Is it Wrong?

Part 1/3 "We're never speaking again."

I'm brilliant. I've always known better than to let my family stand in the way of what I want. I guess my contempt for them is why I can think of loads of clever ways to torture the prejudice Slytherins, and actually have the courage to do it. Then, I can charm my way out of being punished for it by the professors.

Speaking of the professors, I can pass all of their classes with high marks without even trying. James is also brilliant, so he can too. Remus gets higher marks than both of us, but he has to work very hard in order to do it.

Ah, Remus. The only thing in my life that I can't make sense of is how I feel about him. I love being near him. This would be okay if being near him didn't cause me so much pain. Am I an emotional masochist or something? The worst part is knowing why it hurts. If I didn't know I wouldn't feel confused; ignorance is bliss. Must be why Wormtail's so happy all of the time…Anyway, it hurts because however close I get to Remus isn't close enough. I mean that mentally and physically.

The desire for mental closeness comes from Remus being such a private person that it's nearly impossible for someone to know what he's thinking. Not that whatever he says to anyone is dishonest; he's too virtuous to lie. It's just that the way to figure out what he's thinking or feeling is by what he doesn't say. The words aren't enough. I've got to interpret the tone he uses when he says them and how he stands and how his eyebrows move and the way his lips twitch. "Hello, Sirius" could mean five different things depending on how he says it. I usually prefer stuff that doesn't need to be analysed. That's probably why James is my best friend; he's so confident and blunt that I never worry if he has hidden motives or emotions. Why, then, do I enjoy analysing Remus and feel special knowing that I'm most likely the only one that can? I know I'd be jealous if somebody else could read him better, and Sirius Black does NOT get jealous.

Of course, Sirius Black does not feel understood either. Except with Remus. Don't get me wrong, James' mind works the same way mine does, and I tell him everything because I know I can trust him not to tell anyone or to judge me. But Remus…It's like Remus understands how my heart works. We've both suffered and are stereotyped to act in ways that totally clash with our personalities. Me because I'm a Black, and him because he's a werewolf. So, why don't I tell him everything I tell James? Well, I never feel like I have something to prove to James, yet I always want to impress Remus. Imagine that: Me, the pureblood rebel and one of the most popular boys in school, wanting to impress someone! I've never felt that way. Remus is a much better person than I am, so if he admired me I'd know I was a good person even though my family says otherwise. Remus is different; maybe it's only sensible and to be expected that I feel differently with him.

The physical intimacy I want…Well, that doesn't need explaining, does it? I want to touch every inch of him and to feel his chocolate-scented breath against my skin. I want to be the only one that he lets see him naked, not just without clothes, but without any of the walls of bland courtesy and mistrust that he builds around himself. The funny thing is, Remus isn't attractive, at least not in the way that most people are.

It isn't the way he looks that's appealing; it's how he carries himself with almost feminine grace and shows kindness one hundred percent of the time. After all, he has a tired face, calloused hands, prematurely greying hair, and a scrawny body. But that face always has a quiet smile for everyone, in spite of whatever problems he's having, since he doesn't want to bring down anyone's mood. Those hands hold goblets and quills with more careful elegance than any of my damned aristocratic relatives. That hair flows as smoothly as liquid out of its place from behind his ear whenever he's bent over a desk working diligently on homework and biting his quill thoughtfully. That small body easily fits itself between bookshelves in the library, and I know it would feel amazing to have it arching underneath me.

My desires are crystal clear. So, why am I confused? Simple. I don't know if my desires are wrong. Not 'wrong' as in 'mistaken' for I'm sure as bloody hell that I want him, but 'wrong' as in 'improper.' Not because Remus is a male or a werewolf. Neither of those worries me. If somebody as sensitive as him isn't gay I'll date Snivellus, and werewolves don't mate for life or anything, so I wouldn't be tying him down to me if - in a few years - he decided he didn't fancy me anymore. I wonder if wanting him is wrong because Remus is my friend. If he weren't my friend I wouldn't know how he'd react if he didn't feel the same way. But he is my friend, and I do know. He wouldn't stop being friends with me, but our relationship would never be the same since he'd feel guilty. Guilty! It would eat him away inside that he broke someone's heart by not returning his or her feelings. He'd never look me in the eyes again, thinking that he had no right to look at the individual he had hurt so badly. He wouldn't tell me anything personal because he'd believe he was cruelly sending mixed messages. If I told him and he didn't feel the same we'd both wind up miserable. That sort of risk is wrong, isn't it?

Pain shoots through my scalp. Tears sting my eyes, blurring the sight of the Great Hall around me. "Ow! Bugger!" I turn my head to glare at the offender that pulled my hair. "What was that for, Wormtail?"

He cringes. "Sorry, but I said your name about ten times and you didn't answer."

I massage my sore head, ignoring James' sniggering. "Well, what d'you want?"

"I was wondering what your opinion was." Peter smiles brightly. Sometimes, the bloke is infuriatingly cheerful.

"That I'm brilliant." Remember I was thinking that before? Yeah, I still think so.

"True," Peter agrees, eating some food from the huge pile he put on his plate, "but I meant about my question."

"Do you think I have any sodding clue what your question was?" Sure, I'm being rude, but the git deserves it for hurting my skull.

Accustomed to my temper, like all of the Marauders, Peter happily repeats his question, "Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?"

"You pulled me out of my thoughts for that?" I demand angrily.

"You shouldn't have done that," Remus tells Peter in a voice that's like a playful breeze through soft grass. "He doesn't have thoughts very often."

I look across the table and my eyes lock with Remus'. They're normally a calm light blue, but now he's being mischievous, so there is a touch of the green in them that forms whenever he pulls pranks with us. My heart skips a beat, yet I manage to smirk. "Are you mocking me, Mr. Moony?"

"Of course not," he answers in a tone that says 'of course.' "It's all in your head."

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't understand that phrase. What is in my head?"

"Yours?" Remus pretends to seriously consider the question. "Diaphanous mist." What in the name of all that is Holy and Humourous does that mean? Sometimes Remus' vocabulary is sexy; sometimes it's annoying. Right now, it's both. Aware that I'll need an explanation since he knows me so well, he clarifies, "Fog."

I clutch my chest dramatically. "How dare you suggest my mind is full of the stuff that's in divination balls? I'll never forgive you. I'm going to formally draw up the divorce papers. You keep the Shack and I'll keep the pet." I try to put my arm around James, who's beside me, to indicate who the pet is. I'm maintaining eye contact with Remus as I do it, ergo I wind up slamming my elbow into James' face. Oops. At least Remus begins to chuckle as I hoped he would. "We're through. We're going our separate ways. We're not ever speaking again. We're -"

"Gonna be late for Quidditch practise," James interrupts, rubbing his bruised nose.

"He's right," pipes up Peter. If Remus can be considered the Official Dictionary, Peter is the Official Timekeeper.

James gets to his feet. "The captain has to be on time, so I'm heading out to the pitch. Coming?"

"Guess I've got to," I grumble. "Wouldn't want the captain to be cross with me." I push away my unfinished plate and walk beside James out of the Hall. My face is turned away from him as if I'm irritated that he made me leave my food.

He deduces I'm not, for he can read me as easily as Remus. He remarks, stepping onto the grounds, "We both know you weren't hungry."

There's no sense in denying it, so I change the subject. "You didn't say much at dinner."

"I said as much as usual. In fact, I mentioned a great idea I had for a prank involving Slughorn's toupee, McGonagall's knickers, and Filch's brooms." He gives me a sly sideways glance and a simper as we come to the door of the changing rooms. "You were just too busy daydreaming about Moony to notice." Before I can retort he enters the room where the rest of the team is waiting. Shocked, I stand completely still, barely registering when the Gryffindor athletes emerge wearing crimson and gold robes and carrying their brooms. James hands me my Silver Arrow and Beater's bat. He utters not a word, but is still beaming.

Without bothering to change my clothes, I follow the team onto the field and watch the balls zoom into the sky. Then, I take to the air. In the stands below Peter is gawking up at us with awe. I don't understand why flying impresses him so much. All I do is throw myself at the ground and miss. And, if I do fall, I know that the fall won't kill me; the sudden stop will.

My stomach squirms with delight when I see that Remus is with Peter. The studious werewolf never misses a Quidditch match, but sometimes he goes to the library to do homework instead of watching mere rehearsals. I pour the energy inside of me that I want to use to snog Remus senseless into hitting the Bludgers, and they go farther than usual.

Minerva's Note: This is a little 3-chapter fic that I wrote it ages ago and forgot to post. It's not one of my monumental works, but it's cute and it's FINISHED so no need to worry about not having regular updates! Great, yeah? You should do something for me in return... :pulls out hypnotizing pocket watch: You WILL review. By the way, since the story is humour I give the chapters deceptively angsty titles from a quote within that chapter. I'm just complex like that. Really, I am…Where was I? You WILL review! :laughs maniacally, drops watch, and runs off into the distance: