FIC: August 1995 (Part Two)
Part Two of the series. See part one for all info and disclaimers.
August 16
He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that [he] had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
--F.S. Fitzgerald, the Great Gatsby (ch 8)
Today Remus goes to the garden with Sirius, the two of them side-by-side on their backs facing the sky. Both are barefoot, and for the longest time Remus just looks at Sirius' foot; at the long line of foot, the curve of the heel, the arc and trajectory of the arch. When Remus looks back up to Sirius' face Sirius is sleeping. It is hard to tell that the eyes are closed behind Sirius' sunglasses, but by glancing sideways Remus can see the space between rim and socket, sees Sirius' dark eyelashes flutter slightly.
The day is lovely, clear, bright and warm, but not too hot. Remus is slightly surprised that Harry and the other children are still in the house, but they have been diligently helping Molly with the cleaning. Besides, though the day is lovely the garden is not--years of disuse have left the yard untended and ill kept. Remus thinks Arthur must have cut the grass, probably magically, but there are weeds and dirt and rocks everywhere, ivy creeping up well past the second floor of the back side of the house.
Remus is reminded of the summer Harry was born, how Lily fretted about the baby in the sun; Remus smiles to think of the enormous hat Lily had made Harry wear as a newborn and reminds himself to check and see if he has any pictures remaining of the sight of the tiny baby with the thatch of dark hair in an enormous floppy blue hat. Sirius had always said that with James' hair there was no need for Harry to have any further protection from the sun:. "Couldn't that hair block gummy rays?" Sirius had said, until Remus corrected him to "gamma," laughing until his sides hurt and Sirius had grinned and elbowed him in the ribs, for good measure.
The Potter's garden had been as small as this one, but much more lovely. Lily had been an avid and enthusiastic gardner, and with Alice Longbottom's help (Alice always had been ace at Herbology), Lily had cultivated a rich, beautiful garden, both magical and Muggle. Remus can still remember how Lily, James and their friends had spent hours and hours sprawled on the grass, taking time as they could in the spring and summers, eating, drinking, laughing. Sirius had sworn to build Harry a treehouse in the enormous maple that took up most of one side, because at least that way the boy would have a place to go when he ran away from his crazy parents. James answered that that was what Sirius' house, as godfather, was for, and the two had wrestled themselves almost to exhaustion in time to Remus and Lily's laughter, Lily holding the baby in the big blue hat.
Remus blinks and the world spins, then comes back into focus, the green of the ivy standing out starkly against the grey and dirt of Grimmauld Place. He blinks again, and puts a hand on Sirius' stomach, where Sirius' hand is resting. Remus toys with the idea of waking him up, of walking back inside with him, but dismisses the notion. It can wait. For now, Remus lets Sirius sleep while he remembers the small, young family and saves a fragment of a spot in the world that was once lovely.
August 17
They are in the kitchen after luncheon, and Hermione is passing around a paper sack of Muggle sweets that Ron and the twins are exclaiming over. Ron suddenly finds his fingers wrapped up in saltwater taffy and Harry and Hermione laugh themselves red in the face at his shocked and slightly repulsed expression.
Fred pulls out a red stick of candy, a confused look on his face. "What's this now? A candy wand?"
Hermione laughs, but Remus beats her to the explanation. "That's Blackpool Rock, Fred. It's a type of rock candy."
Fred waves the candy in George's face. "It's a rock? Muggles eat rocks for sweets? Tad disgusting if you ask me."
Harry actually giggles. "No. It's not a real rock. It's just . . . hard. It's sugar that's sweet and been hardened into small crystals."
"Oh," George answered, though he and Ron still look unconvinced. Remus takes the opportunity and lifts the candy from Fred's somewhat slack fingers.
"I haven't seen Blackpool Rock in years," he says thoughtfully.
"My mum likes it," Hermione answers. "She always puts it in with other sweets."
"Last time I had any . . ." Remus starts.
"James' stag," Sirius provides, and Remus nods.
"What about my dad?" Harry asks.
Sirius blinks, but then smiles. "Your dad's stag party was in Blackpool. You know, the party we had before he married your mum."
"Peter was from Blackpool," Remus adds, noticing Sirius' slight frown; whether Sirius had remembered that bit, Remus can't be sure. "Anyway. Lots of stag and hen parties are there . . . Peter knew the places to go. Or so he convinced us when he suggested we have the party there."
To Remus' surprise, Sirius grins. "We should've known. Peter might have been sand grown, but he never could find a good pub from a hole in the ground."
"I don't know," Remus suggests rather slowly. "That one place wasn't so bad."
Sirius' grin grows wider, no doubt in recollection of James' face when he realized that they'd managed to find one of the many clubs in the area that catered to men more of Remus and Sirius' distinction. Remus grins back, and it takes several moments for him to realize that he and Sirius are beaming at each other, grinning like fools in front of the teenagers who have no earthly idea what the joke is.
Remus hefts the candy in his hand and then passes it back to Fred. "Anyway. We ended up gorging ourselves on candy rather than alcohol, and let me speak from experience: Blackpool Rock is not nearly as good the second time around."
Sirius lets out a short laugh at Hermione's small noise of disgust, though he warns the boys to always heed Remus' advice on rock candy.
August 18
When Remus walks into the library to see Harry standing in front of Sirius, a concerned look on Sirius' face, and Harry's eyes swollen and red-rimmed, Remus thinks he has walked in on a private moment, that Harry is crying. But Sirius waves Remus over anyway, Harry's chin in Sirius' hand; Harry has grown much over the summer, but he is still shorter than Sirius.
From the closer angle Remus can see that Harry's eyes are indeed red and watery, and he seems to be sniffling a little, but he doesn't look otherwise distressed.
"I think Harry's having an allergic reaction to something in the house," Sirius says, and Remus, catching on, nods.
"Don't know what, though," Harry says. "Never been allergic to anything before."
"Never been in this house before, either," Sirius replies dryly, and Remus has to admit he agrees.
Even Harry smiles a rather crooked smile. "So I'm stuck with this, then?" Harry asks.
At that, Sirius smiles slightly. "Aside from the Muggle medication . . ." He pauses while Remus supplies, "Benedryl, you're probably thinking of."
"Yes," Sirius says. "Aside from that, we are wizards." Sirius taps the tip of his wand against Harry's temple and whispers, and Remus can hear Harry's rather snuffly breathing clear almost immediately.
"Brilliant!" Harry exclaims.
"It'll have to be done every day, mind you," Sirius warns. "Charm doesn't last for more than twenty four hours."
"S'okay," Harry says. "I'm not going anywhere." He pauses. "I'm just glad it's not a potion," he adds.
Both Sirius and Remus laugh as Harry sticks his hands in his pockets, leaving to find Ron and Hermione. When he does, Remus pulls Sirius' head toward him with a hand to the back of the head, and kisses Sirius on the corner of the mouth.
"Not that I'm complaining, Moony," Sirius says, "but what was that for?"
"Boy looks to you. To take care of him," Remus answers.
Sirius is quiet for a moment as he takes this in. "Yeah," he says softly, and Remus kisses him again.
August 19
Remus is in the bath with water up past his chest when Sirius enters the bathroom.
"Hey," Remus protests somewhat softly, as it is eleven at night and he would rather not wake up the rest of the house.
Sirius tilts a smile toward him while beginning to unbutton his shirt. "You aren't protecting your virtue at this late date, are you Remus?"
Remus manages to smile back even as his mouth goes dry at the sight of Sirius' shirt sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor. "Of course not."
"It's a pity," Sirius says, fingers reaching for his belt buckle, mouth still quirked up at the corners.
Remus realizes what Sirius is planning on doing. "Surely you don't expect to get in here with me?"
Sirius' trousers drop to the floor, and he steps out of them. "Is the water still warm?"
Remus, who takes his baths so hot that steam rises off the water, lifts a hand out of the water to gesture at the small curls of smoke rising from the bathtub in answer.
"Is there room?" Sirius' boxers join the pile of his other clothes. The heat from the water is beginning to curl the edges of the hair at the nape of his neck.
"I suppose," Remus says, hedging only as a tease, as, like everything else in the house, the Black taste in bathtubs is large, plentiful, and ostentatious. The clawfooted tub Remus is in could easily hold at least three grown men, though Remus doesn't anticipate there will actually be much room between Sirius and himself.
"You suppose," Sirius echoes, putting one foot in the bath, then the other, then gently sliding down the side until he is sitting at the bottom of the tub. Very slowly he slides smoothly in the water, barely making a ripple in the surface as he moves toward Remus.
"Hmmm," Remus manages before Sirius' arms are around him, wet and slick, before Sirius is in his lap, before Sirius' mouth covers his own.
August 20
Held like water in your shaking hands are all the small defeats a day demands. 10-6 or 9-5, trying, dying to survive. Never knowing what survival means. Leave the apartment to buy alcohol. Hang our diplomas on the bathroom wall. Pick at the plaster chipped away, survey some stunning tooth decay, enlist the cat in the impending class-war. Let's lay our bad day down here, dear, and make-believe we're strong. Or hum some protest song, like maybe "We Shall Overcome Someday," overcome the stupid things we say. Say I needed more than this, say I needed one more kiss. We left that light on way too long now. Let's plant a bomb at city-hall and kill an MLA. We'll talk the night away. You call in sick, I'll quit the word-games that I play. I swear I way more than half believe it when I say that somewhere love and justice shine. Cynicism falls asleep. Tyranny talks to itself. Sappy slogans all come true. We forget to feed our fear.
--the Weakerthans, Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist
Remus sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off his shoes. It has been a long day, exhausting, and he is profoundly glad that it is almost over. He had managed to help Molly with the boggart today, but the task has left him shaken. Even though the boggart took on Molly's worst fear, that fear is bad enough, and Remus can't help but continue to see the Weasleys flit one after the other across his brain: still, cold, red-headed, empty in their eyes. Harry, too, just the tiniest bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, surely Remus' imagination
Remus can't help what he also saw as he dispensed of the boggart, when it turned on him slightly. He don't think anyone else saw, not Molly, not Harry; besides which, Harry might have expected to see a full moon should the boggart have turned on Remus, and not thought to look any closer.
But Remus did see, just for the barest of moments, not even a second; Remus did see the flash of dark hair, of familiar features, with the high cheekbones and still slightly haughty mouth; Remus did see the paleness of the skin and the same emptiness in the grey eyes he saw in the Weasleys' expressions, and he did see his own worst fear there, not Molly's, just for a fraction of time.
For the first time since he is eight years old, Remus' worst fear is not a full moon, and for the first time since his eighth year, Remus is truly afraid.
When Sirius comes to bed, Remus asks Sirius to kiss him, to touch him, to make love with him, until the memory is almost gone, is just flitting at the corner of his mind, until Remus is so worn out he can only ask for one more kiss before sleep.
August 21
Sirius has been in a foul mood all day. No one knows why, but then again, Sirius really doesn't need much of an excuse these days; his moods pop up unpredictably and unexpectedly, making him more mercurial than ever. Sirius has been silent through meals; has spent too much time with Buckbeak; Remus suspects that there's a now fully empty bottle of firewhiskey in a cupboard in their bedroom.
Harry has skirted the edges of Sirius' mood all day, choosing to avoid his godfather rather than provoke him. Hermione follows him with strangely sad eyes, and even Ron seems cognizant to the situation, sticking close to Harry and Hermione and rarely speaking a word out of turn to Sirius. Molly has shaken her head slowly, clucking a bit under her breath.
Frankly, it's driving Remus mad, the way they're all acting, walking on eggshells around Sirius. Remus knows from long periods of private experience that there are times to coddle Sirius, to soothe him, and that there are times not to put up with that black storm cloud of Sirius' anger for one second longer than necessary. This day is one of those latter times.
That is why, as soon as he can after dinner, but before the Order meeting, Remus corners Sirius as he fishes a book Dumbledore wanted to borrow out of the library.
Remus slams the door shut with a bang the entire house can hear and spells it locked. Sirius looks up from the book in his hands, but he doesn't ask what Remus is doing. He merely says, "Fuck you."
"I'd be more than willing to let you, Sirius, if that'll get you out of this damn mood."
The expression on Sirius' face is like thunder. Remus takes a deep breath. He doesn't apologize; he doesn't ask what brought this on; he doesn't attempt to soothe. Sirius is begging for a fight, and he'll get one.
Remus isn't surprised for a moment when the book comes flying at his head, and he dodges it easily. In retaliation he picks up some old, and probably quite valuable, ashtray off the coffeetable and hurls it Sirius. Sirius ducks (Remus always did have great aim) and the heavy tray hits one of the bookcases with a loud thud, spilling a couple of books onto the floor.
Soon they are engaged in an all out battle, first by throwing objects across the room, then by throwing and deflecting curses, and lastly by wrestling each other with sheer physical force. Remus, more powerful than he looks, wins easily even over Sirius' tendency to fight dirty, and he manages to pin Sirius to the carpet, the heels of his hands pressing into the other man's chest, his shoulders, his hips pinning Sirius to the ground.
Both are breathing heavily, and they stay that way for quite a long time, until Sirius finally pants out, "You could have just let me beat the hell out of Snape in half an hour."
Remus actually smiles. Sirius' anger has always been like a thunderstorm: slow to gather, black as pitch at its height, showy gestures of power like thunder and lightning, sheets of hard blows when it all gets too heavy. Most of all, once the feelings come out, it's all over quickly. Remus prefers Sirius' thunderstorms to Snape's drizzling scorn, dripping out slowly over time, and he always has.
"And let him have all the fun?" Remus replies.
Sirius laughs underneath him, as Remus predicted he would, and he gratefully adds another item to the scant list of things that have not changed about Sirius.
August 22
They are sitting in the kitchen, Remus reading The Daily Prophet, Sirius slowly drinking coffee. Hermione has a red ballpoint and a Muggle newspaper in her hand, circling what look like advertisements, Ginny leaning over her shoulder pointing to the paper occasionally.
Eventually Sirius asks Hermione what she's doing, and Remus looks up at the sound of Sirius' voice, surprised to see Hermione's cheeks flush a bit.
"Looking for a car," Ginny supplies for Hermione.
"Are you now?" Sirius asks.
Hermione shoots Ginny a slightly dirty look and sighs. "Well. My mum and dad are looking for another car, which will become mine next year when I turn 17, so that I can be self-sufficient when I'm at home during hols. Since the car will eventually be mine, they want me to pick it out." She pauses. "I think it's rather silly, really, sort of a waste, since no one in the wizarding world uses automobiles, but they want to make sure I can get around when I'm home." Hermione shrugs, looking embarrassed.
"I can probably help you spell it to fly," Sirius says, and Remus thwacks him with the Prophet.
Hermione smiles, though Ginny looks genuinely amused and interested.
"You had a flying motorbike, didn't you?" Ginny asks.
Sirius nods and grins. "How did you know that?"
"Harry," Ginny shrugs.
"Ah," Sirius says, though the light hasn't gone out of his eyes; Remus knows that look, and changes the subject slightly.
"What kind of auto are you looking for, Hermione?" he asks.
"Something within Mum and Dad's price range. Something small, dependable; something that doesn't need a lot of petrol," Hermione answers.
"Something boring," Ginny says, and both she and Sirius snicker slightly.
"Something reasonable," Hermione corrects, to more laughter from Ginny.
"I think she should get something a little more daring. There's an ad for a red convertible, right here." Ginny stabs at the paper with her finger.
Hermione squints at the advert, reading it. "It's the right price, but . . . isn't that a little, er. Racy?"
Ginny rolls her eyes, and Remus can practically feel Sirius holding back his own eye roll. "That's the entire point, Hermione."
"It's impractical," Hermione says.
"Exactly," Ginny counters, looking to Sirius for support. Before Sirius can answer, Remus puts his hand out.
"Hermione should have a car that suits her needs," Remus says, leaving the in every way only implied.
Both Sirius and Ginny huff, but Hermione beams.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione says.
"Let's go ask Ron and Harry," Ginny offers.
"I'm not letting them near any car I have," is Hermione's automatic response.
Ginny laughs. "Of course not! We all know what happened last time, don't we?"
"Especially not if I help you spell it to fly," Sirius answers to laughter from the girls. Remus hits him gently with the newspaper again.
Ginny and Hermione get up to exit, but before they open the door, Sirius speaks again, this time a little more softly. "You're only young once, you know," he says, his eyes surprisingly serious.
Hermione nods once at Sirius, "I know," she says as Ginny takes her arm to drag her out of the kitchen.
Remus turns and looks at Sirius.
Sirius notices the sudden attention. "What?" he asks.
"Offering to charm the girl's Muggle car?" Remus says.
"For Merlin's sake, Remus. I wasn't serious."
"Of course you were."
"What if I was? That charm was a complex piece of work; I'm rather proud of it."
Remus merely cocks an eyebrow.
"Oh, come off it, Moony. You loved that bike almost as much as I did."
Remus considers this, knowing that Sirius is right, though he will never admit it. "Maybe you should buy the red convertible," he says instead.
"And drive it where, on my summer tour of the Continent?"
"Well. Maybe not this year. But, you know . . . some things aren't just for the young." Remus takes a moment to picture Sirius behind the wheel of a bright red auto, wind ruffling his hair, and he isn't at all surprised to feel the rush of sudden heat in his chest, flaring up to cause a flush that creeps up his neck.
"We'll see, Moony," Sirius says, his own voice a little lower, and Remus knows Sirius didn't miss his sudden flush.
"I'll even let you charm it to fly," Remus admits as Sirius gently takes the paper out of his hand and leans in until their noses are touching, and their eyes are closing, their lips meeting.
Later, Remus makes sure to clip the advert out of Hermione's paper.
August 23
This one doesn't match the prompt, but I promised myself I'd do this before the month was out, so here it is. :)
Remus is carefully studying the kitchen table when Sirius enters the room, fresh from helping Molly move some furniture in the old master suite.
Remus throws a look at Sirius which stops him in his tracks.
"I think we should shag on the kitchen table," Remus states, almost matter-of-factly, were it not for the heat in his eyes and the slight tremor in his voice.
Sirius' eyes widen, but Remus also sees the sudden flush on his features.
"Molly would die," Sirius says.
"I rather think that's part of the point," Remus answers.
Sirius is over and standing in front of Remus before Remus can even blink. "Lock the door and put up a silencing charm," Remus whispers into Sirius' mouth, his hands wrapping around to lay flat and strong against Sirius' back.
Sirius does.
August 24
but for now we are young, let us lay in the sun, and count every beautiful thing we can see, love to be in the arms of all i am keeping here with me
--Neutral Milk Hotel, "In an Aeroplane Over the Sea"
Remus finds Sirius asleep on their bed, on top of the duvet. His robes have been shed and he is dressed in only a pair of worn trousers and a t-shirt. The afternoon sun is splashed across the headboard and pillow, reaching only to the top of Sirius' head, lighting the very ends of the black strands blue in the light.
Remus approaches carefully, shedding his own shoes and socks, and then his robes as he comes closer to the bed. He sits on the bed gingerly, trying not to wake Sirius, who sleeps little and extremely lightly. Sirius' face in sleep looks much younger than it does in consciousness; it is smoother, the worry lines gone from his forehead. Even his cheeks look fuller, less hollow and craggy underneath his cheekbones.
Slowly, Remus lowers himself to the bed, stretching out behind Sirius, and carefully, so very carefully, wraps his arms around Sirius. When Sirius barely stirs, Remus pulls him closer, feeling the rise and fall of Sirius' chest through the back against his own chest. Remus rests his face against Sirius' hair, and places a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.
Remus himself does not fall asleep, but he watches Sirius as the sun moves across his features, and holds him close.
August 25
In what he considers a brilliant blend of tutelage, practicality and whimsy, Remus Lupin has just taught some of the children at Grimmauld Place a common freezing charm, letting them practice on some of the available beverages. Add a few wooden craft sticks and the results equal homemade, but nevertheless tasty, ice pops. Therefore, the kitchen is now a bit of a mess, melted or spilled orange, grape, cranberry and pumpkin juice, and some once room temperature lemonade, splattered over every conceivable surface, including Remus' own trousers, and one of Harry's socks.
Amused, Remus continues to lick his own ice pop (grape) while the children eat theirs. He notices that Hermione's charm must have worked all too well as her lemonade ice pop is stuck to her tongue; Harry is admirably attempting to help her dislodge the pop, and Ron, though making weak protests of apology and muttering an unsticking charm every so often, is quite obviously struggling to breathe through the laughter that is making him red in the face.
Remus is about to step in and assist Hermione, weighing carefully whether the help is worth Hermione's slightly bruised pride, when he sees Sirius carefully eating his own ice pop (pumpkin) and notices that the action is no less than . . . lewd. Obscene, really. The pop is sliding in and out of Sirius' already red mouth (cranberry ice pop, one prior), and Sirius is quite literally, and loudly, sucking, cheeks hollowing out slightly at the effort. Remus looks again at the children, who are still distracted by Hermione's predicament and then again at Sirius, who pauses to lick one side of the ice pop with the flat side of his tongue, from bottom to tip. Remus shivers involuntarily and shifts slightly on his chair, cheeks flushing pink just slightly. He isn't sure if Sirius is being suggestive on purpose, but whatever the intent, Remus' mind has already gone into the gutter.
Remus stops staring at Sirius long enough to see Harry manage to pry the lemonade ice pop away from Hermione's tongue. Hermione, looking as dignified as possible, which is more than Remus himself would have managed, glares at a still near-hysterical Ron and walks primly out of the kitchen. Harry, now that Hermione is safely free of the ice pop and out of the room, dissolves into his own fit of laughter.
Remus smiles himself, just in time to catch Sirius' eye. Sirius licks his ice pop again from bottom to tip, and then winks.
Bastard, Remus thinks, and shifts in his seat once more.
August 26
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
-Shel Silverstein.
It is no secret that the area of London where 12 Grimmauld Place resides has fallen into disrepair, and some amount of poverty. Worried, harried people walk by on the streets now, hands shoved deep in pockets even in the summer. The streets are dirty, with small amounts of litter and garbage scattered across the sidewalks and the road itself. Remus wonders sometimes if the elder Blacks were still alive if they would have up and moved the house from its current location to a better, wealthier neighborhood, if they could have even done so.
It is a moot point now, of course. The elder Blacks are dead, and no one else is going to dare move the house; the neighborhood's somewhat disreputable reputation is actually helpful to the Order, and since the wards had to be done by someone with Black blood, Remus would think a spell of that kind would need be done by one as well. Sirius would certainly never even think to do such a thing. When, or if, (when, Remus reminds himself) Sirius ever leaves this neighborhood, it will be because he finally leaves No. 12 behind forever.
Today is not that day, however, and Remus is on what Sirius has begun to call his "daily constitutional": a short walk around the neighborhood, usually at dusk, while Molly is busy making dinner and Sirius is usually busy with Harry. Sirius and Harry have recently fallen into the routine of spending the hour prior to the evening meal together; sometimes Sirius will tutor Harry a bit, either in Transfiguration (which Sirius was always brilliant in) or more often Defence, or just spending time together in the library. Remus is not always sure what they do, as Sirius isn't talkative on the subject, but Remus is not interested in prying, either.
So Remus goes out at the very end of the day and walks the neighborhood, and though there is not much to see, Remus enjoys the time out of the house and away, and Sirius does not seem to resent him for that, for which Remus is grateful.
There is a point along the street named Grimmauld Place where the sidewalk actually ends. It is not a crack in the concrete, or a fissure of some kind, but a clean break, the slope of concrete stark and steep. The sidewalk continues on down Grimmauld Place just couple of meters away, but to Remus, the divide is a large one, and he never crosses it. The end of the sidewalk always marks the end of Remus' walk; he never fails to turn around and start back to the house at that point, his hands in his own pockets, the dimming and setting sun streaking his brown hair with strands of strawberry blond.
He always goes back, and when he once again arrives at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius is always there to meet him at the door.
August 27
Remus and Sirius are woken in the dead of night by a loud series of crackling and the distinct smell of sulfur.
Sirius, the light sleeper, sits bolt upright, his nose flaring at the smell like Padfoot's. Remus is a little more sedate, still half in the world of sleep, propping himself on his elbows.
The crackling diminishes and then there's the sound of a loud BANG. More sulfur.
"It's one in the morning . . . what in the holy hell . . ." Sirius begins when the door to the bedroom opens and Harry is illuminated in the door frame by another CRACK and what Remus can make out as orange and yellow and red sparks behind him.
Harry leaves the door ajar and begins to talk excitedly. "Fred and George were experimenting with one of their inventions--fireworks that can go off indoors, isn't that brilliant--but something got into the stash and now all the fireworks are going off all . . over . . the place . . . er . . ."
Remus can hear Molly and Arthur Weasley shouting in the background even over Harry's gibbering, and it takes him a moment to realize why the boy has stopped speaking, since the shouting continues. Remus can make out even in the dim light that Harry's eyes have grown to the size of dinner plates, no doubt at the sight of his former professor sleeping in the same bed as his godfather, the latter bare chested. Remus lets himself fall back against his pillow and let out a soft groan.
Sirius must have come to the same conclusion as he belatedly and rather daintily, for a full grown man, pulls the blankets up toward his chin. "Uh, Harry." He pauses. "I don't suppose you'll accept that Remus just had a nightmare and needed company do you?"
Remus kicks Sirius under the covers. Harry just shifts from one foot to the other, while Molly continues to shout behind him.
Remus gets up, throwing the covers off and putting his robe on over his t-shirt and sleep pants. "C'mon, Harry. We should talk; let's go downstairs and rummage up some hot chocolate."
Sirius, predictably, protests. "I'm the boy's godfather; I should be the one to talk to him."
Remus gives him a sharp look that manages to say both, "Let me handle it for now; you can talk to the lad later" and "You do remember you have no pants on either, don't you?". Sirius interprets the expression on Remus' face perfectly and manages to mutter, "We'll talk later, Harry."
Meanwhile, Harry allows Remus to steer him gently out of the room, as Remus says, "You probably have some questions, and that's understandable." Before the door closes, they are both illuminated by a shower of green fireworks that goes off in the hall.
August 28
The children's Hogwarts' letters have been dug out of their brief storage, and they are busy scurrying about the house holding exciting conferences with each other about class schedules, books, making a last minute trip to Diagon Alley for any forgotten supplies, and all the other necessary preparations for the coming school year.
Remus has been internally preparing for this day for the past few weeks, knowing that with the coming of the school year the children will be gone, the house will empty out, and Sirius will be left in that much more isolation. He expected Sirius to be in quite a bit of a funk over the loss of the company, especially Harry, and he has prepared to deal with that.
What Remus has not prepared to deal with, however, is his own flicker of disappointment, and even envy, that flared up when the Hogwarts letters arrived. Sirius has been rather good about the entire thing, looking over Harry's list of books and supplies, making arrangements with the Weasleys for Harry and the rest of the brood to make their way to Diagon Alley; Remus is even fairly sure he managed to slip either Harry or Arthur, or perhaps both, several Galleons in anticipation of the shopping, though Harry has plenty from his parents, and the Weasleys aren't wont to accept such a gesture.
Instead of Sirius, it is Remus who is brooding that day, and he has shut himself in the library, among the old and dusty books, in order to find some solace. Sirius finds him a few hours into his decampment, and sits at Remus' feet where they are propped up barefoot on the sofa. Sirius sits silently for a moment, waiting. Finally, Remus marks his place on the page and closes the book, looking up.
"All right, Moony?" Sirius asks.
Remus nods, hoping it will be the end of the matter, but he should, and does, know Sirius better. "Hmmm," Sirius says. "Because you're behaving awfully like someone with a problem, hiding yourself away in here all day."
"Just tired," Remus tries.
Sirius raises an eyebrow.
"Needed some quiet."
The second eyebrow joins the first.
"All those children nattering around, you know," Remus says.
"Ah. And you always were one for avoiding nattering children, weren't you, Professor Lupin?" Sirius puts just the slightest emphasis on the word professor.
Remus frowns deeply, the blow hitting a little too close to home.
Sirius must notice; he never was as oblivious as he liked to seem. "I couldn't decide if you were sorry you weren't going back to Hogwarts as a student or as a professor, but I think I know now."
Remus sighs, an outward sign of defeat. "It was the only thing I was ever really good at; it was the only thing I've ever really loved doing."
Sirius smiles gently and lays a hand on Remus' knee. "And it was the only thing you've ever really wanted to do," he corrects softly.
Remus looks up into eyes the color of rain. "That, too."
"I could still kill Snape for you."
Remus smiles reluctantly. "I'd rather have you here than back in Azkaban."
"I can make it look like an accident."
"It wasn't even his fault, really."
At that, Sirius makes a strangled snorting sound.
Remus smiles a little more genuinely this time. "It wasn't."
"Let's just say we agree to disagree on that one." Sirius pauses. "If . . ."
"Don't even finish that sentence," Remus cuts him off quickly, raising a hand.
"But you could . . . you don't have to . . ." Sirius attempts over Remus' increasing protests. Remus finally leans over and places a fingertip to Sirius' lips.
"I'd rather have you here than back in Azkaban," Remus repeats. "I'd rather have you here than be back at Hogwarts teaching DADA."
Sirius' eyes flash for a moment with an emotion Remus can't quite identify before he smiles one of the most impertinant smiles Remus has ever seen, on Sirius or on anyone else, and he's seen plenty of them on Sirius in his lifetime.
"When you say have me here . . ." Sirius says.
"I mean it in every way, Padfoot," Remus answers, not quite up to Sirius' level of mischief, but getting there.
Sirius squeezes Remus' knee. "Oh, good," he says, and keeps smiling.
August 29
When Remus dreams, it is of golden sand and blue lagoons, of cliffs covered in forest green and skies so indigo they could not exist in nature.
Sirius always comes to him. Sometimes he comes as Padfoot, and they sit together on the beach. Sometimes he comes as himself, and they still sit on the beach, watching the waves lap lazily against the shore, barely touching the tips of their toes.
While Sirius was in Azakaban, Remus always dreamed of sharp jagged cliffs, and of rain.
Even though his eyes open to the grey, dim, half-light of Grimmauld Place just before dawn, and the gold and blue fade away into the pale light of isolation, Remus still thinks, This is better. This is better.
August 30
Sirius and Harry have disappeared. They've been gone almost a good three quarters of an hour, to Remus' reckoning, when he gets curious and sets out from the library to look for them.
He meets Ron on the stairs, and though this makes his eyebrows go up slightly, when Ron asks "Have you seen Harry?" Remus only shrugs and says, "Let's find him."
They are not in the study or the living room or the kitchen, but shouts and noises lead Remus and Ron outside to the garden, to the sight of Sirius and Harry both soaking wet, Sirius spraying Harry mercilessly with the garden house while Harry laughs to near hysteria, his socks squelching audibly in his trainers.
Remus feels his mouth drop open and hears Ron start a curious, "What . . ." when Sirius completely and without apparent effort turns the full force of the hose on both Remus and Ron. Ron makes a bit of a high pitched squeak and tries to dodge out of the way of the spray, but the hose must be charmed, because it follows Ron's motions perfectly, and Ron lets out a howl of mock outrage. Harry laughs so hard he falls onto the ground.
"Not such a stealthy entrance for a man so brilliant at Defence," Sirius smirks at Remus stands there dripping.
In response, Remus prepares to lunge and tackle, and then does so, to the accompanying laughter of Harry and Ron.
August 31
It was Indian Summer;
light wolves and dark wolves howled through the day --
It was Indian Summer
and a snake shed its skin.
Then, and only then, was I properly
human.
--Alma Luz Villanueva, INDIAN SUMMER RITUAL
Remus is already in bed reading when Sirius comes in the room. Remus looks up but says nothing; Sirius has the look on his face that means that he'll be willing to talk, but only when he's ready. Remus continues to read by candles charmed to stay bright as Sirius gathers his night clothes and splashes around a bit in the bathroom. He finally comes to bed as Remus finishes chapter eight, lifting the covers to slide between cool sheets.
"All packed and ready to go," Sirius says.
Remus shuts the book. "Harry?"
"All of them. Be at King's Cross right on time tomorrow."
"Hmmm." Remus searches Sirius' face for a moment. "They'll be prompter than we ever were, then."
"Speak for yourself, Moony. My parents always had me there right on time. Early in fact."
Remus ventures a slight smile. "Couldn't wait to get rid of you."
"And no wonder, what with my Muggle rock music and rebellious ideas about equality," Sirius says, a ghost of a smile on his own lips.
Remus pauses. "They'll be back."
This time, Sirius smiles fully. "I know that. You're such a worrier, Moony," he says, settling back against the pillows, black hair stark against the white sheets.
Remus huffs out a half-indignant, half-amused breath. "Prat," he says, putting the book on the nightstand and settling himself against Sirius, who has turned onto his side, allowing Remus to wrap his arms around Sirius' middle, to spoon against his back. Remus mutters, "Nox," and places a kiss to Sirius' neck, a chin to his shoulder.
"Night," Sirius mumbles into the pillow.
"Night, Padfoot," Remus replies, snuggling closer. "Can't wait to have you all to myself again," he adds.
Sirius' body shakes against him with laughter before his breathing begins to even out and he falls asleep in Remus' arms.
August 16
He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that [he] had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
--F.S. Fitzgerald, the Great Gatsby (ch 8)
Today Remus goes to the garden with Sirius, the two of them side-by-side on their backs facing the sky. Both are barefoot, and for the longest time Remus just looks at Sirius' foot; at the long line of foot, the curve of the heel, the arc and trajectory of the arch. When Remus looks back up to Sirius' face Sirius is sleeping. It is hard to tell that the eyes are closed behind Sirius' sunglasses, but by glancing sideways Remus can see the space between rim and socket, sees Sirius' dark eyelashes flutter slightly.
The day is lovely, clear, bright and warm, but not too hot. Remus is slightly surprised that Harry and the other children are still in the house, but they have been diligently helping Molly with the cleaning. Besides, though the day is lovely the garden is not--years of disuse have left the yard untended and ill kept. Remus thinks Arthur must have cut the grass, probably magically, but there are weeds and dirt and rocks everywhere, ivy creeping up well past the second floor of the back side of the house.
Remus is reminded of the summer Harry was born, how Lily fretted about the baby in the sun; Remus smiles to think of the enormous hat Lily had made Harry wear as a newborn and reminds himself to check and see if he has any pictures remaining of the sight of the tiny baby with the thatch of dark hair in an enormous floppy blue hat. Sirius had always said that with James' hair there was no need for Harry to have any further protection from the sun:. "Couldn't that hair block gummy rays?" Sirius had said, until Remus corrected him to "gamma," laughing until his sides hurt and Sirius had grinned and elbowed him in the ribs, for good measure.
The Potter's garden had been as small as this one, but much more lovely. Lily had been an avid and enthusiastic gardner, and with Alice Longbottom's help (Alice always had been ace at Herbology), Lily had cultivated a rich, beautiful garden, both magical and Muggle. Remus can still remember how Lily, James and their friends had spent hours and hours sprawled on the grass, taking time as they could in the spring and summers, eating, drinking, laughing. Sirius had sworn to build Harry a treehouse in the enormous maple that took up most of one side, because at least that way the boy would have a place to go when he ran away from his crazy parents. James answered that that was what Sirius' house, as godfather, was for, and the two had wrestled themselves almost to exhaustion in time to Remus and Lily's laughter, Lily holding the baby in the big blue hat.
Remus blinks and the world spins, then comes back into focus, the green of the ivy standing out starkly against the grey and dirt of Grimmauld Place. He blinks again, and puts a hand on Sirius' stomach, where Sirius' hand is resting. Remus toys with the idea of waking him up, of walking back inside with him, but dismisses the notion. It can wait. For now, Remus lets Sirius sleep while he remembers the small, young family and saves a fragment of a spot in the world that was once lovely.
August 17
They are in the kitchen after luncheon, and Hermione is passing around a paper sack of Muggle sweets that Ron and the twins are exclaiming over. Ron suddenly finds his fingers wrapped up in saltwater taffy and Harry and Hermione laugh themselves red in the face at his shocked and slightly repulsed expression.
Fred pulls out a red stick of candy, a confused look on his face. "What's this now? A candy wand?"
Hermione laughs, but Remus beats her to the explanation. "That's Blackpool Rock, Fred. It's a type of rock candy."
Fred waves the candy in George's face. "It's a rock? Muggles eat rocks for sweets? Tad disgusting if you ask me."
Harry actually giggles. "No. It's not a real rock. It's just . . . hard. It's sugar that's sweet and been hardened into small crystals."
"Oh," George answered, though he and Ron still look unconvinced. Remus takes the opportunity and lifts the candy from Fred's somewhat slack fingers.
"I haven't seen Blackpool Rock in years," he says thoughtfully.
"My mum likes it," Hermione answers. "She always puts it in with other sweets."
"Last time I had any . . ." Remus starts.
"James' stag," Sirius provides, and Remus nods.
"What about my dad?" Harry asks.
Sirius blinks, but then smiles. "Your dad's stag party was in Blackpool. You know, the party we had before he married your mum."
"Peter was from Blackpool," Remus adds, noticing Sirius' slight frown; whether Sirius had remembered that bit, Remus can't be sure. "Anyway. Lots of stag and hen parties are there . . . Peter knew the places to go. Or so he convinced us when he suggested we have the party there."
To Remus' surprise, Sirius grins. "We should've known. Peter might have been sand grown, but he never could find a good pub from a hole in the ground."
"I don't know," Remus suggests rather slowly. "That one place wasn't so bad."
Sirius' grin grows wider, no doubt in recollection of James' face when he realized that they'd managed to find one of the many clubs in the area that catered to men more of Remus and Sirius' distinction. Remus grins back, and it takes several moments for him to realize that he and Sirius are beaming at each other, grinning like fools in front of the teenagers who have no earthly idea what the joke is.
Remus hefts the candy in his hand and then passes it back to Fred. "Anyway. We ended up gorging ourselves on candy rather than alcohol, and let me speak from experience: Blackpool Rock is not nearly as good the second time around."
Sirius lets out a short laugh at Hermione's small noise of disgust, though he warns the boys to always heed Remus' advice on rock candy.
August 18
When Remus walks into the library to see Harry standing in front of Sirius, a concerned look on Sirius' face, and Harry's eyes swollen and red-rimmed, Remus thinks he has walked in on a private moment, that Harry is crying. But Sirius waves Remus over anyway, Harry's chin in Sirius' hand; Harry has grown much over the summer, but he is still shorter than Sirius.
From the closer angle Remus can see that Harry's eyes are indeed red and watery, and he seems to be sniffling a little, but he doesn't look otherwise distressed.
"I think Harry's having an allergic reaction to something in the house," Sirius says, and Remus, catching on, nods.
"Don't know what, though," Harry says. "Never been allergic to anything before."
"Never been in this house before, either," Sirius replies dryly, and Remus has to admit he agrees.
Even Harry smiles a rather crooked smile. "So I'm stuck with this, then?" Harry asks.
At that, Sirius smiles slightly. "Aside from the Muggle medication . . ." He pauses while Remus supplies, "Benedryl, you're probably thinking of."
"Yes," Sirius says. "Aside from that, we are wizards." Sirius taps the tip of his wand against Harry's temple and whispers, and Remus can hear Harry's rather snuffly breathing clear almost immediately.
"Brilliant!" Harry exclaims.
"It'll have to be done every day, mind you," Sirius warns. "Charm doesn't last for more than twenty four hours."
"S'okay," Harry says. "I'm not going anywhere." He pauses. "I'm just glad it's not a potion," he adds.
Both Sirius and Remus laugh as Harry sticks his hands in his pockets, leaving to find Ron and Hermione. When he does, Remus pulls Sirius' head toward him with a hand to the back of the head, and kisses Sirius on the corner of the mouth.
"Not that I'm complaining, Moony," Sirius says, "but what was that for?"
"Boy looks to you. To take care of him," Remus answers.
Sirius is quiet for a moment as he takes this in. "Yeah," he says softly, and Remus kisses him again.
August 19
Remus is in the bath with water up past his chest when Sirius enters the bathroom.
"Hey," Remus protests somewhat softly, as it is eleven at night and he would rather not wake up the rest of the house.
Sirius tilts a smile toward him while beginning to unbutton his shirt. "You aren't protecting your virtue at this late date, are you Remus?"
Remus manages to smile back even as his mouth goes dry at the sight of Sirius' shirt sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor. "Of course not."
"It's a pity," Sirius says, fingers reaching for his belt buckle, mouth still quirked up at the corners.
Remus realizes what Sirius is planning on doing. "Surely you don't expect to get in here with me?"
Sirius' trousers drop to the floor, and he steps out of them. "Is the water still warm?"
Remus, who takes his baths so hot that steam rises off the water, lifts a hand out of the water to gesture at the small curls of smoke rising from the bathtub in answer.
"Is there room?" Sirius' boxers join the pile of his other clothes. The heat from the water is beginning to curl the edges of the hair at the nape of his neck.
"I suppose," Remus says, hedging only as a tease, as, like everything else in the house, the Black taste in bathtubs is large, plentiful, and ostentatious. The clawfooted tub Remus is in could easily hold at least three grown men, though Remus doesn't anticipate there will actually be much room between Sirius and himself.
"You suppose," Sirius echoes, putting one foot in the bath, then the other, then gently sliding down the side until he is sitting at the bottom of the tub. Very slowly he slides smoothly in the water, barely making a ripple in the surface as he moves toward Remus.
"Hmmm," Remus manages before Sirius' arms are around him, wet and slick, before Sirius is in his lap, before Sirius' mouth covers his own.
August 20
Held like water in your shaking hands are all the small defeats a day demands. 10-6 or 9-5, trying, dying to survive. Never knowing what survival means. Leave the apartment to buy alcohol. Hang our diplomas on the bathroom wall. Pick at the plaster chipped away, survey some stunning tooth decay, enlist the cat in the impending class-war. Let's lay our bad day down here, dear, and make-believe we're strong. Or hum some protest song, like maybe "We Shall Overcome Someday," overcome the stupid things we say. Say I needed more than this, say I needed one more kiss. We left that light on way too long now. Let's plant a bomb at city-hall and kill an MLA. We'll talk the night away. You call in sick, I'll quit the word-games that I play. I swear I way more than half believe it when I say that somewhere love and justice shine. Cynicism falls asleep. Tyranny talks to itself. Sappy slogans all come true. We forget to feed our fear.
--the Weakerthans, Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist
Remus sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off his shoes. It has been a long day, exhausting, and he is profoundly glad that it is almost over. He had managed to help Molly with the boggart today, but the task has left him shaken. Even though the boggart took on Molly's worst fear, that fear is bad enough, and Remus can't help but continue to see the Weasleys flit one after the other across his brain: still, cold, red-headed, empty in their eyes. Harry, too, just the tiniest bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, surely Remus' imagination
Remus can't help what he also saw as he dispensed of the boggart, when it turned on him slightly. He don't think anyone else saw, not Molly, not Harry; besides which, Harry might have expected to see a full moon should the boggart have turned on Remus, and not thought to look any closer.
But Remus did see, just for the barest of moments, not even a second; Remus did see the flash of dark hair, of familiar features, with the high cheekbones and still slightly haughty mouth; Remus did see the paleness of the skin and the same emptiness in the grey eyes he saw in the Weasleys' expressions, and he did see his own worst fear there, not Molly's, just for a fraction of time.
For the first time since he is eight years old, Remus' worst fear is not a full moon, and for the first time since his eighth year, Remus is truly afraid.
When Sirius comes to bed, Remus asks Sirius to kiss him, to touch him, to make love with him, until the memory is almost gone, is just flitting at the corner of his mind, until Remus is so worn out he can only ask for one more kiss before sleep.
August 21
Sirius has been in a foul mood all day. No one knows why, but then again, Sirius really doesn't need much of an excuse these days; his moods pop up unpredictably and unexpectedly, making him more mercurial than ever. Sirius has been silent through meals; has spent too much time with Buckbeak; Remus suspects that there's a now fully empty bottle of firewhiskey in a cupboard in their bedroom.
Harry has skirted the edges of Sirius' mood all day, choosing to avoid his godfather rather than provoke him. Hermione follows him with strangely sad eyes, and even Ron seems cognizant to the situation, sticking close to Harry and Hermione and rarely speaking a word out of turn to Sirius. Molly has shaken her head slowly, clucking a bit under her breath.
Frankly, it's driving Remus mad, the way they're all acting, walking on eggshells around Sirius. Remus knows from long periods of private experience that there are times to coddle Sirius, to soothe him, and that there are times not to put up with that black storm cloud of Sirius' anger for one second longer than necessary. This day is one of those latter times.
That is why, as soon as he can after dinner, but before the Order meeting, Remus corners Sirius as he fishes a book Dumbledore wanted to borrow out of the library.
Remus slams the door shut with a bang the entire house can hear and spells it locked. Sirius looks up from the book in his hands, but he doesn't ask what Remus is doing. He merely says, "Fuck you."
"I'd be more than willing to let you, Sirius, if that'll get you out of this damn mood."
The expression on Sirius' face is like thunder. Remus takes a deep breath. He doesn't apologize; he doesn't ask what brought this on; he doesn't attempt to soothe. Sirius is begging for a fight, and he'll get one.
Remus isn't surprised for a moment when the book comes flying at his head, and he dodges it easily. In retaliation he picks up some old, and probably quite valuable, ashtray off the coffeetable and hurls it Sirius. Sirius ducks (Remus always did have great aim) and the heavy tray hits one of the bookcases with a loud thud, spilling a couple of books onto the floor.
Soon they are engaged in an all out battle, first by throwing objects across the room, then by throwing and deflecting curses, and lastly by wrestling each other with sheer physical force. Remus, more powerful than he looks, wins easily even over Sirius' tendency to fight dirty, and he manages to pin Sirius to the carpet, the heels of his hands pressing into the other man's chest, his shoulders, his hips pinning Sirius to the ground.
Both are breathing heavily, and they stay that way for quite a long time, until Sirius finally pants out, "You could have just let me beat the hell out of Snape in half an hour."
Remus actually smiles. Sirius' anger has always been like a thunderstorm: slow to gather, black as pitch at its height, showy gestures of power like thunder and lightning, sheets of hard blows when it all gets too heavy. Most of all, once the feelings come out, it's all over quickly. Remus prefers Sirius' thunderstorms to Snape's drizzling scorn, dripping out slowly over time, and he always has.
"And let him have all the fun?" Remus replies.
Sirius laughs underneath him, as Remus predicted he would, and he gratefully adds another item to the scant list of things that have not changed about Sirius.
August 22
They are sitting in the kitchen, Remus reading The Daily Prophet, Sirius slowly drinking coffee. Hermione has a red ballpoint and a Muggle newspaper in her hand, circling what look like advertisements, Ginny leaning over her shoulder pointing to the paper occasionally.
Eventually Sirius asks Hermione what she's doing, and Remus looks up at the sound of Sirius' voice, surprised to see Hermione's cheeks flush a bit.
"Looking for a car," Ginny supplies for Hermione.
"Are you now?" Sirius asks.
Hermione shoots Ginny a slightly dirty look and sighs. "Well. My mum and dad are looking for another car, which will become mine next year when I turn 17, so that I can be self-sufficient when I'm at home during hols. Since the car will eventually be mine, they want me to pick it out." She pauses. "I think it's rather silly, really, sort of a waste, since no one in the wizarding world uses automobiles, but they want to make sure I can get around when I'm home." Hermione shrugs, looking embarrassed.
"I can probably help you spell it to fly," Sirius says, and Remus thwacks him with the Prophet.
Hermione smiles, though Ginny looks genuinely amused and interested.
"You had a flying motorbike, didn't you?" Ginny asks.
Sirius nods and grins. "How did you know that?"
"Harry," Ginny shrugs.
"Ah," Sirius says, though the light hasn't gone out of his eyes; Remus knows that look, and changes the subject slightly.
"What kind of auto are you looking for, Hermione?" he asks.
"Something within Mum and Dad's price range. Something small, dependable; something that doesn't need a lot of petrol," Hermione answers.
"Something boring," Ginny says, and both she and Sirius snicker slightly.
"Something reasonable," Hermione corrects, to more laughter from Ginny.
"I think she should get something a little more daring. There's an ad for a red convertible, right here." Ginny stabs at the paper with her finger.
Hermione squints at the advert, reading it. "It's the right price, but . . . isn't that a little, er. Racy?"
Ginny rolls her eyes, and Remus can practically feel Sirius holding back his own eye roll. "That's the entire point, Hermione."
"It's impractical," Hermione says.
"Exactly," Ginny counters, looking to Sirius for support. Before Sirius can answer, Remus puts his hand out.
"Hermione should have a car that suits her needs," Remus says, leaving the in every way only implied.
Both Sirius and Ginny huff, but Hermione beams.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione says.
"Let's go ask Ron and Harry," Ginny offers.
"I'm not letting them near any car I have," is Hermione's automatic response.
Ginny laughs. "Of course not! We all know what happened last time, don't we?"
"Especially not if I help you spell it to fly," Sirius answers to laughter from the girls. Remus hits him gently with the newspaper again.
Ginny and Hermione get up to exit, but before they open the door, Sirius speaks again, this time a little more softly. "You're only young once, you know," he says, his eyes surprisingly serious.
Hermione nods once at Sirius, "I know," she says as Ginny takes her arm to drag her out of the kitchen.
Remus turns and looks at Sirius.
Sirius notices the sudden attention. "What?" he asks.
"Offering to charm the girl's Muggle car?" Remus says.
"For Merlin's sake, Remus. I wasn't serious."
"Of course you were."
"What if I was? That charm was a complex piece of work; I'm rather proud of it."
Remus merely cocks an eyebrow.
"Oh, come off it, Moony. You loved that bike almost as much as I did."
Remus considers this, knowing that Sirius is right, though he will never admit it. "Maybe you should buy the red convertible," he says instead.
"And drive it where, on my summer tour of the Continent?"
"Well. Maybe not this year. But, you know . . . some things aren't just for the young." Remus takes a moment to picture Sirius behind the wheel of a bright red auto, wind ruffling his hair, and he isn't at all surprised to feel the rush of sudden heat in his chest, flaring up to cause a flush that creeps up his neck.
"We'll see, Moony," Sirius says, his own voice a little lower, and Remus knows Sirius didn't miss his sudden flush.
"I'll even let you charm it to fly," Remus admits as Sirius gently takes the paper out of his hand and leans in until their noses are touching, and their eyes are closing, their lips meeting.
Later, Remus makes sure to clip the advert out of Hermione's paper.
August 23
This one doesn't match the prompt, but I promised myself I'd do this before the month was out, so here it is. :)
Remus is carefully studying the kitchen table when Sirius enters the room, fresh from helping Molly move some furniture in the old master suite.
Remus throws a look at Sirius which stops him in his tracks.
"I think we should shag on the kitchen table," Remus states, almost matter-of-factly, were it not for the heat in his eyes and the slight tremor in his voice.
Sirius' eyes widen, but Remus also sees the sudden flush on his features.
"Molly would die," Sirius says.
"I rather think that's part of the point," Remus answers.
Sirius is over and standing in front of Remus before Remus can even blink. "Lock the door and put up a silencing charm," Remus whispers into Sirius' mouth, his hands wrapping around to lay flat and strong against Sirius' back.
Sirius does.
August 24
but for now we are young, let us lay in the sun, and count every beautiful thing we can see, love to be in the arms of all i am keeping here with me
--Neutral Milk Hotel, "In an Aeroplane Over the Sea"
Remus finds Sirius asleep on their bed, on top of the duvet. His robes have been shed and he is dressed in only a pair of worn trousers and a t-shirt. The afternoon sun is splashed across the headboard and pillow, reaching only to the top of Sirius' head, lighting the very ends of the black strands blue in the light.
Remus approaches carefully, shedding his own shoes and socks, and then his robes as he comes closer to the bed. He sits on the bed gingerly, trying not to wake Sirius, who sleeps little and extremely lightly. Sirius' face in sleep looks much younger than it does in consciousness; it is smoother, the worry lines gone from his forehead. Even his cheeks look fuller, less hollow and craggy underneath his cheekbones.
Slowly, Remus lowers himself to the bed, stretching out behind Sirius, and carefully, so very carefully, wraps his arms around Sirius. When Sirius barely stirs, Remus pulls him closer, feeling the rise and fall of Sirius' chest through the back against his own chest. Remus rests his face against Sirius' hair, and places a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.
Remus himself does not fall asleep, but he watches Sirius as the sun moves across his features, and holds him close.
August 25
In what he considers a brilliant blend of tutelage, practicality and whimsy, Remus Lupin has just taught some of the children at Grimmauld Place a common freezing charm, letting them practice on some of the available beverages. Add a few wooden craft sticks and the results equal homemade, but nevertheless tasty, ice pops. Therefore, the kitchen is now a bit of a mess, melted or spilled orange, grape, cranberry and pumpkin juice, and some once room temperature lemonade, splattered over every conceivable surface, including Remus' own trousers, and one of Harry's socks.
Amused, Remus continues to lick his own ice pop (grape) while the children eat theirs. He notices that Hermione's charm must have worked all too well as her lemonade ice pop is stuck to her tongue; Harry is admirably attempting to help her dislodge the pop, and Ron, though making weak protests of apology and muttering an unsticking charm every so often, is quite obviously struggling to breathe through the laughter that is making him red in the face.
Remus is about to step in and assist Hermione, weighing carefully whether the help is worth Hermione's slightly bruised pride, when he sees Sirius carefully eating his own ice pop (pumpkin) and notices that the action is no less than . . . lewd. Obscene, really. The pop is sliding in and out of Sirius' already red mouth (cranberry ice pop, one prior), and Sirius is quite literally, and loudly, sucking, cheeks hollowing out slightly at the effort. Remus looks again at the children, who are still distracted by Hermione's predicament and then again at Sirius, who pauses to lick one side of the ice pop with the flat side of his tongue, from bottom to tip. Remus shivers involuntarily and shifts slightly on his chair, cheeks flushing pink just slightly. He isn't sure if Sirius is being suggestive on purpose, but whatever the intent, Remus' mind has already gone into the gutter.
Remus stops staring at Sirius long enough to see Harry manage to pry the lemonade ice pop away from Hermione's tongue. Hermione, looking as dignified as possible, which is more than Remus himself would have managed, glares at a still near-hysterical Ron and walks primly out of the kitchen. Harry, now that Hermione is safely free of the ice pop and out of the room, dissolves into his own fit of laughter.
Remus smiles himself, just in time to catch Sirius' eye. Sirius licks his ice pop again from bottom to tip, and then winks.
Bastard, Remus thinks, and shifts in his seat once more.
August 26
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
-Shel Silverstein.
It is no secret that the area of London where 12 Grimmauld Place resides has fallen into disrepair, and some amount of poverty. Worried, harried people walk by on the streets now, hands shoved deep in pockets even in the summer. The streets are dirty, with small amounts of litter and garbage scattered across the sidewalks and the road itself. Remus wonders sometimes if the elder Blacks were still alive if they would have up and moved the house from its current location to a better, wealthier neighborhood, if they could have even done so.
It is a moot point now, of course. The elder Blacks are dead, and no one else is going to dare move the house; the neighborhood's somewhat disreputable reputation is actually helpful to the Order, and since the wards had to be done by someone with Black blood, Remus would think a spell of that kind would need be done by one as well. Sirius would certainly never even think to do such a thing. When, or if, (when, Remus reminds himself) Sirius ever leaves this neighborhood, it will be because he finally leaves No. 12 behind forever.
Today is not that day, however, and Remus is on what Sirius has begun to call his "daily constitutional": a short walk around the neighborhood, usually at dusk, while Molly is busy making dinner and Sirius is usually busy with Harry. Sirius and Harry have recently fallen into the routine of spending the hour prior to the evening meal together; sometimes Sirius will tutor Harry a bit, either in Transfiguration (which Sirius was always brilliant in) or more often Defence, or just spending time together in the library. Remus is not always sure what they do, as Sirius isn't talkative on the subject, but Remus is not interested in prying, either.
So Remus goes out at the very end of the day and walks the neighborhood, and though there is not much to see, Remus enjoys the time out of the house and away, and Sirius does not seem to resent him for that, for which Remus is grateful.
There is a point along the street named Grimmauld Place where the sidewalk actually ends. It is not a crack in the concrete, or a fissure of some kind, but a clean break, the slope of concrete stark and steep. The sidewalk continues on down Grimmauld Place just couple of meters away, but to Remus, the divide is a large one, and he never crosses it. The end of the sidewalk always marks the end of Remus' walk; he never fails to turn around and start back to the house at that point, his hands in his own pockets, the dimming and setting sun streaking his brown hair with strands of strawberry blond.
He always goes back, and when he once again arrives at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius is always there to meet him at the door.
August 27
Remus and Sirius are woken in the dead of night by a loud series of crackling and the distinct smell of sulfur.
Sirius, the light sleeper, sits bolt upright, his nose flaring at the smell like Padfoot's. Remus is a little more sedate, still half in the world of sleep, propping himself on his elbows.
The crackling diminishes and then there's the sound of a loud BANG. More sulfur.
"It's one in the morning . . . what in the holy hell . . ." Sirius begins when the door to the bedroom opens and Harry is illuminated in the door frame by another CRACK and what Remus can make out as orange and yellow and red sparks behind him.
Harry leaves the door ajar and begins to talk excitedly. "Fred and George were experimenting with one of their inventions--fireworks that can go off indoors, isn't that brilliant--but something got into the stash and now all the fireworks are going off all . . over . . the place . . . er . . ."
Remus can hear Molly and Arthur Weasley shouting in the background even over Harry's gibbering, and it takes him a moment to realize why the boy has stopped speaking, since the shouting continues. Remus can make out even in the dim light that Harry's eyes have grown to the size of dinner plates, no doubt at the sight of his former professor sleeping in the same bed as his godfather, the latter bare chested. Remus lets himself fall back against his pillow and let out a soft groan.
Sirius must have come to the same conclusion as he belatedly and rather daintily, for a full grown man, pulls the blankets up toward his chin. "Uh, Harry." He pauses. "I don't suppose you'll accept that Remus just had a nightmare and needed company do you?"
Remus kicks Sirius under the covers. Harry just shifts from one foot to the other, while Molly continues to shout behind him.
Remus gets up, throwing the covers off and putting his robe on over his t-shirt and sleep pants. "C'mon, Harry. We should talk; let's go downstairs and rummage up some hot chocolate."
Sirius, predictably, protests. "I'm the boy's godfather; I should be the one to talk to him."
Remus gives him a sharp look that manages to say both, "Let me handle it for now; you can talk to the lad later" and "You do remember you have no pants on either, don't you?". Sirius interprets the expression on Remus' face perfectly and manages to mutter, "We'll talk later, Harry."
Meanwhile, Harry allows Remus to steer him gently out of the room, as Remus says, "You probably have some questions, and that's understandable." Before the door closes, they are both illuminated by a shower of green fireworks that goes off in the hall.
August 28
The children's Hogwarts' letters have been dug out of their brief storage, and they are busy scurrying about the house holding exciting conferences with each other about class schedules, books, making a last minute trip to Diagon Alley for any forgotten supplies, and all the other necessary preparations for the coming school year.
Remus has been internally preparing for this day for the past few weeks, knowing that with the coming of the school year the children will be gone, the house will empty out, and Sirius will be left in that much more isolation. He expected Sirius to be in quite a bit of a funk over the loss of the company, especially Harry, and he has prepared to deal with that.
What Remus has not prepared to deal with, however, is his own flicker of disappointment, and even envy, that flared up when the Hogwarts letters arrived. Sirius has been rather good about the entire thing, looking over Harry's list of books and supplies, making arrangements with the Weasleys for Harry and the rest of the brood to make their way to Diagon Alley; Remus is even fairly sure he managed to slip either Harry or Arthur, or perhaps both, several Galleons in anticipation of the shopping, though Harry has plenty from his parents, and the Weasleys aren't wont to accept such a gesture.
Instead of Sirius, it is Remus who is brooding that day, and he has shut himself in the library, among the old and dusty books, in order to find some solace. Sirius finds him a few hours into his decampment, and sits at Remus' feet where they are propped up barefoot on the sofa. Sirius sits silently for a moment, waiting. Finally, Remus marks his place on the page and closes the book, looking up.
"All right, Moony?" Sirius asks.
Remus nods, hoping it will be the end of the matter, but he should, and does, know Sirius better. "Hmmm," Sirius says. "Because you're behaving awfully like someone with a problem, hiding yourself away in here all day."
"Just tired," Remus tries.
Sirius raises an eyebrow.
"Needed some quiet."
The second eyebrow joins the first.
"All those children nattering around, you know," Remus says.
"Ah. And you always were one for avoiding nattering children, weren't you, Professor Lupin?" Sirius puts just the slightest emphasis on the word professor.
Remus frowns deeply, the blow hitting a little too close to home.
Sirius must notice; he never was as oblivious as he liked to seem. "I couldn't decide if you were sorry you weren't going back to Hogwarts as a student or as a professor, but I think I know now."
Remus sighs, an outward sign of defeat. "It was the only thing I was ever really good at; it was the only thing I've ever really loved doing."
Sirius smiles gently and lays a hand on Remus' knee. "And it was the only thing you've ever really wanted to do," he corrects softly.
Remus looks up into eyes the color of rain. "That, too."
"I could still kill Snape for you."
Remus smiles reluctantly. "I'd rather have you here than back in Azkaban."
"I can make it look like an accident."
"It wasn't even his fault, really."
At that, Sirius makes a strangled snorting sound.
Remus smiles a little more genuinely this time. "It wasn't."
"Let's just say we agree to disagree on that one." Sirius pauses. "If . . ."
"Don't even finish that sentence," Remus cuts him off quickly, raising a hand.
"But you could . . . you don't have to . . ." Sirius attempts over Remus' increasing protests. Remus finally leans over and places a fingertip to Sirius' lips.
"I'd rather have you here than back in Azkaban," Remus repeats. "I'd rather have you here than be back at Hogwarts teaching DADA."
Sirius' eyes flash for a moment with an emotion Remus can't quite identify before he smiles one of the most impertinant smiles Remus has ever seen, on Sirius or on anyone else, and he's seen plenty of them on Sirius in his lifetime.
"When you say have me here . . ." Sirius says.
"I mean it in every way, Padfoot," Remus answers, not quite up to Sirius' level of mischief, but getting there.
Sirius squeezes Remus' knee. "Oh, good," he says, and keeps smiling.
August 29
When Remus dreams, it is of golden sand and blue lagoons, of cliffs covered in forest green and skies so indigo they could not exist in nature.
Sirius always comes to him. Sometimes he comes as Padfoot, and they sit together on the beach. Sometimes he comes as himself, and they still sit on the beach, watching the waves lap lazily against the shore, barely touching the tips of their toes.
While Sirius was in Azakaban, Remus always dreamed of sharp jagged cliffs, and of rain.
Even though his eyes open to the grey, dim, half-light of Grimmauld Place just before dawn, and the gold and blue fade away into the pale light of isolation, Remus still thinks, This is better. This is better.
August 30
Sirius and Harry have disappeared. They've been gone almost a good three quarters of an hour, to Remus' reckoning, when he gets curious and sets out from the library to look for them.
He meets Ron on the stairs, and though this makes his eyebrows go up slightly, when Ron asks "Have you seen Harry?" Remus only shrugs and says, "Let's find him."
They are not in the study or the living room or the kitchen, but shouts and noises lead Remus and Ron outside to the garden, to the sight of Sirius and Harry both soaking wet, Sirius spraying Harry mercilessly with the garden house while Harry laughs to near hysteria, his socks squelching audibly in his trainers.
Remus feels his mouth drop open and hears Ron start a curious, "What . . ." when Sirius completely and without apparent effort turns the full force of the hose on both Remus and Ron. Ron makes a bit of a high pitched squeak and tries to dodge out of the way of the spray, but the hose must be charmed, because it follows Ron's motions perfectly, and Ron lets out a howl of mock outrage. Harry laughs so hard he falls onto the ground.
"Not such a stealthy entrance for a man so brilliant at Defence," Sirius smirks at Remus stands there dripping.
In response, Remus prepares to lunge and tackle, and then does so, to the accompanying laughter of Harry and Ron.
August 31
It was Indian Summer;
light wolves and dark wolves howled through the day --
It was Indian Summer
and a snake shed its skin.
Then, and only then, was I properly
human.
--Alma Luz Villanueva, INDIAN SUMMER RITUAL
Remus is already in bed reading when Sirius comes in the room. Remus looks up but says nothing; Sirius has the look on his face that means that he'll be willing to talk, but only when he's ready. Remus continues to read by candles charmed to stay bright as Sirius gathers his night clothes and splashes around a bit in the bathroom. He finally comes to bed as Remus finishes chapter eight, lifting the covers to slide between cool sheets.
"All packed and ready to go," Sirius says.
Remus shuts the book. "Harry?"
"All of them. Be at King's Cross right on time tomorrow."
"Hmmm." Remus searches Sirius' face for a moment. "They'll be prompter than we ever were, then."
"Speak for yourself, Moony. My parents always had me there right on time. Early in fact."
Remus ventures a slight smile. "Couldn't wait to get rid of you."
"And no wonder, what with my Muggle rock music and rebellious ideas about equality," Sirius says, a ghost of a smile on his own lips.
Remus pauses. "They'll be back."
This time, Sirius smiles fully. "I know that. You're such a worrier, Moony," he says, settling back against the pillows, black hair stark against the white sheets.
Remus huffs out a half-indignant, half-amused breath. "Prat," he says, putting the book on the nightstand and settling himself against Sirius, who has turned onto his side, allowing Remus to wrap his arms around Sirius' middle, to spoon against his back. Remus mutters, "Nox," and places a kiss to Sirius' neck, a chin to his shoulder.
"Night," Sirius mumbles into the pillow.
"Night, Padfoot," Remus replies, snuggling closer. "Can't wait to have you all to myself again," he adds.
Sirius' body shakes against him with laughter before his breathing begins to even out and he falls asleep in Remus' arms.