Fic: A Recipe in Four Parts (3a/4)
Title: A Recipe in Four Parts
Author: carmentakoshi
Prompt: #14 from the rs_career_fest by remuslives23
Rating: PG for slight language
Pairing(s): Remus/Sirius, James/Lily
Summary: Present day non-magic AU. The recipe: Remus, a down-on-his-luck junior accountant, is assigned to a small, equally down-on-its-luck business. The ingredients: add one handsome but surly baker, two young parents and co-managers, one energetic toddler, and one concerned best mate. Mix. Bake, let sit, and enjoy.
Warnings: pompous writing, liberties taken with the profession of accountant
Word Count: approx. 33 000
Part Three
In Which The Pastry Is Prepared
The week filtered slowly past, trapping the city of London in an oppressive inter-season cold.
Upon returning to work on Monday, Remus had taken to keeping a scrap piece of paper on the side, which he scribbled on at random intervals with a look of extreme concentration. Although he seemed to be working with the same care as usual, there was a new intensity to his gaze and a rather frightening rigidity to his posture, which caused most of the Ackerly & Pettigrew staff to subconsciously avoid him for the next few days. Even Peter, who was usually just the person to shatter Remus’ rare but potent bad moods, kept to himself for a time, although he cast worried looks across the office so often that he got even less work done than normal.
By Friday morning of that week, Remus’ scrap page was nearly full of his scrawl, in a script so messy and clearly angry that he barely recognized his own handwriting. The page was crumpled as though having been roughly handled, and marked by a very obvious tea cup stain in the bottom right corner.
Sometime before lunch on that cold, dreary Friday, Remus abruptly dropped his pencil, pushed his computer keyboard away, and pulled the scrap paper from underneath a pile of folders. He glanced around furtively at his coworkers, and seeing that they were carefully avoiding his eyes, he thought it safe to begin his perusal of the scrap paper.
It said:
REMUS J. LUPIN’S
LIST OF DREAMS
- drink tea every morning and night
- have good friend(s)
- cast a plague on the house of Black
- learn to cook something other than beef stew
- punch Sirius Black in the face
- get Peter to stand up for himself
- toss Sirius Black off a cliff
- see Mum and Dad again
- chuck Sirius Black into his own oven
- get a better bike
- and a better flat
- and a better life, come to think of it
- write a book
- hang Sirius Black by his own hair and leave him to rot
- pay my student loan
- pay Peter back for all the time I spent at his flat
- gut Sirius Black with a fishing knife
- get a fishing knife
- socks
Remus blinked down at the list. He picked up his pencil and crossed out “socks”.
He read the list again, and crossed out “see Mum and Dad again”, because that would never happen, of course, not until the end of his own life, so it had no place on the list.
He leaned back in his chair, dangling the piece of paper before his eyes as he read it again and again. Soon, he was no longer reading it, but merely watching the fluorescent light filtering weakly through the crumpled, tea-stained piece of paper.
Very calmly, he sat straight in his chair and proceeded to rip his list of dreams into very small pieces. A few other junior accountants looked up warily at the sound. One blanched visibly.
Remus leaned over and dropped the pieces into his rubbish bin, like so much useless confetti. Then he straightened, picked up his pencil, and went back to work.
Remus’ watchers continued to stare at him for some time, not knowing if they should do or say anything to their troubled colleague, but eventually they each decided against it and returned to their own business.
Footsteps sounded cautiously across the floor, seeming very loud in the virtually silent room. They stopped right in front of Remus’ desk.
“Remus? You all right, mate?”
“No,” said Remus quietly. He continued to write without looking up.
Peter shifted awkwardly, waiting for Remus to say more, but when he did not, Peter said, “What was on the paper?”
“A list.”
“A list of what?”
“A list of my dreams.”
“Oh. Um. So why did you rip it up?”
“Because it was all rubbish.”
“Rubbish? How could your dreams be rubbish?”
“They were rubbish, Peter,” Remus said in a stronger voice, “because they were petty. Stupid, trivial desires. Lurid, murderous fantasies...”
“What? ”
“...and other stupid things that cannot be counted as dreams. Rubbish belonging with all the rest of my rubbish.”
Peter’s expression became desperately worried. He swayed on the spot, torn between the desire to attempt to comfort his best mate and the thought that maybe he should be left alone. He waited, feeling very exposed, almost terrified, because if Remus thought that his life was terrible and dreamless, then what of Peter’s? If Remus - intelligent, good-looking, ever well-intentioned Remus - was unable to find direction to his life, then how was Peter, who would never be more than a shred of what Remus Lupin was, supposed to make any sense of his? How was that fair?
Peter stood stock-still in front of Remus’ desk for long minutes, fists clenched and jaw set very hard. It was a long moment before Remus deigned to look up at him, eyes shadowed and expression wan from sleep-lacking nights, and by then Peter was nearly trembling with an emotion he could not name.
“What is it, Peter?” asked Remus wearily. “I don’t want to talk right no-”
“There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams! ” Peter shouted, so that everyone nearby jumped in their seats. “Do you hear me, Remus? There’s nothing wrong with it at all!”
Remus could only look at him, stunned, and this time Peter did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and marched back to his desk. He seated himself firmly and began to work, a freshly sharpened pencil flying across the page as he started crunching the numbers of his current client.
From inside his office, Mister Pettigrew had caught sight of his suddenly industrious son, and currently looked just as shocked as everyone else.
There was not a sound in the office except for the scratch of Peter’s pencil and the tap-tap-tap of his calculator. This went on for several moments before Peter, already sick of the scrutiny, threw his pencil to his desk and glared round at the myriad astonished faces.
“Oi, you lot,” he said crossly, “at least have the decency to not look so damn surprised. Just because I don’t advertise my accounting skills all day, doesn’t mean I don’t have any-”
Remus stood abruptly, so that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. Everyone’s gazes jerked his way.
“Advertise,” he said softly, “that’s it.”
“What’s it?” a neighboring accountant asked from his desk.
“That’s it.”
Remus bounded around his desk and ran right up to Peter’s. He slammed his palms down on its surface, scattering pencils and papers and misshapen paper clips.
“Peter!”
“Remus,” Peter squeaked. He looked terrified all over again.
“I’ve got it, Pete! Lily Potter told me a while ago that they had done a little bit of advertising in the past. Just a small black and white ad in the paper, nothing too grand because they couldn’t afford it. So now I know what I have to do!”
“A-And what’s that?”
“I have to do the advertising myself,” Remus declared in a fierce voice. “I have to bring the customers to them. That’s what I have to do. That is my quest.”
“Qu-Quest...”
Remus turned and faced the room, clapping his hands loudly. “Listen up, everyone! Who wants a free lunch today?”
A few of his colleagues perked up interestedly, but most everyone else only looked confused. Remus went on, “Come on, I’m offering as it is. The place isn’t far, if you’re wondering. Just on Diagon Alley. Come on now!”
“What’s the occasion?” someone asked pertly.
Remus was about to shout “No occasion, you daft sod”, but Peter thought faster and said, “It’s Friday.”
Remus glanced back at Peter. Peter’s expression lit up with sudden, beautiful realization.
“It’s my dad’s birthday today,” he said happily. “I was just going to buy him something on the way home, but I think he’d enjoy it if we all had a celebratory lunch with him.”
“Yes, yes!” Remus added enthusiastically. “So what do you all say? It’s all on me! Come on! Right now!”
“Well, if you’re paying,” someone else said. There were murmurs of agreement around him, and people began to rise to fetch their coats.
Remus had to suppress the urge to jump and shout his ecstasy. In lieu of this, he turned and gave Peter his warmest smile, which Peter tentatively returned.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Remus said softly. “Really, I...I’ve been really, really disagreeable these days, haven’t I?”
“Quite,” said Peter with a grin, “but that’s all right. Thanks to you and your disagreeable-ness, I had my moment in the spotlight. Did you see how shocked everyone was?”
Remus nodded. “But is that really all you want? To live simply?”
“Sure, why not? It’s not for everyone, but for me, it’s more than enough. Now come on, we should prolly go tell my dad where we’re going. It’s his birthday lunch, after all.”
“I completely forgot it was his birthday. Some best mate I am.”
“As long as you don’t forget mine.”
Peter pushed open the door to his father’s office and said cheerfully, “Hi, Dad.”
Remus said, “Happy birthday, sir.”
Mister Pettigrew still looked bewildered. “Thank you. Er, Peter, Remus, what the devil is going on, exactly?”
“Everyone’s decided to have a lunch in honour of your birthday, Mister Pettigrew. Would you like to come along?”
“They make good lemon tarts at the place we’re going,” Peter added.
Mister Pettigrew merely looked puzzled now, but soon his lined face broke into a smile, and he stood. “Oh, might as well. Since I’m the one being celebrated and all that.”
Ackerly poked his head into the office, looking rather confused himself. “What’s all this, then, Pettigrew?”
=====
In a few minutes, some twenty accountants and their bosses were on their way to Harry’s bakery on Diagon Alley, all eagerly anticipating a free lunch. Remus rode in the backseat of Mister Pettigrew’s car beside Peter, and was so glad that he was barely bothered by the fact that this expense would force him to survive on marmite on toast for the next two weeks.
Remus pushed through the door first. James, Lily, and Sirius were all behind the counter today, working at various things. It was Harry who spotted Remus first from his usual vantage point.
“Weemus!” he cried, and wiggled happily on his table.
“Goodness!” Lily exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
“Business,” said Remus with a smile.
James was grinning like an utter fool, having caught on as soon as the crowd of accountants had come into view. He cleaned off quickly and crossed to room the pick up Harry.
“Come on, little man, let’s bring you upstairs. Mummy and Daddy have lots of work to do right now,” he said, struggling a little as Harry began to wriggle in his grip.
“No!” Harry cried. “Weemus!”
“Blimey,” James muttered as one of Harry’s flailing arms knocked his glasses askew. “Er, Remus, would you...?”
“Of course.”
Remus carefully took Harry from James, holding him firmly against his hip. Harry wrapped his little arms protectively around Remus’ neck and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dinosaur hoot.
“Put it all on one tab,” Remus told James quietly. “It’s on me today.”
James held his gaze for a moment, his eyes looking extraordinarily bright, then he tapped Remus gratefully on the side of the arm and went back to the counter. Lily was already busy taking orders and making sandwiches, while Sirius was attending to those in front of the pastry displays. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Remus.
Peter appeared by Remus’ elbow, munching happily on a lemon tart and not seeming the least bit concerned with the fact that his best mate was holding a child he had never seen before. “So, tell me...what does this accomplish exactly? Besides making you several dozen pounds poorer.”
“Advertising,” Remus said again, smiling as he bounced Harry lightly on his hip. “The things they make here are good, but not a lot of people know it. Creating an event here will carve this place into their memories, so they’ll naturally spread the news and encourage even more people to come.”
Peter gazed upon the crowd with the air of a man enlightened.
“It’s still not a lot,” Remus continued, “but it’s a start. With some more effort, and little luck, we should have this bakery running as it deserves to soon enough.”
They stood in silence for a while, watching the others seat themselves and begin to eat. Harry laughed and bounced in Remus’ arms, excited that so many people were filling what was formerly his playpen.
After a few minutes, everyone was served and eating enthusiastically. There did not seem to be a single complaint. Lily and James were radiant.
“I never thought this would happen,” James said breathlessly as he took Harry back from Remus. “It’s just...wow. It’s full in here. All the tables are filled.”
“This is what we envisioned, I think,” Lily added, watching the crowd with one hand on her breast, “when we thought this up. This is how we imagined it.”
Peter asked, “Missus Potter, you wouldn’t happen to have a birthday candle or anything? I’d like to stick one in a pastry for my dad. It’s his birthday.”
Lily moved off to find one, Peter following along curiously, as James stood gazing around in wonderment, hugging Harry tight until the boy said, “Da’, leggo.”
“D’you think this’ll work, Remus?” James asked anxiously. “I mean, it’s not like you can ask them to come every day.”
“No, but we’ll find other ways. We just need a bit more creativity.”
James beamed. “Yeah, of course. We’ve got plenty of that. We’ll find a way. Well, Harry, what would you like for lunch? How about a nice salad?”
“Sweet,” Harry demanded.
James carried Harry to the counter to prepare him something healthier to eat. In the dining area, several employees of Ackerly & Pettigrew cheered raucously as Peter presented his father with one of Sirius’ wild berry and cream pastries decked with a small lopsided wax candle. Remus watched them all, thinking about how relaxed everyone looked, how happy James and Lily and Harry looked, and could not help thinking back to his stunted list of dreams.
There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams. Perhaps he had been looking too far. Remus thought that he could probably live with this dream he was seeing. He could live with it very well.
A sort of peace came over him, soothing the ache in his chest. The heaviness still remained, but it had lightened. It was almost like learning to breathe anew.
“Nice stunt,” said a voice behind Remus.
Remus turned. Sirius was leaning back against a low storage cabinet, observing Remus from under his lashes as he toweled his hands dry. There was a wariness in his deceptively relaxed stance, something in the slant of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, but there was something new too. Respect, perhaps? Approval?
“Thank you,” Remus said, and this time he was completely sincere.
Sirius nodded vaguely and gestured him over. Remus glanced back at his co-workers then obliged. He leaned back against the cabinet in an awkward, mousy, wool-trouser-wearing parody of Sirius. They remained like this for several long moments.
Making a show of inspecting his fingernails, Sirius said, “You had me worried for a bit.”
Remus tried not to smile. “Really?”
“Mm. I thought I’d gone too far. That you’d decided it was time to give up.”
“I told you I’m a man of my word.”
“Apparently so.”
A pause. Sirius adjusted his weight against the cabinet. Then he glanced sidelong at Remus, chin still tucked in, so that his grey eyes were level with Remus’ hazel ones.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said slowly, as though searching for the words, “for what I said the other day. I should know better than anyone that no one should ever be accused of having no dreams. It was cruel of me.”
Remus frowned down at the floor, but now that certain things about his own dreams had just come to light, he found it difficult to bring back the anger he had felt before. He shook his head and smiled as best as he could, which clearly surprised Sirius, if his bemused expression was any indication.
“That’s quite all right,” Remus told him. “I...I needed some perspective, and you gave it to me, albeit in a bit of a brutish manner, but...it’s okay.”
“It’s okay?”
“Yeah. I accept your apology. Again.”
Sirius’ lips quirked up in a wry smile. Remus quite liked this smile too. He said, “And I’m sorry also. For suggesting you abandon your dream. If this is what you and James and Lily want to do, then by all means, do it. I’m behind you all a hundred percent.”
“That’s very kind, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant,” said Sirius with a slight toss of his head. Then he sighed. “To be fair to you and your suggestion, it’s not like I haven’t considered it before. It’s just...”
“What?”
“...I don’t actually have a degree.”
A pause, then Remus repeated, “What?”
Sirius grinned crookedly, having the good grace to look sheepish. “Not in pastry arts, anyway. I started one, but never finished. It got too dull and technical, so I dropped out. Plus I find English pastry chefs to be terribly elitist.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Touché, my pastry-challenged friend.”
“What do you have a degree in, then?”
“Oh, some business management thing or other,” Sirius said unconcernedly, waving a hand as though swatting away a fly. “My family are all business moguls, own lots of properties and what-not around London. When I was in high school, I decided I liked baking better, and went for it. And the rest, as they say, is a great sodding pile of history.”
“I don’t think anyone says that.”
“Shows what you know.”
“I found my dream.”
Sirius shifted again and looked Remus full in the face, his expression flickering between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah? What is it?”
Remus glanced back toward the animated crowd, feeling the sight lift the corners of his mouth into a gentle smile. “I want to make everyone I care about happy.”
Sirius was silent where Remus expected a snarky comment, or at the very least a scoff, and when Remus looked back he saw that Sirius was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open. He had to struggle very hard against the urge to push his chin up and close Sirius’ mouth with one outstretched finger.
Just as Remus was beginning to feel awkward again, Sirius snapped his mouth shut and threw his head back, letting loose a single, bark-like laugh that caused several accountants to turn their heads.
“Now that’s not fair!” Sirius exclaimed. “That is just not fair, Mister Lupin, not fair at all.”
“Why is it not fair? What?” asked Remus, alarmed.
Sirius laughed again and let his head fall forward, leaning his forehead against his palm. “Gotten back at me, have you, by coming up with such a selfless, lofty goal? Makes me feel like a right prat now, it does. Oh, you’re good, Mister Accountant, you’re very good.”
“I didn’t ‘come up’ with it,” Remus said in a miffed voice, “it’s true. It’s what I want. It’s what I would do anything to obtain.”
Sirius regarded him sideways for the space of a beat, then raised his head. “And how are you doing so far? In accomplishing this dream of yours?”
Remus looked steadily back at him although his heart was thundering, quite without his consent. “Not too bad. Still lots to be done, though. You?”
“Same. Long road ahead.”
“Mm.”
Remus’ colleagues were finishing up now, some of them rising to order extra pastries before they returned to the office. James was serving them energetically, so Sirius and Remus stayed where they were, watching as the crowd slowly trickled away, until only a few stragglers, Peter, and Mister Pettigrew were left.
“Very lovely establishment you have here, ma’am,” Pettigrew was saying to Lily, “very fine. I’ll be sure to come back soon.”
Lily’s eyes fairly twinkled. “Thank you, sir, it would be very much appreciated.”
The old man nodded politely at her and her husband before leaving the bakery, telling Peter and Remus to “not be long now, we all need to get back to work, even on our birthdays”. Peter acquiesced and turned to James to requisition another tart or three for the road.
“Guess I should be going,” Remus said, keeping his tone light. “Suppose I should write a cheque?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” Lily said. “You give it to us next time you come around. Right now you should be running along.”
“Th’numbers aren’t gonna crunch themselves, yeah?” Sirius added. “Oh, wait.”
“Hm?”
“Say. Are you free tomorrow night? Got any account-erly things to do?”
Remus desperately willed his racing heart to be still. “I’m not doing anything. Why?”
Sirius scratched the back of his head, mussing up the already loose ponytail there. “Oh, it’s just that James and I were going to go for a drink or two tomorrow night at the Leaky Cauldron, and I thought...I dunno, that you’d like to come or something. Since we’re all mates now and all that.”
The rate at which Remus’ heart rose and swelled surprised even him, who was beginning to think himself resistant to such things. “Oh. Er. I could come, yeah. If you want. If James wants.”
“If James wants what?” James called from across the room.
“If James wants to let our accountant in on our little drinking outing tomorrow,” Sirius called back.
“James wants! Tell him!”
“James wants,” Sirius said with a completely straight face.
“I heard,” Remus said dryly, biting his lip to prevent his laughter from bubbling up. “Okay, tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron, then.”
“At eight. D’you know where it is?”
“Around here, right? I’ll find it.”
“Brilliant. See you then.”
“Cheers, lads,” James yelled as Peter and Remus exited.
Mister Pettigrew had already started the car and was waiting for them, but neither he nor Mister Ackerly seemed in any particular hurry. Peter paused by the door and took the opportunity to fish another lemon tart of out his little paper bag of purchased sweets.
“So,” he said between bites, “did you ask him out yet?”
Remus cuffed him on the back of the head in response, but he was grinning again.
=====
“I have nothing to wear.”
The clothes in his closet seemed to shrug on their hangers as Remus pushed them apart with his hands. He had been searching for any all wearables for the past hour, but had quickly discovered that everything he owned was either too old, too frayed, or too unwashed to wear in decent company.
Remus sighed in frustration, blowing his fringe out of his eyes in the process. What was he getting so bent out of shape about, anyway? He already knew he was not the type to indulge in frequent clothes shopping trips. In fact, he tended to avoid clothing stores and aisles as much as possible when he was out, overwhelmed as he often was by the sheer variety of styles and colours available. There was a reason he stuck with subdued shades, greys and taupes and when he was feeling daring, the occasional blue.
“Well, what am I if not adventurous?” Remus mused aloud, completely unable to keep a straight face at the statement. He turned away from the closet and selected a navy blue collared shirt from the back of a chair. He sniffed it delicately. Definitely in need of a wash.
He turned back to the closet and fished around in the back before extricating a pair of faded grey jeans. They were wrinkled and slightly torn at the knee, but they were by far his best pair of jeans, which was good enough in his books. He moved out of the closet - hitting his head on the door on the way out and giving a good-natured curse in response - and piled a few more clothes from his room into his arms, then carried the whole to the sitting room, where the laundry basket was sitting on the couch like a lazy guest.
Remus dumped the armful of clothes into the basket and heaved it up. After luxuriating in bed until noon, he had planned on sitting around to fret and attempt to convince himself that this invitation out held absolutely no meaning at all, but doing the laundry seemed like a more productive use of his time. This was why he was now tromping down the stairs to the building’s basement, wondering which of his pairs of shoes was the less worn.
Remus actually enjoyed doing the laundry most days, as it offered him a break from all the numbers and clients (and Sirius, but he was not thinking of him, of course he was not), so it was with increased cheer that he pushed open the laundry room’s door with his hip and stepped into the welcome, familiar smell of linen and detergent and those fuzzy dryer sheets that some people like to put in their load. The place was happily deserted, allowing Remus full use of the best washer in the middle of the room, one of the only ones which did not stutter or subtly vibrate across the floor as it washed. With great care, he set his basket down on the table facing the washer and proceeded to toss his clothes in.
As the machine was going about the business of washing, Remus leaned back against it and let his mind wander...
...no, actually, wandering was bad. He disallowed his mind to wander because these days, wandering thoughts inevitably led to increasingly specific thoughts about a certain baker he was determined to not think about in any form or fashion. Mental meandering had simply become to dangerous to indulge in freely, and had to be kept under close surveillance.
This was going to be a long day.
=====
At quarter to six, Remus’ freshly washed and dried clothes were lying at the ready on his bed, and Remus himself was making supper. He really was beginning to get tired of beef stew. He made a mental note to pick up a cookbook or two at the library the next time he was around.
At quarter past six, the stew was simmered and ready, and Remus served himself a generous helping. He ate standing at the kitchen counter, the warm bowl in his hands, as he listened with one ear to the news on the television.
At six thirty, he finished eating and proceeded to wash his bowl and utensils, allowing his gaze to wander over the strip of dark sky visible through his tiny kitchen window. When he was done, he shook out his hands distractedly and dried them on a handy towel.
At quarter to seven, he glanced at the microwave clock, and despaired.
=====
At long last, seven twenty rolled around, but it had done so with such torturous slowness that Remus was almost writhing with impatience once it was finally time to leave. He checked himself once more in the bathroom mirror, ran a cursory thumb pad over the dark circles under his eyes, frowned at himself, decided he ultimately did not care, and left the flat as quickly as his legs could carry him.
He had decided to take the bus to the area around the Leaky Cauldron, judging in advance that he was not enchanted with the idea of biking home in the dead of night. He resigned himself to the press of bodies and, half an hour later, found himself at the closest possible stop to his destination.
Cursing softly in the cold, Remus shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat and started walking. The street was dark in spots, where light had fled in the wake of the store owners who had long closed up for the night. Sometimes, a warm orange glow would colour the path before him, spilling from the upstairs window of a quaint residential building. It reminded him of a time long past, of long winter evenings spent in front of the fire of his childhood home. It had been a while since he had bathed in a glow like that himself.
Remus shook off the feeling of quiet sadness and nostalgia and kept going, until he finally sighted the brighter lights emanating from the Leaky Cauldron. The street was more lively around here as people moved in and out of the well-known pub, talking and laughing and looking well-alive.
Remus felt suddenly nervous and out of place, and longed for the solitude of his neat little flat.
“Oi! Remus!”
The voice cut through the muddled murmur of the crowd, summoning him back from his panicked loner thoughts and back to a warmer world. Remus had been ready to force a smile, but he found that it came automatically as Sirius came into view.
Away from his duties to the bakery and the restrictions of health regulations, Sirius left his hair long and unbound over his shoulders, where it brushed like dark feathered wings against the collar of his beat-up leather jacket. The careless grin that Remus had first known all those weeks ago was in place on his handsome face. Remus was almost stunned at how freely he was offered that smile now, but really could not bring himself to examine all the implications of such an act because Sirius was next to him now and clasping his shoulder amicably, and it looked for all the world that they were long-time mates meeting up after a long while apart.
“’lo, Sirius,” said Remus as nonchalantly he could.
“Wotcher, Mister Accountant,” replied Sirius. “Let’s head in, yeah? S’cold.”
“No one actually says ‘wotcher’, Mister Black. Where’s James?”
Sirius rolled his eyes and pushed Remus toward the door. “Maybe you don’t. And he’s not coming. Seems Harry came down with something last night and he feels the need to watch him like a hawk until he gets better. I swear it’s not the wife stealing my best mate, it’s the sprog.”
Remus snorted with amusement, attempting to ignore how his heart was now beating double-time. “Just wait until you have kids,” he said, intentionally parroting James’ earlier comment.
“Like that’ll ever happen,” said Sirius cheerily.
It was wonderfully warm inside the Leaky Cauldron, so Remus shucked off his coat and together the two made their way to two adjacent spots by the bar. Sirius ordered two beers for them and leaned back with his legs casually spread out against the bar stool, while Remus sat perched on his own stool, feeling oddly like a pudgy Harry sitting exposed on his designated tabletop.
Neither of them spoke nor even met the other’s eyes. Sirius seemed preoccupied with eyeing a few young women across the bar, and Remus was perfectly content with pretending Sirius did not exist and was certainly not sitting just a hair within his personal space, with highly nerve-wracking results.
Their drinks arrived. Sirius twisted around to grab his, casting Remus a fleeting smile as he did so, which Remus returned to the best of his ability. He sipped his own drink, trying hard to avoid grimacing at the cold and strongly bitter taste. It was far removed from that of the cheap beer he usually partook of in Peter’s company. Sirius was, naturally, throwing his back without concern. Just one more thing for Remus to be deathly annoyed with about him.
They drank in a silence that was like drowning in the crowd, until Sirius suddenly said, “I don’t bite, you know.”
Remus blinked over the rim of his glass. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Sirius replied, grinning as Remus made a face at him. “I said I don’t bite. You’ve been quiet ever since we got here. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Who’d be afraid of you? ” Remus retorted. He took a bolstering gulp of beer. “I’m just naturally quiet, quite the opposite of you, it seems.”
“No need to be so petulant with me, Mister Accountant. I’m just saying.”
“Well, I apologize, Sirius, but there’s just something about you that makes me feel rather petulant.”
Sirius whistled low and took a delicate sip of beer, mimicking Remus’ careful movements. Remus ignored him and drank deeply this time, as much out of defiance as out of the need to distill the words that had sounded perilously close to a confession.
Sirius polished off his drink and ordered another one, then he leaned farther back against the bar, slanting his shoulders in Remus’ direction.
“So,” he started again, in a voice that would have been conspiratorial if it was not raised to counter the din, “which one do you fancy?”
Remus raised his eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed. “This is it? We’re sitting awkwardly in a bar together, and you’re asking me to ogle women with you?”
Sirius shrugged the shoulder closest to Remus. “It’s as good a conversation topic as any. So? Which one?”
Remus sighed and set his glass down on the bar. As very tempting as it was to theatrically announce his sexual orientation to Sirius and be done with him once and for all, Remus doubted he would be able to stomach the embarrassment of outing himself in public, so he remained silent on the matter. Halfheartedly, he cast his gaze around the crowded pub until it alighted on a petite blonde woman with bright purple nails. He pointed her out to Sirius, who snorted.
“What?” Remus said, trying his best to look affronted. “She’s pretty enough. And colourful nails are...interesting.”
“I’m not asking you what you like about women’s nails. Good God, man, you act as if you’ve never looked at a girl before.”
“I usually have better things to do.”
“A likely story. How about that one, eh? I’m usually into brunettes, m’self.”
“Please. You probably only are because they look more like you.”
Sirius laughed uproariously as he had back in the bakery the day before, but the sound still startled Remus nearly out of his wits. Nevertheless, it eased the tension of the moment, and Remus had to hide a smile as he picked up his glass again and brought it to his lips. Sirius’ second beer arrived, and he drank lustily for a moment before setting the half-empty glass down without an ounce of care.
“So you don’t like brunettes either, then?” Sirius began again, clearly adamant on having this discussion. “All right, then it’s redheads for you, I reckon. I thought I saw you looking Lily up and down a couple of times.”
Remus choked on his latest sip of beer, shaking his head indignantly even as he was spluttering to clear his windpipe. Sirius winked cheekily at him and raised his glass in mock-toast. “To your credit, she’s quite the beauty. Shall we toast to your torrid affair?”
“Tosser,” Remus gasped, but he was laughing even as he was desperately thumping himself on the sternum to encourage his breathing reflexes.
Sirius’ arrogant grin faded to a smile, and he reached over to helpfully slap Remus on the back a few times. Remus brushed him off as he regained his control, smiling ruefully and declaring, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sirius faked a look of intense disappointment. “Shame. I was hoping you would actually turn out to be an utter scoundrel.”
“Ah, but how cliché would that be?” Remus replied, taking another careful sip of beer.
“Right. On second thought, the world definitely needs more sarcastic, mousy accountants who are exactly as they look.”
Remus laughed softly, feeling so at ease now he barely wondered how it was so easy to laugh and joke and banter with this man. Sirius looked pleased, and settled contentedly against the bar again as his gaze returned to the crowd.
After a brief, comfortable pause, Sirius said, “So tell me. I’m desperate to know, now. What kind of girl do you like?”
The smile dissolved from Remus’ lips. He hid the loss in his emptying glass, and wondered what to say. Sirius obviously noticed his silence, but did not comment on it again. His brow creased ever so slightly and his gaze was suddenly far-off, like he was contemplating something of great importance.
Then, to Remus’ astonishment, Sirius paused in bringing his glass to his lips and, leaning closer to him, he said as casually as anything, “And if I asked ‘what kind of person do you like’, would you have more to say?”
Remus’ expression, momentarily unguarded as it was, must have been tell-all, because Sirius nodded slowly, as though a great and serious truth had just been revealed to him, and returned to his drink. He said nothing more for some time, but his stance had changed minutely, like he was suddenly self-conscious or perhaps regretting what he had just said.
Remus looked around the room, casting about for something, anything to say to make the moment pass. He wished Sirius had not said anything at all, or that Remus himself had had the presence of mind to deny the implication being made, as he usually did.
Damnit. What is it about him that makes me so damn helpless?
Finally, he made his decision, and hoping that it was not too late, Remus said in his calmest tone, “If we’re going to ogle men now, I promise to not talk about their nails.”
There was a pause that seemed to last at least thirty years, then Sirius snorted, and chuckled, and finally laughed when he could no longer contain it. Remus allowed himself a slow smile which morphed into a grin when Sirius turned to him, this time raising his beer in a genuine toast. They clinked their glasses together and drank. For the first time in ages, Remus felt extremely pleased with himself.
Sirius ordered more drinks for the two of them and settled against the bar again, his eyes shining with mischief as he gazed with renewed enthusiasm at the nighttime crowd.
“Well, then, back to business. How about that bloke there in the back, the one with the Ramones shirt? Reminds me a bit of a young Mick Jagger, which is never a bad thing, am I right?”
Remus groaned and picked up his third beer.
=====
Overall, it had been a night to remember, for reasons obvious only in retrospect.
They had eventually parted around midnight, after hours of teasing and ribbing and indulging in their newfound friendship, and only because Remus had to leave for the last bus, or remain stranded on the opposite side of town for the whole night. They had talked about the bakery and Sirius had told stories about James and Lily and Harry, and Remus had, in turn, shared some words about Peter. Sirius had threatened to force introductions with some attractive bloke or other from across the room if Remus did not immediately grow the balls to do it himself, and Remus had retaliated by suggesting Sirius engage in rather complicated erotic acts with himself, to which Sirius had only laughed and laughed like he could not believe what he was hearing.
The long night had ended in slightly awkward fashion, self-consciousness returning to Remus for just a moment as he shook Sirius’ hand goodbye and lingered for just a fraction of a second too long, so that their eyes met while they were still standing close together. Fortunately, the moment passed quickly and they shared another companionable smile before Remus pulled away and waved gently with his fingertips. Then he was walking away, and had no reason to doubt Sirius was doing the same.
Now he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark and wishing that morning would never come and that life would not simply go back to normal. He was not sure if he would enjoy “normal” as much as before, not with all that had happened in the past almost-three months, and especially not with the night that he had just spent in the company of the conspicuously abnormal Sirius Black.
Remus fell asleep just before dawn, wondering fuzzily if maybe he should rethink some of the Sirius-related items on his list of dreams.
Part Three B
Author: carmentakoshi
Prompt: #14 from the rs_career_fest by remuslives23
Rating: PG for slight language
Pairing(s): Remus/Sirius, James/Lily
Summary: Present day non-magic AU. The recipe: Remus, a down-on-his-luck junior accountant, is assigned to a small, equally down-on-its-luck business. The ingredients: add one handsome but surly baker, two young parents and co-managers, one energetic toddler, and one concerned best mate. Mix. Bake, let sit, and enjoy.
Warnings: pompous writing, liberties taken with the profession of accountant
Word Count: approx. 33 000
Part Three
In Which The Pastry Is Prepared
The week filtered slowly past, trapping the city of London in an oppressive inter-season cold.
Upon returning to work on Monday, Remus had taken to keeping a scrap piece of paper on the side, which he scribbled on at random intervals with a look of extreme concentration. Although he seemed to be working with the same care as usual, there was a new intensity to his gaze and a rather frightening rigidity to his posture, which caused most of the Ackerly & Pettigrew staff to subconsciously avoid him for the next few days. Even Peter, who was usually just the person to shatter Remus’ rare but potent bad moods, kept to himself for a time, although he cast worried looks across the office so often that he got even less work done than normal.
By Friday morning of that week, Remus’ scrap page was nearly full of his scrawl, in a script so messy and clearly angry that he barely recognized his own handwriting. The page was crumpled as though having been roughly handled, and marked by a very obvious tea cup stain in the bottom right corner.
Sometime before lunch on that cold, dreary Friday, Remus abruptly dropped his pencil, pushed his computer keyboard away, and pulled the scrap paper from underneath a pile of folders. He glanced around furtively at his coworkers, and seeing that they were carefully avoiding his eyes, he thought it safe to begin his perusal of the scrap paper.
It said:
REMUS J. LUPIN’S
LIST OF DREAMS
- drink tea every morning and night
- have good friend(s)
- cast a plague on the house of Black
- learn to cook something other than beef stew
- punch Sirius Black in the face
- get Peter to stand up for himself
- toss Sirius Black off a cliff
- see Mum and Dad again
- chuck Sirius Black into his own oven
- get a better bike
- and a better flat
- and a better life, come to think of it
- write a book
- hang Sirius Black by his own hair and leave him to rot
- pay my student loan
- pay Peter back for all the time I spent at his flat
- gut Sirius Black with a fishing knife
- get a fishing knife
- socks
Remus blinked down at the list. He picked up his pencil and crossed out “socks”.
He read the list again, and crossed out “see Mum and Dad again”, because that would never happen, of course, not until the end of his own life, so it had no place on the list.
He leaned back in his chair, dangling the piece of paper before his eyes as he read it again and again. Soon, he was no longer reading it, but merely watching the fluorescent light filtering weakly through the crumpled, tea-stained piece of paper.
Very calmly, he sat straight in his chair and proceeded to rip his list of dreams into very small pieces. A few other junior accountants looked up warily at the sound. One blanched visibly.
Remus leaned over and dropped the pieces into his rubbish bin, like so much useless confetti. Then he straightened, picked up his pencil, and went back to work.
Remus’ watchers continued to stare at him for some time, not knowing if they should do or say anything to their troubled colleague, but eventually they each decided against it and returned to their own business.
Footsteps sounded cautiously across the floor, seeming very loud in the virtually silent room. They stopped right in front of Remus’ desk.
“Remus? You all right, mate?”
“No,” said Remus quietly. He continued to write without looking up.
Peter shifted awkwardly, waiting for Remus to say more, but when he did not, Peter said, “What was on the paper?”
“A list.”
“A list of what?”
“A list of my dreams.”
“Oh. Um. So why did you rip it up?”
“Because it was all rubbish.”
“Rubbish? How could your dreams be rubbish?”
“They were rubbish, Peter,” Remus said in a stronger voice, “because they were petty. Stupid, trivial desires. Lurid, murderous fantasies...”
“What? ”
“...and other stupid things that cannot be counted as dreams. Rubbish belonging with all the rest of my rubbish.”
Peter’s expression became desperately worried. He swayed on the spot, torn between the desire to attempt to comfort his best mate and the thought that maybe he should be left alone. He waited, feeling very exposed, almost terrified, because if Remus thought that his life was terrible and dreamless, then what of Peter’s? If Remus - intelligent, good-looking, ever well-intentioned Remus - was unable to find direction to his life, then how was Peter, who would never be more than a shred of what Remus Lupin was, supposed to make any sense of his? How was that fair?
Peter stood stock-still in front of Remus’ desk for long minutes, fists clenched and jaw set very hard. It was a long moment before Remus deigned to look up at him, eyes shadowed and expression wan from sleep-lacking nights, and by then Peter was nearly trembling with an emotion he could not name.
“What is it, Peter?” asked Remus wearily. “I don’t want to talk right no-”
“There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams! ” Peter shouted, so that everyone nearby jumped in their seats. “Do you hear me, Remus? There’s nothing wrong with it at all!”
Remus could only look at him, stunned, and this time Peter did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and marched back to his desk. He seated himself firmly and began to work, a freshly sharpened pencil flying across the page as he started crunching the numbers of his current client.
From inside his office, Mister Pettigrew had caught sight of his suddenly industrious son, and currently looked just as shocked as everyone else.
There was not a sound in the office except for the scratch of Peter’s pencil and the tap-tap-tap of his calculator. This went on for several moments before Peter, already sick of the scrutiny, threw his pencil to his desk and glared round at the myriad astonished faces.
“Oi, you lot,” he said crossly, “at least have the decency to not look so damn surprised. Just because I don’t advertise my accounting skills all day, doesn’t mean I don’t have any-”
Remus stood abruptly, so that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. Everyone’s gazes jerked his way.
“Advertise,” he said softly, “that’s it.”
“What’s it?” a neighboring accountant asked from his desk.
“That’s it.”
Remus bounded around his desk and ran right up to Peter’s. He slammed his palms down on its surface, scattering pencils and papers and misshapen paper clips.
“Peter!”
“Remus,” Peter squeaked. He looked terrified all over again.
“I’ve got it, Pete! Lily Potter told me a while ago that they had done a little bit of advertising in the past. Just a small black and white ad in the paper, nothing too grand because they couldn’t afford it. So now I know what I have to do!”
“A-And what’s that?”
“I have to do the advertising myself,” Remus declared in a fierce voice. “I have to bring the customers to them. That’s what I have to do. That is my quest.”
“Qu-Quest...”
Remus turned and faced the room, clapping his hands loudly. “Listen up, everyone! Who wants a free lunch today?”
A few of his colleagues perked up interestedly, but most everyone else only looked confused. Remus went on, “Come on, I’m offering as it is. The place isn’t far, if you’re wondering. Just on Diagon Alley. Come on now!”
“What’s the occasion?” someone asked pertly.
Remus was about to shout “No occasion, you daft sod”, but Peter thought faster and said, “It’s Friday.”
Remus glanced back at Peter. Peter’s expression lit up with sudden, beautiful realization.
“It’s my dad’s birthday today,” he said happily. “I was just going to buy him something on the way home, but I think he’d enjoy it if we all had a celebratory lunch with him.”
“Yes, yes!” Remus added enthusiastically. “So what do you all say? It’s all on me! Come on! Right now!”
“Well, if you’re paying,” someone else said. There were murmurs of agreement around him, and people began to rise to fetch their coats.
Remus had to suppress the urge to jump and shout his ecstasy. In lieu of this, he turned and gave Peter his warmest smile, which Peter tentatively returned.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Remus said softly. “Really, I...I’ve been really, really disagreeable these days, haven’t I?”
“Quite,” said Peter with a grin, “but that’s all right. Thanks to you and your disagreeable-ness, I had my moment in the spotlight. Did you see how shocked everyone was?”
Remus nodded. “But is that really all you want? To live simply?”
“Sure, why not? It’s not for everyone, but for me, it’s more than enough. Now come on, we should prolly go tell my dad where we’re going. It’s his birthday lunch, after all.”
“I completely forgot it was his birthday. Some best mate I am.”
“As long as you don’t forget mine.”
Peter pushed open the door to his father’s office and said cheerfully, “Hi, Dad.”
Remus said, “Happy birthday, sir.”
Mister Pettigrew still looked bewildered. “Thank you. Er, Peter, Remus, what the devil is going on, exactly?”
“Everyone’s decided to have a lunch in honour of your birthday, Mister Pettigrew. Would you like to come along?”
“They make good lemon tarts at the place we’re going,” Peter added.
Mister Pettigrew merely looked puzzled now, but soon his lined face broke into a smile, and he stood. “Oh, might as well. Since I’m the one being celebrated and all that.”
Ackerly poked his head into the office, looking rather confused himself. “What’s all this, then, Pettigrew?”
=====
In a few minutes, some twenty accountants and their bosses were on their way to Harry’s bakery on Diagon Alley, all eagerly anticipating a free lunch. Remus rode in the backseat of Mister Pettigrew’s car beside Peter, and was so glad that he was barely bothered by the fact that this expense would force him to survive on marmite on toast for the next two weeks.
Remus pushed through the door first. James, Lily, and Sirius were all behind the counter today, working at various things. It was Harry who spotted Remus first from his usual vantage point.
“Weemus!” he cried, and wiggled happily on his table.
“Goodness!” Lily exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
“Business,” said Remus with a smile.
James was grinning like an utter fool, having caught on as soon as the crowd of accountants had come into view. He cleaned off quickly and crossed to room the pick up Harry.
“Come on, little man, let’s bring you upstairs. Mummy and Daddy have lots of work to do right now,” he said, struggling a little as Harry began to wriggle in his grip.
“No!” Harry cried. “Weemus!”
“Blimey,” James muttered as one of Harry’s flailing arms knocked his glasses askew. “Er, Remus, would you...?”
“Of course.”
Remus carefully took Harry from James, holding him firmly against his hip. Harry wrapped his little arms protectively around Remus’ neck and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dinosaur hoot.
“Put it all on one tab,” Remus told James quietly. “It’s on me today.”
James held his gaze for a moment, his eyes looking extraordinarily bright, then he tapped Remus gratefully on the side of the arm and went back to the counter. Lily was already busy taking orders and making sandwiches, while Sirius was attending to those in front of the pastry displays. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Remus.
Peter appeared by Remus’ elbow, munching happily on a lemon tart and not seeming the least bit concerned with the fact that his best mate was holding a child he had never seen before. “So, tell me...what does this accomplish exactly? Besides making you several dozen pounds poorer.”
“Advertising,” Remus said again, smiling as he bounced Harry lightly on his hip. “The things they make here are good, but not a lot of people know it. Creating an event here will carve this place into their memories, so they’ll naturally spread the news and encourage even more people to come.”
Peter gazed upon the crowd with the air of a man enlightened.
“It’s still not a lot,” Remus continued, “but it’s a start. With some more effort, and little luck, we should have this bakery running as it deserves to soon enough.”
They stood in silence for a while, watching the others seat themselves and begin to eat. Harry laughed and bounced in Remus’ arms, excited that so many people were filling what was formerly his playpen.
After a few minutes, everyone was served and eating enthusiastically. There did not seem to be a single complaint. Lily and James were radiant.
“I never thought this would happen,” James said breathlessly as he took Harry back from Remus. “It’s just...wow. It’s full in here. All the tables are filled.”
“This is what we envisioned, I think,” Lily added, watching the crowd with one hand on her breast, “when we thought this up. This is how we imagined it.”
Peter asked, “Missus Potter, you wouldn’t happen to have a birthday candle or anything? I’d like to stick one in a pastry for my dad. It’s his birthday.”
Lily moved off to find one, Peter following along curiously, as James stood gazing around in wonderment, hugging Harry tight until the boy said, “Da’, leggo.”
“D’you think this’ll work, Remus?” James asked anxiously. “I mean, it’s not like you can ask them to come every day.”
“No, but we’ll find other ways. We just need a bit more creativity.”
James beamed. “Yeah, of course. We’ve got plenty of that. We’ll find a way. Well, Harry, what would you like for lunch? How about a nice salad?”
“Sweet,” Harry demanded.
James carried Harry to the counter to prepare him something healthier to eat. In the dining area, several employees of Ackerly & Pettigrew cheered raucously as Peter presented his father with one of Sirius’ wild berry and cream pastries decked with a small lopsided wax candle. Remus watched them all, thinking about how relaxed everyone looked, how happy James and Lily and Harry looked, and could not help thinking back to his stunted list of dreams.
There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams. Perhaps he had been looking too far. Remus thought that he could probably live with this dream he was seeing. He could live with it very well.
A sort of peace came over him, soothing the ache in his chest. The heaviness still remained, but it had lightened. It was almost like learning to breathe anew.
“Nice stunt,” said a voice behind Remus.
Remus turned. Sirius was leaning back against a low storage cabinet, observing Remus from under his lashes as he toweled his hands dry. There was a wariness in his deceptively relaxed stance, something in the slant of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, but there was something new too. Respect, perhaps? Approval?
“Thank you,” Remus said, and this time he was completely sincere.
Sirius nodded vaguely and gestured him over. Remus glanced back at his co-workers then obliged. He leaned back against the cabinet in an awkward, mousy, wool-trouser-wearing parody of Sirius. They remained like this for several long moments.
Making a show of inspecting his fingernails, Sirius said, “You had me worried for a bit.”
Remus tried not to smile. “Really?”
“Mm. I thought I’d gone too far. That you’d decided it was time to give up.”
“I told you I’m a man of my word.”
“Apparently so.”
A pause. Sirius adjusted his weight against the cabinet. Then he glanced sidelong at Remus, chin still tucked in, so that his grey eyes were level with Remus’ hazel ones.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said slowly, as though searching for the words, “for what I said the other day. I should know better than anyone that no one should ever be accused of having no dreams. It was cruel of me.”
Remus frowned down at the floor, but now that certain things about his own dreams had just come to light, he found it difficult to bring back the anger he had felt before. He shook his head and smiled as best as he could, which clearly surprised Sirius, if his bemused expression was any indication.
“That’s quite all right,” Remus told him. “I...I needed some perspective, and you gave it to me, albeit in a bit of a brutish manner, but...it’s okay.”
“It’s okay?”
“Yeah. I accept your apology. Again.”
Sirius’ lips quirked up in a wry smile. Remus quite liked this smile too. He said, “And I’m sorry also. For suggesting you abandon your dream. If this is what you and James and Lily want to do, then by all means, do it. I’m behind you all a hundred percent.”
“That’s very kind, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant,” said Sirius with a slight toss of his head. Then he sighed. “To be fair to you and your suggestion, it’s not like I haven’t considered it before. It’s just...”
“What?”
“...I don’t actually have a degree.”
A pause, then Remus repeated, “What?”
Sirius grinned crookedly, having the good grace to look sheepish. “Not in pastry arts, anyway. I started one, but never finished. It got too dull and technical, so I dropped out. Plus I find English pastry chefs to be terribly elitist.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Touché, my pastry-challenged friend.”
“What do you have a degree in, then?”
“Oh, some business management thing or other,” Sirius said unconcernedly, waving a hand as though swatting away a fly. “My family are all business moguls, own lots of properties and what-not around London. When I was in high school, I decided I liked baking better, and went for it. And the rest, as they say, is a great sodding pile of history.”
“I don’t think anyone says that.”
“Shows what you know.”
“I found my dream.”
Sirius shifted again and looked Remus full in the face, his expression flickering between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah? What is it?”
Remus glanced back toward the animated crowd, feeling the sight lift the corners of his mouth into a gentle smile. “I want to make everyone I care about happy.”
Sirius was silent where Remus expected a snarky comment, or at the very least a scoff, and when Remus looked back he saw that Sirius was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open. He had to struggle very hard against the urge to push his chin up and close Sirius’ mouth with one outstretched finger.
Just as Remus was beginning to feel awkward again, Sirius snapped his mouth shut and threw his head back, letting loose a single, bark-like laugh that caused several accountants to turn their heads.
“Now that’s not fair!” Sirius exclaimed. “That is just not fair, Mister Lupin, not fair at all.”
“Why is it not fair? What?” asked Remus, alarmed.
Sirius laughed again and let his head fall forward, leaning his forehead against his palm. “Gotten back at me, have you, by coming up with such a selfless, lofty goal? Makes me feel like a right prat now, it does. Oh, you’re good, Mister Accountant, you’re very good.”
“I didn’t ‘come up’ with it,” Remus said in a miffed voice, “it’s true. It’s what I want. It’s what I would do anything to obtain.”
Sirius regarded him sideways for the space of a beat, then raised his head. “And how are you doing so far? In accomplishing this dream of yours?”
Remus looked steadily back at him although his heart was thundering, quite without his consent. “Not too bad. Still lots to be done, though. You?”
“Same. Long road ahead.”
“Mm.”
Remus’ colleagues were finishing up now, some of them rising to order extra pastries before they returned to the office. James was serving them energetically, so Sirius and Remus stayed where they were, watching as the crowd slowly trickled away, until only a few stragglers, Peter, and Mister Pettigrew were left.
“Very lovely establishment you have here, ma’am,” Pettigrew was saying to Lily, “very fine. I’ll be sure to come back soon.”
Lily’s eyes fairly twinkled. “Thank you, sir, it would be very much appreciated.”
The old man nodded politely at her and her husband before leaving the bakery, telling Peter and Remus to “not be long now, we all need to get back to work, even on our birthdays”. Peter acquiesced and turned to James to requisition another tart or three for the road.
“Guess I should be going,” Remus said, keeping his tone light. “Suppose I should write a cheque?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” Lily said. “You give it to us next time you come around. Right now you should be running along.”
“Th’numbers aren’t gonna crunch themselves, yeah?” Sirius added. “Oh, wait.”
“Hm?”
“Say. Are you free tomorrow night? Got any account-erly things to do?”
Remus desperately willed his racing heart to be still. “I’m not doing anything. Why?”
Sirius scratched the back of his head, mussing up the already loose ponytail there. “Oh, it’s just that James and I were going to go for a drink or two tomorrow night at the Leaky Cauldron, and I thought...I dunno, that you’d like to come or something. Since we’re all mates now and all that.”
The rate at which Remus’ heart rose and swelled surprised even him, who was beginning to think himself resistant to such things. “Oh. Er. I could come, yeah. If you want. If James wants.”
“If James wants what?” James called from across the room.
“If James wants to let our accountant in on our little drinking outing tomorrow,” Sirius called back.
“James wants! Tell him!”
“James wants,” Sirius said with a completely straight face.
“I heard,” Remus said dryly, biting his lip to prevent his laughter from bubbling up. “Okay, tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron, then.”
“At eight. D’you know where it is?”
“Around here, right? I’ll find it.”
“Brilliant. See you then.”
“Cheers, lads,” James yelled as Peter and Remus exited.
Mister Pettigrew had already started the car and was waiting for them, but neither he nor Mister Ackerly seemed in any particular hurry. Peter paused by the door and took the opportunity to fish another lemon tart of out his little paper bag of purchased sweets.
“So,” he said between bites, “did you ask him out yet?”
Remus cuffed him on the back of the head in response, but he was grinning again.
=====
“I have nothing to wear.”
The clothes in his closet seemed to shrug on their hangers as Remus pushed them apart with his hands. He had been searching for any all wearables for the past hour, but had quickly discovered that everything he owned was either too old, too frayed, or too unwashed to wear in decent company.
Remus sighed in frustration, blowing his fringe out of his eyes in the process. What was he getting so bent out of shape about, anyway? He already knew he was not the type to indulge in frequent clothes shopping trips. In fact, he tended to avoid clothing stores and aisles as much as possible when he was out, overwhelmed as he often was by the sheer variety of styles and colours available. There was a reason he stuck with subdued shades, greys and taupes and when he was feeling daring, the occasional blue.
“Well, what am I if not adventurous?” Remus mused aloud, completely unable to keep a straight face at the statement. He turned away from the closet and selected a navy blue collared shirt from the back of a chair. He sniffed it delicately. Definitely in need of a wash.
He turned back to the closet and fished around in the back before extricating a pair of faded grey jeans. They were wrinkled and slightly torn at the knee, but they were by far his best pair of jeans, which was good enough in his books. He moved out of the closet - hitting his head on the door on the way out and giving a good-natured curse in response - and piled a few more clothes from his room into his arms, then carried the whole to the sitting room, where the laundry basket was sitting on the couch like a lazy guest.
Remus dumped the armful of clothes into the basket and heaved it up. After luxuriating in bed until noon, he had planned on sitting around to fret and attempt to convince himself that this invitation out held absolutely no meaning at all, but doing the laundry seemed like a more productive use of his time. This was why he was now tromping down the stairs to the building’s basement, wondering which of his pairs of shoes was the less worn.
Remus actually enjoyed doing the laundry most days, as it offered him a break from all the numbers and clients (and Sirius, but he was not thinking of him, of course he was not), so it was with increased cheer that he pushed open the laundry room’s door with his hip and stepped into the welcome, familiar smell of linen and detergent and those fuzzy dryer sheets that some people like to put in their load. The place was happily deserted, allowing Remus full use of the best washer in the middle of the room, one of the only ones which did not stutter or subtly vibrate across the floor as it washed. With great care, he set his basket down on the table facing the washer and proceeded to toss his clothes in.
As the machine was going about the business of washing, Remus leaned back against it and let his mind wander...
...no, actually, wandering was bad. He disallowed his mind to wander because these days, wandering thoughts inevitably led to increasingly specific thoughts about a certain baker he was determined to not think about in any form or fashion. Mental meandering had simply become to dangerous to indulge in freely, and had to be kept under close surveillance.
This was going to be a long day.
=====
At quarter to six, Remus’ freshly washed and dried clothes were lying at the ready on his bed, and Remus himself was making supper. He really was beginning to get tired of beef stew. He made a mental note to pick up a cookbook or two at the library the next time he was around.
At quarter past six, the stew was simmered and ready, and Remus served himself a generous helping. He ate standing at the kitchen counter, the warm bowl in his hands, as he listened with one ear to the news on the television.
At six thirty, he finished eating and proceeded to wash his bowl and utensils, allowing his gaze to wander over the strip of dark sky visible through his tiny kitchen window. When he was done, he shook out his hands distractedly and dried them on a handy towel.
At quarter to seven, he glanced at the microwave clock, and despaired.
=====
At long last, seven twenty rolled around, but it had done so with such torturous slowness that Remus was almost writhing with impatience once it was finally time to leave. He checked himself once more in the bathroom mirror, ran a cursory thumb pad over the dark circles under his eyes, frowned at himself, decided he ultimately did not care, and left the flat as quickly as his legs could carry him.
He had decided to take the bus to the area around the Leaky Cauldron, judging in advance that he was not enchanted with the idea of biking home in the dead of night. He resigned himself to the press of bodies and, half an hour later, found himself at the closest possible stop to his destination.
Cursing softly in the cold, Remus shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat and started walking. The street was dark in spots, where light had fled in the wake of the store owners who had long closed up for the night. Sometimes, a warm orange glow would colour the path before him, spilling from the upstairs window of a quaint residential building. It reminded him of a time long past, of long winter evenings spent in front of the fire of his childhood home. It had been a while since he had bathed in a glow like that himself.
Remus shook off the feeling of quiet sadness and nostalgia and kept going, until he finally sighted the brighter lights emanating from the Leaky Cauldron. The street was more lively around here as people moved in and out of the well-known pub, talking and laughing and looking well-alive.
Remus felt suddenly nervous and out of place, and longed for the solitude of his neat little flat.
“Oi! Remus!”
The voice cut through the muddled murmur of the crowd, summoning him back from his panicked loner thoughts and back to a warmer world. Remus had been ready to force a smile, but he found that it came automatically as Sirius came into view.
Away from his duties to the bakery and the restrictions of health regulations, Sirius left his hair long and unbound over his shoulders, where it brushed like dark feathered wings against the collar of his beat-up leather jacket. The careless grin that Remus had first known all those weeks ago was in place on his handsome face. Remus was almost stunned at how freely he was offered that smile now, but really could not bring himself to examine all the implications of such an act because Sirius was next to him now and clasping his shoulder amicably, and it looked for all the world that they were long-time mates meeting up after a long while apart.
“’lo, Sirius,” said Remus as nonchalantly he could.
“Wotcher, Mister Accountant,” replied Sirius. “Let’s head in, yeah? S’cold.”
“No one actually says ‘wotcher’, Mister Black. Where’s James?”
Sirius rolled his eyes and pushed Remus toward the door. “Maybe you don’t. And he’s not coming. Seems Harry came down with something last night and he feels the need to watch him like a hawk until he gets better. I swear it’s not the wife stealing my best mate, it’s the sprog.”
Remus snorted with amusement, attempting to ignore how his heart was now beating double-time. “Just wait until you have kids,” he said, intentionally parroting James’ earlier comment.
“Like that’ll ever happen,” said Sirius cheerily.
It was wonderfully warm inside the Leaky Cauldron, so Remus shucked off his coat and together the two made their way to two adjacent spots by the bar. Sirius ordered two beers for them and leaned back with his legs casually spread out against the bar stool, while Remus sat perched on his own stool, feeling oddly like a pudgy Harry sitting exposed on his designated tabletop.
Neither of them spoke nor even met the other’s eyes. Sirius seemed preoccupied with eyeing a few young women across the bar, and Remus was perfectly content with pretending Sirius did not exist and was certainly not sitting just a hair within his personal space, with highly nerve-wracking results.
Their drinks arrived. Sirius twisted around to grab his, casting Remus a fleeting smile as he did so, which Remus returned to the best of his ability. He sipped his own drink, trying hard to avoid grimacing at the cold and strongly bitter taste. It was far removed from that of the cheap beer he usually partook of in Peter’s company. Sirius was, naturally, throwing his back without concern. Just one more thing for Remus to be deathly annoyed with about him.
They drank in a silence that was like drowning in the crowd, until Sirius suddenly said, “I don’t bite, you know.”
Remus blinked over the rim of his glass. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Sirius replied, grinning as Remus made a face at him. “I said I don’t bite. You’ve been quiet ever since we got here. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Who’d be afraid of you? ” Remus retorted. He took a bolstering gulp of beer. “I’m just naturally quiet, quite the opposite of you, it seems.”
“No need to be so petulant with me, Mister Accountant. I’m just saying.”
“Well, I apologize, Sirius, but there’s just something about you that makes me feel rather petulant.”
Sirius whistled low and took a delicate sip of beer, mimicking Remus’ careful movements. Remus ignored him and drank deeply this time, as much out of defiance as out of the need to distill the words that had sounded perilously close to a confession.
Sirius polished off his drink and ordered another one, then he leaned farther back against the bar, slanting his shoulders in Remus’ direction.
“So,” he started again, in a voice that would have been conspiratorial if it was not raised to counter the din, “which one do you fancy?”
Remus raised his eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed. “This is it? We’re sitting awkwardly in a bar together, and you’re asking me to ogle women with you?”
Sirius shrugged the shoulder closest to Remus. “It’s as good a conversation topic as any. So? Which one?”
Remus sighed and set his glass down on the bar. As very tempting as it was to theatrically announce his sexual orientation to Sirius and be done with him once and for all, Remus doubted he would be able to stomach the embarrassment of outing himself in public, so he remained silent on the matter. Halfheartedly, he cast his gaze around the crowded pub until it alighted on a petite blonde woman with bright purple nails. He pointed her out to Sirius, who snorted.
“What?” Remus said, trying his best to look affronted. “She’s pretty enough. And colourful nails are...interesting.”
“I’m not asking you what you like about women’s nails. Good God, man, you act as if you’ve never looked at a girl before.”
“I usually have better things to do.”
“A likely story. How about that one, eh? I’m usually into brunettes, m’self.”
“Please. You probably only are because they look more like you.”
Sirius laughed uproariously as he had back in the bakery the day before, but the sound still startled Remus nearly out of his wits. Nevertheless, it eased the tension of the moment, and Remus had to hide a smile as he picked up his glass again and brought it to his lips. Sirius’ second beer arrived, and he drank lustily for a moment before setting the half-empty glass down without an ounce of care.
“So you don’t like brunettes either, then?” Sirius began again, clearly adamant on having this discussion. “All right, then it’s redheads for you, I reckon. I thought I saw you looking Lily up and down a couple of times.”
Remus choked on his latest sip of beer, shaking his head indignantly even as he was spluttering to clear his windpipe. Sirius winked cheekily at him and raised his glass in mock-toast. “To your credit, she’s quite the beauty. Shall we toast to your torrid affair?”
“Tosser,” Remus gasped, but he was laughing even as he was desperately thumping himself on the sternum to encourage his breathing reflexes.
Sirius’ arrogant grin faded to a smile, and he reached over to helpfully slap Remus on the back a few times. Remus brushed him off as he regained his control, smiling ruefully and declaring, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sirius faked a look of intense disappointment. “Shame. I was hoping you would actually turn out to be an utter scoundrel.”
“Ah, but how cliché would that be?” Remus replied, taking another careful sip of beer.
“Right. On second thought, the world definitely needs more sarcastic, mousy accountants who are exactly as they look.”
Remus laughed softly, feeling so at ease now he barely wondered how it was so easy to laugh and joke and banter with this man. Sirius looked pleased, and settled contentedly against the bar again as his gaze returned to the crowd.
After a brief, comfortable pause, Sirius said, “So tell me. I’m desperate to know, now. What kind of girl do you like?”
The smile dissolved from Remus’ lips. He hid the loss in his emptying glass, and wondered what to say. Sirius obviously noticed his silence, but did not comment on it again. His brow creased ever so slightly and his gaze was suddenly far-off, like he was contemplating something of great importance.
Then, to Remus’ astonishment, Sirius paused in bringing his glass to his lips and, leaning closer to him, he said as casually as anything, “And if I asked ‘what kind of person do you like’, would you have more to say?”
Remus’ expression, momentarily unguarded as it was, must have been tell-all, because Sirius nodded slowly, as though a great and serious truth had just been revealed to him, and returned to his drink. He said nothing more for some time, but his stance had changed minutely, like he was suddenly self-conscious or perhaps regretting what he had just said.
Remus looked around the room, casting about for something, anything to say to make the moment pass. He wished Sirius had not said anything at all, or that Remus himself had had the presence of mind to deny the implication being made, as he usually did.
Damnit. What is it about him that makes me so damn helpless?
Finally, he made his decision, and hoping that it was not too late, Remus said in his calmest tone, “If we’re going to ogle men now, I promise to not talk about their nails.”
There was a pause that seemed to last at least thirty years, then Sirius snorted, and chuckled, and finally laughed when he could no longer contain it. Remus allowed himself a slow smile which morphed into a grin when Sirius turned to him, this time raising his beer in a genuine toast. They clinked their glasses together and drank. For the first time in ages, Remus felt extremely pleased with himself.
Sirius ordered more drinks for the two of them and settled against the bar again, his eyes shining with mischief as he gazed with renewed enthusiasm at the nighttime crowd.
“Well, then, back to business. How about that bloke there in the back, the one with the Ramones shirt? Reminds me a bit of a young Mick Jagger, which is never a bad thing, am I right?”
Remus groaned and picked up his third beer.
=====
Overall, it had been a night to remember, for reasons obvious only in retrospect.
They had eventually parted around midnight, after hours of teasing and ribbing and indulging in their newfound friendship, and only because Remus had to leave for the last bus, or remain stranded on the opposite side of town for the whole night. They had talked about the bakery and Sirius had told stories about James and Lily and Harry, and Remus had, in turn, shared some words about Peter. Sirius had threatened to force introductions with some attractive bloke or other from across the room if Remus did not immediately grow the balls to do it himself, and Remus had retaliated by suggesting Sirius engage in rather complicated erotic acts with himself, to which Sirius had only laughed and laughed like he could not believe what he was hearing.
The long night had ended in slightly awkward fashion, self-consciousness returning to Remus for just a moment as he shook Sirius’ hand goodbye and lingered for just a fraction of a second too long, so that their eyes met while they were still standing close together. Fortunately, the moment passed quickly and they shared another companionable smile before Remus pulled away and waved gently with his fingertips. Then he was walking away, and had no reason to doubt Sirius was doing the same.
Now he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark and wishing that morning would never come and that life would not simply go back to normal. He was not sure if he would enjoy “normal” as much as before, not with all that had happened in the past almost-three months, and especially not with the night that he had just spent in the company of the conspicuously abnormal Sirius Black.
Remus fell asleep just before dawn, wondering fuzzily if maybe he should rethink some of the Sirius-related items on his list of dreams.
Part Three B