FIC: "Hideaway Thoughts" - HP: Sirius/Remus
I have...a lot of fic to post. *__* So I apologize for the posting spree I'm on today, but when you're feeling productive, you should take advantage of it, right? Right. This is a fic I wrote for flamina_x during my hp_toujours exchange, when I couldn't find someone at the very very very last minute. Luckily for me, it was Sirius/Remus, and she requested Grimmauld Place, or I would have been effed. D: So I got to write something that explored more of Grimmauld, which I adore, and I got to work with some of the same themes that I used for the pinch hit I wrote in 2008.
Title: Hideaway Thoughts
Rating/Warnings: PG13, none
Wordcount: ~1500
Summary: You can't forget the things you never remembered.
Notes: I've always loved the idea that Walburga would have an indoor garden in her house, like she would never be seen tending to her roses by the neighbors or something. :D Post-Azkaban, light on the Blacks aside from Sirius.
~ ~ ~
Remus finds him in his mother's garden, sitting on a metal bench that is swallowed by errant vines and tangled leaves. Sirius walks around barefoot most days, when the house is empty and the Order is split among their missions. Remus never really knows where Sirius wanders to, only that he does, and that he's following something within him that tugs him along familiar paths between the corridors.
Sirius doesn't turn when Remus enters, his boots shuffling the greenery as he carefully steps into the sun. The roof is spelled, perpetually sunny, and Remus feels oddly warmer, as if the house were cold except for this place.
Sirius's hair is long these days, dark and wavy past his shoulders, and Remus touches it feather-light without a second thought. "Hey," he murmurs, and strokes the hidden skin beneath, trailing his fingers down the back of Sirius's neck. "Hiding?"
"Pretending," Sirius says back simply. He turns his face to Remus, and opens his eyes. There's an absence behind the grey that Remus hates to understand, and wants to fill with memory. Sirius looks away again, his hair a curtain between them as it slides from his shoulder. "You should know, if I want to hide, you won't find me."
Remus nods, and then sighs. "Yes, I for-"
"It's strange," Sirius interrupts. He stands smoothly, and tilts his head back slightly as he looks at Remus. He doesn't have frown lines from his years away, like Remus had originally expected, just deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and lines around his mouth where an empty half-smile usually rests. It wasn't what anyone had expected, not from someone who spent so long in Azkaban.
"It's...strange," Sirius repeats, softer, "The things you remember when you return to a place. Memories tucked away, you know?" He reaches out and fixes Remus's crooked collar with a firm tug of his hand. It's an action so familiar that Remus can barely breathe for a moment.
"The mind can do that," Remus replies hoarsely. He brushes the hair out of Sirius's eyes, but receives no response. Remus tries not to feel too hurt by it. "It tucks things away for you."
Sirius nods and shifts his gaze away. "Yes, it does. I want to show you something, Remus. Maybe you'll-" He doesn't finish the thought, an odd habit he's developed since returning to Grimmauld Place, and pulls at Remus's sleeve to lead them from the room.
Remus follows him down the dark halls, past the servant's stair to where Walburga Black's rooms are tucked against the south wall of the house. Remus doesn't ask why Sirius has been spending so many hours among his mother's possessions, despite the fact he's caught him standing in the foyer watching Walburga's portrait silently. He hasn't been back for long enough that anyone feels comfortable invading his personal space, even if in direct conversation Sirius seems almost as normal as he was twelve years ago.
"Here," Sirius says suddenly, and they go into Walburga's drawing room, where the dark violet carpeting changes to pale grey. The walls are wallpapered with an old pattern; lavender and smoke coloured designs with details sewn in silver thread. The room is surprisingly feminine to Remus, who never knew Walburga, except from Sirius's stories and from the portrait in the hall.
"Look," Sirius says and he pulls a pale curtain away from the wall. A portrait is behind it; an enchanted oil of two bright cheeked boys, with matching dark hair and pale grey eyes, sitting in a sunny garden. Walburga's sunny indoor garden.
Remus tries not to look too surprised and likely fails. "Is that you and-"
"Yes," Sirius interrupts again. It's another of his new habits, and one that annoys Remus the most. Sirius looks at the painting as if it's delicate, and doesn't react when the two boys point at him and wave. He drops the curtain again, and looks at Remus expectantly.
"Things...weren't always that terrible, where they?" Remus doesn't know what Sirius wants to hear, but he has the feeling that the once-heir is trying to confirm something. Just as he's finished asking the question, Sirius has his wrist in hand, and is dragging them through the door of Walburga's bedroom.
Remus protests as Sirius pulls open the spacious wardrobe to yank out the robes and dresses inside. "What are you doing, Sirius, there's nothing to-"
"Take these," Sirius says, and that's all the warning Remus receives before an armful of hat boxes are piled in his arms.
From around the silk-covered boxes and their carefully tied bows, Remus asks, "What do you want me to do with them? I hope we're not having a burning-things fire, like we used to. You have a tendency to burn things you would have liked to keep."
Sirius throws a quick glance his way and then smiles, "Don't be thick, Remus. Dump them anywhere. I don't care."
Remus doesn't miss the fleeting expression that flickers across Sirius's face to tell him that the other man doesn't remember. Remus sets the boxes on the bed only to be pulled bodily into the wardrobe by the back of his robe. "Wait, why do we have to be in the wardrobe?" Remus bangs his knee against the door when Sirius tugs it shut behind them, and they're both crowded and squished at the bottom before either speaks again.
"This is completely uncomfortable, I know," Sirius says breathlessly, though he sounds pleased. "But sometimes I can't think if I'm in these bloody rooms all day, you know? All by myself, everything looking the same - feels like a bloody pensieve."
"You're going to have to help me stand again, I hope you realize," Remus tells him pleasantly, anything to distract from the image of Sirius in his newest solitary prison; from Azkaban to Grimmauld Place. He reaches across the darkness and wraps his fingers in the front of Sirius's robe. "Or you'll be pulling me out of here like those hat boxes."
"By the ribbons? Remus, I had no idea." Sirius's breath in a short puff against his face is the closest Remus has heard to a laugh in days. Fingers move flat against Remus's chest, and slide up to curve over his shoulders. It's quiet for a bit, and Remus waits. He can almost feel that there's more.
"Sometimes I just..." Sirius hesitates, leans closer, "I'll see things and remember, but it's not like it's something I lost when I was imprisoned."
"Ah," Remus says at length. He leans closer too, and presses their foreheads together. The conversation in the garden makes more sense. "I understand."
Sirius shifts and they're cheek to cheek in the dark of the wardrobe. "I know there're gaps in me, Remus. You can talk about it, you know - it won't shatter my fragile ego or something equally laughable. You used to relish the chance to knock me down a peg, remember?"
Remus laughs, a little startled. "Back then you needed it. You were a loud, annoying bastard."
Sirius snorts, amused by the description, but continues on. "I know...why I hate this place, but I'm also remembering...other times."
"When you didn't," Remus offers.
"Maybe," Sirius allows, reluctantly. He pauses to think, two fingers tapping absently against Remus's collar.
Remus nudges the hand away, but holds onto it. "Did you go and mature while you were gone, Sirius?"
"Had to do something with all my ample time," Sirius says a little hoarsely, and Remus wonders if he went a little too far too quickly. "But maybe you're right there, too. Maybe you're still right all the time, and I still need you too-"
He stops so abruptly, Remus thinks he's changing subject again. Sirius is silent, though and he can almost feel his gaze in the dark. Remus prompts, "Need me to do what?"
"Oh I don't know - me?" Sirius laughs quickly. "Not now, think of your poor back, and the wardrobe. ...Okay, I don't give a fuck about the wardrobe, but I am concerned about your poor back."
"We should get out of the damn wardrobe then," Remus says wryly, and in the next few seconds the door is open and Sirius is standing outside, helping him to his feet. His touch lingers on Remus' sleeve, and once Remus smiles at him, Sirius reaches out and tugs at his collar. Remus catches the hand.
"This here," Remus asks him, squeezing the fingers gently, "Do you remember this?"
Sirius watches him blankly, smiling his empty little half-smile. "Am I supposed to, Remus?" Sirius smoothes his thumb over the inside of Remus's wrist, looking concerned when the other man shakily draws a breath.
Remus brings the hand to his mouth and a spark of bright interest lights in Sirius' eyes. "I think you're trying to."
Title: Hideaway Thoughts
Rating/Warnings: PG13, none
Wordcount: ~1500
Summary: You can't forget the things you never remembered.
Notes: I've always loved the idea that Walburga would have an indoor garden in her house, like she would never be seen tending to her roses by the neighbors or something. :D Post-Azkaban, light on the Blacks aside from Sirius.
~ ~ ~
Remus finds him in his mother's garden, sitting on a metal bench that is swallowed by errant vines and tangled leaves. Sirius walks around barefoot most days, when the house is empty and the Order is split among their missions. Remus never really knows where Sirius wanders to, only that he does, and that he's following something within him that tugs him along familiar paths between the corridors.
Sirius doesn't turn when Remus enters, his boots shuffling the greenery as he carefully steps into the sun. The roof is spelled, perpetually sunny, and Remus feels oddly warmer, as if the house were cold except for this place.
Sirius's hair is long these days, dark and wavy past his shoulders, and Remus touches it feather-light without a second thought. "Hey," he murmurs, and strokes the hidden skin beneath, trailing his fingers down the back of Sirius's neck. "Hiding?"
"Pretending," Sirius says back simply. He turns his face to Remus, and opens his eyes. There's an absence behind the grey that Remus hates to understand, and wants to fill with memory. Sirius looks away again, his hair a curtain between them as it slides from his shoulder. "You should know, if I want to hide, you won't find me."
Remus nods, and then sighs. "Yes, I for-"
"It's strange," Sirius interrupts. He stands smoothly, and tilts his head back slightly as he looks at Remus. He doesn't have frown lines from his years away, like Remus had originally expected, just deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and lines around his mouth where an empty half-smile usually rests. It wasn't what anyone had expected, not from someone who spent so long in Azkaban.
"It's...strange," Sirius repeats, softer, "The things you remember when you return to a place. Memories tucked away, you know?" He reaches out and fixes Remus's crooked collar with a firm tug of his hand. It's an action so familiar that Remus can barely breathe for a moment.
"The mind can do that," Remus replies hoarsely. He brushes the hair out of Sirius's eyes, but receives no response. Remus tries not to feel too hurt by it. "It tucks things away for you."
Sirius nods and shifts his gaze away. "Yes, it does. I want to show you something, Remus. Maybe you'll-" He doesn't finish the thought, an odd habit he's developed since returning to Grimmauld Place, and pulls at Remus's sleeve to lead them from the room.
Remus follows him down the dark halls, past the servant's stair to where Walburga Black's rooms are tucked against the south wall of the house. Remus doesn't ask why Sirius has been spending so many hours among his mother's possessions, despite the fact he's caught him standing in the foyer watching Walburga's portrait silently. He hasn't been back for long enough that anyone feels comfortable invading his personal space, even if in direct conversation Sirius seems almost as normal as he was twelve years ago.
"Here," Sirius says suddenly, and they go into Walburga's drawing room, where the dark violet carpeting changes to pale grey. The walls are wallpapered with an old pattern; lavender and smoke coloured designs with details sewn in silver thread. The room is surprisingly feminine to Remus, who never knew Walburga, except from Sirius's stories and from the portrait in the hall.
"Look," Sirius says and he pulls a pale curtain away from the wall. A portrait is behind it; an enchanted oil of two bright cheeked boys, with matching dark hair and pale grey eyes, sitting in a sunny garden. Walburga's sunny indoor garden.
Remus tries not to look too surprised and likely fails. "Is that you and-"
"Yes," Sirius interrupts again. It's another of his new habits, and one that annoys Remus the most. Sirius looks at the painting as if it's delicate, and doesn't react when the two boys point at him and wave. He drops the curtain again, and looks at Remus expectantly.
"Things...weren't always that terrible, where they?" Remus doesn't know what Sirius wants to hear, but he has the feeling that the once-heir is trying to confirm something. Just as he's finished asking the question, Sirius has his wrist in hand, and is dragging them through the door of Walburga's bedroom.
Remus protests as Sirius pulls open the spacious wardrobe to yank out the robes and dresses inside. "What are you doing, Sirius, there's nothing to-"
"Take these," Sirius says, and that's all the warning Remus receives before an armful of hat boxes are piled in his arms.
From around the silk-covered boxes and their carefully tied bows, Remus asks, "What do you want me to do with them? I hope we're not having a burning-things fire, like we used to. You have a tendency to burn things you would have liked to keep."
Sirius throws a quick glance his way and then smiles, "Don't be thick, Remus. Dump them anywhere. I don't care."
Remus doesn't miss the fleeting expression that flickers across Sirius's face to tell him that the other man doesn't remember. Remus sets the boxes on the bed only to be pulled bodily into the wardrobe by the back of his robe. "Wait, why do we have to be in the wardrobe?" Remus bangs his knee against the door when Sirius tugs it shut behind them, and they're both crowded and squished at the bottom before either speaks again.
"This is completely uncomfortable, I know," Sirius says breathlessly, though he sounds pleased. "But sometimes I can't think if I'm in these bloody rooms all day, you know? All by myself, everything looking the same - feels like a bloody pensieve."
"You're going to have to help me stand again, I hope you realize," Remus tells him pleasantly, anything to distract from the image of Sirius in his newest solitary prison; from Azkaban to Grimmauld Place. He reaches across the darkness and wraps his fingers in the front of Sirius's robe. "Or you'll be pulling me out of here like those hat boxes."
"By the ribbons? Remus, I had no idea." Sirius's breath in a short puff against his face is the closest Remus has heard to a laugh in days. Fingers move flat against Remus's chest, and slide up to curve over his shoulders. It's quiet for a bit, and Remus waits. He can almost feel that there's more.
"Sometimes I just..." Sirius hesitates, leans closer, "I'll see things and remember, but it's not like it's something I lost when I was imprisoned."
"Ah," Remus says at length. He leans closer too, and presses their foreheads together. The conversation in the garden makes more sense. "I understand."
Sirius shifts and they're cheek to cheek in the dark of the wardrobe. "I know there're gaps in me, Remus. You can talk about it, you know - it won't shatter my fragile ego or something equally laughable. You used to relish the chance to knock me down a peg, remember?"
Remus laughs, a little startled. "Back then you needed it. You were a loud, annoying bastard."
Sirius snorts, amused by the description, but continues on. "I know...why I hate this place, but I'm also remembering...other times."
"When you didn't," Remus offers.
"Maybe," Sirius allows, reluctantly. He pauses to think, two fingers tapping absently against Remus's collar.
Remus nudges the hand away, but holds onto it. "Did you go and mature while you were gone, Sirius?"
"Had to do something with all my ample time," Sirius says a little hoarsely, and Remus wonders if he went a little too far too quickly. "But maybe you're right there, too. Maybe you're still right all the time, and I still need you too-"
He stops so abruptly, Remus thinks he's changing subject again. Sirius is silent, though and he can almost feel his gaze in the dark. Remus prompts, "Need me to do what?"
"Oh I don't know - me?" Sirius laughs quickly. "Not now, think of your poor back, and the wardrobe. ...Okay, I don't give a fuck about the wardrobe, but I am concerned about your poor back."
"We should get out of the damn wardrobe then," Remus says wryly, and in the next few seconds the door is open and Sirius is standing outside, helping him to his feet. His touch lingers on Remus' sleeve, and once Remus smiles at him, Sirius reaches out and tugs at his collar. Remus catches the hand.
"This here," Remus asks him, squeezing the fingers gently, "Do you remember this?"
Sirius watches him blankly, smiling his empty little half-smile. "Am I supposed to, Remus?" Sirius smoothes his thumb over the inside of Remus's wrist, looking concerned when the other man shakily draws a breath.
Remus brings the hand to his mouth and a spark of bright interest lights in Sirius' eyes. "I think you're trying to."