nervous
James and Sirius swing the curtain aside, revealing a flash of the bustling locker room as they exit.
“Nervous?” Remus asks, rubbing his gloved hands together and huffing into them. A cloud of fog rises from your group with every breath.
“Nah,” Sirius smirks at you with brilliant teeth, crossing his arms over his chest. He shifts from foot to foot restlessly. The bulky, ridiculous protective padding that used to make you stifle a laugh seems different this season. Maybe he’s gotten older, grown into himself more- but it broadens his shoulders in a way that makes your eyes linger. His hair is pulled back loosely, a few stray strands hanging over his forehead- a dark contrast to his pale complexion. Grey eyes fix on yours.
“Your jersey is on backwards,” you deadpan, nodding to his gear. He looks down to see BLACK printed in golden letters across his chest and hisses a curse. James rumbles out a laugh.
“Damn it, I was going to let him go the whole game with it like that.”
Sirius mutters expletives as he struggles to take it off over his padding- a thin line of skin underneath the hem of his undershirt is exposed to the winter air when he pulls the jersey over his head. You quickly redirect your attention to James.
“I’d tell you good luck, but you won’t need it,” you say, giving him a proud smile. James bounces on his heels, grinning ear to ear.
"Hell yeah we won’t!” James pushes his shoulder into Sirius’s, throwing him off balance. Sirius laughs, but you can tell he’s nervous underneath the calm and collected guise- he’s glancing out at the field every few seconds, working his jaw.
“We better go, we’ve got-” James glances down at his watch, “thirty ‘till kickoff, we should start warmups. How ‘bout a good luck kiss, Moons?” He points to his cheek teasingly, straining his neck up at Remus.
“You wish,” Remus scoffs. James groans theatrically, dragging his feet back behind the curtain, flinging it shut behind him with a flourish. Remus grins and tilts his head to the stands. “C’mon, I bet all the good seats are getting taken.”
Sirius raises his dark eyebrows at you, blatantly checking you out with a smirk. “All I’m saying is that a little luck from you wouldn’t hurt-”
“Ha. Break a leg,” you roll your eyes, grab Remus’s hand, and pull him away as they laugh behind you. You let a tiny smile push your flushed cheeks up.
You and Remus manage to find seats close to the front row, huddling close together for warmth, people-watching and idly chatting. Despite the bustling mass of students, it doesn’t seem to get any less frigid in the stands. You grab Remus’s hands, casting a heat charm on them. He hums a thanks at you, eyes flicking over the crowd.
“Sirius seems nervous,” you say.
“He’ll be fine,” Remus dismisses, his nose bright pink, “he always gets nervous before games- he stayed up late last night, too. I think he was reading, actually. What are you doing to him?”
You raise an eyebrow, “You sure it wasn’t Playboy?”
Remus perks up and pulls a hand out of your warm grasp, grinning and waving to someone over your shoulder. You turn and beam at the sight of Lily’s wind-flushed face across the sea of crimson and gold. She waves enthusiastically as she wiggles her way through the crowd. She huffs when she falls into a spot beside you.
“I was wondering where you were,” she grins, yelling over the crowd and pulling you into a tight side hug. “Christ, I’m freezing my tits off! How much longer ‘till this rubbish starts?”
You glance down at your watch, “Any minute now, thank Godric. My fingers are turning blue.” You pull your sweater tighter around yourself, tucking your mittened hands under your armpits. “You excited to see your man in action?” you tease her, Remus chuckling beside you.
“You excited to see yours?” she shoots back, raising her eyebrows. Remus whistles. You scoff and push her shoulder.
“Thank god you see it too,” Remus grins, nodding at Lily over your head, and you let out a groan.
“Come on-”
“I’d have to be blind not to see it, are you kidding?” Lily scoffs, “He’s almost as obvious as James.”
“He is not-”
“Your denial is bordering on delusional, love,” she cuts you off, huddling into your side. “How much do you bet he’ll wink at her during the game?” she asks, leaning around you to address Remus smugly.
Remus’s smirking reply is cut off by the roar of the crowd and thuds of shoes against the stands; the teams must be walking onto the field. You three quickly join, lurching to your feet.
“Welcome wizards, witches, and worms, to the first kickoff of this year’s quidditch season!”
The crowd explodes as the student announcers continue their ramble, their voices lost in the sea of cheers even with the amplifying charm in place. You whoop and clap, eyes straining in search of your friends. You jump on your toes to peer over your peers’ heads and through crimson and gold shakers. You can’t see much of the grass from your angle. You’re not disappointed for long, though- Madam Hooch’s gravelly voice echoes her classic sentiment of a ‘fair, clean game’ across the pitch before her whistle cuts the air.
Streaks of crimson and navy whizz through the sky, and the game passes in a flash. Half an hour in, Sirius makes a point to fly close enough to catch your eye and give you a grin. He readies his grip on his club, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tracks an incoming bludger. His arm arches gracefully as he swings, flawlessly batting it to a Ravenclaw chaser, who fumbles the quaffle in shock- James swoops in and intercepts it.
“Fantastic move by Black and Potter on the field here- Gryffindor now in possession-”
To your conflicted annoyance, Sirius blows you a kiss and winks animatedly before flying off, the crowd a thunderous, lion-like roar.
“Fucking called it!” Lily yells, grabbing your shoulders tightly. Remus cackles. Your face doesn’t feel cold anymore.
---
“We fucking won!”
The Gryffindor common room explodes in cheers as the quidditch team floods in, glowing with victory and shower steam. You and Remus stand at the back wall, leaning against your window nook, cups in hand. You’re already a few drinks in- you decided to head back to the common room as soon as the game was over to beat the crowd, and to prepare for the party that would definitely last until the early morning.
Your position allows you to actually see the players as they pile in, and your stomach lurches when your eyes land on a mop of familiar inky hair. Sirius and James are yelling and laughing in celebration with the crowd- someone hands James a bottle of firewhiskey, and he lifts it in the air like a trophy as the room roars even louder.
James and Sirius are both obviously scanning the room for someone, straining their necks to search the crowd while they grin at praises and congratulations thrown their way. James suddenly brightens, catching Lily’s eye from where she sits by the fire with Marlene and Mary. He claps Sirius on the back, muttering in his ear before running to sweep Lily into a kiss. Your heart squeezes as you watch them break apart and James animatedly talk to their friends.
“They’re good for each other,” you yell over the crowd to Remus, standing on your toes to get closer to his ear. He nods in agreement.
“Finally. They took too long,” he leans down to reply pointedly.
Your eyes land on Sirius’s- they’re already on you, crinkled with a smile. His dimple only becomes more apparent as he pushes through the crowd, either blind to or ignoring the claps on his back and attempted conversations he receives. Your throat gets tight when you notice that his face is still a little pink from the showers, his skin still dewy, the ends of his hair wet and barely curling on his neck; he has the distinct look of someone buzzed with victorious adrenaline. Remus whoops and toasts in his direction, and you clear your throat to follow suit.
“Not half bad, Black-!” you yell over the crowd as he approaches; you cut yourself off with a shriek as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you off of the ground and spinning you in a hug. Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck. You laugh despite your better judgment, his warm embrace and infectious joy spreading over you like sunlight. “Put me down!”
“‘Not half bad’!? It was brilliant!” he exclaims, putting you back on your own feet. His hands linger on your hips, his face warm and beaming. You feel like the room is still spinning around you. You find yourself reveling in the dizziness.
“It was alright,” you tease, grinning over at Remus. He’s looking at you smugly, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.
“Moons!” Sirius launches himself at the boy, making him nearly spill his drink. “What’d you think?” He pulls back, gripping Remus by the shoulders.
“A little flashy. You’re getting cocky,” he taunts, taking another sip.
“It’s called style.” Sirius steals the cup out of his hand and takes a long drink before wrinkling his nose. “Eugh. What is this?”
“Whatever I saw first. I didn’t want to look too close under your bed, to be honest,” Remus shrugs. You chuckle and take a sip out of your half-full cup, your smile shifting to a grimace at the taste.
“I think it’s the mead James nicked from Hog’s Head,” you say, eyeing the mysterious, dark liquid.
“I’ve got a new bottle of firewhiskey upstairs,” Sirius says, gesturing to the staircase behind him. Remus immediately breaks into a grin. You give him a warning look: Don’t you dare leave me-
“My legs are sore, I’ll meet you two back down here,” he quickly excuses himself, breaking through the crowd at record speed in Lily and James’s direction. You glare at the back of his head.
“C’mon,” Sirius says without pause, grabbing your hand and leading you straight into the crimson sea. You trail along behind him, collecting curious looks as Sirius breaks through the crowd. The heat of his skin on yours matched with the blatant stares pushes your heart into your throat. He glances back at you as you’re squeezing through a group of chatty fourth years, and you give him a dramatic grimace. Kill me, you mouth. He laughs lightheartedly, pulling you closer so you’re walking with his front to your back, his free hand gently hovering over your hip- it reminds you of how you were huddled underneath James’s cloak together. Your hand is still in his when you reach the staircase- you drop it, moving ahead, not having the stomach to look at his eyes.
“You hate crowds,” he observes. You spiral up the stairs, calling over your shoulder to reply.
“Yeah, I’m a big fan of parties, obviously,” you drawl, and his laugh follows you up the staircase. The music and chatter becomes more muffled with every step. When the door to the boys’ room swings shut, the sound is reduced to a dull, thumping rhythm. Your shoulders slowly relax as you take in the familiar sight of Remus’s parchment-strewn desk and the faint smell of James’s aftershave. You sit on Sirius’s unmade bed as he kneels down, rooting around underneath it.
You kick your feet, looking around absentmindedly; you double-take at the curtain ceiling of his bed, your neck straining to look up. Posters and pictures you haven’t noticed before are haphazardly tacked to the canopy of the four-poster. It’s impossible to see them unless you’re on the mattress. Leaning back on your hands, you squint up for a better look.
There are muggle posters of David Bowie and some musicians you don’t recognize, drawings that seem to be Regulus's work, and a few moving polaroids. There’s one of Remus and James ballroom dancing in front of the spinning record player next to you, laughing and stumbling, smiling lips stained from red wine; one of the wind rustling the spring-kissed grass of the grounds, the Great Lake a smooth reflection of a pink sky. To your shock, there’s a photo of your stained glass window in the library, photographed in its jeweled entirety, day cycles melting by in multicolor.
“Why do you go to parties if you don’t like crowds?” Sirius questions, his voice muffled under the bed.
“I only go if Remus asks me to.”
“Did Remus ask you this time?”
You pause, thinking. The picture version of James attempts to dip Remus, dropping him heavily on the floor, bent over in laughter. “No. He didn’t, for once.”
“Ah,” Sirius says, standing up in your peripheral vision, “so you’re here of your own free will.”
You look down your nose at him, shrugging. He’s smirking at you, proudly holding a shiny red bottle. You swallow thickly. “Yeah. I guess it’s fun to watch you and James make fools of yourselves. Do you have a camera?”
“What?” Sirius raises an eyebrow, mattress dipping as he sits next to you. “Am I that good looking?” He opens the bottle, breaking the seal with a satisfying snap.
You gesture upward. “Your polaroids.”
“Oh,” he says, tilting his head back. You take in the long line of his neck and the sharp point of his adam’s apple. “Yeah, I do. I really should use it more. Here-” he stands up, passing you the bottle. You take a few sips, savoring the burn while staring at the dips and lines of Sirius’s back as he rummages through his desk.
A familiar spine resting on his cluttered bedside table catches your eye. You gasp theatrically.
“Are you reading for fun?” you exclaim, reaching next to him and grabbing the book, “This is one of my favorites!”
“Oh- you wouldn’t shut up about it to Remus a few months ago. I’d always overhear you, so,” he says to his desk almost-sheepishly. Pride swells in your chest at his reaction. He sits back down next to you, fiddling with a small, boxy camera. His fingers brush yours as he grabs the bottle and drinks. You fan through the pages of the book, grinning to yourself. Your finger pauses near the end, where he’s marked his place with a folded sheet of parchment.
“I’d do anything to read this for the first time again,” you sigh, eyes flicking over the familiar words. The sheet of parchment falls into your lap, but when you go to put it back, you notice a familiar lettering.
You alright? Sirius’s handwriting loops.
I’m good, just tired, yours scratches below.
Small, poorly-drawn doodles that you and Sirius collaborated on during an especially boring potions lecture surround the message. That was weeks ago- the paper is well-worn and soft at the edges. You trace your fingertip over the ink gently, smiling to yourself.
“You kept this?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips. You glance up, but you’re momentarily blinded by the flash of Sirius’s camera. “You git, you didn’t even warn me!” you cry, your moment of fondness immediately dissolving as Sirius snickers. You sightlessly reach for the photo, but he holds it over his head.
“Why’d you do that?” you groan, rubbing your eyes free of the lingering flash and giving up on the chase. His arms are longer than yours, anyway. You’d have to crawl into his lap to reach it. Godric.
“‘Cause you’d look fit with a Sharpie mustache,” Sirius smirks. You scoff, grab the bottle, and take a large swallow.
“I thought you’d throw this away,” you say, grimacing at the burn, and holding up the parchment. Words are already loosening in your throat from the drink. Sirius tilts his head, scanning the page with a soft grin.
“A masterpiece like this deserves to be framed,” he squints, leaning closer and nodding, “you really got Slug’s likeness- the tutu was a good touch.”
“I thought so,” you hum, holding your arm out to look at it from afar, and holding back your laughter. A quiet settles between you. You feel the pressure of Sirius’s eyes, and let yourself revel in it.
“I-” Sirius starts, but shakes his head, grabs the bottle from you, and finds another way to occupy his lips. You stare unabashedly- your cheeks and shoulders are pleasantly flush and warm. His hair is almost completely dry now; the previously wet strands that curl behind his ears are fluffy and rebellious. He runs a hand through it, the swooping dark arches around his forehead and cheekbones pushed back with the motion. His hand- oh, his hand, large and pale and riddled with veins, is decorated like an altar with silver rings. Sirius scrubs that hand over his slightly shadowed jaw. How lovely it is to stare at him like this, without any fear or knee-jerk dismissal of your emotions. You should let yourself look at him more.
“What?” you ask softly, the word tender on your tongue.
Sirius turns his head, giving you a melancholy smile that makes your chest tighten and ache. It’s difficult to breathe when he looks at you like this, flicking over your face, taking in every detail, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “I’m glad you sit next to me in potions.” He holds your eyes, the unspoken words clearly written in gray. I’m glad we’re friends- or something like that.
“Me, too.”
Sirius is sitting closer than before. His lungs are breathing the same air as yours, the long line from his shoulder to his thigh is brushing against yours. Your fingers graze his when you turn the polaroid over in his hand, the urge to distract yourself overwhelming you. His conflicted face breaks into a grin, and you laugh.
The photo version of you wistfully looks at the sheet of parchment before snapping up to glare at the flashing camera. Your mouth curves into soundless words of complaint, your eyebrows furrowed. Nevertheless, there’s an undeniable softness hidden in your gaze- a twitch of your lips curling into a smile. A curtain of hair falls in your rosy face when you go back to inspect the parchment, occasionally glowering up at Sirius.
“I look feral.”
“You look cute.”
Your heart is in his hands, and he’s prodding it, searching for what gets under your skin.
“Shut up,” you groan, flopping back onto the mattress. Sirius turns, leaning back on his hand, smiling down at where you lay. His hair falls in his face as he gazes over you. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the vulnerable position you put yourself in. “You flirt like a second year,” you shoot, the words falling from between your lips without thought.
“I’m great at flirting.”
“With anything that moves,” you snort, and he puts a hand over his chest.
“That’s not a nice thing to say to your knight in shining armor.”
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor,” you roll your eyes before they flash in realization, snapping back to his face. “Hey, what was all that about this morning? James told me you hexed someone.”
Sirius’s jaw clenches. He glances away from your eyes, the teasing smile slipping off of his face. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I will,” you drawl. “Sirius, I’ve dealt with that for years now-”
“You shouldn’t,” he cuts you off firmly, his gaze flicking over your face. “You shouldn’t have to just- roll over when people act like pricks.”
“Sure, whatever, but you doing that shite- I just… I don’t want to…” you glance away from him, trying to find the right words. “I hate the idea of you picking fights because of me.”
Sirius raises his eyebrow. “You know they deserve it.”
“They do, obviously, but you don’t,” you bite your lip, looking pointedly at the ceiling. “And if you get hurt, I have to hear you bitch about it in the hospital wing.”
“Sure,” he says teasingly, and your ears feel hot, but you flick your eyes back to his. “I’m reading books and staying out of fights- who would have thought you’d be such a good influence?”
“Anyone with half a brain.”
Sirius laughs- you both perk up at the sudden sound of a particularly loud cheer downstairs. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Want to go back with me? Remus misses his shadow, I bet.”
You roll your eyes. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. “Fine.”
---
Sirius somehow convinces you and Remus off of your usual wall, pouring heavily into your cups and twirling you around to songs you don’t recognize; with his face so bright and full of life, you can’t help but comply. His hands linger on your waist, hips, brush down your arms, eyes half-lidded and lips perfectly sculpted into a grin. You can’t dance, but he laughs heartily and pulls you closer when you step on his toes.
The party begins to die down in the early morning. As more and more students leave, the dance floor devolves into a few groups of chatting friends- you and Remus gossip with Lily until she goes to bed with a yawn. Sirius meanders off with James, sitting with the rest of the rowdy quidditch team, wasted and loud. Eventually, Remus calls it a night, pressing a sloppy kiss on your forehead that you exaggeratedly wipe off. He lets out a slurred love you, and you watch, tipsy and warm and still smiling, as he stumbles up the stairs.
You glance back over to the quidditch team. About a dozen students lounge around the fire, leaning back against sofas and sitting cross-legged on the floor. James is animatedly telling a story that you can only assume is about a broom crash from his charades; you can’t quite make out what he’s saying across the room with the quiet chatter and music. Sirius sits next to him, laughing and occasionally quipping along- your eyebrows furrow when you notice his arm is around Amelia Pinch. Pinch, the girl that makes everyone laugh, the girl that everyone loves. You barely know her, but she’s always been kind to you.
For a moment you wish she hadn’t, so you could hate her in good conscience. You rip your eyes away, burning bile rising up through your chest at the sight. You probably just drank too much- you need a cigarette.
You sneak out of the portrait. No one gives you a second glance. You peek over your shoulder at Sirius, who is too enraptured in something Amelia is saying to notice. You swallow the lump in your throat and carefully make your way to the secret balcony. To your frustration, your memories of the place feel touched, tainted by Sirius- instead of the moments of tranquility you experienced here, you can only think of his gentle grey gaze, his boots hanging off of the ledge next to you, and his lips curled around the filter of a cigarette.
You gaze up at the moon. It’s mostly full, a sliver of darkness promising one last night of peace for Remus. Memories of Sirius at the Shack intrude your mind. How fear, anger, and confusion pulled his expression taught after you lost control. Your gut drops, and you take a drag to draw it back into place. No wonder he’s cuddled up with Amelia- she’s open, lively, talkative. She doesn’t shut down when he gets too close. She doesn’t keep secrets, or push him away, or brood, like you’re currently doing. Shame curls in your stomach.
The way he looked at you earlier- all gentle and yearning as you laid underneath him- friends don’t look at each other like that. You have a sudden pang of regret that you hadn’t leaned up into his lips, at least to see- would he kiss you back? Would he hold your face like you imagine late at night, in the privacy of your four-poster?
But you didn’t lean up, and now you’re left sitting alone, realizing that your cowardice is something you’ll burden for a long time. You’re hiding behind the excuse of putting Sirius in danger- if you were to openly fall for him, he could be a target. But you know it’s more than just that. It’s the trust, it’s the belief that you deserve him, the belief that he really wants you, holding you back. You’ve never deemed yourself worthy of someone so unashamedly passionate, so beautiful, so clever. He could pick anyone he’d like, but he chooses to flirt with you. You try to forget his strong arm around Amelia, the way she leaned into him, laughing at his jokes. You try to forget how he laughed at hers.
You’re interrupted by heavy footsteps behind you, stumbling at the bottom of the stone staircase. Laughter followed by shushing echoing up the tower makes your eyebrows furrow- you realize there’s a second set of shoes climbing up the stairs behind the first, giggles and whispers you can’t make out reaching your ears. Shit- you thought you were the only one who knew about this balcony, fuck- you’d do anything for James’s cloak right now. It's probably just a couple looking for a place to drunkenly grope each other after the party. You try to finish your cigarette in a rush and stand up to excuse yourself, preparing for an awkward interaction.
You gape when you turn to face Sirius, staring at you owlishly, frozen at the top of the staircase. The tops of his cheekbones and tips of his ears are pink from alcohol, his hair mussed from foreign hands. Amelia stands behind him, confusedly looking between the two of you. He swallows, his mouth opening without words for a moment before he rights himself.
“Hey, uh, sorry, I didn’t know you were up here-”
“It’s fine,” you interrupt. Your voice doesn’t sound right. You finish your cigarette and stub it out on the handrail. It burns your fingertips. You brush past a statuesque Sirius without another word.
“Who’s that?” Amelia’s whisper follows you as you walk down the stairs in a daze. You don’t hear Sirius’s reply.