A Quest for Answers, Chapter 1
So, at the suggestion of a random FFnet reviewer, and at the persuasion of my own inspiration, I have decided to write a short multi-chaptered fic about the Marauders. Specifically, I'll be retelling the over-told story of Remus and Sirius and how they eventually hooked up, mostly for my own amusement. It's not really adding anything new to the fandom (and Shoebox's version of events is still my headcanon above all else) but it's pulling me out of my writing slump. So maybe you'll find it amusing! This is mostly just me rummaging around in Remus's psyche anyways. ^_^
Title: A Quest for Answers
Chapter: 1 out of 5-ish
Genre: Very slashy, vaguely humorous misadventures
Characters: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, the rest of the crew
Summary: A quest for answers. Some red-faced flailing. Several regrettable moments. A dubiously accurate conclusion.
"Lumos," Remus hissed.
James's bed frame dug painfully into Remus's head as he swiveled his neck for a better view. His legs were splayed out behind him, and he couldn't find a decent place to put his elbows as he groped around. Not for the first time in his life, he questioned the path he had taken to bring himself to this, his latest shining moment.
The underside of James's bed was like the Pandora's box of Things You Wish You Didn't Know About Teenage Boys. He knew that James's invisibility cloak had to be somewhere, buried beneath the rubbish, but it was looking less and less likely that he was ever going to find it. The source of the dilemma, most likely, was that some bit of rubbish had gotten inside the cloak and turned the whole thing invisible. Feeling around would be most effective, but Remus really didn't want to touch some of the items under there if he didn't need to.
Remus screwed up his eyes and whispered "Nox." Just lie back and think of England. He curled up at an odd angle so that one arm was completely shoved under the bed, and started swiping it around randomly.
Eugh. Oh god. What is that. His imagination conjured up the worst - molded food, mysteriously stained garments, magazines with dubious histories - as his fingers brushed over textures that he was sure could only be produced by toxic waste. This, this is completely vile.
The corner of a cloth, cool and velvety and familiar, grazed his index finger. He stopped and latched on. Dragging it out took a small amount of effort at this angle, and as he pulled it into the moonlit room it seemed that it was wrapped securely around something large and heavy and square and distinctly book-like.
A quick look - Ancient Runes, of course. Remus rolled his eyes and pushed it back into the hell from whence it came. James's parents had forced him to sign up for the class, instead of another year of Divination with Sirius and Peter. He had since become adamant in his delusions that his most difficult class simply Did Not Exist as long as he never cracked the book, never did any of the work without being coerced by Remus, and never paid the slightest bit of attention without Remus prodding at him to stop doodling. If not for Remus dragging him into the classroom every day (honestly, it was like caring for a small child), he would probably never even show up.
Remus shook his head and pushed all thoughts of James Potter and Ancient Runes out of his mind, because this night was very much not about either of those things. The reminder dizzied him slightly as he pulled the cloak around himself (it felt very odd to be alone in the cloak, free to move around without someone breathing on his neck or stepping on his heels). He was about to do something that he normally did not do on his own, in pursuit on information upon which he normally did not allow himself to dwell, and it was only slightly terrifying.
The trajectory from his dormitory to the restricted section of the library was one that he had traveled effortlessly a hundred times before, and usually with a teenage boy or two slowing him down. He knew how to step on which parts of his feet to silence his running. He knew which stairs creaked, which suits of armor stuck into the corridor at unexpected turns, and which portraits were liable to wake up if you ran too near. He was even starting to recognize the late-night trajectories of the staircases, and he made it to the first floor of the school in record time.
If Sirius had been there, he would have tried to heroically kick the lock free before being reminded by Remus, like clockwork, that a simple "alohamora" worked fine on the restricted section. But Sirius couldn't be here, oh god, not for this - and not only because he made a lot of noise and forgot important things.
Sirius Black. As much as he gave the impression that he was a stupid kid, he was honestly the most complicated thing in Remus's life. He didn't have any right to be, and there was really no rhyme or reason to it, but there it was. Remus had spent nearly two years now pointedly Not Thinking About It as much as possible, but now, in the spring of his fourth year, he was realizing that he had to Think About It. Because It wasn't getting better. And instead of repression, what Remus really needed were whatever solid facts he could find.
Hence, the late night trip to the restricted section that he was hiding from even his friends.
Earlier in the year, Mme. Pince had deemed Remus worthy to be taught her Book Locator spell that she was certain would revolutionize libraries and earn her fame and fortune - provided, of course, she actually trusted more than a handful of star students to learn it. She was quite an unpleasant woman, when you got down to it. But her spell was quite good, and it had found him a good deal of hidden, unorganized, helpful volumes in the past months. If there was anything in the restricted section worth restricting from a sexually confused student, this spell would surely find it.
He stepped into the stacks, let the cloak slide down and pool on the floor, and lifted his wand. "Inquisitio Cartae," he swallowed, "h-homosexuality."
One thick volume flew off the shelves and hit him in the stomach.
"Ow! Bloody…" Remus doubled over, hunched over the book.
"Who's there?" Filch's voice echoed through the library, far too close for comfort.
Remus panicked. The cloak. He didn't have time to put it back on. Just before Filch rounded the corner, he kicked it across the floor and into the shadows.
"Well, well, well." Filch's voice dripped with gravelly glee as Remus's frozen face came into view. "Mr. Lupin, caught alone at last. Where are your loyal troublemakers now?"
Remus knew that it was unfair to heap even more hate upon this strange, lonely man, but he really did dislike him. "I…"
"Save your excuses." His hand shot out and grabbed at Remus's book before he even remembered that he'd been holding it. "Pheh. The Garden of Forbidden Pleasures? A favorite among students. But enough to get Remus Lupin caught out of bed?"
Remus's face turned bright red, and the words he'd been attempting to formulate dried up in his throat. Useless library…
Filch grabbed Remus's wrist with long, grimy fingers, and Remus considered that this was probably one of the most downright unpleasant moments he'd had in a while. He walked quickly so that he at least wouldn't feel he was being dragged. "Well, Mr. Lupin, normally I'd be giving you detention about now. But I think I'll have you see Professor Dumbledore in the morning to discuss your suspicious circumstances."
If it was possible, Remus's throat went even drier. He could handle an idiot like Filch, but Dumbledore, ageless and wise as he was, would know the truth before he even said a word. "Th-that isn't necessary, sir, I mean, I was only…I don't think the professor would want to be disturbed for something so -"
"Can't save yourself this time, Mr. Lupin," Filch said proudly.
It was well known that Remus, though a prefect and a model student, was extraordinarily high on Filch's blacklist. Even higher than his fellow Marauders, who, though troublemakers, were at least mostly predictable. Someone who associated with Marauders and yet almost never got caught was certainly someone to keep track of, at least in the mind of a possibly psychotic man who smelt of moldy dungeons.
After what felt like an eternity, Filch finally let go of his wrist, depositing him at the portrait hole. "Get yourself to bed. If I were you I'd be expecting a summons from the headmaster in the morning." He turned on a heel and lurched off, alternating between whistling and cackling lecherously.
Remus shuddered and rubbed at his wrist.
He turned his attention to getting inside and back to bed so he could forget this whole debacle for a few hours. "Er…excuse me…"
The Fat Lady opened one eye. "I suppose you'll be wanting to get back in? I should just make you sleep outside…"
"For Merlin's sake. Fortuna Minor." The Fat Lady swung out into the corridor, looking disgruntled.
Fortuna minor, indeed.
Title: A Quest for Answers
Chapter: 1 out of 5-ish
Genre: Very slashy, vaguely humorous misadventures
Characters: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, the rest of the crew
Summary: A quest for answers. Some red-faced flailing. Several regrettable moments. A dubiously accurate conclusion.
"Lumos," Remus hissed.
James's bed frame dug painfully into Remus's head as he swiveled his neck for a better view. His legs were splayed out behind him, and he couldn't find a decent place to put his elbows as he groped around. Not for the first time in his life, he questioned the path he had taken to bring himself to this, his latest shining moment.
The underside of James's bed was like the Pandora's box of Things You Wish You Didn't Know About Teenage Boys. He knew that James's invisibility cloak had to be somewhere, buried beneath the rubbish, but it was looking less and less likely that he was ever going to find it. The source of the dilemma, most likely, was that some bit of rubbish had gotten inside the cloak and turned the whole thing invisible. Feeling around would be most effective, but Remus really didn't want to touch some of the items under there if he didn't need to.
Remus screwed up his eyes and whispered "Nox." Just lie back and think of England. He curled up at an odd angle so that one arm was completely shoved under the bed, and started swiping it around randomly.
Eugh. Oh god. What is that. His imagination conjured up the worst - molded food, mysteriously stained garments, magazines with dubious histories - as his fingers brushed over textures that he was sure could only be produced by toxic waste. This, this is completely vile.
The corner of a cloth, cool and velvety and familiar, grazed his index finger. He stopped and latched on. Dragging it out took a small amount of effort at this angle, and as he pulled it into the moonlit room it seemed that it was wrapped securely around something large and heavy and square and distinctly book-like.
A quick look - Ancient Runes, of course. Remus rolled his eyes and pushed it back into the hell from whence it came. James's parents had forced him to sign up for the class, instead of another year of Divination with Sirius and Peter. He had since become adamant in his delusions that his most difficult class simply Did Not Exist as long as he never cracked the book, never did any of the work without being coerced by Remus, and never paid the slightest bit of attention without Remus prodding at him to stop doodling. If not for Remus dragging him into the classroom every day (honestly, it was like caring for a small child), he would probably never even show up.
Remus shook his head and pushed all thoughts of James Potter and Ancient Runes out of his mind, because this night was very much not about either of those things. The reminder dizzied him slightly as he pulled the cloak around himself (it felt very odd to be alone in the cloak, free to move around without someone breathing on his neck or stepping on his heels). He was about to do something that he normally did not do on his own, in pursuit on information upon which he normally did not allow himself to dwell, and it was only slightly terrifying.
The trajectory from his dormitory to the restricted section of the library was one that he had traveled effortlessly a hundred times before, and usually with a teenage boy or two slowing him down. He knew how to step on which parts of his feet to silence his running. He knew which stairs creaked, which suits of armor stuck into the corridor at unexpected turns, and which portraits were liable to wake up if you ran too near. He was even starting to recognize the late-night trajectories of the staircases, and he made it to the first floor of the school in record time.
If Sirius had been there, he would have tried to heroically kick the lock free before being reminded by Remus, like clockwork, that a simple "alohamora" worked fine on the restricted section. But Sirius couldn't be here, oh god, not for this - and not only because he made a lot of noise and forgot important things.
Sirius Black. As much as he gave the impression that he was a stupid kid, he was honestly the most complicated thing in Remus's life. He didn't have any right to be, and there was really no rhyme or reason to it, but there it was. Remus had spent nearly two years now pointedly Not Thinking About It as much as possible, but now, in the spring of his fourth year, he was realizing that he had to Think About It. Because It wasn't getting better. And instead of repression, what Remus really needed were whatever solid facts he could find.
Hence, the late night trip to the restricted section that he was hiding from even his friends.
Earlier in the year, Mme. Pince had deemed Remus worthy to be taught her Book Locator spell that she was certain would revolutionize libraries and earn her fame and fortune - provided, of course, she actually trusted more than a handful of star students to learn it. She was quite an unpleasant woman, when you got down to it. But her spell was quite good, and it had found him a good deal of hidden, unorganized, helpful volumes in the past months. If there was anything in the restricted section worth restricting from a sexually confused student, this spell would surely find it.
He stepped into the stacks, let the cloak slide down and pool on the floor, and lifted his wand. "Inquisitio Cartae," he swallowed, "h-homosexuality."
One thick volume flew off the shelves and hit him in the stomach.
"Ow! Bloody…" Remus doubled over, hunched over the book.
"Who's there?" Filch's voice echoed through the library, far too close for comfort.
Remus panicked. The cloak. He didn't have time to put it back on. Just before Filch rounded the corner, he kicked it across the floor and into the shadows.
"Well, well, well." Filch's voice dripped with gravelly glee as Remus's frozen face came into view. "Mr. Lupin, caught alone at last. Where are your loyal troublemakers now?"
Remus knew that it was unfair to heap even more hate upon this strange, lonely man, but he really did dislike him. "I…"
"Save your excuses." His hand shot out and grabbed at Remus's book before he even remembered that he'd been holding it. "Pheh. The Garden of Forbidden Pleasures? A favorite among students. But enough to get Remus Lupin caught out of bed?"
Remus's face turned bright red, and the words he'd been attempting to formulate dried up in his throat. Useless library…
Filch grabbed Remus's wrist with long, grimy fingers, and Remus considered that this was probably one of the most downright unpleasant moments he'd had in a while. He walked quickly so that he at least wouldn't feel he was being dragged. "Well, Mr. Lupin, normally I'd be giving you detention about now. But I think I'll have you see Professor Dumbledore in the morning to discuss your suspicious circumstances."
If it was possible, Remus's throat went even drier. He could handle an idiot like Filch, but Dumbledore, ageless and wise as he was, would know the truth before he even said a word. "Th-that isn't necessary, sir, I mean, I was only…I don't think the professor would want to be disturbed for something so -"
"Can't save yourself this time, Mr. Lupin," Filch said proudly.
It was well known that Remus, though a prefect and a model student, was extraordinarily high on Filch's blacklist. Even higher than his fellow Marauders, who, though troublemakers, were at least mostly predictable. Someone who associated with Marauders and yet almost never got caught was certainly someone to keep track of, at least in the mind of a possibly psychotic man who smelt of moldy dungeons.
After what felt like an eternity, Filch finally let go of his wrist, depositing him at the portrait hole. "Get yourself to bed. If I were you I'd be expecting a summons from the headmaster in the morning." He turned on a heel and lurched off, alternating between whistling and cackling lecherously.
Remus shuddered and rubbed at his wrist.
He turned his attention to getting inside and back to bed so he could forget this whole debacle for a few hours. "Er…excuse me…"
The Fat Lady opened one eye. "I suppose you'll be wanting to get back in? I should just make you sleep outside…"
"For Merlin's sake. Fortuna Minor." The Fat Lady swung out into the corridor, looking disgruntled.
Fortuna minor, indeed.