rainbow
13th April 1976
Sirius had always been taught, ‘Black’s are never to be seen as inferior, as different, or as impure,’ and it was difficult to take that idea from his mind. He thought that when he was sorted into Gryffindor, he finally understood why he was different from his family, but he quickly noticed he still felt like an outsider, walking around in circles for a way in.
All the labels, all the titles, they spoke for him, when he wished to defy them.
At Grimmauld, he was a disloyal son, a child who disregarded centuries of family history for his own interests, and was sorted into Gryffindor. In Gryffindor, he was seen as a Black, a defender of the Dark Arts, an exact copy of his parents.
He didn’t ask to be in Gryffindor, and he didn’t ask to be born a Black, but everyone seemed to blame him for things he couldn’t control.
So when he realised his eyes lingered on the freckles on Remus’ nose, or how he had never once seemed to be drawn towards any girls in his year, despite being asked out on dates on multiple occasions, he truly began to panic. If he was an outsider before, surely this would only make him more of one.
He quickly decided that hiding in his bed, drawing the curtains would be the best course of action. James would assume he wanted his privacy and would go to James when he wanted to; Remus would assume he was having one of his moods; Peter would leave him alone until dinner, at the least.
None of it was fair.
He wasn’t proud of who he was, but he wanted to be. He wanted to scream that he was a Gryffindor from atop the astronomy tower. He wanted to change his last name to Potter (James had offered more than once for his parents to adopt him).
He curled up on his bed, his back against the headboard as he hugged his knees to his chest. He began to feel the backs of his eyes prickle and burn, as a bubble rose in his throat.
The bed felt suffocating.
The curtains were no longer a comforting barrier, but a prison.
He choked back a cry as pressed his hands into his head.
Why could he not be who everyone wanted him to be?
Why was he unable to be who he wanted to be?
His thoughts rushed through his brain.
He remembered James’ and Peter’s reaction to Remus saying he was bisexual.
He remembered the glances.
The whispers.
He thought of the distance; the sudden awkwardness in the dorm.
Sirius couldn’t go through that. He didn’t think Remus should have gone through it, and he knew it would break him in ways he wasn’t sure could be fixed.
His breathing was ragged; his throat felt raw and sore.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t to be alone.
He also didn’t know if he wanted company.
There was a soft rustling outside his curtain. Sirius wiped at his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. “Sirius?” he heard a soft voice call out.
Sirius didn’t respond, not wanting Remus to hear the cracks in his voice.
“Can I come in?” Remus asked, and Sirius heard him shuffling outside.
He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he pulled back the curtain, just enough for Remus to sneak inside. Remus sat, crossed-legged on the opposite side of the bed to where Sirius was. Pretending to be interested in the pattern on the pillow cases, Sirius ignored Remus’ staring. He knew that Remus only ever stared at a person when he was trying to piece something together.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked, and Sirius glanced over at Remus.
Remus.
It was almost the new moon, the time he was the least tired - Sirius could tell. There was a warmth in Remus’ face that made him want to explain everything to Remus, but as he opened his mouth, he choked on his words, burying his face in his knees.
Climbing up the bed to sit next to Sirius, Remus placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, rubbing his thumb in circles.“Oh annwyl,” Remus soothed.
The action was something they’d stumbled across.
Even Sirius wasn’t sure why he found it calming - he usually hated being touched when he was upset - but nonetheless, Sirius leaned into Remus, as he allowed him to continue crying.
Sirius felt each minute pass in painful embarrassment. Remus didn’t move, it was as if he barely took a breath, and Sirius felt hot shame run through his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Remus said, squeezing the hand on his shoulder. “And you don’t have to talk,” he assured Sirius, but the idea of not saying anything, of sitting on the idea of his sexuality left a larger pit resting in the bottom of his stomach.
He shook his head. “I - I need to,” he mumbled, and Remus furrowed his eyebrows.
“Sirius…” Remus trailed off, getting rather concerned at Sirius’ behaviour.
“I,” Sirius began, pausing to take a deep breath. “I’m gay.”
He prepared for Remus to pull away.
He prepared for the words of judgement; for Remus to tell him he was wrong.
He knew Black’s couldn’t be gay; he knew what Gryffindor’s reactions would be (he’d seen it in his friends).
What he wasn’t prepared for, was for Remus to pull him into a hug.
“I’m proud of you,” Remus said softly, smiling at Sirius who furrowed his eyebrows.
“You are?” Sirius asked, a crack in his voice. He was so used to being wrong, he wasn’t sure he had heard Remus’ words correctly.
Remus nodded, bringing a hand up to Sirius’ cheek. “Very much so,” he grinned, wiping away tears Sirius didn’t know he was crying. “You’re so brave, cariad,” he continued, pulling Sirius back in for another hug. “Thank you for telling me, and trusting in me,” he said, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “You’re alright,” he told him.
And in Remus’ arms, he didn’t feel as if he could disagree.
He told someone about who he was, and they were kind.