tryouts
“Eight is way too fucking early,” you gripe, downing hot coffee from your thermos. You hold it tight to your chest, feeling the warmth seep in through your many layers- it’s barely helping to cut the biting cold.
“Agreed,” Remus huffs, grabbing the thermos from you to take a sip. You rub your mittened hands together, trying to create heat. You silently spell yourself and Remus a bit of warmth in the air around you. He sighs a thanks despite its fleeting relief.
You and Remus are the sole spectators in the stands, other than a few Slytherins across the pitch eyeing up the competition and trying to slink through the shadows. The view isn’t bad from up here- you can see Sirius and James in the distance standing in front of a group of crimson-clad teenagers. You can barely make out his words, but James speaks loud and proud, hands on his hips, chest puffed out. He’s in his element; he was practically bursting to walk down to the fields, scarfing breakfast down even faster than normal, which you didn’t know was possible. Sirius was excited too, you could tell, but he still complained about the time.
“Don’t you have any pep-up spells, Witch of the Year?” Sirius groaned that morning, chewing tiredly, eyes still half-shut.
“Yeah, sure,” you droned, and he flinched, dropping his fork with a startled noise. He glared at you, rubbing his hand. You grinned around your goblet.
“Hey! I didn’t ask for a bloody stinging hex.”
“You’re pepped-up now, aren’t you?”
“Why weren’t you at dinner last night?” Remus asks, snapping you back to the present.
You clear your throat, “I didn’t feel like being around anyone.”
You really don’t want to lie to Remus. Every part of you is bursting at the seams to tell him everything, but you know you can’t- his safety comes first, and if hiding this from him makes him less of a target, so be it.
“I figured. How’d the mystery meeting go? You never told us,” Remus pulls his long arms tighter against himself, tucking his face into his well-worn scarf.
“Good, really good, actually. I have an internship at St Mungo’s. Minnie set it all up,” you grin over at him, and he lights up. You wish it was true.
“That’s fantastic-”
“Oi!” Sirius’s voice suddenly sounds far closer than you remember. You look over to see him flying up to hover in front of you, a wide grin on his face. “You ready for the show?”
You aren’t ready to see Sirius windswept and flushed in quidditch gear; he isn’t wearing a helmet, the idiot, but a part of you is thankful for the sight. His hair is pulled back loosely and shows off his angular face in a way that makes you look twice. His cheeks and nose are rosy from the biting wind. You clench your jaw.
“Anything to distract from the cold,” Remus says through his scarf.
“I think we might luck out this year, actually- well…” Sirius starts before looking down to see half of the group struggling to kick off of the pitch. He grimaces. You squint to watch James sigh, rub his eyes, and direct them off of the field in a slow-moving clump of red; you can hear giggling from here. A select few, though, are speeding around the perimeter steadily, cheekily grinning at the co-captain. Sirius nods at them as they pass, and James flies up to join you.
“Poor sods,” you say, gesturing to the retreating group.
“Don’t feel sorry for them- most of them are first-years on a dare,” James sighs out a puff of fog, readjusting his gloves, “I didn’t break anyone’s heart. But we have an alright turnout, otherwise- Oi, straighten up, Abbott, you’re going to tip over- Johnson, quit showing off!”
“‘Bout time for a scrimmage,” Sirius says, flying in slow, bored circles, “now that we know they can at least get in the air.”
“Let ‘em get warmed up first, I want to see them fly for at least a few minutes,” James responds, staring intently at the students.
“I’d do anything to get warmed up first,” Remus complains, and you laugh at his blunder.
“Yeah you would.”
“Shut it.”
You can see Sirius chuckling to himself, eyes flicking around the flyers, arms crossed.
The scrimmage is more interesting than you thought it would be, honestly- the tryouts this year aren’t half bad, some of them are almost as good as Sirius and James. You and Remus hiss in unison as a lanky fourth-year ducks out of the way of a bludger just in time, going into a tailspin- but they pull up at the last second impressively. You wonder if they did it on purpose when you hear James’s whoop of celebration as he flies up to clap the fourth-year on the back.
You’re trying to look anywhere other than Sirius- you don’t want to spiral this early in the morning. But you can’t help that your eyes seem to have a mind of their own and gravitate to him. He’s showing off, dipping and twisting around the others with ease, beating bludgers, smiling wide, yelling orders and praises over the wind.
“I can tell when you’re lying,” Remus says, tipping his head back to finish the last of your coffee. You snap out of your daze.
“Huh?”
“You’re not telling me something, I can see it. What happened?” he trails off, scanning your face under furrowed brows, mittened hand tapping on the thermos. You hate how well he knows you.
You can’t tell him. It would be stupid and selfish. Your gut clenches.
“I…” you sigh out a cloud of fog, turning to face him fully, “I can’t tell you, I’m sorry, I really can’t. I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess.”
Remus nods slowly, and sets the cup beside him before squeezing your gloved hand. “Can I do anything?”
Your cheeks and eyes suddenly get hot with emotion. “No. No, I… Thanks.”
Remus’s eyes flick to the field, face contorting in shock-
You feel a sudden crunching impact on your shoulder, knocking you off of your seat and into benches behind you, your head cracking loudly against wood.
The next few seconds are messy and blurry. Your ears are ringing, and your sight is tunneled, but you can make out Remus’s face of horror and muffled yelling that sounds so far away. You try to sit up, blink away the pain, tell him you’re alright, but your mouth feels full of cotton, and you can’t seem to get your arms underneath you. Someone’s rough hands are on your cheeks, cradling your head, moving the hair out of your eyes. The last thing you remember is Sirius’s face, deathly pale, eyes wide and unrecognizably afraid. You grin as best as you can, lips moving to tell him how ridiculous he looks before losing consciousness.
---
“There she is.”
You slowly blink awake, grimacing at the ache in your shoulder. Sitting up in the hospital wing bed tentatively, you rub the sleep out of your eyes, trying to adjust to the blinding brightness.
“Bloody- fuck,” you mumble, suddenly feeling your pounding head, wrinkling your nose in distaste. You hear a familiar chorus of chuckles, and squint up to see that James, Sirius, Remus, and Lily are all crowded around your bed. Remus and Lily’s eyes are red-ringed, and your stomach twists.
“What happened?” you croak, clearing your throat.
“You were only out for a few hours- a bludger got you. Fucked your shoulder up, gave you a nasty concussion,” Remus says.
“Yeah, feels like it,” you say, looking down at your slung arm, “Wait, how- bludgers can’t go into the stands, can they?”
You see Sirus’s jaw clench, and the others eye him wearily. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You look to Remus for some kind of answer, but he shakes his head minutely at you. Sirius and James are both in their quidditch gear, but Sirius seems far more tense, standing a few steps back. Something about him looks off- his hair is a mess, more than usual. But that’s not it, there’s something you’ve never seen in his expression; there’s no brightness in it, just something akin to frustration, anger- not the playful kind you’ve seen a thousand times. His gaze is fixated on you, making your head spin even more. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. You feel a pang of guilt for ruining tryouts- James and Sirius have been looking forward to it for weeks.
“They don’t,” Sirius says tersely, and James comes to the rescue,
“Some fourth year clubbed it and something went wrong with the magic- it went completely off course, straight to you. Madam Hooch is looking at it now. She said she’s never seen anything like it.”
“If Sirius wasn’t there, it would’ve gotten you again- it was trying to come back for seconds,” Remus says softly, but Sirius stays quiet, eyes never leaving you.
“How are you feeling? I should grab Madam Pomfrey-” Lily starts, moving towards her office.
“Godric, no, she’ll coddle me,” you groan, sitting up more and swinging your legs over the side of the bed, “I feel fine, I just want to go back to the common room.”
“You stay in that bed or else, young lady!” Pomfrey’s shrill voice echoes through the hall as she swings the door open to her office, glaring at you as she shuffles over, “Your shoulder is still in pieces, and you’re lucky your skull isn’t fractured. She needs space, now, get on with it!”
You sigh deeply as she breaks between the boys and fusses over your shoulder, murmuring spells under her breath as she moves her wand across you, moving your head this way and that, eyeing your pupils. Remus looks like he’s holding back a laugh.
“I’m fine, ma’am, I can handle myself, just give me some skele-gro to take tonight, and I think I brewed some pain elixir last week-”
“I can’t have my only assistant end up with a permanent injury because she was too stubborn to rest. And what did I say?” she cuts, raising a brow at the group around you.
“It’s not even my good arm,” you argue, “and I only need one to brew potions.” You give her a sarcastic smile that typically cracks her shell, but she sends you a glare that shuts you up quickly.
“Fine, alright. Go on, I’ll see you. Thanks for, uh… staying. With me,” you say to the group, not sure how to properly thank them. Sirius meets your eyes one last time before he’s moving to the huge doors without a word; James and Lily smile at you warmly, saying their goodbyes before following.
Remus lingers for a moment, muttering, “I’ll tell you later, alright?”
“Yeah, okay,” you nod, looking at him curiously. He squeezes your hand before leaving.
---
Dark hair pulled back, the column of his neck exposed, long and pale. Fingertips brushing yours, the smell of cigarettes, that annoying smile-
You stir, floating in the median between sleep and consciousness, blinking slowly and watching moonlight pour into the hall. It’s dark, but not completely void of light, and your eyes adjust easily. A dull ache is spreading from your collarbone to your wrist, growing and pulsing uncomfortably, waking you up completely. A hint of musk and nicotine and something woody lingers in the air; you blame it on the dream.
You’ve been dreaming about him. You’re trying not to think about it- it’s normal to have weird dreams that don’t mean anything. You’re around him more often now, and you’ve always had an active imagination; that’s all it is. Plus, it doesn’t help that he’s objectively pretty- but he’s still a prick.
Sitting up languidly, you notice the absence of any other overnight patients, and silently celebrate the privacy by flicking a dim lumos above your head. Ah, Remus must’ve left you a book on your bedside table- and it’s your favorite genre. Bless him.
You’ve only been reading for a few minutes when you hear an odd shuffling noise- it’s not hard to hear, even your turning pages sound deafening in the silent hall. You dismiss it as a loose pet or the wind- but then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a familiar glimmer. James’s invisibility cloak just barely warps the space behind it when it’s moving, as if the world is reflected in the smoothest rippling water, and the bed across from you--
You’ve never heard a louder, more obnoxious sneeze in your life.
“Godric, Sirius, what the hell?” you whisper-yell, sitting up quickly, snapping your book shut.
“I can’t help the way I sneeze,” Sirius’s voice defensively hisses before he appears at the foot of your bed. He looks slightly annoyed at being caught, but he’s still giving you that trademark teasing half-smirk- he’s completely different from what you saw a few hours prior.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, eyeing him; he’s wearing pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt with a muggle band you’ve vaguely heard of on it. He rubs his jaw, sighing.
“I- uh-”
“Wait,” you say, muttering a silencing charm around you, “there. Okay, why the fuck are you here? Were you just staring at me?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says, almost embarrassed- well, as embarrassed as he can be- “I just… figured Lily took your bag back to the dormitory, so you didn’t have…” he trails off, gesturing to the book in your lap. His eyes seem vulnerable, flicking anywhere but your face. Your eyebrows furrow.
“You… went to the library for-?”
“You really scared me today,” Sirius exhales, voice that same genuine timbre you heard on the tower, “I just… I wish I could’ve been there sooner-” as soon as he catches your eyes, he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. He pushes his shoulders back minutely, slipping that smirk back on. “I just wanted to make sure you were… fine. Bludger injuries suck. It must hurt like a bitch.”
You blink at him. Since when has Sirius ever genuinely cared about your wellbeing? How did he even know what kind of books you like? He came down here, in the middle of the night, just to check on you. You feel like your heart and brain might explode from how fast they’re racing. He’s looking at you the same way he did at the tower, that unreadable expression, something soft and curious guarded behind a sarcastic smile.
“It’s nothing, doesn’t feel like much,” you say, attempting a one-shouldered shrug.
“Your collarbone was pretty fucked up.”
“I haven’t really looked at it, to be honest,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows in realization and trying to look down at your wrapped collar. Pomfrey took your winter layers off to dress your wound, so you’re left in a tank top, the chill of the hall prickling your exposed skin. You reach up to start unraveling the sling holding your arm in place.
“Oh, here,” Sirius says, grabbing a nearby metal tray you typically use to carry equipment. He sits in front of you to hold it up as a makeshift mirror. You scoff at your reflection, your good hand flying up to your hair to attempt to tame it. You try to ignore the embarrassment settling in your gut.
“You should leave it, it’s cute,” Sirius says, smirking at you above the tray.
“I can still hex you,” you grumble, busying yourself with finishing unwrapping your shoulder.
Yeah, it looks fucked up. Your collarbone was obviously in a few pieces, but it’s slowly fusing together thanks to the potion. Your entire shoulder is muddled in deep shades of purple and yellow, swollen and stiff. You frown, prodding at the wound gently.
Sirius lets out a hiss, wrinkling his nose, face contorting into one of distaste.
“You always know how to make a girl feel better,” you drawl lightheartedly as you twist to inspect yourself in the tray further.
“Sorry, just- how are you not hurting at all?”
“I’m alright with making pain potions, Rem is good practice for them.”
Sirius puts the tray down, eyebrows furrowed, “You make potions for Moony?”
“Why do you think I work here?” you say, starting to carefully re-wrap your injury, “I have to do something to help him.”
When you meet his eyes, he looks practically awestruck.
“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing-” he’s grinning, looking away, “nothing. You’re just… you’re nothing like I thought you were.”
You scoff, stomach twisting, “Can’t say the same for you.”
“Ah, so you’ve always thought that I'm lovely.”
“Uh-huh, always have, always will,” you drawl sarcastically.
You have to slip the strap of your top down to properly reach your shoulder, trying to ignore Sirius’s close proximity; he watches you as you carefully wrap your arm. You reach behind your shoulder to secure the final wrapping, but you can’t quite get the cloth to reach. You let out a huff of frustration.
“Need help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” you dismiss, still fumbling with the bandage.
Sirius rolls his eyes, “You’re so bloody stubborn.”
He leans forward, reaching around you, fingertips gently skimming your skin as he ties the cloth together to sling your arm securely. He lingers for a moment after it’s tied- cheek so close to yours, eyes fixed downward at your shoulder. You can feel his warm breath on your ear. You inhale shakily, and his hands brush against your bare back with the movement. You feel yourself flush when he pulls away. You clear your throat, finding your voice.
“Thanks.”
“Pomfrey might kill you if she knew you messed with it, and I still need an E in transfiguration,” he smirks. You scoff lightheartedly.
There’s a beat of silence, the air playful yet guarded- but there’s something new there that you can’t place. You pick at your fingernails in your lap.
“I’m sorry about tryouts,” you spill, guilt still nipping your stomach. Sirius’s brow furrows.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you and James were looking forward to-”
“Shut up.”
You snap your head up, brows furrowed, guilt replaced with confusion.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, and we saw enough before,” Sirius asserts, looking uncharacteristically genuine. You bite your tongue, shrugging.
“How’d you know I’d like this?” You pick the book back up. He shrugs back at you, smiling.
“I told you, I pay attention sometimes.”
“Well, uhm… thank you,” you say gently, looking at the cover, not wanting to reach his eyes.
“It’s not a big deal,” he dismisses quickly, brushing off his slacks. “I’ll see you later,” Sirius says with finality, clearing his throat and standing.
“Hey, wait,” you squint at him, “how long were you under the cloak for?”
Sirius turns around, walking backwards to face you with that smirk, “Long enough to know you mumble in your sleep. Goodnight.”
He swings the cloak on and slips out the door before you can respond.