If it's Remus and Sirius, then somehow it's okay.

How it happened, from beginning to end, from the man who started it all.

NEED-

-e.l. icicles
-explo. snowb. globes (legal???)
-tenenbaum treacle
-HONEYDUKES, raid at
-Carol Card f/Mum
-tree? appro. trimmings? garland???
-green
-lights (candles, pixies, fire, etc.)
-exploding things in gen.

and also

-hairclips (sparkly kind, green, f/LE)

Repeat after me, Mr. Black: I do believe in commas. I do, I do.

In which Sirius is possibly naked, and Remus' mind is not the safest place to be.

"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."

We’re secondary characters in a children’s fantasy series. Remus doesn’t like the name but we’re calling this little group PISSA. Means Popular and Ill-treated Slash Ships Anonymous.

James wasn't stupid, and he was mostly quick. Four weeks, he'd counted. It'd taken him four weeks total to realize what exactly had happened and manage not to yell, "You bloody tart!" at Sirius.

Sirius kept forgetting to charge his meter. And so, with London melting through the windowpanes of his modest flat, he and Remus were resigned to drinking the beer before it went warm, and feeling summer seep in through the walls.

It wasn't always like that. Because when Dumbledore had paused before the cluster of four boys--and they were still boys, Sirius knew now--on their last day at Hogwarts, and told them that they were bound for extraordinary things, he'd been right.

Remus meets Sirius on the Hogwarts Express when Sirius' piano falls on his foot.

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.

You truly notice him for the first time that day, and you aren't ready for it.

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

"Look. You're a brilliant person. But if you don't stop babbling about this blasted present, I swear on my great-grandfather's most unholy and thrice-damned name that I will Silence you for the rest of your life."

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.

James Potter était assis à son bureau et corrigeait des copies. Lorsqu’il arriva à « Lily Evans », il sourit de toutes ses dents, sourire de séducteur qui lui avait permis de tomber tant de filles jusque là et, ne prenant même pas la peine de lire la copie, il y plaça un gros « D » à l’encre rouge (il ne s’en servait que pour les Serpentard). Cette rouquine l’énervait au plus haut point. Voilà un mois qu’elle jouait la Miss je sais tout dans son cours. Si elle croyait se le mettre dans la poche de cette manière là, elle se fourrait le doigt dans l’œil madame la préfète.

One day, Sirius notices how attractive Remus’ girlfriend is.

Six hours stuck in a closet with someone you love -- it's the best kind of hell imaginable.

Remus' arms twist behind his head, curved slightly at the elbows and crossed at the wrists. Black velvet secures him to the bed, thin strips that bite delicately just above the bone, whispering softly over his skin as he tries to move.

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.

"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.

"I won't stay just because you think you'll be lonely."

I mean, when the love of your best friend's life comes to you and says, oi, Sirius, your godson's got to get signed up for Hogwarts, of course you say yes, Lily, indeed he does.

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

Beneath his bed were the socks that time had forgotten, a pair of briefs which he deemed fitting victim for his rage, and were quickly reduced to scraps of unrecognizable fabric, and a few stray dust bunnies that had eluded the house elves. He stayed there for some time, amusing himself by creating scenarios in which when he finally emerged, the world outside had ceased to exist, everyone had had their minds erased, or Sirius Black and James Potter had grown immense bunny ears on their arses and everyone forgot about the underwear's damming songs in their amusement.

How Sirius saved Christmas and why Remus is actually illiterate.

"It's a chickenpox because of all the poxes in all the world, it's the weakest. Chicken-hearted blighter."

It's the day before Remus' nineteenth birthday, and Sirius is at an utter gift-giving loss.

Harry acquires some new photos of the Marauders, and with them more information than he’d counted on.

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

Remus looked out the window skeptically, noting the disrepair of the roof and the dirt crusting the windows. It hardly seemed the sort of house to be in need of a tutor for a young gentleman. More likely to need a carpenter and a good charwoman, Remus thought.

Raven sipped also, and wiped his mouth with a finger. The boy turned the cup over, pouring the rest onto the ground; it spun through the air back to Moon Queen, who laid it again on the table. Herne glanced at Hare, who was almost trembling with excitement. It barely took a shove from the green-masked boy to send him running for the trees, and Herne started after him, but a few quick notes on the reed flute drew him back.

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

Agreeing to go home for Christmas with James and Sirius, Remus decided, had been one of the worst decisions he’d ever made. It wasn’t, really, how many things had exploded on the train (seventeen), or how many people had been waiting for them at King’s Cross (zero), or the number of thieves who attempted to lift his trunk in the trip between King’s Cross, where James’s parents had been supposed to meet them, and The Leaky Cauldron, where they were meeting them (three).

But when she eventually comes chasing after you, begging you to father her multicolored werewolf babies, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You don't know it yet, but this is the last time you will ever touch him like this.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Sorting Hat announced, and Remus scurried over to the Hufflepuff table, hoping he could make friends there while still keeping his secret.

Remus wasn't sure what he'd expected, but perpetual Padfoot wasn't it.

Remus wasn't comfortable alone with Sirius. Or James. Even in sixth year, with the summer to smooth things over, the near-death of Severus Snape was a sore spot. Peter spent a lot of time as chaperone. He didn't seem to mind. It wasn't that he didn't like Sirius or James, they were his mates, he'd have died for them and they for him. It was just that...it was all well and good to die for someone but holding a conversation with them was an entirely different matter.

Sirius comes back from the loo to find James snogging Remus. He sways drunkenly for a moment and considers the three things that are wrong with this scenario. One, that this is James’ stag night, which means that he is getting married next week. Two, that James is kissing Remus, who is a boy, as is James. Three, that James is kissing Remus, which is a thing Sirius has dreamed about many many times, but has never dared to put into action. All three of these things are troubling.

In the days after Sirius dies, everyone avoids talking to Remus. It's almost like they don't know what to say, and don't want to risk saying something wrong. Or perhaps they just find it inconvenient to talk to a grieving man. Yes. That could be it.

Nymphadora Tonks was a clothes-horse. She had to be, to some extent, given her career as Auror, specialising in concealment (and therefore quite a bit of domestic espionage). Even if she hadn't been a metamorphmagus, however, even if she had been a librarian or a teacher or one of the other position she'd considered, she decided she probably would have been obsessed by clothing.

Discovering just who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are brings up even more questions for Fred -- and when fate takes another of them away, it's time to go back to the source for some answers.

How do I always get myself into these muddles? That’s what I want to know. Oh, I see you trying not to laugh, you old bugger, but I’ve got a real problem here, and I don’t even think your brother could come up with the answers. He’d probably go off on one of his lectures on love, but that’s what got me into this mess, isn’t it? Love for the both of them, though apparently not the same degree of love, or anything remotely like the love they had for each other, which was…ugh. Complicated. Why does everything always have to get so bloody complicated, anyway? It was the perfect solution, in my book. It was supposed to be simple, right?

Remus' hand was on Sirius' shoulder, and had been for too long. James stared at that, at the tight curve of long fingers against leather, and was torn between gratitude, that it saved him from looking at anyone's faces, and resentment of what it implied. Sirius had been dodging his questions, lately, and Remus had a way of looking at him, bland and watchful, which meant the questions stuck in his throat. They were his friends, and he didn't care if he was right: he didn't care what they did to or with each other. But they were his friends, and they shouldn't lie to him.

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.

Remus isn't a very good story teller, but there are things Harry wants to be told. Then again, there are some things Remus can never say, things that burn to think about. Betrayals and other things he keeps to himself. Secrets from when it all fell apart.

Remus knows it's a bad idea, as his back hits the wall and Sirius's mouth closes over his. He knows that it's going to hurt later, and not just physically - but he doesn't care. Even though Sirius is just playing. Even though Sirius is only doing this because Kathleen Beesom just turned him down and made him look like a fool in front of James, and now he's got something to prove to himself. But there's always good old Remus ready to be dragged off into a dark corner or pulled out into the alley behind the Three Broomsticks and shoved up against a wall. It doesn't mean anything.

"Mother will be most displeased. But not at me. It's not my room that's going to be covered in mostly unclad Muggle women. It's Sirius. And he deserves it, after what he said."

"Never knew werewolves were such fiends for tea."

Remus is safe, Remus is gay, Remus is in love with Sirius, and all of that is true, except this is Lily.