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It had been a long couple days. They were still just figuring out what they were to each other, without the intrusion of anyone else’s knowledge of it. Remus hadn’t asked Sirius to be his boyfriend yet, though he knew the pressure of it building in his throat was going to result in it being expelled with prejudice, likely at an inopportune time.
They were still hiding it from James and Pete, too. Sneaking off to broom closets to snog for a few minutes, creeping into each other’s beds at night long after the other two had drifted off to sleep, squeezing each other’s hand every morning under the breakfast table.
Today, at the end of those long couple days, Sirius stood atop the Gryffindor table at breakfast. Loudly, he cleared his throat, clinking with his fork on the glass of pumpkin juice that he had stolen from Remus until every eye in the Great Hall was on him.
“When Gryffindor wins the match against Slytherin this afternoon – shut up, Yaxley, we’re going to toss your arse like a salad – I intend to dramatically snog the creature of my affection and I will be taking bets on who exactly you think that is. Winner gets the pot.”
The Hall had erupted into a frenzy that even McGonagall couldn’t quiet. Knuts and Sickles that were charmed with various names were being forced into Sirius’ hand, and Sirius handed them all to Remus, who caught on rather quickly that he needed to start a ledger.
Most of the coins had Marlene’s name etched into them (which Remus thought was kind of hilarious, since she had been dating Dorcas for the better part of the last year), but some had names that Remus had never even heard, which he thought might be more wishful thinking. A couple even said James Potter, which pleased Sirius to no end. James, not quite so much.
Remus was only a little irritated by this turn of events. Of course, he knew who Sirius was going to snog (Sirius barred him from placing his own bet), and Sirius certainly did love a show of dramatics, so Remus wasn’t irritated at Sirius. No, he was irritated at the girls who thought they had a chance, the girls who backed Sirius into corridors to analyze his behavior toward them.
So, Remus hatched a plan of his own. After all, he was the Quidditch commentator.
It started innocently enough. He began the game announcing Sirius’ wager system, surveying the spectators around him to find out who the favourite was (it was still mostly Marlene, and Marlene looked totally amused by it. Dorcas, not quite so much). But as Remus found himself getting carried away with the game, so too did he get carried away with Sirius. It was nearing the end of the game and Remus hadn’t gotten to say all the things he wanted to say.
“Black has possession of the Quaffle, he races toward the Slytherin goal, and might I add that he looks rather fetching from the rear position, if I do say so myself,” Remus smirked as whispering began to increase around him. McGonagall nudged him in the ribs.
“Sorry, Professor,” Remus acknowledged. “Black is intercepted by Yaxley, who is attempting to wrench the Quaffle right out of Black’s fingertips. Good Godric, look at the definition of those shoulders, Sirius obviously has the upper hand in muscle prowess.”
One more sharp glance from McGonagall, but Remus pretended not to notice. “Black has taken back the Quaffle and evaded Yaxley, but not without working himself into a sweat. Yes, there’s quite an attractive sheen on the back of his neck, his soft, black hair clinging to it in a way that is reminiscent of a very long and very strenuous roll in the sack.”
McGonagall was actively trying to tear the microphone from Remus’ hands. “Sorry, Professor, I’m just calling it the way I see it!” he shouted in half-hysterics as the Gryffindor stands erupted into laughter. Remus refused to give up his control, still struggling against McGonagall as he continued to call the game. “Black races past with a fury, bent low over that broom to give us peasants an undeserving view of the perfection of his shapely arse.”
The Gryffindors weren’t just laughing now, they were chanting Remus’ name in his effort to keep announcing. Without a thought, he climbed out of the box with his microphone in hand, balancing with one hand gripped tight to the railing, his feet sticking into the open slats.
“Black moves lithely toward the goal with powerful thighs that you would be grateful to be strangled by, his arm tensed to toss the Quaffle, and …” Remus paused as Sirius throws the Quaffle with an effortless grace that Remus had come to expect. It goes in. The Gryffindor cheers threaten to deafen the entirety of the crowd, and Remus can’t help but join in the victory.
“Black scores!” he shouted with a wild, breathless grin as Sirius looks back at him with a triumphant, beaming smile. “Look at that smile, ladies and Gryffindors! The smile of a man who knows what he’s got and knows how to use it. Godric Gryffindor, does he know how to use it.”
It almost looked like a blush crept over Sirius’ cheeks, and it prompted Remus to press forward, despite the ever-lengthening grasp of McGonagall’s sharp fingernails. “There is not a sight on Earth, Magic or Muggle, that can compete with the smile of Sirius Orion.” With a hum, he reconsidered his stance, getting ready to admit something rather incriminating. “Well, there might be one sight that could compete for that honor and that is Sirius Orion naked.”
The commotion in the Gryffindor stands had reached a fever pitch as McGonagall went quite red in the face. “I’ll be happy to describe it to you, Quidditch fans, because it is a sight that makes you feel blessed to behold.” Remus leaned further from the box as McGonagall tried another swipe at him, the muscles of his arm tense and tight. “A waist longer than the History of Magic, thighs thicker than the trunk of the Whomping Willow, and …” he paused, trying to decide if he was going to admit this out loud, but he saw Sirius’ attention enthusiastically waiting for him to speak the truth they’d been hiding, “a cock the size of the Giant Squid’s tentacles.”
With the Gryffindors screaming and whooping and cheering around him, Remus leaned back in with an arrogant grin, letting McGonagall grip him by the robes and drag him back into the announcing box. She was totally wordless, but the color of her cheeks spoke volumes.
At that moment, a single arm shot into the air, a Seeker’s fingers clenched tightly around a quivering golden Snitch, and the game was over. Gryffindor had won. Of course, Remus couldn’t announce that because he had been barred from possession of the microphone.
When Sirius flew over to the box, Remus leaned forward, despite the hold that McGonagall had on his robes. Their lips collided feverishly as Sirius slipped his hand around Remus’ neck, pulling him in deeper, delving his tongue into Remus’ mouth. Suddenly, Remus couldn’t hear the chanting of ‘Go, Go, Gryffindor’ around him, nor the shouting of his name in congratulations. All he could hear were the indecent whispers on Sirius’ lips, breathed out into Remus’ mouth, cataloguing all the things Sirius was going to do to him that night.
And about the bet? Only one person got it right. Lily Evans took the pot.