glance over at him, impressed. He gives you a sly grin before scribbling on the parchment again.
See, I only need a tutor in transfiguration.
You bite back a smile at his writing, looking up at him with an expression that’s supposed to resemble annoyance.
He did his hair differently today. He tied the top half of it back loosely, the free strands barely skimming his shoulders; his shoulders are wide, smooth planes underneath his white button up and dark grey sweater vest-
“It’s rude to stare,” a raspy whisper shocks you out of your trance.
Your eyes meet his, a smirk on his face. You swallow, look at the chalkboard, and whisper your reply, “You do it to me, all the time.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were checking me out,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you. You scoff, heat flying to your face as you try not to let your gaze wander from the blackboard. Your throat twists. What is he doing?
“You wish,” you shoot back.
This is just how he is. He’s flirty with everyone, all the time. It means nothing that he’s doing the same to you. Pointedly, really, to get under your skin. He’d never be interested in you like that, he just wants a rise out of you. Or for you to make a fool of yourself. You clench your jaw in annoyance.
Sirius leans away, looking at you incomprehensibly. He mutters something low you can’t hear, directing his focus back to Slughorn as he taps the end of his quill against the desk. You can’t find your voice to ask him what he said, so you stare at Slughorn’s sweaty face.
Within moments, you realize trying to focus on anything other than Sirius is pointless. You feel like you have whiplash. He’s been pulling you around- yelling at you one moment, flirting with you the next. You hate how much you’re interested in how he’ll look at you in a hour, a day, a year. Would his gaze get sharp and squinted, eyebrows furrowed, like in the shack? Or would they be light and clear as a mirror, a glow seeming to beam from him, like at the lake? Maybe he’ll show you a new face, something you can try to memorize and file away in your extensive collection of Sirius’s features.
You’ve never been more grateful for a bell in your entire life. You quickly scoop up your books and parchment the second it starts to ring. All of the other students follow, the room bustling with movement and Slughorn’s closing remarks.
“See you,” you say, not waiting for a reply as you leave. Sirius’s eyes follow you on the way out and linger at the door.
---
“Black, can I talk to you for a second?”
Your heart is beating so fast it feels more like a vibration against your ribs; you cross your arms in front of your chest, trying to hide your unsteady hands. Remus gives you a questioning look from across the table, a mouthful of eggs rendering him mute. James looks between the boys and you, eyebrows raised. Sirius’s messy bed head turns to face you, his eyes tired. They immediately widen when they meet yours, and he stands so suddenly the table shakes underneath him. Mumbles of complaint sound as students jump to steady sloshing drinks. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice, eyes stuck on yours.
“Yes. Yeah. Yeah, totally, I need to grab my cloak from my room anyway,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he steps over the bench, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. You exchange confused looks with James and Remus as Sirius’s back turns. Remus gives you a we’re talking about this later look, and you roll your eyes. Sirius leads the way out of the Great Hall, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Once you pass through the tall wooden doors, he looks at you with something you can’t quite place. Somewhere between worry, embarrassment, and fear- something so raw and unfiltered it makes your brow furrow. You’ve never seen him like this, so genuine and unmasked from the constant smirk he slaps on his face. You make a mental note to ask Remus why he’s acting so out of character; that Ravenclaw must have dumped him, or something.
You clear your throat and glance around to make sure you’re alone. The corridors you’re walking through are deserted. “You saw that I can do nonverbal spells without a wand, right?”
“Oh-” his shoulders relax, expression softening to something akin to relief. He leans in closer, eyes suddenly alight, “Yeah, how the hell can you do that-”
“I just need you to not tell anyone, okay?” the words come rushing out of your mouth all at once. He furrows his eyebrows at you, nervous demeanor reverting to his cocky one with every footstep.
“What? Why? That’s so bloody cool, why wouldn’t you-”
“Why’s everyone asking me that? I just don’t. Please. Look, I’ll-” you sigh, running your hand through your hair, “I’ll do anything.”
A slow grin slides across Sirius’s face. He comes to a stop in the middle of the hallway. You sigh, gritting your teeth as you turn to face him. He crosses his arms, looking down at you and raising his brow. You mirror him, eyebrow cocking. His lip curls further up.
“I need a transfiguration tutor. Getting at least an E means a lot to me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
You glare at each other for a moment, eyes battling silently. You grimace. Sirius only grins wider. You finally huff and end the staring contest by looking at the ceiling in exasperation. You continue walking down the hall, arms tightly wrapped around yourself, and Sirius follows you.
“Come on, I’m not that bad.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s debatable.”
He meets your eyes with a smirk. “You know I’m a good student, I learned how to skip stones in no time.”
“Skipping rocks is different from magic.”
“You had fun, I know you did. Plus, you said you would.”
“I said I’d consider it,” you groan.
“And now I’m asking you to commit. Please?” he begs, fluttering his eyelashes at you. You bite your tongue, thinking; for some reason, you can’t seem to get a grip.
“I- fine, okay, alright,” you sigh.
“Really? You’ll teach me?” he says, sounding genuinely surprised. His eyes are bright as he grins down at you. It's dizzying. You come to a stop outside the entrance to the Common Room. He almost hits the portrait with his back.
“If you won’t tell anyone about the nonverbal thing, I’ll tutor you.”
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyway, but a deal’s a deal.”
“Wait-”
“Nope, too late,” Sirius spins around and grins up at the Fat Lady, ignoring your plea, “Wiggleputt.”
The door clicks open and he shoos your frustrated expression into the common room.
“That’s not fair-” you cry, and he grabs your hand to help you through the frame. You try to not stutter on your words, and hope he doesn’t feel how sweaty your palm is. You drop his hand as soon as you’re inside.
“Well, I didn’t attack you, did I?” he teases lightheartedly, following behind you, “I think you owe me.”
“I did not attack you.”
“Mhm, I’ll say you didn’t if you tutor me.”
The portrait swings shut behind him with finality. You grit your teeth, plucking at the strap on your bag as you weigh your options. It can’t be that bad. It’s not like he’s a complete idiot- it’ll only take a few sessions for him to understand the material.
You look up at his smug expression, and you suddenly remember who you’re speaking to. It’ll be more than a few sessions. He’ll make sure of it. But you can’t risk it. You really can’t. And, deep down, despite your best efforts to suppress it, you’re intrigued by Sirius Black.
“Fine,” you grate out, “meet me in the library after dinner.”
Sirius lets out a loud whoop of celebration, pumping his fist dramatically.
“Yes! See you after dinner!” he calls, looking back at you with a dazzling smile while running up the boys’ dormitory stairs. You hear another faint yes! muffled behind the stone wall. You laugh quietly to yourself, slowly making your way to your own dorm.
Your stomach feels odd. You feel lighter, like the balls of your feet aren’t quite touching the ground, and your head is fuzzy. Your chest feels full and empty at the same time.
He’s just glad he’ll be able to pass transfiguration, that’s all. That’s why he’s so excited.
Why do you almost want it to be that he’s glad to spend time with you?
You’re being ridiculous. This is the same boy you can barely stand, who has gotten under your skin for your entire life, the boy that just badgered you for fifteen minutes; but you can’t help but wonder if you, somewhere subconsciously, like the way he swings you around. His grin, his confidence, the way his eyes linger.
No, it was just one moment of someone giving you attention. Obviously it makes you feel good that someone wants to spend time with you. It doesn’t help that the someone in question happens to be beautiful- objectively, of course- and hasn’t wanted anything to do with you for as long as you can remember. But that’s besides the point; you’re just excited that someone other than Remus, Lily, or James is sparing you a second glance. That’s all.
Yeah. That’s all.