All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Seventh Year : Legacy ( Part 1 )

The warmth of your love

Is like the warmth of the sun

And this will be our year

Took a long time to come

Don’t let go of my hand

Now darkness has gone

And this will be our year

Took a long time to come

 

“You could nick it, bet it wouldn’t be hard.” Sirius suggested, watching Remus stare into the trophy case. “Just vanish the glass for a second.”

“Professor Flitwick would notice.” Remus said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Or one of the Ravenclaws.”

“Nah,” Sirius grinned, catching the other boy’s eye in the reflection of the glass, “No one’ll miss it.”

“I think,” Remus said slowly, turning back to the duelling trophy, “Lyall would have preferred it to stay put. This way there’s always a piece of him at Hogwarts.”

“Ahh, have you gone all soppy because it’s the last week?” Sirius nudged him, teasing. But Remus just smiled, softly, and said,

“Yeah, a bit.”

Sirius chuckled fondly, leaning in and admitting,

“Me too.”

Remus shook his head. “Come on then, I’m hungry. Lunch.”

They made their way down towards the Great Hall, side by side. McGonagall had stuck Remus in detention every night since the quidditch game as punishment for his foul-mouthed commentary, but other than that things had been very quiet since NEWTs finally ended. Everyone was in a bit of a funny mood, trying to relax and enjoy the freedom from schoolwork while also ignoring the looming summer and what came after—adult life, whatever that meant.

“We’re not leaving anything behind.” Remus said, out of nowhere, as a group of girls trotted past and batted their eyelashes flirtatiously at him.

“Eh?” Sirius watched the girls walk by—ever since Remus’s infamous quidditch commentary, he’d been getting looks from all sides of the castle. Remus, mistaking his distraction, reached over and flicked his ear.

“Ow!” Sirius frowned at him, defensively, “They were looking at you, Remus ‘fuck-me-we-won’ Lupin. What were you saying?”

“We won’t be leaving anything behind, like Lyall’s trophy.”

“James and I are on the quidditch cup. And Prongs is Head Boy, doesn’t that get recorded somewhere? And Peter won that chess tournament.”

“Oh, yeah. Must just be me, then.” Remus said, sounding very sorry for himself.

“Er…there’s the Whomping Willow?” Sirius suggested.

Remus tutted and rolled his eyes, clearly not satisfied with leaving nothing behind except an unusually violent tree. Sirius didn’t see why—he thought that sounded much cooler than a boring old trophy.