Happy birthday!
Remus Lupin woke with a start, sniffing the air in alarm. Something was definitely on fire in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He was out of bed and hurrying down the hall before he realized it, following his nose in embarrassingly wolf-like fashion, grey dressing gown billowing out behind him.
The trailed ended at the kitchen, where smoke billowed cheerful around the doorway. Remus entered with the appropriate level of caution, wand at the ready. Through the haze he could make out a bright red and gold shape, coughing and moving about the room with what - paradoxically - looked like graceful panic.
“Sirius?” Remus called, trying to inhale as little smoke as possible.
“Moony?” Sirius’ voice was raspier even than usual, probably due to the inhalation of copious amounts of smoke. “Moony, go back to bed.”
“I would,” Remus replied, “but I’m afraid if I did I might never wake up.” His eyes were adjusting to the smoke now, and Remus could see that Sirius was holding a frying pan in one hand and a pair of iron tongs in the other. There was also a carton of milk sticking out of the front pocket of his Gryffindor dressing gown.
“Oh bugger it,” Sirius exclaimed, tossing the frying pan over his shoulder in the direction of the sink, where it miraculously landed with a loud clattering noise. “I’ve botched it all up.”
Remus walked carefully to the window, hands held out in front f his body in case a chair should materialize from the fog just to trip him up. He yanked the window open, and watched with some satisfaction as the smoke tendrils rushed gleefully to their freedom.
Confident that they wouldn’t suffocate, Remus turned back to Sirius. “Botched what? What were you trying to do?”
Sirius looked absolutely crestfallen, the very picture of a dog whose bone had been taken away. “I was trying to make you breakfast,” he said, almost too quietly for Remus to hear.
“You have a house elf for that,” Remus pointed out. “Don’t tell me Hermione’s managed to convince even you to join S.P.E.W?”
“Of course not,” Sirius answered, voice now suitably loud with indignation. “But I’m convinced Kreacher’s going to poison us one of these days.”
Remus snorted. “You know sometimes I think Azkaban got to you a little more than you’ll admit. The world’s not out to get you, Sirius.” Remus frowned. “Or at least not quite all of it.”
“Think what you will,” Sirius answered, “but it’s not that he can’t cook toast without burning it, it’s just that he won’t. And when I spontaneous combust after eating one of his suppers you’d better not stand around defending him, claiming it was just an accident.”
Remus scrubbed experimentally at the flaky black substance coating the bottom of the iron frying pan as Sirius ranted. When Sirius stopped to take a breath, he interrupted. “What was in here?”
“Eggs,” Sirius answered, “And the bacon too. Thought I would save time and do them together.”
When Remus merely stared at him, Sirius’ voice turned defensive. “Well none of this would’ve happened if you’d let me use magic!”
Remus scraped the bacon-egg-ash substance into the rubbish bin. “You can’t afford to draw attention to yourself. You take enough risks already.” This conversation was familiar ground for both of them; as Sirius became more and more restless copped up in his childhood home, they debated the relative merits of safety versus freedom almost daily.
“Respectfully, my dear Moony, I think me trying to cook without magic constitutes a greater risk than with,” Sirius answered gently, trying to avoid sliding into the argument.
Remus chuckled. “You may be right about that. Come on, I’ll show you how to fry an egg.”
Sirius collapsed dramatically onto one of the kitchen chairs. “But I am exhausted and possibly I have the black lung from working in such smoke-filled conditions. Can’t you make us the eggs?”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You know, after all of this is over and we clear your name and you get Harry back, won’t you want to know how to cook for him? Like a proper parent?”
Sirius smiled at the thought, then remembered himself and pouted accusingly in Remus’ direction. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, you emotionally manipulative werewolf. Besides, I’m sure Harry knows how to fry an egg.”
Remus sighed. “I’m sure he does. Now come watch how it’s done.”
“Besides,” Sirius continued, and Remus could almost hear the sly smile in his voice, “I’d always assumed that when the war’s over and I finally have Harry I’d also have you. You know, to make the breakfasts.”
“To make the breakfasts.” Remus confirmed, cracking a fresh egg into the now sparkling frying pan. “Is that all I’m good for?”
Sirius stood behind him now, watching the sizzling egg with feigned fascination. He nuzzled affectionately against Remus’ neck. “Well, other things too,” he conceded, “But mostly the breakfasts.”
Happy birthday! <3
The trailed ended at the kitchen, where smoke billowed cheerful around the doorway. Remus entered with the appropriate level of caution, wand at the ready. Through the haze he could make out a bright red and gold shape, coughing and moving about the room with what - paradoxically - looked like graceful panic.
“Sirius?” Remus called, trying to inhale as little smoke as possible.
“Moony?” Sirius’ voice was raspier even than usual, probably due to the inhalation of copious amounts of smoke. “Moony, go back to bed.”
“I would,” Remus replied, “but I’m afraid if I did I might never wake up.” His eyes were adjusting to the smoke now, and Remus could see that Sirius was holding a frying pan in one hand and a pair of iron tongs in the other. There was also a carton of milk sticking out of the front pocket of his Gryffindor dressing gown.
“Oh bugger it,” Sirius exclaimed, tossing the frying pan over his shoulder in the direction of the sink, where it miraculously landed with a loud clattering noise. “I’ve botched it all up.”
Remus walked carefully to the window, hands held out in front f his body in case a chair should materialize from the fog just to trip him up. He yanked the window open, and watched with some satisfaction as the smoke tendrils rushed gleefully to their freedom.
Confident that they wouldn’t suffocate, Remus turned back to Sirius. “Botched what? What were you trying to do?”
Sirius looked absolutely crestfallen, the very picture of a dog whose bone had been taken away. “I was trying to make you breakfast,” he said, almost too quietly for Remus to hear.
“You have a house elf for that,” Remus pointed out. “Don’t tell me Hermione’s managed to convince even you to join S.P.E.W?”
“Of course not,” Sirius answered, voice now suitably loud with indignation. “But I’m convinced Kreacher’s going to poison us one of these days.”
Remus snorted. “You know sometimes I think Azkaban got to you a little more than you’ll admit. The world’s not out to get you, Sirius.” Remus frowned. “Or at least not quite all of it.”
“Think what you will,” Sirius answered, “but it’s not that he can’t cook toast without burning it, it’s just that he won’t. And when I spontaneous combust after eating one of his suppers you’d better not stand around defending him, claiming it was just an accident.”
Remus scrubbed experimentally at the flaky black substance coating the bottom of the iron frying pan as Sirius ranted. When Sirius stopped to take a breath, he interrupted. “What was in here?”
“Eggs,” Sirius answered, “And the bacon too. Thought I would save time and do them together.”
When Remus merely stared at him, Sirius’ voice turned defensive. “Well none of this would’ve happened if you’d let me use magic!”
Remus scraped the bacon-egg-ash substance into the rubbish bin. “You can’t afford to draw attention to yourself. You take enough risks already.” This conversation was familiar ground for both of them; as Sirius became more and more restless copped up in his childhood home, they debated the relative merits of safety versus freedom almost daily.
“Respectfully, my dear Moony, I think me trying to cook without magic constitutes a greater risk than with,” Sirius answered gently, trying to avoid sliding into the argument.
Remus chuckled. “You may be right about that. Come on, I’ll show you how to fry an egg.”
Sirius collapsed dramatically onto one of the kitchen chairs. “But I am exhausted and possibly I have the black lung from working in such smoke-filled conditions. Can’t you make us the eggs?”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You know, after all of this is over and we clear your name and you get Harry back, won’t you want to know how to cook for him? Like a proper parent?”
Sirius smiled at the thought, then remembered himself and pouted accusingly in Remus’ direction. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, you emotionally manipulative werewolf. Besides, I’m sure Harry knows how to fry an egg.”
Remus sighed. “I’m sure he does. Now come watch how it’s done.”
“Besides,” Sirius continued, and Remus could almost hear the sly smile in his voice, “I’d always assumed that when the war’s over and I finally have Harry I’d also have you. You know, to make the breakfasts.”
“To make the breakfasts.” Remus confirmed, cracking a fresh egg into the now sparkling frying pan. “Is that all I’m good for?”
Sirius stood behind him now, watching the sizzling egg with feigned fascination. He nuzzled affectionately against Remus’ neck. “Well, other things too,” he conceded, “But mostly the breakfasts.”
Happy birthday! <3