Chapter Text
The dorm was suspiciously quiet.
Remus sat cross-legged on Sirius’ bed, idly flipping through a battered Defence textbook that neither of them had any intention of reading. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting warm golden light across the stone walls, and the faint sound of music floated up from the common room below—probably someone playing Celestina Warbeck ironically again.
“Sirius,” Remus called, half-laughing, half-exasperated, “how long does a ‘fashion show’ take to prep, exactly?”
“Art takes time, darling,” came the muffled reply from behind the makeshift curtain Sirius had rigged up around his bed with his wand and a dangerously thin understanding of structural charms.
Remus rolled his eyes. “If you come out wearing James’ Quidditch kit again, I’m hexing you.”
“That was one time, and I looked fantastic.”
“You smelled like dirt and testosterone.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Remus sighed and flopped back dramatically, letting the book fall on his chest. “If I die waiting here, I hope you cry at my funeral.”
“You won’t die! ” Sirius called, sounding delighted. “You’re about to witness history. Do you remember—” rustling, fabric-shifting noises, “—what Mary was going on about the other day?”
“The skirt thing?” Remus said, brow furrowing. “Yeah. She got detention for wearing a hem ‘three inches above regulation’ or something.”
“Exactly.” Sirius’ voice dropped to a mock-serious whisper. “Oppression.”
Remus sat up. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
And then—without fanfare, without warning—Sirius flung back the curtain and strutted out with all the confidence of a man who had never once doubted the spotlight belonged to him.
He was wearing a skirt.
A pleated , grey-and-black tartan one, which swished around his thighs as he did a dramatic twirl, arms flung out like he was on a bloody catwalk. He’d paired it with his usual school shirt and tie—loose, of course, because Sirius never did buttons up to the neck—but the blazer was off and the sleeves were rolled, and his hair was charmed into a soft, shimmering wave.
“Ta-da! ” he said, grinning.
Remus just stared.
For a long, quiet second, all he could think was Oh no, he’s hot.
Because Sirius was always attractive—infuriatingly so—but something about the skirt short-circuited Remus’ brain. Maybe it was the way Sirius carried himself, all effortless swagger and mischief. Maybe it was the contrast between his long, lean legs and that damn smirk. Maybe it was just the complete lack of shame.
Remus cleared his throat.
“That’s... not what I was expecting.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Sirius asked, striking a pose.
“...Both.”
Sirius grinned, teeth flashing. “I aim to please.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Remus muttered, standing up. “Do you even own that?”
“Transfigured it,” Sirius said proudly. “From an old robe. I think I might be a genius.”
Remus stepped closer, eyeing the hem. “It’s... actually really well done.”
“I know! Mary would be proud.”
“I’m not sure this is what she meant when she said to ‘protest the patriarchy,’” Remus said. And then, before he could stop himself, he added, “You look really good.”
Sirius blinked.
“That wasn’t the goal,” he said slowly, almost nervously.
Remus looked up at him through his lashes. “Does it matter?”
Before Sirius could respond, Remus grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanked him forward, and kissed him.
It wasn’t their first kiss. But it might’ve been the first time it didn’t feel like a dare or a secret. It was urgent and open and a little sloppy, all teeth and heat and Sirius making a surprised noise against Remus’ mouth before melting into it, hands coming up to grip his arms.
They tumbled backward, laughing, and Sirius landed in Remus’ lap with a soft oomph .
“Are you—”
“Don’t move,” Remus muttered, lips brushing against Sirius’ jaw. “I’m serious.”
“No,” Sirius whispered, smirking. “I’m Sirius.”
Remus groaned. “You ruin everything.”
Sirius laughed and kissed him again.
And then—
The door slammed open.
James stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open, holding what looked like a handful of Chocolate Frog cards.
“WHAT THE HELL —”
Sirius and Remus jerked apart.
James made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a scream, covered his eyes with his hand like he’d just walked in on his parents naked, and ran back out , slamming the door behind him.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sirius snorted.
Then Remus broke.
And they both collapsed into giggles, clutching each other and wheezing with laughter until tears rolled down their faces.
***
Ten minutes later, they strolled into the Great Hall arm-in-arm.
Sirius, still proudly wearing the skirt, was absolutely glowing. Remus had half-expected him to change, but Sirius had simply grinned and said, “If I’m going to scar James for life, I might as well commit.”
James was already at the Gryffindor table, face buried in his hands. He pointedly didn’t look up when they approached.
“Good evening, Jamie,” Sirius said brightly, flopping down across from him. “You look well. Not at all traumatized.”
James made a strangled sound.
“Remus, would you be so kind as to pass me the treacle tart?” Sirius asked sweetly. “I need sugar to recover from being ogled by our captain.”
Remus passed it over, barely hiding his smirk.
James peeked up between his fingers. “I did not ogle you.”
“Right,” Sirius said cheerfully. “You just screamed like you saw a murder.”
“I felt like I saw a murder,” James muttered.
“Of your innocence ?” Remus offered.
James groaned and dropped his head onto the table.
“I’m surrounded by degenerates.”
Sirius patted his arm. “At least we’re fashionable degenerates.”
James shook him off and muttered something unintelligible.
Dinner passed with the usual chaos—Lily yelling at a second-year for stealing mashed potatoes, Peter trying to do two essays at once, and Sirius making exaggerated moaning noises every time James looked vaguely in his direction.
But midway through the meal, Sirius noticed James kept glancing toward the entrance to the Great Hall.
Not at the food. Not at Lily.
Just… the door.
Sirius frowned. “You expecting someone?”
James jerked his head back like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “No. Just watching the traffic.”
Sirius raised a brow. “Have you got a new girlfriend?”
“Shut up.”
Sirius grinned, but he kept one eye on his best mate. James was twitchy. Flushed. Definitely acting suspicious.
But before Sirius could press further, a voice cut through their chatter.
“Well, well. Look who’s making a scene again.”
Sirius turned and grinned. “Reg.”
Regulus Black stood behind them, arms crossed, hair immaculate, expression unimpressed. He looked every inch the haughty Slytherin prince—except the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile.
“I heard screaming,” he said mildly. “Figured you were either fighting or snogging.”
“Why not both?” Sirius said with a wink.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Got a letter from Mum. She says to tell you she expects us home for Christmas.”
Sirius blinked, then barked a laugh. “Like hell we’re spending the holidays with Scrooge and Satan.”
Regulus let out a soft, startled laugh, and Sirius saw his shoulders relax.
“You serious?” Regulus asked.
Sirius shrugged. “Always.”
Regulus actually snorted. “You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
“Tragically,” Regulus muttered.
Sirius glanced at Remus, who was grinning into his pumpkin juice.
“We’re staying at Hogwarts,” Sirius said casually, like it was already settled. “I’ll write to them tonight. You’re staying too, Reg.”
Regulus blinked. “Mum’s going to lose it.”
Sirius beamed. “Even better.”
Regulus hesitated, then nodded once. “Alright.”
As he turned to head toward the Slytherin table, he reached out—quick, subtle—and rested a hand on James’ shoulder.
James froze.
Remus stiffened slightly.
Sirius, blissfully oblivious, was busy stealing a third helping of potatoes.
“See you later, nice skirt by the way,” Regulus said over his shoulder, smirking.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Reggie,” Sirius called back.
And just like that, Regulus was gone, and James was back to staring at his dinner like it might swallow him whole.
Sirius chuckled, stretching his legs out under the table and kicking Remus gently.
“Best. Protest. Ever.”
Remus smiled, gaze warm.
“You’re completely insufferable.”
Sirius rested his chin on his hand, grinning.
“And yet,” he said, voice low, “you kissed me anyway.”
Remus leaned closer. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I am. ”
And across the table, James groaned again.