Push and Pull (Sirius Black X Reader)

1975: The Argument

Remus and I lie shoulder to shoulder on his little bed in his dormitory. There's a textbook propped on his belly, open to a page about imps. His breathing is soft and quiet, his fingers pinched on the bottom corner of the page. He's the quicker reader of the two of us, so he waits patiently until I mutter, "Done," through the bitter mandrake leaf on my tongue, and then he flips the page.

Homework is more tolerable when we do it together, we've found, even when doing it together means that it's like this. I don't know how he can stand to wait for me to read like this, but I enjoy reading together, especially when I get to cuddle against him in his bed. The other boys make fun of us, but Remus and I don't care. We're both more studious than they are, and we're more mature. We can handle lying together in a bed without fantasizing about ripping each other's clothes off, unlike the other boys.

I once overheard Sirius telling Remus to make a move on me. He said to the lycanthrope, "She's already curled in your bed. Just kiss her and get up in her skirt." I felt a lump grow in my throat as I watched them talking, sitting across from one another in the library. Was that how they thought of me? Not as a friend or an equal, but as an opportunity?

But Remus just glared at the boy and told him to have some respect. As he said this, some of the disgust that Sirius had caused me dissipated. Remus was the type of boy who restored your faith in the other boys—the crude, mean, hormone-driven boys who viewed girls as playthings.

So, I joined them in the library, observing both the boys in their mutual shame, pink tinging their cheeks. I didn't suggest that I had heard them, but I didn't suggest otherwise either, not as I fixed Sirius with a sharp stare as I took my seat. He averted his eyes from mine, and Remus also struggled to meet my eyes that day.

But it's better now, for the most part. I've been around the boys so much that they've realized that I'm more than a vessel to carry around my boobs, and I like to think they respect me as a person now.

Isn't it terrible that I praise that? The bare minimum, but still... Many don't even give me that credit.

"Done," I mutter, and Remus flips the page.

The full moon is getting closer and closer, and I don't think I'll be able to finish my transformation on time. Even if I do, I don't think it would be smart to try to help Remus when I'm still learning about what it means to be an animagus. I want some more practice before I start traipsing around with a werewolf. I would feel awful if I pushed my help onto Remus and ended up hurt in the process. The poor sweetheart would likely still blame himself.

"Hey," I whisper as I get halfway down the next page, and Remus' hand stiffens on the page, conditioned to flip at the sound of my voice, "do you know if the others are working on becoming animagi yet?"

"Uh," Remus begins, jostling me as he moves to scratch his head. "Yeah, I think they have. They went down to the greenhouse just the other day to clip some mandrake leaves. Peter accidentally swallowed his the third day, so he had to begin all over again."

I nod my head and glance over at Remus, whose cheeks are turning red. I say, "You know we're being careful, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he mumbles, meeting my eyes for just a moment before he shifts his attention back to the book on his belly. "I trust you all."

"And, you know," I say, sitting up on my knees and facing him, "I was doing research and not all that many people experience the, you know, adverse effects of changing for the first time."

"Which are?"

"You know, getting stuck as a half-human, half-animal hybrid."

He blows out his cheeks and raises his eyebrows, his cheeks still flushed.