All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Fifth Year : Gentleman

By the time they’d managed to sneak, successfully, back into their dorm, all of Sirius’s excited energy had drained away. With the adrenaline used up, there was no shield against the weight of exhaustion. His body seemed to realize, suddenly (and with quite a bit of resentment), that he had kept it up all night, and began immediately to demand that he do something to rectify this situation. Sirius couldn’t stop yawning as they walked up the stairs.

“Don’t you want to change?” James asked, as he collapsed onto his bed, still fully dressed.

“Mmmmph.”

“Those clothes are going to stink when you wake up.”

“Mrrgghgh.“

James tutted disapprovingly, but pressed no further. Sirius buried his head in his pillow, nestling into the blankets. They were warm, and soft, and heavy, and in no time at all, he was asleep.

In his dream, he was running. The woods fizzed and blurred around him—it was summer, it was winter, it was spring. He was chasing something, something intoxicating—clove and parchment and burnt sugar. He was the dog, and then he wasn’t, and then he was again. The moon was swollen in the sky, bloated, and when he howled it cracked open like an eggshell, bursting. Snowflakes kissed his eyelashes, melting on his skin.

He woke up.

Sirius was in his bedroom, back in Grimmauld Place. He blinked, disoriented. How had he gotten here? He could have sworn he’d gone to bed in Gryffindor tower...what month was it?

On his walls, the muggle girls stared at him, puckering their lips and posing. The moonlight cast shadows, turning their coy smiles into something more sinister—something almost derisive, as if they were saying, We know something you don’t. Sirius shivered, and realized he wasn’t alone.

The body next to him groaned, shifting. Strong arms tugged him back into the blankets, skin fever-hot, clove and parchment and burnt sugar. Sirius inhaled, deeply, and the body began to move in a way that sent heat crackling up and down his spine. On the walls, the girls continued smiling.

“Wait—”

Sirius tried to pull back, but he felt hazy, languid and slow. He didn’t want to stop. On the posters, the girls began to move.

“Wait, hang on—” he tried again, fumbling for words, “They’re watching.” The body beside him laughed.

“Nobody’s watching,” the familiar voice murmured, “Come back...”

Sirius came awake gasping, sweating, heat still coiled in his abdomen. He shoved the blankets off, then yanked them back on as he noticed the evidence of the dream, extremely grateful to his past self for having the energy to draw the curtains around his bed before passing out.

“Sirius?” James’s voice came from just outside his bed, “You awake?”

Sirius groaned, heart still pounding as he flopped back onto his pillows. James laughed.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, you’re going to miss lunch!”

“Just go without me,” Sirius called back, “I’ll raid the kitchens later.”

Without warning, James poked his head behind the curtains—Sirius sat up quickly, scrambling to readjust the blankets.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes blinking owlishly behind his spectacles.