CONFESSION

 

It’s almost beautiful, Remus thinks, the way Sirius Black looks when he’s embarrassed and is trying to make a confession.  His mouth tight, top teeth over bottom lip, his eyes wandering downwards, glancing up.  No one sees this look but Remus.  To anyone else, Sirius will not admit his faults, but for Remus, he tries.  That’s what Remus thinks is very nearly beautiful.

            Sirius has that look now, although Remus doesn’t know yet what he’s guilty of. They are sitting in the library, doing homework.  And the strange thing is, both of them are actually working.  Most days, Sirius is talking, or writing dirty notes, or planning a new prank, while Remus is doing work for the two of them.  But today Sirius is quiet, writing on his scroll and listening to Remus’ occasional grunts and ah ha’s.  As nice as it is for some peace and quiet (oh, Remus is reveling in it!), it is quite unnatural for Sirius Black to be so subdued.  Which is why Remus finally has to say:

            “Something wrong?”

            Sirius’s head whips up.  He looks like Prongs caught in the headlights of a Muggle car.  Remus almost chuckles, but decides this might be a Serious Matter, and doesn’t.

            “No,” Sirius says a little too quickly.  “Certainly not.”

            “All right, then.” 

Remus continues writing.  He sneaks a look at his friend’s face, which is more worried than ever.  He smiles a little.

            “Oh, you know that’s not true,” Sirius says.  He brings his head up to look Remus in the eye and moves closer next to him.  When he speaks, it’s in a whisper, as they are in the library after all.  “It’s just…well… MoonyIthinkIlikeyou.”

            They stare at each other.  Sirius’ eyes are afraid and his chest is moving up and down, pulling in air, faster than is normal.  Remus blinks.  

            “Um, well, I like you, too, Pads.”

            “No,” Sirius says.  “You don’t understand; I didn’t say it right.  What I mean is….”  He takes a deep breath and the fear leaves his eyes.  He reaches out and places his icy cold fingers on the back of Remus’ hand.  “I love you.”

            Again, they sit looking at each other in silence.  Remus feels that Sirius’ fingers are five hundred and ten pounds one minute and the next, weightless.  His eyes drift from Sirius’ raised chin of confidence down to his hands.  They are long and thin, elegant piano-player fingers.  His nails are shiny and his hand unusually clean, perhaps for lack of schoolwork. 

            “Erm,” Remus says, feeling very warm.  He looks out at the seemingly infinite shelves of books.  There are several students reading and the librarian is at her desk, writing something.  And then there’s that declarative sentence lingering in the air like an interrogative without its proper punctuation mark. 

            “That wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for, but—”

            Remus turns his hand over under Sirius’ fingers.  Sirius’ mouth tightens and turns into a little smile.  He slides his hand up so their palms are touching.  Remus gives the briefest squeeze, smiling. 

            “Erm,” Sirius says.  It’s very nearly beautiful.