~Irene Peter
I.
"I can't believe we're out here," you grumble, struggling against the wind as you and Remus walk down the street toward Hogsmeade. You pull your scarf closer around your neck and even lean in toward Remus, hoping that together you can cut through the biting gale. You're not even sure why you are still going into town, with Sirius having landed himself in detention for the month after a colossal lapse of judgment in Potions earlier that week. Honestly, you are so upset with him after this latest incident that you are glad he isn't around. Peter is also stuck inside, working on the Transfiguration essay he missed handing in, in part due to Sirius's cock-up putting him in the hospital wing for two days; Sirius had told him to just change into a rat for McGonagall and he'd pass, but Peter had simply walked away in a rare show of anger.
Remus had insisted you go. It was sunny and bright after a night of snowfall had blanketed the world in white. It was also cold and windy, but once you got to the village you'd be able to warm up at the Three Broomsticks with a hot drink, relax, and admire the girls a bit. Or complain more about Sirius and what a bloody tosspot he'd been since the holidays. He had been snappish, pig-headed, and rude, not to mention late for Remus's transformation that month. It had culminated in the incident in Potions class, when Sirius had thought it would be fun to add a bit of extra wormwood and a touch of fluxweed to the cauldron you were sharing with Peter. The Draught of Living Death had exploded all over Peter and knocked him out for two days. You will never forget the look of shock on Peter's face as he fell, of disappointment on Slughorn's face as he rushed over, of fear and regret on Sirius's face as he was sent to the headmaster.
The week since has been awful. You haven't been able to talk to Sirius, and even Peter is still too upset to speak with him, and so Remus is once again stuck in the middle. He came of age on Thursday, and you and Peter toasted him in the kitchen while Sirius sulked in his bed, the curtains pulled shut tight around him. It should have been all four of you, sneaking out to the village or getting blind drunk in the dormitory. Instead, a few of the girls from Gryffindor joined you in the kitchen while the house elves bustled around with cake and pumpkin juice; it had actually been a rather nice little party until the end, and you hadn't missed Sirius at all, though you wonder about your own birthday in a few weeks and whether you'll be stuck inside with the girls again.
Remus glances sideways at you through thick lashes, a tight grin on his face. "It'll be fun," he says, but his teeth are chattering. You laugh as he turns his head against a particularly fierce gale, then swear as a burst of blowing snow hits you square in the face, clouding your glasses.
"This is ridiculous," you mutter. Before you can clean them off, Remus has his wand out and casts a simple spell, clearing them for you. You mumble your thanks and duck your head as you continue into town, still walking close as you try to stay warm against one another.
There are not many other students out on the street, but when you get to the Three Broomsticks, you find them--all of them. The pub is packed full, with students standing around talking to friends and not a table in sight. This time Remus swears.
"Bloody hell, I thought more would stay in today."
"We can try the Hog's Head," you suggest, though you don't want really want to go back out. Remus shakes his head.
"It's freezing out there," he says, echoing your own thoughts. "And why would we do that when Lily's waving us over?" He waves back at her, but you grab his arm and pull it down, turning him around, urgently meeting his eyes.
"I'm not sitting with Evans," you hiss under your breath. Instead of being surprised at your vehemence, Remus merely raises an eyebrow.
"Had another row, then?"
"You could say that," you mutter, heading back toward the door. A row was probably the best way to describe the yelling, accusations, and jinxes exchanged after Remus's impromptu party. You might be pissed off at Sirius, but Evans had no right accusing you of having anything to do with what happened in Potions. No, Lily Evans was no longer an option or an interest: you'd spent most of the year forgetting about her, and getting your tongue locked to the roof of your mouth by the bitch had sealed her fate.
"But Prongs---the Hog's Head?" Remus moans as you head back into the cold.
"Would you rather try Madam Puddifoot's?" you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows at him. He bumps you in the shoulder with that look of exasperation you love pulling out of him. Then he stops and glances thoughtfully down the street toward the shop. You take his arm.
"I was joking, Moony," you say with a laugh, ignoring the strange flutter of nerves in your gut. "That's no place for two blokes to share a pudding."
"Got you," he murmurs as you hurry toward the Hog's Head.
"Prat," you return, but you don't really mean it. "First drink is on you for that."
Remus laughs, disentangling himself from your grip, and gives you a sly sideways glance. "And the next two are on you, for dragging me out again just because you can't share a table with Lily."
"We're not in a good place right now," you say as you enter the Hog's Head.
"You never were and never are." He laughs, and you have to smile ruefully, because he's right: you may have liked her for years, but she's never liked you. So it's best that you've given up and moved on. You've had a few good dates with other girls, and even a few good snogs (and then some). It still bothers you, though, that she continues to pick on you and assume the worst. Evans really doesn't know you at all, and if she did, she'd know you were much better than her worst assumptions.
Thoughts of Lily and Sirius slip away as you step into the dull, half-lit warmth of the Hog's Head. The floor is as dirty as ever, the pub itself only half-full, and none of them Hogwarts students at that. It'll have to do.
The barman gives you a disgruntled look, but throws an arm toward a table in the back. You settle down across from Remus and order two hot chocolates from the old witch who takes your order. You'd love something stronger, but you're freezing and you're not quite of age yet. Sirius could probably talk the old witch into bringing you something besides Buttebeer, but he's cleaning out the potions closet. When the witch arrives with two steaming mugs, Remus watches her leave before reaching into his robes and pulling out a flask.
"You didn't," you murmur, impressed at his foresight and daring. You should have thought of it yourself. He grins almost wickedly as he tips a bit of Firewhiskey into each cup, tucks the flask away, and raises his in a toast.
"Since we didn't really have a chance on my birthday," he says with a wink. "Being surrounded by house elves and all."
"Then another happy birthday to you," you say, tipping your mug toward him. "To good friends, and absent ones as well."
"You don't really mean that," he says, and tilting his head inquisitively. "Do you?" You take a long, deep pull at your drink--a strange mixture of chocolate and whiskey--and sigh.
"No, not at the moment. Well, I wouldn't mind if Pete had made it, but Sirius…" You trail off. Remus gives you a piercing look.
"We'll have to talk to him eventually," he says. "Work this out, move on."
"He's out of control," you reply. "He really hurt Pete with that prank." You pause and study Remus. "Has he talked to you about it?"
Remus is silent. He finishes his hot chocolate and orders another before he replies. "A bit. I think he's still smarting from what happened over Christmas, only he just doesn't know it."
You feel a pleasant warmth throughout your body as you empty your mug. "You mean leaving the house?" you ask, then motion for a second drink as well. Sirius had stormed out on Christmas and spent the holiday with your family. Yet it was only since returning to school that his behavior had completely fallen apart, as if he simply couldn't hold it together anymore.
"He's certain he'll be disinherited," replies Remus with a shrug. "Can't be easy, having a family like his."
"He's been taking it out on us long enough, though," you say. Remus nods, and over the course of several more mugs of steaming hot chocolate--each with a bit of Remus's flask tipped in--you struggle to figure out your complex relationship with Sirius and how to both mend it and help him. You also talk about Peter, tell Remus about your row with Lily, and worry a bit about seventh year, the war, and even your birthday. Soon the conversation doesn't even make sense: you are just laughing and talking and laughing some more, until the barman is giving you such irritated looks that you finally decide to head back to the castle.
It is still cold and windy, so much so that it blows you into Remus on more than one occasion. You stumble back up the lane toward Hogwarts, passing the flask carefully between you, until Remus trips over something--a stone, a patch of ice--and goes down flailing. He pulls you with him, so that you land in an undignified heap in a pile of snow, laughing uncontrollably. You actually fall on top of Remus, your face inches from his. He smells of cold and snow, Firewhiskey and chocolate, and just Remus. A sudden unexpected feeling fills your chest and moves lower, startling you so much you roll off and lay on your back, gazing at the sky and trying to catch your breath. You are too scared to look at Remus.
"That was different," he finally murmurs, and he is not looking at you either. You are not sure what he is referring to, so you offer a neutral reply.
"People fall," you say. "Especially when they're completely bladdered."
"Right," he repeats. "Completely bladdered."
You tell yourself that's why you feel the sudden urge to roll back toward Remus, to look into his eyes again and feel the warmth of his breath on your face. You tell yourself it's the Firewhiskey, but you know it's not.
And when Remus turns to gaze at you with the same confusion in his eyes, you know that he feels it too.
You make it back to the castle, still stumbling and laughing, but with a distant edge after that first tumble. You know he felt it too not because James is talking faster than normal, laughing more, and running his hand through his hair constantly; you know because he's walking so close to you, bumping into you but staying near, glancing sideways at you yet looking away every time you try to catch him. You wonder if he will say anything, but you realize it's James: he's your best mate and and bunk at things like that, especially since he's probably just as confused as you are.
Then again, you are both completely pissed, and while one corner of your brain is panicking at the thoughts the other side is having, that other side doesn't seem to mind and wants to just go with it. So you stumble along and push aside your doubts and just enjoy being there with him, free of the angst that has been plaguing you both for weeks in the form of Sirius.
"Moony?" asks James as you approach the steps to the castle. You turn toward him, trying not to lean toward him. You liked being close on the walk from the village; you feel cold whenever he steps away.
"What, Prongs?" you ask.
"I think we should use the cloak," he whispers, even though no one else is around.
"Why?" you ask. "It's Hogsmeade weekend, and we had permission to leave."
He mimes pouring the flask into his mouth, and you grin. "Right. Bit toasted, I guess. Do you have the map as well? We can find Pete and let him know what he missed."
James takes out the cloak and tosses it over you, moving closer so it covers you both. You can hear his breathing, suddenly quick and loud, and you can swear you feel the blood flowing through his veins, you are so aware of his body, his every move. He takes out the map, taps it, and squints. You lean in to look with him.
"Uh, Remus?" James says, clearing his throat.
"Yeah?" you ask, still trying to find Peter and even Sirius on the map.
"We've been under the cloak before, right?" When you nod, he continues. "Together?" You glance up, your heart skipping a beat for some inexplicable reason.
"Of course. We've been sneaking around since first year, all of us. How come?"
"Then why does this feel different?" he whispers, and he's so near you can almost feel the words from his lips press against yours.
"Because we're drunk?" you offer, although you are not sure you really believe it. He glances owlishly at you through his glasses and nods.
"Right. Must be. Come one, there's not that many people about. Let's just get back to Gryffindor." He tucks the map into his pocket, and you hurry away together, twisting and turning through the corridors and taking all the secret passages you know of to avoid bumping into any students or professors. You are on the fifth floor when a large group of girls--six of them, at least--appears at the opposite end of the corridor. One of them is Lily Evans, though she looks rather more bored than the rest. Both of you stop and stare; they will run into you for sure, as there simply isn't enough room for everyone to pass, not with the statue of Boris the Bewildered next to you.
"We have to get out of here," James hisses into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You almost turn toward him, until you suddenly realize just where you are.
"Cherry dungbombs!" you whisper to your left instead, and James glances at you as if you are mad. But the door to the prefect's bathroom opens, and you tumble in, putting your backs to the door as you listen to the girls trundle by. One set of footsteps pauses, but then someone calls Lily's name, and it is quiet. You both slide to the floor, bursting into hysterical laughter.
James finally takes the cloak off, and you are glad to be rid of the suffocating fabric. "So this is the prefect's bathroom," he says, glancing around. "Very nice, Moony. How come you've never shown us before?"
"Because you're not a prefect," you toss back. "And because you've never wanted to hide from a group of girls before."
"I told you, I had a row with Evans," James grumbles, letting his head fall back against the door. He reaches for your hand and grasps it in a strange sort of sideways handshake. "So thanks for getting us out of there."
He doesn't let go.
"You're welcome," you murmur, looking the other way. You feel the rough calluses from James's fingers tracing patterns on your palm and inhale sharply. "What are you doing, Prongs?" you ask, trying to sound light and unconcerned.
His eyes are half closed as he stares at your hands. Then it is as if a spell has broken, and he quickly lets go, even moves away. "I'm sorry," he says, wide-eyed. "I don't know what I was thinking. Something's just…well, different. With us."
You can't help but notice how he licks his lips as he speaks and wonder what is going on, because you've felt it too. "Spell?" you suggest. "Potion?"
"Do you think so?" he asks, staring into your eyes so intently you can't help but stare back, almost losing yourself in his hazel gaze. You shake your head.
"Not really, but whatever it is, it's mad."
"I swear I'd never thought about it before, Moony," he says, leaning close as if sharing a secret. "I'm not like that."
You can't help but snort. "Neither am I, mate. I'm supposed to study with Cynthia Morris tomorrow. I don't know what the hell is going on." But you find yourself leaning closer as well, thoughts you'd never had about James--James--swirling through your mind and almost setting your body on fire.
"Should we try it?" James asks, and you are impressed with his both vulnerability in asking and his openness in even thinking it. You are also confused: you've both had so much Firewhiskey--you had emptied the entire bottle into the flask, after all, and the flask is now quite empty--that it's likely just the influence of too much to drink and too much time together that is pulling you toward one another.
But you nod, a smile playing across your lips. James smiles back, and you lean in toward one another, awkward and unsure, not knowing what to expect. It couldn't be that different than kissing a girl, after all. Well, you both probably have a bit of stubble coming in, but that's all. Lips are lips, tongues are tongues. Friends are friends, why shouldn't friends have a good snog once in a while?
And that thought sends you off into fits of laughter, so that just before your lips meet James pulls back, opening his eyes and looking at you with obvious embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "What's so funny? Did you change your mind already? I'm pretty good at this, if I do say so myself."
You laugh even harder, but James just sits there, looking hurt, until finally he stands, ending whatever was going to happen.
"Fine. Forget it ever happened," he says. "Let's go."
You reach up and take his hand, pulling him down until he sits next to you once more. You stop laughing and take a deep breath. Bringing your hands up uncertainly, you carefully take off James's glasses, hoping he doesn't see how much you are now shaking. You set them aside, then run a thumb over his lower lip. His pupils are dark and wide and you can see how fast he is breathing again.
"It didn't happen," you say softly. "So there's nothing to forget…yet." And you lean over and kiss him, placing your lips gently against his in case this is the maddest thing you've ever done and need to end it quickly. But it feels nice, and he quickly responds, and so you continue, your hand coming up to his face on its own as he cups your head from behind and brings you closer.
And then his tongue is in your mouth, and you don't know what's going on anymore. James is as good as he said, because you gasp and want to moan, but that might mean stopping, and you don't want to stop. James kneels, taking you with him and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him. You can feel his excitement and respond in kind. Your hips rub against one another and soon your hands roam freely, right there in front of the door, snogging like there is no tomorrow.
He is your best friend, but everything is suddenly so different. What is he now?