(no subject)
Title: Numbers
Rating: G for general exhibition
Words: 854
Prompt: 1 - Calendar
Summary: Remus had always been the calendar.
Can I just take this opportunity to say "<3 ^__^ XD ZOMG BAREFOOTBOYS IS BACK"??!!
The first time Remus went to Sirius’ house (the 4th of June) was the first time in months Sirius seriously surprised him. He wasn’t surprised when Sirius intentionally crashed the motorbike into Emilio, the gardener’s, prize-winning garden, nor when his friend found the locks and jinxes changed against him and broke a window. He didn’t see anything amiss when Sirius gave no sign that he’d seen Regulus, pressed against the wall on the second floor stairwell, who likewise was blind to the boy following at his brother’s heels.
The real shock came when they reached Sirius’ room, and the exiled Black began cramming clothes into a bag. Remus examined his walls, plastered with two- or three-year-old pinups of scantily clad witches and Quidditch teams Sirius now reviled. Remus paused, eyebrows raised.
“You have a calendar?” There were cryptic messages circled in red, huge black crosses and unclear doodles.
“Yeah,” Sirius grunted, carefully selecting a wooden Koala, an empty glass bottle and a female-shaped clock Remus knew had once belonged to James, and stuffing them into the already-full bag. “So?”
“So, you’ve just, you’ve never used one at Hogwarts.” Remus knew all too well. Sirius seemed to have no sense of time, and didn’t care a bit. Two or three times a day he would ask Remus what the date was, generally minutes after asking the first time. And Remus couldn’t just sigh, “The fourth, Sirius,” or he’d be answered, “Ok. Of what? Is it August yet? Is August summer?”
“It’s May.”
Comprehension. Then Sirius would count on his fingers “January February March April May. The fifth!” his confidence giving away only slightly around the edges until Remus nodded. He also needed Remus to remind him daily when anyone’s birthday was coming up, and would still forget on the day.
“I don’t need a calendar at Hogwarts,” he said, shoving his things deeper into the bag with one hand, and yanking the zipper shut with the other. Regulus had clearly informed his mother of her unwelcome son’s arrival, as a female voice was shrieking its way up to them. His bag closed, Sirius stood and slung it over his shoulder, giving Remus a winning smile. “I’ve got you.”
Sirius was still smiling as the door was flung open to reveal who could only be Mrs. Black, already well into a tirade. “If you think you can just waltz back in here-“
“Anyway, all that date shit might fit in your head, but I have better stuff to store in mine,” Sirius said amiably to Remus, ignoring his mother (“And if you’ve brought a Mudblood into my house you might as well spit on the graves of your ancestors!”) as he led the way downstairs.
“I’d rather remember something good, like that Pete’s Mum calls him Twinkybear, or that Bellatrix is allergic to honey.”
Mrs. Black’s screams followed them out as they crossed the lawn to the bike. Alphard had now joined the three of them in her curses, but the mention of his uncle only seemed to brighten Sirius, who turned to Remus as he was buckling his helmet. “What’s the date?”
“4th of June.”
“4th of June, Remus. File that one away. The day you met my Mum, and I escaped for one last time.”
And so Remus had. But now he was regretting it. It had slipped in so easily and remained lodged in his brain, like all the other dates. It fit in neatly between Amos Diggory’s birthday and the day Goblins had been given their first basic rights. Only now there were other dates around it; the day Voldemort had disappeared, when Remus drew his curtains to the celebrations outside and wept. There was the day Remus received word of a teaching job at Hogwarts and the first escape from Azkaban, when the two owls grew bored of his stunned silence and began to fight. And then there was the day, still fresh enough that even the thought hurt, when Dementors stormed the Ministry and Sirius escaped for the absolute last time.
But now Remus wished that his mind was more like Sirius’. What did dates matter? They were just numbers, providing some semblance of order to a world that was completely without it; that was best when it was completely without it.
What did it matter if Remus remembered that the first time the Marauders found out about his “furry little problem” was April 17, 1973, when he couldn’t remember what it was Sirius had said, breaking the silence and dissolving them all into laughter? Was it important to know that Sirius had arrived at his house after Voldemort came back, launching himself at Remus and refusing to get up - in fact, licking Remus’ face at the very suggestion - May 29th, when he couldn’t remember the smell Padfoot had left in every room?
Was it worth remembering that day, the day, when he’d lost everything, was June 14, but had no idea what the last thing he’d said to Sirius had been?
Remus had always been the calendar. He was starting to wish that he could have been the bag.
Rating: G for general exhibition
Words: 854
Prompt: 1 - Calendar
Summary: Remus had always been the calendar.
Can I just take this opportunity to say "<3 ^__^ XD ZOMG BAREFOOTBOYS IS BACK"??!!
The first time Remus went to Sirius’ house (the 4th of June) was the first time in months Sirius seriously surprised him. He wasn’t surprised when Sirius intentionally crashed the motorbike into Emilio, the gardener’s, prize-winning garden, nor when his friend found the locks and jinxes changed against him and broke a window. He didn’t see anything amiss when Sirius gave no sign that he’d seen Regulus, pressed against the wall on the second floor stairwell, who likewise was blind to the boy following at his brother’s heels.
The real shock came when they reached Sirius’ room, and the exiled Black began cramming clothes into a bag. Remus examined his walls, plastered with two- or three-year-old pinups of scantily clad witches and Quidditch teams Sirius now reviled. Remus paused, eyebrows raised.
“You have a calendar?” There were cryptic messages circled in red, huge black crosses and unclear doodles.
“Yeah,” Sirius grunted, carefully selecting a wooden Koala, an empty glass bottle and a female-shaped clock Remus knew had once belonged to James, and stuffing them into the already-full bag. “So?”
“So, you’ve just, you’ve never used one at Hogwarts.” Remus knew all too well. Sirius seemed to have no sense of time, and didn’t care a bit. Two or three times a day he would ask Remus what the date was, generally minutes after asking the first time. And Remus couldn’t just sigh, “The fourth, Sirius,” or he’d be answered, “Ok. Of what? Is it August yet? Is August summer?”
“It’s May.”
Comprehension. Then Sirius would count on his fingers “January February March April May. The fifth!” his confidence giving away only slightly around the edges until Remus nodded. He also needed Remus to remind him daily when anyone’s birthday was coming up, and would still forget on the day.
“I don’t need a calendar at Hogwarts,” he said, shoving his things deeper into the bag with one hand, and yanking the zipper shut with the other. Regulus had clearly informed his mother of her unwelcome son’s arrival, as a female voice was shrieking its way up to them. His bag closed, Sirius stood and slung it over his shoulder, giving Remus a winning smile. “I’ve got you.”
Sirius was still smiling as the door was flung open to reveal who could only be Mrs. Black, already well into a tirade. “If you think you can just waltz back in here-“
“Anyway, all that date shit might fit in your head, but I have better stuff to store in mine,” Sirius said amiably to Remus, ignoring his mother (“And if you’ve brought a Mudblood into my house you might as well spit on the graves of your ancestors!”) as he led the way downstairs.
“I’d rather remember something good, like that Pete’s Mum calls him Twinkybear, or that Bellatrix is allergic to honey.”
Mrs. Black’s screams followed them out as they crossed the lawn to the bike. Alphard had now joined the three of them in her curses, but the mention of his uncle only seemed to brighten Sirius, who turned to Remus as he was buckling his helmet. “What’s the date?”
“4th of June.”
“4th of June, Remus. File that one away. The day you met my Mum, and I escaped for one last time.”
And so Remus had. But now he was regretting it. It had slipped in so easily and remained lodged in his brain, like all the other dates. It fit in neatly between Amos Diggory’s birthday and the day Goblins had been given their first basic rights. Only now there were other dates around it; the day Voldemort had disappeared, when Remus drew his curtains to the celebrations outside and wept. There was the day Remus received word of a teaching job at Hogwarts and the first escape from Azkaban, when the two owls grew bored of his stunned silence and began to fight. And then there was the day, still fresh enough that even the thought hurt, when Dementors stormed the Ministry and Sirius escaped for the absolute last time.
But now Remus wished that his mind was more like Sirius’. What did dates matter? They were just numbers, providing some semblance of order to a world that was completely without it; that was best when it was completely without it.
What did it matter if Remus remembered that the first time the Marauders found out about his “furry little problem” was April 17, 1973, when he couldn’t remember what it was Sirius had said, breaking the silence and dissolving them all into laughter? Was it important to know that Sirius had arrived at his house after Voldemort came back, launching himself at Remus and refusing to get up - in fact, licking Remus’ face at the very suggestion - May 29th, when he couldn’t remember the smell Padfoot had left in every room?
Was it worth remembering that day, the day, when he’d lost everything, was June 14, but had no idea what the last thing he’d said to Sirius had been?
Remus had always been the calendar. He was starting to wish that he could have been the bag.