It started, like many things between Sirius and Remus, with a bet.
They were in the Gryffindor common room, the hour late enough that only the Marauders and a few upper-year stragglers remained. James was lazily flipping a Snitch between his fingers, Peter was attempting to teach himself how to do card tricks and failing miserably, and Sirius—well, Sirius was bored. And when Sirius Black was bored, chaos usually followed.
“I’m so bored I could kiss someone,” Sirius declared dramatically, flopping backward over the arm of the couch, his legs dangling in the air like a cat who had never heard of dignity.
Remus didn’t look up from his book. “Then go find someone to kiss. I hear the Bloody Baron’s free.”
“That’s cold, Moony,” Sirius said, mock-offended. “You wound me.”
James snorted, catching the Snitch again. “You’re always going on about kissing, Sirius. Bet you couldn’t even make Moony blush.”
Remus’ eyes flicked upward for the briefest of seconds. “Please don’t make this a thing.”
But it was already too late.
Sirius sat up like a wolf catching the scent of prey. “Is that a challenge, Prongs?”
James grinned. “Bet you a Galleon you can’t do it.”
Sirius smirked, a slow, dangerous thing. “Watch me.”
Remus sighed and snapped his book shut. “I hate all of you.”
Remus was late to Charms the next morning. He slipped into the classroom quietly, hoping not to draw attention. He found a spot next to Sirius, who had—oddly—saved him a seat.
“Morning, sunshine,” Sirius said with a grin so wide it should have been illegal.
Remus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being weird.”
“No, you’re intentionally weird. That’s worse.”
“Just trying to brighten your day.”
Remus eyed him suspiciously, but the class began before he could question it further. Sirius behaved unusually well—taking notes (or at least pretending to), passing Remus his quill when he dropped his own, and even whispering helpful corrections during their paired practice.
By the time class ended, Remus was thoroughly suspicious. As they walked out, Sirius leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Nice jumper. Brings out your eyes.”
Remus blinked. “Did you just—compliment me?”
Sirius shrugged and smiled. “Is it working?”
Remus stared. “Working for what?”
Remus walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and found his plate already loaded with his favorite things. The others were seated, snickering quietly.
Sirius beamed. “Made sure you got the good bacon before James devoured it all.”
Remus squinted at him. “You never serve anyone but yourself.”
“Thought I’d try something new.”
James snorted into his pumpkin juice.
Remus sat, cautiously poking at the food. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”
Peter coughed loudly and muttered something about “owls” and “library fines.”
Sirius leaned his chin on his hand, smiling at Remus like he hung the bloody moon. “Can’t I just appreciate you, Moony?”
Remus stared at him. “No.”
But despite himself, a blush crept up his neck. He ducked his head, pretending to butter his toast.
James kicked Sirius under the table and mouthed, one point.
Remus was in the library, blissfully alone, until Sirius appeared and dropped a chocolate bar onto his open book.
“Peace offering,” Sirius said.
Remus looked up. “For what?”
“For whatever crime I’m inevitably going to commit to make you blush again.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “So you admit it.”
Sirius winked. “You’re clever, Moony. But I’m determined. Also, I have chocolate.”
Sirius plopped into the chair across from him and unwrapped his own chocolate. “Ridiculously charming, maybe.”
Remus huffed. “That’s debatable.”
“You’re debating it, though. That’s a start.”
Remus tried to focus on his textbook, but he could feel Sirius’ eyes on him the entire time. It wasn’t even the challenge that bothered him now—it was how convincing Sirius was. Like maybe he meant it.
Like maybe he wasn’t just trying to win a Galleon.
Remus was halfway through brushing his teeth when Sirius burst into the dormitory wearing nothing but a towel and his usual overconfidence.
“Morning, Moony,” he said, stretching, towel threatening to slip.
He did, however, choke on his toothpaste.
Sirius grinned. “You alright there, mate?”
Remus spat into the sink. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Death by attractive roommate? Not a bad way to go.”
“You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”
“I was being subtle?” Sirius asked, genuinely surprised.
Remus glared. Sirius just laughed and sauntered off, towel swinging.
James called from behind the curtains of his bed, “That was a two-pointer, easy.”
They were out by the lake, lying on the grass. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low and the sky tinged gold. James and Peter had gone back inside, but Sirius and Remus lingered.
“I’m calling off the bet,” Remus said suddenly, not looking at him.
Sirius propped himself up on one elbow. “You’re surrendering?”
“I’m just—tired. I don’t like being messed with.”Sirius frowned. “I’m not messing with you.”
Remus finally turned his head. “Then what are you doing?”
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. “Trying to figure out if I can tell you the truth without ruining everything.”
Remus sat up. “That’s not cryptic at all.”
Sirius laughed softly. “I like you, Moony. Not just in a mate way. In a ‘bloody hell, he looks good even when he’s correcting my grammar’ way.”
Sirius looked up at him, eyes more vulnerable than Remus had ever seen them. “I made the bet to hide it. Because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. But then I kept doing things, and you kept almost blushing, and I realized—I didn’t care about the bet anymore. I just wanted to keep making you look at me like that.”
Remus blinked. “Like what?”
“Like I’m not a total lost cause.”
Remus didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and touched Sirius’ wrist.
“I thought you were flirting to win a Galleon,” he said. “So I tried not to blush.”
Sirius’ mouth twitched. “Tried and failed a few times.”
Remus smiled, small and shy. “I like you too, you idiot.”
And that was it. That was the thing that finally made Remus blush, right down to the tips of his ears.
Sirius saw it and grinned. “Told you I could do it.”
Remus leaned in close. “You earned that one. No bet.”
Then he kissed him, soft and sure, and Sirius forgot all about the Galleon.
The Galleon sat in the center of the Marauders’ dormitory table for two full days, untouched.
James stared at it like it might sprout legs and walk off.
“You’re not going to take it?” he asked finally.
Sirius, lying upside down on his bed, a quill dangling from his mouth, gave a distracted, “Hmm?”
“The Galleon. You won, didn’t you? Moony blushed so hard he looked like a tomato.”
Remus, from his corner, muttered, “Still here, thanks.”
Sirius rolled over, letting the quill fall to the floor. “Keep it, Prongs. You need the money more than I do.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You’re being disgustingly noble, which makes me think this is less about the bet and more about the fact that you’re dating him now.”
Remus choked on his tea. “We’re not—”
Sirius sat up. “We’re not?”
Remus gave him a look, and Sirius smiled like he’d been told Christmas was coming early.
“Oh,” James said, smirking. “So we are.”
Peter finally looked up from his magazine. “Are what?”
“Like, more than snogging,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.
Remus groaned and buried his face in his book. “This is going to be unbearable, isn’t it?”
James grinned. “Unbearably adorable.”
The first few days were awkward in the way only teenage feelings could be. Sirius kept catching himself reaching for Remus’ hand in hallways. Remus kept pretending he hadn’t noticed. They sat a little closer, talked a little softer, smiled a little more.
It was like learning to walk all over again—except this time, every step risked falling face-first into each other.
One evening in the common room, Sirius leaned against Remus on the couch, legs thrown over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Tell me a secret,” he said.
Remus didn’t look up from his book. “That’s not how secrets work.”
“Come on. One little Moony secret.”
Remus glanced at him. “I’ve already kissed you. Isn’t that enough vulnerability for one lifetime?”
Sirius poked his side. “Please.”
Remus sighed. “Fine. I hated you, third year.”
“Your hair was longer than mine and shinier. I found it offensive.”
Sirius grinned. “So you have noticed my hair.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Regretting this already.”
The war crept closer with each headline.
But between the cracks of chaos, life still happened: Remus and Sirius walked to class side by side, fingers barely brushing. Sirius would lean in during breakfast, whispering ridiculous theories about McGonagall’s secret punk band. Remus would laugh with his whole face.
They kissed in quiet corners and behind curtains in the library, hearts racing like they were still afraid to want this, to name it. But wanting didn’t care what they were ready for. It took root anyway.
One night in the Astronomy Tower, Sirius brought a blanket and a bottle of something purloined from the kitchens.
Remus lay beside him, watching the stars. “We’re not the same boys we were in first year.”
Sirius turned to look at him. “No. We’re braver now.”
“Or in love,” Sirius said, without fanfare.
Remus was silent for a long time.
Then: “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I do.” Sirius pulled the blankets up around both of them. “You’re the least dangerous person I know.”
Remus gave him a skeptical look. “You do realize you’re in love with a werewolf, right?”
Sirius smiled, brushing a kiss into his hair.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “And he’s in love with me too.”
Graduation came in a blur. War didn’t wait. They joined the Order. Got assignments. Saw friends fall.
But they also got each other.
James and Lily moved into Godric’s Hollow. Peter drifted.
Remus and Sirius found the flat by accident—a “To Let” sign crooked in a dusty bookshop window. Sirius insisted. Remus resisted. Then he caved, as he always did when Sirius looked at him like that.
They bought mismatched dishes. Painted one wall blue. Burnt a dozen meals. Grew a life, not despite the war, but defiantly in the middle of it.
The first time Remus says “our place”, Sirius almost drops his mug.
They're in a tiny flat two floors above a Muggle bookstore, the walls still bare, the furniture a chaotic mix of secondhand charm and whatever James and Lily could sneak past Mrs. Potter without her noticing. The place smells like dust and cloves and something that might be hope.
Sirius is sitting cross-legged on the floor, unpacking books into haphazard stacks while Remus stands by the window, shirtless, steaming tea in hand. The late-afternoon sun makes the scars on his back glow like cracks in glass.
“So,” Remus says casually, “we’ll need a charm for the front door if we’re going to keep Order files in our place.”
Remus freezes. “Did I say—?”
They both go still for a moment.
They argued. A lot. Sirius left towels everywhere. Remus read too much and spoke too little when he was stressed. But they always found their way back to each other in the end.
Love didn’t erase the hard parts. But it anchored them.
One night, Sirius asked, "If I died tomorrow, what would you want me to know?"
Remus didn’t hesitate. "That you made everything make sense. That you are loved. Without condition."
Sirius kissed him until the words stuck.
They got missions. Dangerous ones. They came back to each other, every time.
"Bet you a Galleon we make it out," Sirius
The war ended the way most storms do—not all at once, but in slow, broken breaths.
Not vanished, not destroyed, not forgotten. But gone enough that Death Eaters started hiding instead of hunting, and the Order stopped whispering at night.
Sirius and Remus returned to the flat with dirt under their nails and blood still dried at the collars of their robes. Neither said anything for a long time. They sat on the floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, knees touching.
“Did we win?” Sirius asked eventually, voice low.
Remus let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I think we just survived.”
The weeks that followed were strange. A blur of funerals and debriefs and the weird, guilty freedom of not having to look over your shoulder anymore.
They slept through most of it.
Remus took to waking up before Sirius just to watch him breathe. He'd sit in the window with a book, not really reading, sipping cold tea while sunlight tried to warm the hardwood floor. Sometimes Sirius would roll over and mumble something—always soft, always half-conscious—and Remus would smile into his mug.
One day, Sirius walked in from the post with a small box.
“I bought us mugs,” he said, holding them up.
One said Mr. Moony. The other said Mr. Padfoot.
Remus blinked. “Are you proposing?” Sirius grinned. “Not unless you want me to".
There was a beat. A pause. A choice.
Remus leaned against the table. "Ask me when you mean it. always mean it".
So Sirius did. That night, over burnt curry and half-drunk wine, sitting in pajama bottoms and old t-shirts.
“Marry me,” he said, holding out the same mug.
They didn’t sign papers. They didn’t wear rings. They just started saying “our place” and “our bed” and “I love you” in the kinds of ways that made it clear they meant forever.
Sirius cooked breakfast. Remus made the tea. They learned to dance slowly in the kitchen, even when there was no music. Sometimes they talked about the war. Sometimes they didn’t. Healing didn’t ask for a straight line.
One night, Remus sat beside him on the fire escape, blanket around their shoulders.
"Do you think we deserve this?” he asked.
Sirius nudged their knees together. “We made it. That’s enough.”
Remus leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “I used to think I wouldn’t survive this.”
That winter, snow fell thick and slow over the city. Their flat smelled like cinnamon and dust. The world was still bruised, but it was turning. They lit candles at the windows and stayed up late reading to each other. They kissed quietly, like they were still learning how.
“Bet you a Galleon,” Remus murmured one night as Sirius pulled him close in bed, “that we’ll still be here in fifty years.” Sirius laughed into his collarbone.
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