Summary: A tale of Quidditch and lost scarves.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Severus Snape/Remus Lupin
Spoilers and/or Warnings: n/a
Original story: Spectator Sport by penknife
Thanks go to my betas, meansgirl and elmyraemilie -- this is much better after their help. Any remaining errors are mine, because I'm stubborn like that, and didn't take all of their advice.
A magic moment I remember:
I raised my eyes and you were there
He craves the quiet browns and greys and blacks of home -- his mother never wanted him to call attention to himself, never wanted people to see them, never wanted to stand out in the crowd -- it's not home he misses, but the anonymity. The chaos of Hogwarts, with its clash of colors, is sometimes too much for him, and whenever he can get away with it, he takes off the bright green and silver trappings of his House, and retreats into the somber black of his childhood.
Today is one of those days -- there is a Quidditch match, and while Severus would rather spend the time studying, Avery and Muliciber have dragged him and everyone else out to watch. It is bitterly cold, and his thin robes are a poor remedy against the chill. He huddles in the stands, shivering and rubbing his hands against the ends of the House scarf he'd grabbed as Avery had all but pushed him out the door. He watches the match, counting off the minutes, and hoping against hope that someone, anyone, will catch the Snitch so he can go back inside.
When the game devolves into Crabbe and MacNair trying to knock the Hufflepuffs off their brooms while Rosier searches futilely for the Snitch, his attention wanders. The booing Hufflepuffs are entertaining for a moment or two, as are the Ravenclaw and Slytherin responses, but even the most creative insults don't keep his attention for long. Almost against his will, Severus finds himself searching the sea of crimson that fills the opposite side of the pitch, looking for one particular person. Lupin is huddled in on himself as well, not watching the match or paying attention to anything beyond the book in his lap. Black and Potter are on their feet next to him, screaming at Hooch and the other refs, but he doesn't flinch, even when Pettigrew jolts to his feet, screaming along with the rest of the Gryffindors.
It's only when MacNair manages to knock Amos Diggory from his broom that Lupin looks up. Almost everyone is on their feet, watching as Diggory stops in mid-air, then slowly floats to the lawn. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are loud in their relief, screaming and cheering, and even the Ravenclaws are clapping when Diggory waves up into the stands before re-mounting his broom, a move that draws jeers and insults from the Slytherins.
While everyone else is watching the action on the pitch, he is watching Lupin. He would never admit to liking the other boy, but he finds himself watching him frequently. There's something about him: the way he moves and the tone of his voice when he speaks, the look in his eyes when he thinks he's unobserved. It calls Severus, captures his thoughts and his gaze, makes Severus see him. Lupin is his opposite in so many ways -- the healthy glow of his skin, the soft golden brown of his hair, the bright red he wears when they're not in classes -- and Severus is fascinated. The compulsion to watch Lupin has weakened since the previous term, when Dumbledore oversaw their mutual tutoring sessions, but he still does it more than he should. He still thinks about him more than he wants to, still fights against the tiny bubble of desire that has lodged itself under his breastbone.
He drops his eyes when Lupin makes eye contact. He can tell Lupin is staring -- his skin prickles under his regard and Severus shivers again.
A shout goes up from the crowd, and he looks up to see Rosier closing in on the Snitch. He's on his feet cheering with the rest of his House when Rosier grabs it, and he follows them onto the lawn, finally warm and caught up in the moment. It's not until Severus is almost back to the castle that he realizes he's lost his scarf.
The earlier warmth is all but gone, and he's cursing into the wind by the time he reaches the empty pitch. He searches fruitlessly for a few minutes before he draws his wand, and calls out, "Accio scarf!" When his scarf doesn't come, he calls again.
This time, he hears a laugh, and before he even turns, he knows it is Lupin.
"Looking for this?" His scarf is wrapped around Lupin's neck, one end tangled with the crimson and gold of Lupin's own scarf, and the other end twirling in the air. "You're still pants at charms, I see, despite all my tutoring last term."
He doesn't answer; instead he holds out his hand, waiting for Lupin to tire of whatever game it is he's playing, and return the scarf.
"I was joking, Severus." Lupin smiles at him, and raises an eyebrow, no doubt hoping Severus will join in the joke, but he only straightens his arm and waits. Lupin stops twitching his wrist, and the end of the scarf falls limp against his thigh.
"Severus.... I only wanted to talk. Remember how we used to talk? I thought maybe we were on our way to being friends."
He shakes his head, denying Lupin's assertion that they were anything more than students who happened to attend the same school.
Lupin's smile falters, and he narrows his eyes before turning to walk off the pitch.
He refuses to chase after him, instead calling out, "You will return my property at once, Gryffindor."
Lupin turns, and the smile is back, this time teasing and sly, as he says, "Or what? What will you do to me if I don't, Severus?"
"I'm warning you. Give it back." Lupin skips backwards, and Severus is drawn along against his will. "Now."
"I think not. I think I'll hold onto it for a while -- at least as long as it takes to get you to talk with me."
His temper snaps then, and he lunges at Lupin, who isn't expecting it and therefore doesn't move out of the way. They go down onto the lawn in a tangle of arms and legs, and Lupin huffs out a surprised breath when Severus's weight falls squarely against him, pinning him to the damp grass. Before Severus can push himself off of Lupin, the world tips sideways, and he finds himself on his back looking up into Lupin's tea-colored eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment, struggling to catch their breath. Lupin shifts back, gingerly sitting astride Severus's hips at the same moment Severus realizes he has an erection.
"Get off me. Now."
"Are you sure you want me to do that?"
"Of course, I do. I'm not--" Lupin wiggles against him then and Severus feels a matching hardness against his stomach. Oh. "I--"
"Yes, Severus?" Lupin is leaning in again, closing the distance between them, eyes intent on Severus's mouth. He stops short, hovers over Severus, and his gaze flicks to meet Severus's. "You were saying?"
Severus wraps his hands in the green and silver of his scarf, and pulls Lupin down to meet his mouth. At first, it's too rough, and their mouths bump together painfully, but then Lupin braces himself on his forearms and tips his head to the side, and suddenly it's perfect, hot and slick and sweeter than he thought a kiss could be. He unclenches his fingers from rough wool, and slips them into the softness of Lupin's hair, gently scratching his nails against the curve of bone beneath his scalp.
Severus tightens his fingers, pulls Lupin back to look at him, and the noise he makes sends a shiver down Severus's spine. Lupin is gold and pink and red against the blue of the sky, so bright against the darkness that is all Severus has known until now. He hitches in a breath and leans up to meet Lupin, and even when he closes his eyes, the gold and pink remain, vivid against the dark.
He kisses Lupin again, desperate to taste the color, to pull it into himself. Lupin kisses back, cradling his head as he pushes him back against the grass, gentle even as his mouth presses harder against Severus's. When they finally part, all Severus can hear is the soft huff of their mingled breath and the beat of his heart, and all he can see is the bright amber of Lupin's eyes smiling into his own.