Chapter 3

 

I can’t sleep. My bed is already cold and even my dreams can’t keep me warm.

 

Swallowing my groan, I roll out of bed. I curse as I hit the floor. My bare skin prickles as the chilly air hits me. It’s even colder out here than it was inside the drapes of my four-poster. I curse again, a little more loudly than I’d intended, then quickly glance around at the other beds to make sure I haven’t woken anyone.

 

The curtains hiding my roommates from me are still. I’m the only one awake.

 

I breathe a silent sigh of relief. It would have been rather awkward if, for example, Peter had innocently poked his head out to make sure I was unhurt, only to see me shivering in the draft without a stitch on.

 

Moving as swiftly and silently as I can, I gather my clothes for the day from my trunk and retreat to the bathroom to shower, throwing a nasty look at James’s closed curtains as I pass his bed. It wouldn’t be nearly so cold in here if he didn’t insist on leaving the window open all year long.

 

I claim the shower farthest from the door and turn the taps on hot. I step under the scalding spray with a sigh of pleasure, closing my eyes and letting the hard stream beat down on my head. I stand still for a moment, merely soaking, but the heat is warming my blood and images of last night begin to dance behind my closed lids.

 

I draw my hand slowly down my chest, dragging a nail lightly across one of my nipples, a low moan rising from my throat. My hand drifts lower, and I imagine it’s not my hand at all, remembering the green eyes, feverish with lust, that burned into mine only a few short hours ago. Fingers close around hard, hot flesh and I can’t help but thrust into my-hand-not-my-hand. I bite my lower lip, but I can’t prevent several intense groans from escaping. Tighter, faster… and then… My whole body jerks and I come, teeth sinking into my lip – as much out of habit now as out of necessity – to keep from crying out.

 

The green eyes have faded from my vision. There’s nothing left but the pounding water and the frantic race of my heart.

 

I open my eyes. They sting. I blame the water flowing down on me from the showerhead and close them again.

 

I’m shaking, still.

 

I lean my forehead against the cool, damp tiles of the wall, eyes still tightly closed, and wait for my heartbeat to slow.

 

– – – – –

 

James looks up from his chess match with Peter to frown at his best friend, who is currently sprawled in an armchair, immersed in a textbook. “You all right, Padfoot?”

 

Sirius doesn’t respond.

 

James raises his voice slightly. “You all right, Padfoot?”

 

The grey-eyed boy starts and looks up. “What?”

 

James’s frown deepens, and now Peter looks up from the board as well.

 

“I asked if you were all right,” James says.

 

“Oh, sure. Fine. I’m just studying.” Sirius returns to his book.

 

“I know,” James mutters, just loud enough for Peter to hear him. “That’s what worries me.”

 

“Maybe he’s stressed about McGonagall’s exam tomorrow,” Peter offers in a tone that suggests even he doesn’t believe his words.

 

James doesn’t even bother to grace his friend’s remark with a reply, merely returning his attention to the game with a small shake of his head.

 

The sound of feminine laughter from across the room distracts the Head Boy only seconds later, and he nearly upsets the board as he cranes his neck to see what – or who – dared to make Lily Evans laugh.

 

“She’s with Remus,” Peter says without looking up.

 

As if to verify this, the slightly lower sound of Remus’s chuckle joins the merry tinkle of Lily’s jollity.

 

“How does he do it?” James demands of the room at large.

 

“Magic?” Sirius suggests sarcastically. He is still staring at the pages in front of him, but his jaw has tightened and there’s a tense, almost angry look about him.

 

Peter snorts and moves his queen two spaces. “Your go,” he tells James, who is no longer paying attention.

 

James jumps guiltily, and looks back at the game.

 

“They’re friends,” Peter reminds both his opponent and their reading comrade. “I don’t see why it bothers you two so.”

 

James glances up briefly and Peter rolls his eyes.

 

“Yes, well, I know why it bothers you,” he amends, “though you really ought to grow up about it. But you,” he turns to Sirius, who is adamantly glowering at his open text, “you don’t make any sense at all.”

 

“When does he ever make sense?” James inquires, but his focus is now on the chessboard and his query has no bite.

 

Peter rolls his eyes again. “I’d think you’d be happy for him, to have other friends.”

 

“What does he need other friends for?” Sirius snaps at his book. “He has us.”

 

“His having other friends made sense last term,” Peter retorts, and immediately wishes he’d said nothing as two sets of eyes, one hazel, one grey, turn to glare at him. “I’m just saying,” he mutters, unable to back down now without looking a complete coward. “Once the three of us were talking again, he wouldn’t speak to any of us. Would you rather he’d not had any friends?”

 

James grunts and looks away.

 

Sirius opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, burying his nose once more in his book.

 

“Besides,” Peter adds, a bit defensively, shooting a look at Sirius. “It’s really your fault he’s so close to her, if you want to assign blame.”

 

There’s silence for a moment.

 

James’s hand hovers briefly over the board before he makes his choice. “Check,” he announces.

 

And Peter lets the matter drop, far more interested at the moment in saving his king than in brassing off his friends.

 

– – – – –

 

Lily flops gracelessly to the couch beside Remus. She leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder and batting her lashes up at him in a revolting imitation of her sister. “Tell me a story.”

 

Remus peers at her, finding it difficult to glare from the awkward angle. “Tell you a story?”

 

“Yes, please.” She shifts into a more comfortable position against him.

 

“Lily,” he begins, trying to form a protest.

 

“You know you want to,” she cuts him off.

 

He groans and glances over his shoulder across the room.

 

James is absorbed in a chess game with Peter – no help there. Sirius is… studying? That can’t be right.

 

“Is Sirius studying?” he inquires of the girl snuggled against him.

 

She cranes her neck uncomfortably to peek over the back of the couch at the boy in question.

 

“Looks like,” she replies, settling back to her former position.

 

“Wonder what’s wrong,” Remus murmurs to himself.

 

“Hm?” Lily nudges the boy in the thigh. “Speak up.”

 

“If he’s studying, there must be something wrong,” Remus explains. “I was just wondering what. He hasn’t said anything to me.”

 

“That’s not particularly surprising,” Lily remarks.

 

“What?”

 

Lily says nothing for a moment, thinking.

 

Remus nudges her gently. “Speak up,” he mimics.

 

“I just think it’s pretty likely you already know what he’s upset about, if he is, indeed, upset about something.”

 

“I can’t see as he’d have anything to be upset about, in that particular area. Unless you know something I don’t?” he tries to frown piercingly down at her, but only manages a semi-scowl to the top of her head. “Do you know something I don’t?”

 

“Of course not,” Lily replies quickly. Too quickly.

 

“Lily? Are you holding out on me?”

 

“Of course not,” she repeats. “Now, tell me a story.”

 

“What’s with you and this story?”

 

“What girl doesn’t want her best guy friend to tell her a juicy story before bed, to get her imagination going?” she half-teases.

 

Remus scowls at the girl’s hair again. “Lily, I’m not telling you any more stories. Besides, you already know everything.”

 

“But I always like to hear my favorites again,” she grins. “And I don’t know everything. You barely tell me anything. I have to drag every single tidbit I get out of you, and that’s really not very exciting.”

 

“I’m sorry my sex life doesn’t excite you,” Remus drawls.

 

Lily snickers and sits up so she can face the redheaded boy. “Who says your sex life doesn’t excite me? It’s better than mine, after all.” She sighs. “I miss having a love life.”

 

He raises an eyebrow pointedly at her. “You could have a love life if you wanted.”

 

“I am not going to have a love life with James Potter,” she snaps, but it’s half-hearted.

 

Remus snorts. “You’re perfect for each other, you know.”

 

“I can’t stand him!”

 

Remus smirks. “Very Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy.”

 

Lily gapes at him for nearly a full minute, then bursts out laughing.

 

Remus gives her a questioning look.

 

“I knew making you read Jane Austen would come back to bite me,” she manages to get out, before dissolving into laughter once more.

 

He shakes his head, but chuckles along with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see James looking in their direction, a displeased expression firmly etched across his face. Neither of the other two boys have looked up.

 

Something shifts slightly in Remus’s eyes and he falls silent.

 

It takes Lily only a moment to register the shift in her friend’s mood and she swiftly gets herself under control. “What’s wrong?” she inquires.

 

“Nothing,” he responds quickly, shaking his head for emphasis.

 

She frowns, almond-shaped green eyes narrowing. “Remus.”

 

He doesn’t meet her gaze. “You wanted a story?”

 

She purses her lips and waits.

 

There’s silence for several long moments.

 

She gives in first. He can always outwait her.

 

“You’re avoiding the subject,” she informs him.

 

“I thought I was returning to it,” he retorts. “You were the one who brought up story-telling to begin with.”

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“Yes, but…” he mocks.

 

She scowls.

 

“Story. Story!” he waves one hand back and forth in front of her, fingers pinched together and pointing downwards as if he were dangling a treat.

 

“Stop that.” She bats ineffectually at his hand.

 

He chuckles, but his green eyes are still shadowed. “Fine, then. I just figured I may as well indulge you while there’s no one close enough to eavesdrop,” he remarks conversationally.

 

Lily is silent for a minute, considering. She glances over towards the three seventh year boys across the room, then looks back at Remus.

 

“Tell me something about him?” she asks.

 

He doesn’t need to ask who ‘he’ is, just nods slowly, as though he’s been expecting this. “What do you want to know?”

 

“That night,” she begins hesitantly, “last year. When he… The night Potter saved Severus Snape’s life. You never really told me what… I mean, you told me part of it, that he sent Snape down the tunnel, and Potter went in after him. But the rest of it…”

 

“You want to know why,” Remus says heavily.

 

Lily nods, looking half uncomfortable, half hopeful. “I didn’t want to press you before. You were so upset, and none of you were speaking to him, and then you weren’t speaking to any of them… How did that happen, by the way?”

 

Remus sighs. “We all stopped talking to him after he did it. James even hit him, at some point, I believe, and said something about never speaking to Sirius again, and Peter agreed, though mostly Peter just sort of tried to stay out of it, which was rather smart of him, actually. But James caved early on – he has no willpower where Sirius is concerned – and Peter followed suit pretty quickly – he has no willpower period – so I was the odd one out. That’s when I started spending so much time with you.” He snorts, suddenly, remembering. “You and your henna.”

 

She smiles reminiscently. “You really had no chance of staying a brunet.”

 

He shakes his head. “I will never understand the obsession you natural redheads have with dying your hair red. It just doesn’t make sense.”

 

“But just think, if I didn’t use henna, your hair would still be brown. And you’re just so cute now.”

 

“Cute?” he raises an eyebrow.

 

She grins.

 

He rolls his eyes at her, then his face sobers. “Snape,” he says, returning to her original question.

 

She nods.

 

“Snape was always sneaking around,” Remus tells her. “He didn’t – doesn’t – get along very well with any of us, especially James, but he kept trying to figure out where I went every month. And he was rather… fascinated… by Sirius. Sirius being a Black was part of it, I’m sure. Snape is friends with Lucius Malfoy, who’s engaged to one of Sirius’s cousins, and I’m sure he’s interested in the family in general, but I think it was more than that. I think he had a bit of a… well, a crush on Sirius.”

 

Lily’s eyes widen.

 

“I know,” Remus half-smiles at her shocked expression. “I don’t think he was very good at expressing his feelings. Boys, you know?”

 

She giggles, but doesn’t interrupt.

 

“Anyway, Sirius, as I’m sure you’d guess, was rather, erm, disgusted, by this apparent interest. Besides the fact that Sirius, like James, has despised Snape for as long as he’s known him, Snape is something of a representation of everything Sirius hates. Slytherin. Pureblood. Rather obsessed with the Dark Arts. I think it all – understandably – reminds Sirius of his family. Well, he told James later it was ‘a prank to get Snivellus to stop following him around.’ He thought it would be funny.”

 

“Funny?” Lily gasps.

 

Remus sighs. “I don’t think he ever quite realized how dangerous it could be. He’s never been afraid of me – of what I am – himself, so I don’t think it has ever really occurred to him how vicious a fully-grown werewolf really is. And he can be quite… reckless.”

 

“That’s more than reckless!” Lily exclaims, and shoots a fierce glare across the room.

 

Remus glances over, but none of the boys were looking in their direction. He turns back to Lily. “Well, you know the rest. He told James. James thought it was funny for about a minute, then realized that Snape might actually try it, and went haring off after him and pulled him out in time to save his neck, but not quick enough to keep him from seeing me. Dumbledore swore Snape to secrecy. I found out what had happened, shouted some rather nasty, though not undeserved, things at Sirius, and our silent treatment of him ensued.”

 

“You pretended he didn’t exist,” Lily reminds him.

 

“Right,” he nods. His mouth twitches slightly. “With limited success.”

 

She smirks at him. “It seemed quite successful those first few months.”

 

“Yes,” he nods again. “And we didn’t properly become friends again until a week before the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. But, you know, there were a few times before that when I couldn’t really ignore him.”

 

“I bet,” she mutters, and thwacks his leg.

 

“You know how hard it can be to ignore him, sometimes.”

 

“Extremely hard, I’m sure,” she concurs dryly.

 

He glowers at her.

 

She smiles innocently. “Just agreeing with you.”

 

“Mm-hm,” he hums skeptically.

 

She grins. “So, want to tell me another story?”

 

“No. You’ve had your story. And it’s past my bedtime, so I’m off.” He rises and stretches.

 

There’s a flicker of movement from across the room, but when Remus turns to look, James and Peter are still bent over the chessboard and Sirius is still absorbed in his book.

 

Lily rises as well. “Night, then,” she says, and gives Remus a quick hug.

 

“Night,” he replies, and they both head for their respective dormitories.

 

Five minutes later, Sirius puts down his book and excuses himself to his companions, leaving them alone in the common room to finish their third game of the night.

 

– – – – –

 

I scowl down at my textbook, willing it to capture and hold my attention as it ought to do. It refuses.

 

I can hear the shuffle of papers from the bed next to mine, and I have to force myself not to glance over. Glancing over would mean I am admitting he is in the room with me, and I cannot admit he is in the room with me if he does not exist. Only those who are insane admit that someone who does not exist is in the room.

 

A rather aggrieved-sounding sigh floats across the room from the person-who-does-not-exist.

 

I grit my teeth together, staring harder at my textbook.

 

Another sigh reaches my ears and I give up. I close my book and gather my things together. I can’t work if I can’t concentrate. I can’t concentrate if there are people-who-do-not-exist in the room with me.

 

I roll off my bed and scoop up my pile of work, deciding to head for the library instead of just going down to the common room. I’m more likely to get work done if there aren’t other people around.

 

I check my armload as I cross the room, making sure I have everything I might need. I reach out to open the door, but instead of a doorknob, my fingers close on another hand.

 

Startled, I look up. The person-who-does-not-exist is staring back at me, one arm cradling several books, the other hand under mine on the handle of the door.

 

For a long moment we don’t speak, we just glare at each other. I’m not quite sure what he has to glare about, unless he’s angry that he no longer exists, but, really, that’s his own fault. I have every right to glare, after what he did, and he knows it, too.

 

Then our books are on the floor and I have him up against the wall, my mouth covering his. If I were any less furious with him, I might say it’s awkward, but no, it’s just rough and angry, all tongues and teeth fighting fiercely for… what?

 

He squirms against me and I release his hands in preference of divesting him of his robes and everything beneath them, allowing him to return the favor. Several of the buttons pop off of his shirt and I get stuck for a moment in my tie – which he is in too much of a rush to unknot, merely loosening it and tugging it over my head – but then we’re skin to skin and we’re toeing off our shoes and socks as we frantically unbuckle each other’s belts, and then…

 

Our positions are switched as he grinds against me. I gasp something. I don’t know what, but he understands me. My legs are wrapped around his waist, my back supported by the wall, his hands on my ass. He mutters something, a spell of some kind, though his wand is no where in sight, then his fingers are sliding inside me, prepping me, and I muffle a moan against his neck, tasting his sweat on my tongue.

 

And then… And then…

 

We never make it to a bed, though there are four within several easy steps of us.

 

He takes me where we are, hard against the wall mere inches from the door. It seems like either hours or scant seconds later, and the world is exploding in lights and colors. I bite down on the junction of his shoulder and neck to keep from making any sound even as I hear him cry out wordlessly, and then I’m sliding.

 

We collapse on the ground in a sweaty, sticky heap, surrounded by the smell of sex as we drift back to earth.

 

Several minutes pass before my head clears enough for me to appreciate fully what has just happened. I blink at the ceiling and realize I’m still very angry, but far less stressed about the whole thing.

 

I blink again and turn my head to look at him. He’s watching me, a strange look in his grey eyes.

 

I can feel a scowl assuming its position on my face. “Just because I let you fuck me doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I snap before I’ve made a conscious decision to say anything.

 

He flinches visibly. “I know,” he says softly. “We were stressed. It wasn’t… It didn’t mean anything. It was a one-time thing, won’t happen again. It was a mistake.” He rolls onto his side, facing away from me.

 

It feels as though my stomach or my intestines or something else inside me is trying to crawl out through my navel, twisting inside me as though I’m going to be sick. “A mistake,” I repeat, and climb stiffly to my feet. “Just stress,” I tell the back of his head as I start to reclaim my clothes. “Didn’t mean anything.” I find my second sock on Peter’s bed (how it got there I have no idea), and head for the showers.

 

There’s the soft sound of his voice. “At least you’re talking to me again,” it sounds like.

 

I stop for a moment, half-prepared to turn around and ask him what he said, because I can’t have heard him correctly, but I decide against it, firmly closing the bathroom door behind me.

 

I wake abruptly to the sound of a door slamming – the others are up and getting ready for classes. I have that bizarre feeling that I was dreaming, but I can’t remember what about. I roll over in my bed, half expecting him to be there, even though he’s never slept here before. I sit up with a groan and rub my eyes. My hands come away damp.

 

TBC

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