Kitayama might be taking a picture of this (mousapelli) wrote,
Kitayama might be taking a picture of this
mousapelli

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I'm Harry? and some Puppy love...I heart my boys

first of all, this is effing hilarious:
harry
You are: Not Draco. You're Harry. What the hell are
you doing here? Okay, so maybe you're just
normal. If you want to get a new result you ve
got to think more like you think Draco thinks.
M'kay?


What kind of Draco are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


Orientation is almost over...I NEVER thought I'd be sorry for that to end! I love my hall, they were so cute at the PJ Parade last night doing their little fummer rendition of Captain Planet :) Here's a shot of us and our banner, sorry it's sort of large:
Mighty Marshall, he's our hero...

I also wrote some more Remus/Sirius last night *cackles leacherously* but it's more "Awwww" than "Oh yeah, mmm!" so feel free to peruse regardless of your take on smut. (PS--See sociofemme's quote of my comment about the whole anti-smut movement on her LJ)



Sirius knew he’d overdone it the moment he changed back from Padfoot. He resisted the urge to return to the dog-form as aches and pains descended on his whole body. A raging headache suddenly drove him nearly to his knees and he sagged against the wall.

“Padfoot?” James asked, supporting an exhausted Remus. “Sirius, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Sirius tried to grunt, but started coughing halfway through the word.

“What should we do?” Peter asked James nervously, glancing through the windows of the castle at the sky which was threatening that dawn wasn’t far off.

“You help Remus to the infirmary,” James told Peter, making a snap decision. “Sirius is heavier, I’ll get him to the dorms.”

As James was shifting Remus’ weight onto Peter, Remus roused slightly and noticed Sirius crouched against the wall.

“S’wrong?” he demanded, struggling against James and Peter. “S’wrong w’Padfoot?”

“Nothing, he’ll be all right,” James tried to calm Remus, but Remus kept struggling until Sirius got a hold on his coughing fit and could speak.

“I’ll be fine,” he told Remus, voice raw. He straightened a bit but was still leaning heavily on the wall. “Just get yourself to the infirmary.”

Remus let Peter pull him away down the hall as James pulled Sirius’ weight away from the wall onto himself. Sirius’ moment of stability took away his last vestiges of strength and he was barely able to help James get him to their room, his legs threatening to spill him on the floor with every step.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were too sick to go out?” James grunted as he struggled to force Sirius up the stairs.

“Wasn’t,” Sirius wheezed. “Overdid it.”

“I’ll say,” James grumbled.

At last they reached their room and Sirius tumbled bonelessly into his bed when James let go of him. He barely had the strength to flop the covers over himself before he passed out.

* * * * * *

Consciousness descended on Sirius like a ton of bricks. He tried to spit out a string of curses that would have done Lily Evans’ proud, but only produced a moan.

“Sirius?” James asked sleepily from the next bed over. “Go back to sleep. We’ve still got nearly an hour before breakfast.”

Sirius moaned loudly again, and heard the rustling of James sliding out of his own bed. Then Sirius heard James padding over on bare feet, all the noises seeming amplified to his aching head.

“Are you still sick?” James asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Hurts…” Sirius managed weakly.

“What hurts?” James prompted, stifling a yawn.

“Everything,” Sirius whimpered.

“Oh, hell,” James blinked and took a closer look at Sirius. “You look like death warmed over. We’d better get you to the infirmary.”

Sirius heard James pad away towards Peter’s bed, some more rustling, and then some cursing. Several minutes later, James reappeared with a haggard-looking Peter, both of them hastily buttoning shirts over pajama pants.

Between the two of them, they managed to fireman-carry Sirius up to the infirmary. James pounded on Madam Pomfrey’s door until she emerged, clutching a dressing gown about her person.

“What on earth…oh!” Pomfrey took in Sirius’ poor condition quickly. “Looks like that nasty flu that’s been going around finally caught up with you, Mr. Black. I warned you about rolling about in the snow and then running all over the castle with wet hair!”

Sirius moaned pathetically.

“All right,” she sighed, taking Sirius from James and Peter. “You boys run along, you’ll be just in time for breakfast. I’ll put Sirius to bed.”

James and Peter exchanged long-suffering sighs and trudged out of the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey helped Sirius to one of the beds and let him collapse on it. He stared up at her plaintively as she pulled the covers over top of him.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” she sighed, brushing some of his hair out of his face, “but there’s nothing that will help you but bed rest and time. Try to make yourself comfortable.”

“Cold,” Sirius croaked.

“Yes, chills are part of the package,” Pomfrey told him. She reached over and pulled a blanket off one of the empty beds and laid it on top of Sirius. “Try to get some rest, dear.”

Sirius watched her leave the room and flip the lights out, nearly crying with frustration. He began shivering, which made every part of his aching body twinge with pain.

“Knew you were lying,” a raspy voice said on the other side of him.

Sirius turned his head gingerly, wincing, and saw Remus lying on the bed next to his. Remus looked very pale and seemed to be breathing hard, but was laying on top of all his covers with only pajama bottoms on.

“Cold?” Sirius asked, wishing feebly that he could get more than one word out at a time.

“Always too hot after,” Remus shook his head. “Werewolf metabolism. You?”
“F-freezing,” Sirius replied through teeth that were suddenly chattering uncontrollably.

“Maybe I can help,” Remus said. He didn’t say anything else for a minute, and Sirius was about to ask what he meant when Remus pushed himself unsteadily to a sitting position.

Ignoring Sirius’ monosyllabic protests, Remus struggled to stand up, leaning heavily on the hospital bed, then took several tottering steps towards Sirius’ bed, nearly toppling over onto Sirius when he made it.

Feeling like he should help, Sirius weakly pushed the covers down so Remus could crawl underneath with him, the weirdness of the situation not even registering in his disease-fevered mind.

Reaching over shakily, Remus fumbled with the buttons on Sirius’ pajama top, biting his lip in utter concentration. Sirius batted clumsily at Remus’ hand, intending to protest that he was too cold, but dropped his hand limply when Remus said “Trust me.”

Remus got enough buttons undone to tug the shirt over Sirius’ head, then he slid down to press his chest against Sirius’ back with a relieved sigh. Sirius gasped a nonsensical word as Remus’ searing skin warmed his own chilled flesh.

After several seconds, Sirius stopped shivering and relaxed against Remus. He felt Remus’ hands slide over his chest and stomach to hold him closer, like a child clutching a stuffed animal. Sirius wanted suddenly to roll over, to wrap his arms around Remus too, but his body felt to heavy to move, like the Deadweight Curse that Snivellus had cast on him Fourth Year. He settled for seeking out one of Remus’ hands with his own and twining their fingers together.

Remus murmured something unintelligible into his hair, and Sirius sank heavily back into sleep with the feel of Remus’ lips brushing against the back of his neck.

Later that afternoon, when Sirius woke suddenly to find Remus lying with his back to Sirius and twitching in sleep like a puppy, Sirius returned the favor.</lj>
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