Fic: Dear Remus... (Sirius/Remus)
Yeah, yeah, I'm spamming your guys' friends lists, I'm sorry! I promise this is the last one for a while. But I just realized I never posted this to my own journal, even though it's from December-ish. Boy do I fail at housekeeping. I wanted to stick it here so I can actually find it later (before I forget again!).
Title: Dear Remus…
Author: captainpookey
Written for: crypticmadness at this year's rs_small_gifts exchange.
Rating: PG-13 - character death and minor cursing/sexual situations
Word Count: ~2,150
Prompt: "Angsty!Remus finding comfort in Tonks after Sirius dies" and "No looking back, no second chances".
Summary: When a letter from the dead Sirius turns up in a place Remus would least expect it to-a teacup-he can’t help but feel tormented by memories of the past and the present.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: For those of you who don’t like Tonks, or can’t stand slight Remus/Tonks, well, you’ve been warned. But it’s definitely a Remus/Sirius piece. Originally posted waayy over here.
It was in a teacup, of all places. A teacup.
He stared at the tiny corner of folded parchment in his palm, his mind reeling. Dear Remus it said in that familiar scratchy cursive. His forefinger traced the edges of the faded inkblot that obscured the “u” and the “s” of his name. “Dear Remus,” he whispered, swallowing hard.
“-Remus?”
His back straightened immediately and his whitened hand released the counter he hadn’t realized he’d been gripping so tightly. He managed to tuck the note into the folds of his robe just as a small, warm arm wrapped around his shoulder. “What happened?” Nymphadora asked, kissing his cheekbone and frowning at him. “I heard a crash.”
He felt miles away from his body, but he forced a soft smile and a shrug. “Slipped out of my hand.” His crushed the note into his palm within his pocket. He drew his wand out with his other hand and quickly swept away the shards of the shattered mug. In truth, he’d been so surprised by the note he’d dropped the cup.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” she leaned up for a kiss before grinning at him, “In that case, come help me pack up your sweaters. It won’t do to move in together and find you’ve broken all our kitchenware.”
He lingered at the counter as she drifted off to his bedroom, humming a cheery, out-of-place holiday tune. After a quick glance over his shoulder he plucked the parchment from his pocket once more and held it to his lips.
He didn’t need to guess to know when Sirius had written it, but why?
- - - - -
“Dora?” he asked quietly that evening, stroking pink hair out of her forehead as they lay in bed together. When she didn’t respond, save for a wordless, dream-induced murmur into his side, he deemed it safe to work his arm out from under hers in order to reach into his bedside stand to find the note again.
Silhouetted in the feeble light from his window, it cast a long shadow across his chest. He could just make out the darkness of the words on the front. He read those three tiny syllables over and over to himself, until he could almost will Sirius to reach across fate and time to whisper them into his ear. He stared at the note for a long time, ultimately falling asleep with the paper grasped tightly to his chest.
His mind brought him back to a stone stadium with a lone archway in the center. People yelled and shouted; colorful spells ricocheted off the stone benches and floor, one nearly striking his arm. He held just the square of parchment and his wand. His muscles ached and sweat dampened his chest as he lunged away from a featureless Death Eater. Someone screamed in the background; a dozen unknown men dressed in black cloaks danced and bound across the room with snarls and grunts. A man with shaggy hair and laughing grey eyes clapped Remus on the back with a wide smile that crinkled the skin in the corners of his eyes as he gracefully, powerfully leapt onto the pedestal that held the arch.
“Sirius!” Remus cried. He tried to follow the man, but Sirius and the Death Eaters moved a thousand times faster than he ever could. They advanced with the fluidity of water, while he shambled along behind them. He had barely made it to the arch when Sirius was propelled backwards by a spell he had overlooked, but that Remus had seen from the moment it crackled into existence. Thin tendrils of death reached out from the curtain to envelop first Sirius’s arms, then his chest, slowly obscuring his face and his profile as he descended backwards.
Remus’s voice raged out from his throat, but he was secured in place by the grasp of the Death Eaters. Where they came from, he didn’t know, but they held his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his legs. He couldn’t move a muscle away from his side, but Sirius was within an arm’s length of his face. If he could just reach out he could grab him, could pull him back from the darkness and into his ready hold forever. He could feel Sirius’s ragged breath on his face as he fell.
Remus screamed and screamed, thrashing in the hold of his captors until his head went numb and his every muscle burned from the effort. Sirius disappeared into the whispering curtain and Remus fell to his knees hard on the floor.
The last thing Remus remembered before he woke up was the parchment in his hand bursting into red, hot flame, taking the Death Eaters with it. He was still screaming, tears streaming down his face, but this time all he saw was fire as tall as the vaulted ceiling and the horrible, twisted expression of surprise and fear that Sirius’s specter had left him with.
- - - - -
“You’ve been quiet today,” Nymphadora said the following night as he disrobed for bed.
“I’m just tired from packing,” he commented, his back to her. He quickly transferred the note from his robe to the waistband of his flannels.
She didn’t speak again until he’d climbed into bed beside her and shut the light off. She folded an arm around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Are you sure it wasn’t your dream?” she whispered.
He tensed. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”
“Remus... you were screaming last night. I didn’t want to say anything, but...”
He stared at the ceiling and focused on the scratchy feeling of the paper against his stomach so that he wouldn’t have to recognize the guilt, confusion and pain that suddenly filled his chest.
“What was your dream about?”
“Sirius.”
They fell asleep with their backs to one another.
Remus dozed restlessly in a haze of memories - stolen kisses sometimes, barking laughter others, and still at some moments his mind was plagued by that surprised, fearful expression. He found himself lying awake in the early hours of the morning that were neither here nor there, enraptured by a particular memory… Sirius climbing out of Remus’s hearth with that goofy, happy-go-lucky expression on his face. But shadows lurked in the creases of his skin.
“What are you doing here? You should be home.” Remus stood from his chair quickly.
“Home?” Sirius threw back his head and laughed. “That place is as much home to me as it is to Severus-bloody-Snape. It’s killing me to be cooped up there like some ridiculous pet. ‘Watch Sirius gripe, watch Sirius stalk, watch Sirius wag his tail’,” he scoffed.
“This is no laughing matter, Sirius. You’re not safe here.”
“Who’s going to find me? I came to see you. Just for a little bit - I needed to get away. Remus-” he begged, reaching out and grabbing Remus’s wrist before he could step away, “-Remus, I’m going insane.”
Remus sighed and pulled his hand away. “No.” He averted his eyes and backed away, out of Sirius’s grip. “You can’t be here. We can’t - We don’t know who’s listening or watching. This is dangerous. Do you think I want you to get caught again?”
“Do you think I want to get caught again?” he yelled, launching forward to grab Remus by both his arms and shake him firmly. “I don’t! But it’s damn well better than this rotten life! Let the Dementors suck out my soul for all I care! At this point, I might as well be living without one!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not, Moony? Why not?”
“Just... go, Sirius.” Remus backed out of his arms and turned quickly away.
“Not until you at least look at me.”
Remus’s back prickled under Sirius’s hard gaze. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He couldn’t let this go on; it could cost both of them their lives. “Just leave. I don’t want you here, Sirius,” he snapped harshly. “You’ve deluded yourself into thinking I still care about you, but that was a different lifetime and things have changed. You haven’t been here and you couldn’t possibly claim to know me. Whatever you think you’re here for tonight, whatever you think you’re here to say, I don’t care. Get out of my living room.”
He slammed the door to his bedroom before Sirius could respond. His words still stung his lips and his eyes - he felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of blazing coals.
He hadn’t slept that night either, not until the house was dead quiet and the dampness of his pillow had begun to dry. He had heard Sirius silently shuffling through his front rooms, heard the faint scratching of a quill and, eventually, heard the soft whoosh of Floo Powder.
Three nights later and Sirius was dead, gone forever, left with ‘Get out of my living room’ as a final goodbye.
The sun streaming in through the barren window several hours later drew Remus back to the present.
He made love to Nymphadora in the soft dawn - gentle kisses and embraces and careful, hesitant I love you’s. He tried to hide his shame in the heat of her lips or skin, the smell of apple blossoms that lingered from her shampoo, but in the back of his mind he saw only shuddering flames as high as a vaulted ceiling and the words Dear Remus. She didn’t ask any questions when her fingers stumbled onto the small square of parchment.
- - - - -
He was afraid to open it.
He’d already had a full cup of tea and was halfway through a second. His hands shook in the darkness, illuminated only by a single candle placed in the middle of the table. His sweaty palms rested on the wood, the parchment staring up at him from the space between them. By now he could practically trace the letters with his eyes closed.
He was resolved to open it, eventually, he just hadn’t decided when - by morning, yes, of course, but there were plenty of hours and an abundance of tea to last until then.
He decided that, if anything, Dear Remus would stick with him. If the letter was full of hatred, bitterness, and disappointment - like Remus was positive that it was based on the circumstances of the writing - then he would force himself to remember the Dear Remus and pretend like it was not just a painstaking formality, but a loving endearment, as in, my dear, dear Remus. He was allowed one bit of whimsy.
How many hours passed between this ridiculous thought and the moment he actually reached forward and pulled the old note toward him, he couldn’t say. He unfolded crease number one and, for the first time, wondered why he hadn’t found the note until now. He undid the second crease and paused; it had been his favorite teacup before Sirius was imprisoned. He hadn’t used it for over fifteen years. The stupid, stupid man had assumed it was still Remus’s favorite, and had hidden the note there.
When Remus finally had the note unfolded, he calmed himself by watching the gentle light of the candle flutter through the shadows until his breathing had steadied and he could bring himself to read the words.
You can pretend not to care as much as you like. You can say you want me out of your flat, your life - it doesn’t matter, because I know it’s a lie.
We loved each other once; you can push me away, but that won’t change a bloody thing. We’ve lost time, but for some miraculous reason, Merlin-knows-why, we were given just a little bit more.
There’s no looking back, no second chances. Not from here.
I still love you.
And when you’re done being a total bleeding arse, I’ll be waiting.
It would take time, it would take effort, it would take a lot of forgiveness and reassurance on his own part, but eventually the gaping hole Sirius had left Remus with would mend into just another gnarled scar, cool to the touch.
A warm nose nuzzled into his neck when he collapsed into bed, followed shortly by Nymphadora’s cautious hand on his chest.
“What’d it say?”
“‘I forgive you’,” Remus answered with a smile.
He dreamed not of curtains or fire that night, but of a different ending. He dreamed of embracing the man who stepped into his life and out of his hearth. He dreamed of a moment that was neither memory nor fantasy, but ripe with truth and emotion. A man with a bright smile, who he would always love. Who had loved him.
And halfway between dream and reality, they met for a final, proper goodbye - for now. Because as one told the other, I’ll be waiting.
Title: Dear Remus…
Author: captainpookey
Written for: crypticmadness at this year's rs_small_gifts exchange.
Rating: PG-13 - character death and minor cursing/sexual situations
Word Count: ~2,150
Prompt: "Angsty!Remus finding comfort in Tonks after Sirius dies" and "No looking back, no second chances".
Summary: When a letter from the dead Sirius turns up in a place Remus would least expect it to-a teacup-he can’t help but feel tormented by memories of the past and the present.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: For those of you who don’t like Tonks, or can’t stand slight Remus/Tonks, well, you’ve been warned. But it’s definitely a Remus/Sirius piece. Originally posted waayy over here.
It was in a teacup, of all places. A teacup.
He stared at the tiny corner of folded parchment in his palm, his mind reeling. Dear Remus it said in that familiar scratchy cursive. His forefinger traced the edges of the faded inkblot that obscured the “u” and the “s” of his name. “Dear Remus,” he whispered, swallowing hard.
“-Remus?”
His back straightened immediately and his whitened hand released the counter he hadn’t realized he’d been gripping so tightly. He managed to tuck the note into the folds of his robe just as a small, warm arm wrapped around his shoulder. “What happened?” Nymphadora asked, kissing his cheekbone and frowning at him. “I heard a crash.”
He felt miles away from his body, but he forced a soft smile and a shrug. “Slipped out of my hand.” His crushed the note into his palm within his pocket. He drew his wand out with his other hand and quickly swept away the shards of the shattered mug. In truth, he’d been so surprised by the note he’d dropped the cup.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” she leaned up for a kiss before grinning at him, “In that case, come help me pack up your sweaters. It won’t do to move in together and find you’ve broken all our kitchenware.”
He lingered at the counter as she drifted off to his bedroom, humming a cheery, out-of-place holiday tune. After a quick glance over his shoulder he plucked the parchment from his pocket once more and held it to his lips.
He didn’t need to guess to know when Sirius had written it, but why?
- - - - -
“Dora?” he asked quietly that evening, stroking pink hair out of her forehead as they lay in bed together. When she didn’t respond, save for a wordless, dream-induced murmur into his side, he deemed it safe to work his arm out from under hers in order to reach into his bedside stand to find the note again.
Silhouetted in the feeble light from his window, it cast a long shadow across his chest. He could just make out the darkness of the words on the front. He read those three tiny syllables over and over to himself, until he could almost will Sirius to reach across fate and time to whisper them into his ear. He stared at the note for a long time, ultimately falling asleep with the paper grasped tightly to his chest.
His mind brought him back to a stone stadium with a lone archway in the center. People yelled and shouted; colorful spells ricocheted off the stone benches and floor, one nearly striking his arm. He held just the square of parchment and his wand. His muscles ached and sweat dampened his chest as he lunged away from a featureless Death Eater. Someone screamed in the background; a dozen unknown men dressed in black cloaks danced and bound across the room with snarls and grunts. A man with shaggy hair and laughing grey eyes clapped Remus on the back with a wide smile that crinkled the skin in the corners of his eyes as he gracefully, powerfully leapt onto the pedestal that held the arch.
“Sirius!” Remus cried. He tried to follow the man, but Sirius and the Death Eaters moved a thousand times faster than he ever could. They advanced with the fluidity of water, while he shambled along behind them. He had barely made it to the arch when Sirius was propelled backwards by a spell he had overlooked, but that Remus had seen from the moment it crackled into existence. Thin tendrils of death reached out from the curtain to envelop first Sirius’s arms, then his chest, slowly obscuring his face and his profile as he descended backwards.
Remus’s voice raged out from his throat, but he was secured in place by the grasp of the Death Eaters. Where they came from, he didn’t know, but they held his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his legs. He couldn’t move a muscle away from his side, but Sirius was within an arm’s length of his face. If he could just reach out he could grab him, could pull him back from the darkness and into his ready hold forever. He could feel Sirius’s ragged breath on his face as he fell.
Remus screamed and screamed, thrashing in the hold of his captors until his head went numb and his every muscle burned from the effort. Sirius disappeared into the whispering curtain and Remus fell to his knees hard on the floor.
The last thing Remus remembered before he woke up was the parchment in his hand bursting into red, hot flame, taking the Death Eaters with it. He was still screaming, tears streaming down his face, but this time all he saw was fire as tall as the vaulted ceiling and the horrible, twisted expression of surprise and fear that Sirius’s specter had left him with.
- - - - -
“You’ve been quiet today,” Nymphadora said the following night as he disrobed for bed.
“I’m just tired from packing,” he commented, his back to her. He quickly transferred the note from his robe to the waistband of his flannels.
She didn’t speak again until he’d climbed into bed beside her and shut the light off. She folded an arm around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Are you sure it wasn’t your dream?” she whispered.
He tensed. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”
“Remus... you were screaming last night. I didn’t want to say anything, but...”
He stared at the ceiling and focused on the scratchy feeling of the paper against his stomach so that he wouldn’t have to recognize the guilt, confusion and pain that suddenly filled his chest.
“What was your dream about?”
“Sirius.”
They fell asleep with their backs to one another.
Remus dozed restlessly in a haze of memories - stolen kisses sometimes, barking laughter others, and still at some moments his mind was plagued by that surprised, fearful expression. He found himself lying awake in the early hours of the morning that were neither here nor there, enraptured by a particular memory… Sirius climbing out of Remus’s hearth with that goofy, happy-go-lucky expression on his face. But shadows lurked in the creases of his skin.
“What are you doing here? You should be home.” Remus stood from his chair quickly.
“Home?” Sirius threw back his head and laughed. “That place is as much home to me as it is to Severus-bloody-Snape. It’s killing me to be cooped up there like some ridiculous pet. ‘Watch Sirius gripe, watch Sirius stalk, watch Sirius wag his tail’,” he scoffed.
“This is no laughing matter, Sirius. You’re not safe here.”
“Who’s going to find me? I came to see you. Just for a little bit - I needed to get away. Remus-” he begged, reaching out and grabbing Remus’s wrist before he could step away, “-Remus, I’m going insane.”
Remus sighed and pulled his hand away. “No.” He averted his eyes and backed away, out of Sirius’s grip. “You can’t be here. We can’t - We don’t know who’s listening or watching. This is dangerous. Do you think I want you to get caught again?”
“Do you think I want to get caught again?” he yelled, launching forward to grab Remus by both his arms and shake him firmly. “I don’t! But it’s damn well better than this rotten life! Let the Dementors suck out my soul for all I care! At this point, I might as well be living without one!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not, Moony? Why not?”
“Just... go, Sirius.” Remus backed out of his arms and turned quickly away.
“Not until you at least look at me.”
Remus’s back prickled under Sirius’s hard gaze. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He couldn’t let this go on; it could cost both of them their lives. “Just leave. I don’t want you here, Sirius,” he snapped harshly. “You’ve deluded yourself into thinking I still care about you, but that was a different lifetime and things have changed. You haven’t been here and you couldn’t possibly claim to know me. Whatever you think you’re here for tonight, whatever you think you’re here to say, I don’t care. Get out of my living room.”
He slammed the door to his bedroom before Sirius could respond. His words still stung his lips and his eyes - he felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of blazing coals.
He hadn’t slept that night either, not until the house was dead quiet and the dampness of his pillow had begun to dry. He had heard Sirius silently shuffling through his front rooms, heard the faint scratching of a quill and, eventually, heard the soft whoosh of Floo Powder.
Three nights later and Sirius was dead, gone forever, left with ‘Get out of my living room’ as a final goodbye.
The sun streaming in through the barren window several hours later drew Remus back to the present.
He made love to Nymphadora in the soft dawn - gentle kisses and embraces and careful, hesitant I love you’s. He tried to hide his shame in the heat of her lips or skin, the smell of apple blossoms that lingered from her shampoo, but in the back of his mind he saw only shuddering flames as high as a vaulted ceiling and the words Dear Remus. She didn’t ask any questions when her fingers stumbled onto the small square of parchment.
- - - - -
He was afraid to open it.
He’d already had a full cup of tea and was halfway through a second. His hands shook in the darkness, illuminated only by a single candle placed in the middle of the table. His sweaty palms rested on the wood, the parchment staring up at him from the space between them. By now he could practically trace the letters with his eyes closed.
He was resolved to open it, eventually, he just hadn’t decided when - by morning, yes, of course, but there were plenty of hours and an abundance of tea to last until then.
He decided that, if anything, Dear Remus would stick with him. If the letter was full of hatred, bitterness, and disappointment - like Remus was positive that it was based on the circumstances of the writing - then he would force himself to remember the Dear Remus and pretend like it was not just a painstaking formality, but a loving endearment, as in, my dear, dear Remus. He was allowed one bit of whimsy.
How many hours passed between this ridiculous thought and the moment he actually reached forward and pulled the old note toward him, he couldn’t say. He unfolded crease number one and, for the first time, wondered why he hadn’t found the note until now. He undid the second crease and paused; it had been his favorite teacup before Sirius was imprisoned. He hadn’t used it for over fifteen years. The stupid, stupid man had assumed it was still Remus’s favorite, and had hidden the note there.
When Remus finally had the note unfolded, he calmed himself by watching the gentle light of the candle flutter through the shadows until his breathing had steadied and he could bring himself to read the words.
You can pretend not to care as much as you like. You can say you want me out of your flat, your life - it doesn’t matter, because I know it’s a lie.
We loved each other once; you can push me away, but that won’t change a bloody thing. We’ve lost time, but for some miraculous reason, Merlin-knows-why, we were given just a little bit more.
There’s no looking back, no second chances. Not from here.
I still love you.
And when you’re done being a total bleeding arse, I’ll be waiting.
It would take time, it would take effort, it would take a lot of forgiveness and reassurance on his own part, but eventually the gaping hole Sirius had left Remus with would mend into just another gnarled scar, cool to the touch.
A warm nose nuzzled into his neck when he collapsed into bed, followed shortly by Nymphadora’s cautious hand on his chest.
“What’d it say?”
“‘I forgive you’,” Remus answered with a smile.
He dreamed not of curtains or fire that night, but of a different ending. He dreamed of embracing the man who stepped into his life and out of his hearth. He dreamed of a moment that was neither memory nor fantasy, but ripe with truth and emotion. A man with a bright smile, who he would always love. Who had loved him.
And halfway between dream and reality, they met for a final, proper goodbye - for now. Because as one told the other, I’ll be waiting.