All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Sixth Year : Confrontation

Bastard, Sirius thought, as he stormed through the corridors, Bloody fucking bastard! He shoved into the boy’s loos—which were thankfully empty—and ripped off the invisibility cloak, stuffing it under his robes.

What the utter fuck was Remus playing at?? Fucking—snogging other blokes, when he knew Sirius was watching—what kind of bloody mind game was he playing? Sirius clenched his fists, wishing he could punch something. Or, more specifically, someone.

It was dinnertime, but Sirius didn’t go to the Great Hall. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest; his stomach was all twisted into knots. And besides, he doubted that he could sit across a table from Remus without biting his head off. If he had to watch Moony sip pumpkin juice and act like everything was fine, he would probably scream.

So he went back to the dorm. He still had an emergency stash of fags that he’d nicked from Emmeline somewhere in the bottom of his trunk, and after a few moments of digging Sirius managed to unearth them. He went down to the common room to smoke, where he could flick the cigarette butts into the fire.

Christopher—really? Fucking Christopher? What did Remus see in him? He was such a gormless little tosser, always turning up his nose whenever anyone tried to have a bit of fun in his presence. And he was so bloody boring. Even his name was forgettable! Sirius lit another cigarette, bouncing his leg as he inhaled.

And that conversation—what the bloody hell had that been? It certainly sounded as though the two of them had some sort of history, even though it had ended with Remus…rejecting Chris? Reminding him that they were just mates? Sirius snorted. Right—he had been mates with Remus, too, and look at how that had turned out.

We’ll always be friends, Padfoot…

He was on his third cigarette when the portrait door swung open, and a crowd of students began to push in. Sirius stiffened, sucking hard on his fag and staring straight ahead at the fire.

“Alright, Black?” Came Mary’s cheerful voice, from over his shoulder.

“Yeah, fine.” He didn’t turn around, still watching the embers glow in the grate. She came to stand beside him.

“Weren’t hungry?”

“Nope.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, tasting ash on the back of his tongue.

“Ah,” Mary gave him a wry look, half-turning to exchange a glance with their friends, “In one of your moods, I see.”

Fuck off, Sirius wanted to spit—but didn’t. It wasn’t Mary he was angry at; she didn’t deserve his wrath. But he couldn’t very well stand up and throttle Remus in the middle of the common room—at least, not without people asking a few questions.

Still, he entertained the thought. Particularly when Christopher returned, and Remus hurried over to him immediately, asking how some prefect’s meeting had gone.

Oh, Sirius thought, watching from the corner of his eye as the two boys cosied up in the window seat at the back of the room, Must’ve been the opera. He’d been so wrapped up in his anger that he’d nearly forgotten the reason he’d been hiding in the Charms classroom in the first place—he and James had enchanted all the suits of armour on the fifth floor to sing a few select numbers from L’Orfeo (a proper classic).