"The bad news is that I think I might have fallen ridiculously, head-over-heels, Prongs-for-Lily, nauseatingly in love with you. The worse news is that it took Marlene McKinnon's lips to tell me that."

Remus was really astoundingly drunk. Impressively, astonishingly drunk, with a side of bastard to go with the mix. He'd gotten himself tossed out of the bar approximately half an hour prior and he'd set himself at walking toward his flat immediately thereafter.

"Oh MERLIN. STOP WRIGGLING OR I'LL HEX YOU! This is a rule. There is a KNICKERS RULE!"

James was pink from head to toe, and from what Remus could see, it was the same exact color all over--not like a sunburn with varying shades, but a solid stomach-medicine hue, vaguely nauseating in and of itself. It had to be Charmwork. Advanced Charmwork from the looks of it--magic that no regular first year ought to have known. Which narrowed the field to James--who was predisposed to magic; Sirius--who was predisposed to mischief; Remus--who was predisposed to reading; or Snape.

"You spiked the tea again." Remus is grumbling the minute they get outside, peering into the depths of their flask with an expression of fast-impending doom that tea doesn't often warrant.

Maybe he’s just used to it now, and whatever he does to himself, it’s nothing new (he’s been broken, bruised, grazed, scratched, blinded, bleeding, twisted, dislocated and split more times than he can remember), or maybe it’s just the way Sirius sits on the end of his bed, complimenting his scars and suggesting what they can do next full moon before this one’s even waned yet, enthusiasm in his eyes and his hands only shaking slightly as he turns to go.

A lovesick Sirius is a desperate thing, and Remus Lupin insists on being oblivious.

Some people press their memories between pages of scrapbooks; others have fancy photographs that wave and dance. Sirius has music.

Remus doesn't own his body, after all -- so why should he care who else does?

Sirius won't remember why he does it, or five gin and tonics, or the curve of her mouth when she laughs, just like he won't remember the dull, low ache theme:alcohol lends to the conversation, until Lily can't stop laughing and he can't stop things spilling from his mouth, like pearls and diamonds in one of those wretched fairy tales.

A late night visit to the Restricted Section turns up a strange book. Remus and Sirius find their slow tug of attraction turning into a dizzying collision course.

"Come on, Padfoot," James pleaded, grabbing him by the shoulders. "What does it matter if you see her before the wedding? Won't do anything to your future life and happiness."

War is coming, and Narcissa is scared for Draco. So she turns to the only person she can think of – Sirius Black.