ribs
Your weekend trudged by. Pomfrey refused to let you have any visitors on Sunday, leaving you to do nothing more than stew in your thoughts. Thankfully, with her watchful eye and your silent spellcasting, your shoulder is healed despite some lingering bruises and soreness. You’re (begrudgingly) dismissed from the hospital wing Monday afternoon.
You clutch Sirius’s book as you walk back to the common room- you haven’t let the leather-bound cover go since you first held it. After he left Saturday night, you finished the entire novel, unable to sleep, mind swirling with grey eyes and steady fingers. Reading was supposed to distract you, but it only made you think of him more.
You’ve never been more happy to see the Fat Lady in your life.
“Hi, Lady,” you smile.
“Oh, my dear, I had begun to worry! I thought perhaps I’d never see that angelic face again!” she cries, fanning herself as she poses against a marble column, “Your boyfriend is still inside, it seems like he skipped class, the poor thing, worrying himself sick,” she draws the word out, flourishing with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look. You scoff.
You know she means Remus, since she’s winked at you when she’s seen you with him before. She always meddles in your love life- she once tried to set you up with some blonde boy a year above you, which ended with an awkward denial on your end.
“He’s not my boyfriend, Lady, just my friend. I’m sorry, I don’t have the password-”
“Yes, yes, a friend, whatever you say…” she eyes you playfully, swinging open. You sigh a thanks, smiling at her antics.
The common room is deserted, everyone being in class or at lunch. Sunlight shines through the arched windows, blanketing the crimson decor with a glowing golden film. You figure you might as well go to Remus’s room, as he’s apparently ‘worrying himself sick’. He finishes all of his classes before lunch on Monday- he’s probably just not in the mood for the roaring Great Hall and retired to his room early.
Your feet carry you mindlessly to his dormitory door. You push the heavy wood open with your good shoulder, stifling a yawn.
“Rem?” you say, beelining for his bed on instinct, finding it empty. He’s probably in the toilet. You flop down to lay on his comforter, throwing your arm over your eyes, yelling to the ceiling, “Rem, I’m back, and I’m bored as all hell- want to sneak into Hogsmeade? I’d die for a butterbeer, I’ll buy you some chocolate if-”
You’re cut off by a pointed cough right next to you. Your eyes snap open.
Sirius is standing at the foot of his bed, shirtless, looking at you with his dark brow amusedly arched. You gape for a moment, your head filling with static, your eyes flicking over him without permission. He’s all long lines and smooth planes of pale skin, warm yet elegant, strong yet supple; the golden afternoon light casts soft shadows and highlights across the statue-esque indentations of his body.
Your brows furrow. His upper abdomen is jarringly muddled by purple and yellow bruises in a rough circle, settling into and outlining his ribs; it contrasts his skin in an almost artistic way, like watercolor on parchment. Concern settles over you at the brutal painting. You blink rapidly, feeling blood rush to your cheeks- you quickly look away, covering your fiery face, and snap up to right yourself.
“Fucking hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see-”
“Relax, you’re fine. Not all of us are prudes,” he scoffs, and you slowly lower your hands. You huff. Your gaze stays fixed away from him, despite wanting to double-take his unexplained bruising.
“Fuck off- I’m sorry anyway, I should have knocked, I thought you were at lunch- the Fat Lady told-” you stutter, realization dawning over you, making your face even hotter. “She said my, uh, friend was still inside, so.”
“What, we’re not friends?” he teases. He sits down on his unmade bed, in your line of sight, shrugging on a wrinkled shirt. He slowly begins to button the bottom of the shirt, smiling smugly at you. You swallow. His long fingers are moving leisurely, gently, steadily, between his legs and up his torso to the next button. You try not to stare, a thick, conflicted, anxious, thrilled feeling spreading over you.
“Ha,” you deadpan, running a hand through your hair. He follows the movement with his gaze. His eyes look like ash, smoke, the cooling aftermath of something warm and fiery.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Fine. The bruises look better than yours- that looks like it hurts,” you nod to his chest, and then flush- it’s none of your business, but your mouth isn’t cooperating.
“Yeah, bludger injuries suck, but it’s whatever. Gave Remus enough time to charm the thing still.” He shrugs his shoulders, still meeting your eyes as he buttons up, up…
“What-” you question before cutting yourself off, stunned. You remember Remus’s smooth timbre in the hospital wing: if Sirius wasn’t there, it would’ve gotten you again. You hadn’t given it a second thought, assuming Sirius just batted it away, not that he took the hit for you. A blooming warmth grows out of your chest, to your throat, to your lips, and you’re suddenly fixated on the marks over his heart. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Sirius tilts his head with a smirk, leaving his shirt casually half unbuttoned, “What, you don’t want to see me hurt? You’re going soft.”
“No, I just…” you stubbornly huff, “It was stupid of you to do. What did Pomfrey say?”
“I didn’t show her.”
You scoff disbelievingly, “What? Why? You could’ve cracked a rib-”
“It’s not the worst I’ve had. Plus, I wanted her to be able to take proper care of my favorite tutor,” he winks. He’s rolling up his sleeves, sharply folding the white fabric up to his elbow. You roll your eyes, pointedly keeping your gaze on his- the slow exposure of the prominent veins in his forearms is making you dizzy. The warmth in your fingertips feels more like a buzzing now, like electricity, like static.
“That’s ridiculous, Sirius. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“No, but your concern is cute.” His smile doesn’t show the crooked bottom tooth that you’ve grown oddly fond of. You don’t believe him.
“Why’d you skip class, then?”
His eyes dart away from yours, “I just… haven’t been sleeping well, recently.”
It’s a lot easier to look at him when he isn’t returning the favor. He does seem tired- his undereyes are dark and reminiscent of his usual post-party expression. He seems paler than usual, and his hands are shaking ever so slightly as he fiddles with his sleeves. His side of the room is a mess, even more so than usual, clothes thrown astray and blankets twisted. Papers and books are messily piled beside his bed- you’re shocked. It’s rare you ever see any in his proximity.
Sirius rubs a hand over his face. He looks too tired. An unfamiliar worry settles in your gut.
“Why not? Can’t get comfy with a cracked rib?” you raise your eyebrow smugly, attempting to shoo away the feeling.
“Fine, maybe it aches a little,” he rolls his eyes, reaching across his bed to grab his wand. You watch the tendons in his neck and chest stretch and peak, muscles smoothly dancing under skin. “But not really. I’ve just been, uh- thinking.”
“That’s new,” you quip, leaning back on your palms. “About what?”
He sits up, shrugging. A miniscule grimace crosses his face. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t meet your eyes, twirling his wand in his hand.
“You’re a shite liar. Just show me where it hurts,” you say, shocking yourself. You blink, realizing what you just signed yourself up for- whatever. You do this all the time in the hospital wing. He does need to get it checked out, and he’s obviously too stubborn to do so. He gapes at you for a second before scoffing, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not going to fall for a stinging hex a second time.”
“Oh, shut it, I’m more original than that. Those bruises look bad, and I don’t want to hear you moan about them for the next few weeks. And maybe I’m trying to be nice,” you stand, your feet carrying you over to him. A strange sense of confidence slides over you when you see his eyes flash with surprise.
“That’s new,” his voice is teetering on the edge of that gentle tone that makes your head go fuzzy; that lilt of smug teasing goes soft around the corners, his voice quieting and deepening. You’re in front of him, now, almost standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. You raise an eyebrow.
“Looks like we’re both turning a new leaf. Does it hurt to breathe?”
“Not when I’m breathing normally.”
“Can you not breathe normally?” you ask, furrowing your brow, leaning down slightly to inspect his bruising. He’s like a furnace; you can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin from here. Or maybe that’s just your nerves making you flushed.
“You just take my breath away,” he teases, smirk in his voice. Your stomach flips and you roll your eyes.
“Good to know we’re both in pain around each other, then,” you grumble, “where does it hurt when you’re not ‘breathing normally’?”
He reaches out, grabbing your hand, making your eyebrows shoot up. Sirius places your fingers on a particularly dark spot arching along his right pectoral. His skin is smooth and warm and the firm muscle there jumps under your touch. You can’t meet his eye. “There,” he says huskily, as if your heart isn’t already beating out of your chest.
“Tell me if it hurts too much,” you say, blinking, trying to play it off. You feel around the area, varying pressure, checking for breaks and eyeing his reaction. You can feel his heartbeat; it feels staggeringly intimate.
“Nervous?” you grin smugly, “Your heart’s beating so fast you’d think you’re going to have a heart attack.”
He scoffs, eyes trained on the ceiling. “I’m just scared you’ll hex me again.”
“Grow a pair.”
His cheeks are flushed. A swell of pride grows in your chest. “Y’know, if you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do is ask- ah, ” he cuts himself off with a groan, hand flying up to grasp yours, eyes squeezing shut. Your breath hitches- your face has to be on fire now.
“There?” you ask, a small teasing smile creeping up your flustered expression. He opens his eyes to look at you, mouth curled to snark back- but he seems to lose his words, his face falling into something soft and full of wonder. Sirius’s eyes are gentle on yours, drinking in your expression, gaze wandering around your face, down to your lips. There’s a moment of quiet, of just his warm breath mingling with yours. It takes everything out of you to shake yourself back to reality.
You clear your throat gently, taking a step back, his hand dropping off of yours. The cold that surrounds you once you leave his aura jars you into awareness even further, and sick embarrassment curls into your gut.
“It’s uh- it’s definitely not broken, maybe just a fracture. I’ll get you some pain elixir- and there’s a balm we use for bruising- and you shouldn’t strain yourself while it heals,” you ramble, straightening your already tidy clothes.
“You’re being too nice, it’s freaking me out. Go back to calling me an idiot,” he says, grinning at you- that spark of mischief still lingers in his eyes. Your shoulders relax slightly.
“I was planning on it,” you grumble, “I’m starting to get nauseous.”
Sirius laughs, buttoning up his shirt the rest of the way. His eyes seem brighter now. You can see that bottom tooth when he smiles.
Trying to distract yourself from his stare, you start taking slow steps around the room, looking around for anything interesting to occupy your time while waiting for Remus. Your eyes land on Sirius’s vinyl collection- a crate of muggle records, and a muggle player spelled to work without electricity. Remus gave it to him for Christmas a few years back. It looks well-used, taking up his desk space in place of actual coursework.
“Do you still listen to Bowie?” you ask to fill the silence, remembering Remus’s excitement when he showed you muggle music for the first time. You loved it- muggle music is so unlike wizard music, it’s so real that it feels ethereal. When it’s just you and Remus in the dormitory, he usually puts on a record for you.
“How do you know about Bowie?” Sirius asks, head snapping to attention. You pace over to his collection and start flicking through the albums.
“Remus showed me him, too, a few years ago. Godric, I wish I had a player. I’m jealous,” you admit, carefully pulling out Diamond Dogs, “this one’s my favorite. He played it for me last week- hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I…” Sirius says with shock in his tone, “I don’t mind. I didn’t realize you liked music.”
You scoff lightheartedly, tentatively slotting the vinyl on the pin and lowering the needle, “Of course I like music. I wish I listened to it more, I just haven’t gotten a chance to get a player of my own. I’ll have to get Remus to sneak me some muggle records, too- I like them better, I think.”
Future Legend begins to fill the room, Bowie’s cry and monologue spilling out of the speakers. You grin, flopping down on Remus’s bed, thrilled at the dramatics of the album.
“It’s just so different, you know? I never listened to music growing up,” you spill, a lot more comfortable talking about something you understand, something you can grasp, instead of wandering the foggy outline of your dynamic. Sirius’s smile is uncharacteristically gentle, eyes flicking from the player to you.
“Me neither. Except for Wilhelmina Redgrass, obviously,” he rolls his eyes. Her croaky, ear-piercing voice would echo through the room at Black cocktail parties. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the memory.
“I thought I was gonna go deaf when I heard her the first time. I get why your mum likes her, though, they sound similar.”
Sirius’s eyebrows jump up in surprise before he heartily laughs. You try not to think about how much you love the sound.
James’s voice suddenly clashes with Bowie’s lyricism and Sirius’s chuckles, the boy swinging the door open with Remus in tow.
“-still, I think they’d be good on the team, even if they’re a bit of a- oh, hey, there she is!” James grins widely at you, dropping his bag beside his bed, “Shoulder all better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Oh thank god, I was wondering when she’d finally stop holding you prisoner,” Remus sighs, flopping down next to you.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually still considering letting Collins in the team,” Sirius interrupts, spitting the name out like a curse, looking at James with betrayal.
“They’re not a monster, mate, they just got unlucky and hit the bludger at the wrong time- you saw how they dove, didn’t you-?”
“James, they nearly killed someone, are you daft?” Sirius cries, gesturing between you and James furiously. You remember the student who was heartily congratulated by James for an impressive dive during tryouts; so they were the one to hit the bludger.
“Come on, I didn’t nearlydie-” you groan, and Sirius waves you off as James interjects.
“Padfoot, you heard what Hooch said, it wasn’t their fault, just something wrong with the charming! It’s an old bludger-”
“If Hooch said it’s just an old bludger, you should give them a chance. They seemed talented enough,” you shrug, James and Sirius snapping their attention to you. James points at you, raising his eyebrows at Sirius.
"Thank you, see, even she can tell!”
Sirius sputters, “Collins is the cockiest piece of shite I’ve ever met-”
“Maybe, but they’re good, Pads, really good-”
“Not as good as-!”
Remus looks up at you as the two continue to squabble, and a knowing look flashes in his eye for less than a second. “Oh, here, I took notes for you in ancient runes-” he snaps up and reaches to shuffle around in his bag for a moment, brow furrowing, “-shite, I must’ve left them in class- want to come with me? You’ll need them. The lesson was tough, and we have a quiz on Wednesday.”
“Sure,” you shrug, relief spreading over you like a warm shower. You stand, wipe imaginary dirt off of your skirt, and beeline for the exit as casually as possible.
“See you at dinner,” Remus nods to the boys before tailing you out the door, a chorus of distracted byes behind him followed by continued bickering. Your shoulders finally drop from your ears when you walk out of the common room. You let out a relieved sigh.
“Thanks,” you mutter. Remus looks over expectantly, walking in stride with you.
“What was that about?”
You consider using an excuse: that you’re tired, that Sirius was just being annoying, that your shoulder hurts. But you see the lack of pity in Remus’s eyes, the genuine curiosity flickering as he gazes over at you, his stride in time with your own. He tilts his head, giving you a small, almost joking smile, and you can’t keep it in anymore. He wouldn’t blow it out of proportion. He wouldn’t treat you like a kid, like you’re made of glass. He’d be honest, he’d make it easy- he’s Remus.
Your conflicting feelings about Sirius are eating you alive, so you roll your eyes, rubbing your brow as you explain the confusion that’s been brewing in your gut, the mix-up with the Fat Lady, and your odd encounter. You leave out a lot of the details- especially the one about how disappointed you were to see Sirius put his shirt back on.
“You’re impossible,” Remus sighs.
“I know,” you groan, stopping to lean against one of the open-air stone archways surrounding the courtyard. A few students are milling about, so you keep your voice down when you complain, “It’s just- he’s so fucking- Godric. I dunno. One second, I want to tear his throat out; another, he actually seems…”
“Hot?” Remus deadpans. You moan, covering your face.
“Shut up. I know he’s just… doing the thing he always does. That’s how he is, he flirts with people, and that’s fine, but he’s doing it to make fun of me, I know it. He just wants me to make a fool of myself.”
“I doubt he’d do that to make fun of you.”
“Then he just wants the satisfaction of getting the girl that’s always hated him to finally want him. It’s not like he actually likes me, he never has. He hates me. I hate him. End of story,” you huff.
“I dunno,” Remus says, jumping up to sit on the wall, “he freaked out when you got hit. Like, really freaked out.”
“Yeah, he was angry with canceling tryouts, I bet,” you laugh half-heartedly, crossing your arms.
Remus scoffs, “No, you idiot, he was angry that you got hurt. You should’ve seen how quick he was over there- he took that bludger down in a second. He was furious. I’ve never seen him like that. He was the one to carry you to the hospital wing.”
Your stomach curls at the thought of being held close to his chest. You stare at Remus, speechless, eyebrows furrowed.
“That’s- I’m sure it wasn’t personal-”
“Don’t,” Remus cuts you off, “you need to just… take the time to realize that people care about you, even though you’re a stubborn prick. Sirius is one of them. He’s just bad at showing it, like you are, but in a… different way. Just get your head out of your arse, alright?”
You blink, sitting in silence, students’ laughter and bird songs surrounding you. You’re not an idiot, you know all of the signs of affection are there. The protectiveness, the gift-giving, the looks you can never quite place. All of that doesn’t quiet the voice in your head arguing that it’s just not possible; why would he care about you, of all people? He’s always despised you, so why the change of heart? It has to be some joke you aren’t picking up on- another prank you’re falling victim to. But Remus wouldn’t let that happen. Remus most definitely wouldn’t lie to you, even though you may doubt the accuracy of his observations.
A smattering of laughter erupts from a group of Hufflepuffs across the courtyard, shaking you back to reality. You set your jaw, nodding slowly, scrubbing a hand over your face. “I trust you. I’ll… I’ll think about it.” you sigh.
“I know,” Remus sighs.
“He’s so bloody annoying.”
“I know.”
"And this doesn't mean I reciprocate."
"I know."
You sit together in silence for a moment, listening to the birds and students unconsciously create a clashing chorus.
“Thanks. For being… patient with me,” you say, meeting his warm eyes. He’s smiling at you knowingly, and in the sunlight, his scars look faded.