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Jefferson: James and I don’t have pet names for each other.

Alexander: Uh huh. Hey! Do you know what bees make, right?

Jefferson: Honey?

Madison: Yes dear?

Alexander: Don’t lie to my face again

In the 16th century you could easily spot Spaniards because they were often wearing black, contrasting with most of the Europeans wearing colorful outfits. The characteristic features of their costumes were sobriety and elegance. Religion probably had a strong influence too.

remus/sirius. 10th anniversary of the sexual offences act.

Halfway through his fried sausages and scrambled eggs, Remus’ eyes stutter to a halt at the bottom of the sixteenth page of the Daily Prophet. A small headline above a small article has snagged his gaze: 10th Anniversary of the Same-Sex Offences Decree. Heat blooms in the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. For reasons he does not wish to examine closely he feels suddenly furtive and breathless, and, suppressing his urge to turn the page before anyone notices what he’s reading, he scans the article quickly:

Today marks the tenth anniversary of the Same-Sex Offences Decree, in which the Wizengamot ruled that homosexual acts were no longer punishable by wizarding law. This decree came several months after the Muggle Sexual Offences Act decriminalised private homosexual acts between men over the age of 21 in England and Wales. Although the primary argument in favor of the Same-Sex Offences Decree was that legal complications would inevitably arise from the conflict between Muggle and wizarding law, the Same-Sex Offences Decree goes further, decriminalising all private homosexual acts between wizards over 17 in all of Great Britain. Both celebrations and protests are expected to mark its anniversary.

Remus’ heart is in his throat. He tells himself to turn the page casually, to look up and take a bite first, as if nothing has happened.

“Earth to Moony,” says a voice behind him, and with a sudden start and a hot flush rising to his cheeks Remus jerks around to see Sirius grinning at him, on his feet, and behind him James and Peter already heading out of the Great Hall.

“Are you coming?” Sirius asks.

“What? Where?”

“The lake. Last warm day in September—avoiding the Potions essay—weren’t you listening?”

“Er…”

Sirius smiles fondly and runs his fingers up the back of Remus’ scalp, tightening them gently to pull at his hair. “What’s so interesting in the Prophet anyway?”

Belatedly, Remus shuts the paper—too obviously too fast. Sirius gives him a curious look but merely extracts his hand from Remus’ hair and tilts his head towards the doorway.

“Coming?”

Remus nods. “Yes. Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute, I just want to finish my eggs.”

Sirius shrugs amiably and leaves. Once he’s gone, Remus shoves the newspaper under the table and tears out the article. He slips in into his pocket.

He can still feel the imprint of Sirius’ fingers on his scalp.

Later that night, alone in the dorm, he pulls out the paper to read it again.

The words twist up something in his chest. Unhappily, he stares at the little block of text. Oh, god. He puts his face in his hands.

“Remus?”

Sirius steps through the doorway. He sees the bit of newsprint, slightly crumpled, on the bed. Remus can’t do anything but watch him, wide-eyed, as he picks it up, and scans it, and then sits down heavily next to Remus.

After a moment, Sirius says, “Do you ever think you might be…?” 

Remus swallows. “Yes,” he says quietly.

Sirius nods.

“So do I.”

Remus’ stomach takes a strange seasick dive.

“I know I’m supposed to feel grateful about this decree, or whatever it is,” Sirius says slowly, looking at the article, “but I sort of…I don’t know why, but I sort of hate it.” 

“It makes me feel awful,” Remus confesses. “I thought it was just me.”

Sirius looks at him. 

“Not just you,” he says.

He puts his hand on the back of Remus’ neck. Then he pulls Remus in and kisses him. 

His mouth is warm, and soft, and Remus clutches at his shoulders and for a moment he doesn’t feel awful at all.