THE BET

THE BET

The Gryffindor common room was alive with the usual chaos of a Friday evening. James Potter, ever the ringleader, was sprawled on the rug by the fire, tossing a Snitch in the air and catching it with lazy precision. Peter Pettigrew was attempting to balance a stack of Chocolate Frog cards on his nose, while Remus Lupin, ever the picture of calm, was curled up in an armchair with a book. Sirius Black, however, was in rare form—lounging on the sofa with his trademark smirk, regaling a group of fourth-years with some exaggerated tale of his latest Quidditch victory.

“And then I pulled a Wronski Feint so sharp, even James here nearly fell off his broom!” Sirius declared, throwing his arms wide for dramatic effect. The fourth-years giggled, clearly enchanted by his charisma.

James rolled his eyes. “You wish, Padfoot. That was me, and you know it.”

Sirius waved him off. “Details, details. The point is, I’m brilliant.”

Remus glanced up from his book, a small smile playing on his lips. “Modesty has never been your strong suit, has it, Sirius?”

Sirius turned to him, his grin widening. “Ah, Moony, you wound me. But I suppose I’ll forgive you—you’re far too pretty to stay mad at.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. James, noticing this, sat up suddenly, an idea sparking in his mind.

“Oi, Padfoot,” James called, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve got a bet for you.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I bet you can’t go a week without flirting with Remus.”

The common room fell silent for a moment, all eyes turning to James. Even Remus looked up from his book, his expression a mix of amusement and mild horror.

Sirius scoffed. “Please. That’s child’s play. I could do it in my sleep.”

James smirked. “Oh, really? Then you won’t mind putting your money where your mouth is. A week, no flirting with Moony. If you can do it, I’ll do your homework for a month. If you can’t, you have to clean the Quidditch locker rooms—alone—for the rest of the term.”

Sirius hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shrugged. “Deal. But you’re going to regret this, Prongs. I’m a man of incredible self-control.”

Remus snorted, earning a mock glare from Sirius. “We’ll see about that,” James said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

The next morning, Sirius was determined to prove James wrong. He woke up early, dressed meticulously, and even combed his hair (a rare occurrence). He was going to be the picture of restraint and professionalism. No flirting. None whatsoever.

But then Remus walked into the Great Hall.

He was wearing a soft, oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a collarbone that Sirius had never noticed before. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he had a book tucked under one arm. He looked, in a word, irresistible.

Sirius swallowed hard and quickly looked down at his toast. "Morning, Moony," he said, his voice slightly strangled.

"Morning," Remus replied, sliding into the seat across from him. He opened his book and began reading, completely oblivious to the internal crisis he’d just caused.

James, sitting next to Sirius, smirked. "You okay there, mate? You look a bit… flustered."

"I’m fine," Sirius muttered, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessary.

Peter, sitting on Remus’s other side, decided to join in on the fun. "Hey, Moony," he said, leaning in closer than necessary. "You look really nice today. That sweater suits you."

Remus looked up, surprised. "Oh. Thanks, Wormtail."

Sirius’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing, Peter?"

Peter blinked innocently. "What? I’m just complimenting Moony. Is that not allowed?"

Sirius opened his mouth to retort but caught himself just in time. He couldn’t flirt with Remus, but that didn’t mean he had to sit there and watch Peter do it. "Whatever," he muttered, shoving another bite of toast into his mouth.

James and Peter took turns showering Remus with attention, much to Sirius’s growing frustration. James would casually drape an arm over Remus’s shoulders during class, whispering jokes that made Remus laugh. Peter would offer to carry Remus’s books or fetch him tea from the kitchen. And Remus, bless him, seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having on Sirius.

But Remus wasn’t entirely innocent. Unintentionally, he began doing things that drove Sirius absolutely mad. He’d roll up his sleeves to reveal his forearms, lean in just a little too close when they were studying together, or bite his lip in concentration while reading. It was all completely innocent, but to Sirius, it felt like torture.

By the third day, James and Peter had fully embraced their roles as chaos agents. They took turns complimenting Remus at every opportunity, much to Sirius’ growing frustration.

“Moony, your hair looks amazing today,” James said loudly during Transfiguration. “What’s your secret?”

“Oh, you know,” Remus replied, running a hand through his curls. “Just good genes, I suppose.”

Sirius’ eye twitched.

Later, Peter “accidentally” dropped his quill, and when Remus bent down to pick it up, Peter whistled. “Nice view.”

“PETER!” Sirius shouted, earning a glare from Professor McGonagall. During Charms, Peter “accidentally” spilled ink all over Remus’s parchment, forcing him to take off his jumper to avoid staining it. Remus, now in just his white button-down shirt, rolled his eyes but didn’t seem to mind. Sirius, however, looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

“Pete, you’re a genius,” James whispered, giving Peter a discreet high-five.

By day five, Sirius was at his breaking point. Remus had started sitting closer to him in class, their knees brushing under the table. He’d also taken to whispering jokes in Sirius’s ear, his breath warm against Sirius’s skin. It was maddening.

The final straw came during a game of Exploding Snap in the common room. Remus, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaned forward to play his card, his face inches from Sirius’s. Sirius could smell the faint scent of chocolate and parchment that always seemed to cling to him.

“Your move, Padfoot,” Remus said softly, his eyes locking with Sirius’s.

Sirius’s brain short-circuited. Without thinking, he blurted out, “You’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?”

The room went silent. James and Peter stared at him, wide-eyed, while Remus’s lips curved into a slow, triumphant smile.

“I believe that counts as flirting,” Remus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Sirius groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

James burst out laughing. “Looks like you just lost, Padfoot!”

Sirius glared at him. “This was a setup.”

“Of course it was,” Remus said, leaning back with a smug grin. “And you walked right into it.”

Sirius sighed, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Fine. You win. But just so you know, Moony, you’re a menace.”

Remus’s smile softened, and he reached out to ruffle Sirius’s hair. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Sirius’s heart skipped a beat, and he decided then and there that losing the bet was worth it if it meant seeing Remus smile like that.

Later that night, as they all settled into their beds, Sirius leaned over to Remus. “You know,” he said quietly, “if you wanted me to flirt with you, you could’ve just asked.”

Remus chuckled, his eyes warm in the dim light. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Sirius shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you love me anyway,” Remus teased.

Sirius’s smile widened. “Yeah. I really do.”

And with that, he leaned in and kissed him, the bet forgotten as the two of them lost themselves in the moment.