nekare

Title: Hogsmeade Under Attack
Author: Nekare
Paring: Remus/Sirius
Words: 771

Written for the prompt of October 8th in scarvesnhats. Sugary sweet, you've been warned. Hope you like it! (Feedback will be glomped)

The air is sweet in Hogsmeade, hundreds of students breathing in the candy-flavored scent that goes out of Honeydukes, Sugar quills, cauldron cakes and pumpkin pie; made out of Hagrid’s finest. It’s early in October, but jack-o-lanterns and decorative skeletons ornate most of the villages houses, even when wizardry children don’t go from door to door asking for treat or trick, the motto of the mischievous, with cardboard devil tails and sheets thrown over their heads, a celebration Remus has always find quite entertaining.

James and Peter have both deserted them for skirt-chasing (or on Prongs case, Lily-chasing) and they were sitting by the fence of the Shrieking Shack, sharing a butterbeer (or half a dozen, but who was counting) and being too close to share some warmth in the cold day, or so they say.

Remus produces a gigantic bar of chocolate from one of his robes pockets, munching into it happily; and Sirius steals it swiftly and bites into it, eyes closed as the chocolate melts slowly in his mouth, traces of butterbeer mixing with the almond and macadamia nuts chocolate (and that’s always a sign that the full moon is approaching, in the middle of the month Remus will have it with milk, and just after the moon he’ll have it dark and sultry and seductive in Sirius’ mind as he watches him eat it in earnest), a soft hey, from the brown-haired boy.

Sirius offers an apologetic smile and the smuggled firewhiskey he brought with him from the castle, and Remus accepts it with a slight frown but eager hands, loving a bit of danger as much as the other Marauders at any time, and even more three days away from the moon. Soon, they’re sharing both treats, laughing about silly things that really weren’t that funny, but Sirius doesn’t have a date (hasn’t had one in months, actually) and Remus only lets the hope reach his eyes while he’s drunk enough; so he laughs and cling at him at a particularly stupid joke, and stays there, head on his shoulder, treating himself with a guilty pleasure for once (he tells himself he deserves it, and almost believes it).

They keep on drinking, and an hour later they’re ready to roam the village for some pranking, noses red from the cold wind and the alcohol; scarves tied tightly to their necks. They’re drunk enough, but they only sway a little when the stand up, helping the other at the same time and making a knot of limbs in their mutual desire to have an excuse to touch, a hand on Remus’ shoulder as Sirius steadies himself in perfectly even ground, face matching the red on his scarf when he realizes he might be giving himself away.

So they roam, the remaining pumpkins gaining a shaky wand-made face and a charm to sing off-key (guaranteed to annoy people, Sirius’ main goal in life), orange and black decorations suddenly turning into Christmas ones, green clashing horribly with the brown leaves dying on the floor; and when they’re chased out of the Post Office after they set free at least two dozens of owls they tumble laughing into the nearest alley, both trying their hardest not to laugh (fruitless campaign, it seems), Remus puts his hand against Sirius’ mouth, trying to shut him up on behalf of their very hex-threatened behinds, curtesy of the Post Office lone employee; Sirius can’t help himself when he kisses the palm slowly, shoulders still shaking with soundless laughter.

Remus’ eyes widen slightly, but when he sees the other boy’s eyes alight with mirth he shoves both his hand and his doubts aside, and deciding he was drunk enough to be bold he kisses Sirius whilst still hearing the poor terrified employee yelling for their blood outside the Three Broomsticks, an angry mob agreeing with the cause.

And then Sirius is kissing him back, and the doubts and hesitance and all the things he’s been burying deep inside for months now dissolve as he tastes chocolate and nuts and alcohol and a bit of autumn’s golden sun, all swirling as his hands wound up around Sirius’ neck and grasps his scarf tightly.

When they part they just smile at each other and choose another victim as Sirius chants So many pranks, so little time, under his breath, both hiding from villagers armed with a hex to fill with boils ones bottom and stealing kisses in between.

The next day Honedukes is filled to the top with pink and gray bubbles, encrypted with three symbols: S+R, and no one actually knows how to dispose of them.