It was way past midnight, and yet Remus could not put his star charts away. He hated and loved Astronomy. It was one of his best classes, and he was already passing it without even trying. He could remember on a few occasions where he'd received an assignment from the Professor and found mistakes in it. That's why he hated it. He hated that he couldn't not take it, either. It was the only time he ever got to be outside in the dark when he was human. He loved the stars and everything about them.
Remus chewed his quill again and rubbed his nose for the hundredth time that night, smudging the ink on it even worse than it was as he continued naming the complicated dots over the large section he'd been assigned. They were mapping the movement of the planets in this assignment. It made things a little more challenging.
Remus didn't even hear the door open, he was so engrossed with his homework.
Sirius entered the dorm, a piece of parchment clutched in his left hand. He'd spent the latter part of the evening in seclusion after receiving the Owl.
The news of his disgrace was still moving through the Black grapevine, apparently, judging from the letter he'd received from his Aunt Elaine, pleading with him to return to the 12 Grimmauld. Why couldn't they leave him alone? There was no way in hell he'd bring himself to crawl back on his hands and knees to that house, no matter how much he missed the easy luxury sometimes. He couldn't stand watching Regulus turn into a spoiled, mindless man, or the comparisons between himself and his younger brother, or the odd drop of poison his mother liked put in his ear.
The privileges were outweighed by the peace of mind he now had. End of story.
Without ceremony, he threw himself across his bed, not particularly caring if he disturbed anyone in the dorm, then looked up at the canopy. It still had the mirror. He made a face at his reflection, then noticed the scratching of a quill for the first time.
Moony, he thought to himself. Sure enough, when he sat up to look, there was Remus, looking like a rumpled bookkeeper, laboring over something or other.
"Gods, you're a boring little man sometimes," Sirius muttered.
"Only sometimes?" Remus answered without missing a beat, scratching the edge of his nose yet again and looking over at his book for a moment to make sure he was plotting the right course for Pluto.
( Read more... )