This Year’s For Me And You [Sirius/Remus - R - 5548]
Originally posted by mini_fest_mod at This Year’s For Me And You [Sirius/Remus - R - 5548]
Title: This Year’s For Me And You
Author/Artist: hastendown
Pairing(s): Sirius/Remus
Prompt: 28, Love letters exchanged over a long distance where they must be apart. Secret relationship. Delivered by snowy owls and read by the crackling fire. Make it as heartachingly romantic and torturously longing as possible! Romance and pining and longing and assertions of love. Maybe the series of letters turn passionate/steamy?
Word Count: 5.548 words
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The title for this fic was taken from my favourite Christmas song, Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl “Amor Omnia Vincit” is Latin for love conquers all.
Notes: Beta’d by the awesome blue_eyed_1987
Summary: Over the course of the Christmas holidays, Sirius and Remus explore their newly established relationship through a series of achingly sweet love letters.
Saturday 20th of December (departure day)
Dear Moony,
The Hogwarts Express departed forty-eight minutes ago and you were on it. I waved you good-bye, but I couldn’t kiss you like I wanted because Peter and James were there. That makes the last time we kissed two hours ago now. Your lips tasted sweet, because you had chocolate milk with your cereal for breakfast. Gods, I miss you.
I can’t help but feel a little bad for turning down Prongs’ invitation to spend the holidays with the Potters, but I vastly prefer this arrangement and I couldn’t very well tell him that, could I? That would have been a sight to see, James’ face after I told him “No, actually, Prongs, I’d prefer to stay at Hogwarts because Remus will come back early which gives us two full days of undisturbed shagging-time and that is worth more to me than two weeks of your company.” The poor git would never recover.
But now I’m alone. Obviously, the teachers are here, and a couple of young Gryffindors and I don’t know who else from the other Houses, but I have our room to myself and absolutely nothing to entertain myself with.
Write to me as soon as you get this, please.
I love you. I love you. I love you so much sometimes I’m afraid nothing will be left of me when you’re gone.
Yours,
Padfoot
Sunday 21st of December
Dear Sirius,
You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you? Where on earth would I go without you? I’m absolutely wretched at home. My parents, unfortunately, noticed that I was more gloomy and introverted than usual. My mother was afraid she’d overlooked something and that I’d have my Change over Christmas. I decided not to tell her that I wouldn’t have come home if that had been the case. No need to break her heart any further.
I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed yet, but I stole one of your jumpers before I went home. I wore it all day today and my mum said it looked nice on me. I told her I’d bought it in Hogsmeade, but it made me wonder. Should I maybe come out to them? It’s not like queerness is any worse than lycanthropy, I suppose. I wouldn’t have to tell them that we’re dating, just that I’m gay. I might feel better if I do. Although if they respond poorly, I will feel worse. Any thoughts?
I miss you, Padfoot. I’m hoping it’ll get better over the next few days, because last night I missed you like one misses a severed limb. I hardly slept a wink.
I love you,
Your Moony
Monday 22th of December
Dear Moony,
I’m sorry if I’m starting to sound like a broken record here, but Gods I miss you. Some first year girl was sitting in your favourite chair this morning, the one in the shadowy corner of the common room, near the fire, and I nearly bit her head off. I can’t bear being here without you. Everywhere I go, something reminds me of you.
I’ve slept in your bed both nights since you left. It’s not like there’s anyone here to call me out on it. But the sheets are starting to smell more like me than you. Don’t be angry, I dug out your favourite scarf to wear during the day. And I’m pretty sure Dumbledore recognised it at dinner because the old man had a fit of giggles when he saw me. It was awkward, but he didn’t explain why he was laughing. Crazy git.
I went flying this morning because that’s the only time I enjoy the cold, but I was constantly looking over at your regular spot on the stands, and it distracted me from the Quaffle.
Then I wanked in the shower. Now, don’t have a fit, no one was around, I swear. Also, you didn’t think you’d get away from me for two weeks without me sending you lots and lots (and I promise you, lots more) dirty letters? I will write down at least one filthy hot thought I’ve had in each letter from now on, so you’d better not open them at the breakfast table. Also, I expect steamy tales in return. I know you not-so-secretly love writing, so put that extensive vocabulary to good use for me, please.
Anyway, so I was wanking in the shower. I bet you know where this story is going. You remember, don’t you? How could you forget? You rubbed off on me in that shower once. Here’s the bit you don’t know yet, though, Moony. I’d planned the whole thing. You weren’t exactly subtle about your fascination with me and my Quidditch uniform, sweetheart. Whenever I came back from Quidditch practice, you’d snog me senseless. After you asked to watch practice I was sure you had a thing. Then, it was just a matter of getting the locker rooms to ourselves. I had’t quite anticipated the way it went, though, how you just held me still and pretty much used me to get yourself off. It was so hot, Moony, so hot, having my wrists pinned against the wall while our cocks bumped together, and you were just kissing everywhere you could reach. It had never been like that before. Before that, I was always afraid I was pushing you, like maybe you didn’t really want all the things we did together quite yet. But after that time in the shower, I figured out you had just been shy. You’re not shy anymore, are you, Moony? Please, write back to me soon and tell me what you think of when you touch yourself.
I love you.
Padfoot
PS: On the less-exciting topic of coming out to your parents, I feel like you should decide that for yourself. My parents are a bunch of bigoted wankers, as you know. Tell them if you think it will make you feel better. You can tell them we’re together, too, as long as word doesn’t get out to any relations of the Black family. I feel conflicted myself. I don’t want to antagonise my parents any further than absolutely necessary, but I do want the whole world to know that I’ve got you all to myself. I sometimes can’t believe it myself yet, that you would pick me. If we started telling people, prepare for me to be the cockiest bastard on the planet. I love you.
Tuesday 23d of December
Dear Sirius,
Merlin. Are you trying to kill me? I opened your letter as soon as it arrived, sitting in the middle of the living room. My mum was knitting by the fire and my dad was reading the Prophet. There we were, all just quite casually sipping our cuppa, when I started reading what you’d written. Then, of course, I had to shamefully shuffle away to my room, holding that damned letter in front of my lap. Morgana, you are the worst. I love you.
It wasn’t as subtle as I had hoped, either. Later, my mum asked me whether I’d gotten a letter from a girl. I didn’t answer her, but I made a decision: I’m going to tell them. Tonight after dinner. Wish me luck.
I bought your Christmas present today. Late, I know, but it was so hard. A year ago we weren’t together yet. Of course I was hopelessly in love with you already, but still, it’s different buying a Christmas present for a mate. Now, I want to give you something meaningful, and that turns out to be quite difficult. I’m still not sure I succeeded. Don’t worry, though. Whatever you get me, I’ll love it. I love you.
Anyway, on to more important business. After the shuffle of shame to my room, obviously, I wanked. Here’s what I was thinking about, since you asked. You’re right, by the way, I used to be shy. I still am, really. So don’t mock me for what I’m about to tell you. I touched myself, Sirius, but not in the way you thought. I touched my arse, a bit. I know that’s what gay men do, I’ve known that for years, but I never knew why. Now I do. It was good. It was so fucking good. I could only get two fingers in, and I really had to work at it, and I couldn’t get them all the way in because the angle was awkward, but that’s not the point. The point is that I imagined it was your fingers touching me there. Your fingers are longer than mine, more slender, and I only had to touch my cock a little bit before I was coming, just thinking of how far inside of me you’d reach. Oh sweet Circe. I want to come back to Hogwarts right now. I love you and I miss you. Nine more days to go.
Wish me luck talking to my parents tonight, I’ll let you know how it goes.
Moony
Wednesday 24th - Christmas Eve
Dear Moony,
I am a Phoenix. The thought of you doing that, of you wanting that, of you touching yourself there and imagining it was me, burned me to cinders. I swear to Merlin I couldn’t see straight for a moment. Then, I rose from the ashes, a new, randier version of the Padfoot you know, determined to drive you positively mad with lust before you return. Turnabout is fair play and all that. I didn’t even know you’d been thinking about that. I don’t really have words to express how badly I want do it, Moony, Gods.
If my timing is correct, this letter will reach you together with my Christmas present. I hope you like it. It requires some explanation. Fair warning, if it isn’t Christmas morning yet, and you have yet to open your present, DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT. Patience is a virtue, Moony.
Assuming you’ve had the restraint to wait until Christmas morning with reading this, Merry Christmas! I miss you. Now, you must be wondering about your present. It’s just a random notebook, right? Right? Wrong! I’m guessing you know what the motto on the cover means: Amor Omnia Vincit. Now, take the quill you got with the notebook (isn’t it charmingly fuchsia? You know you love my fashion sense.) and write something down for me. Write: “Sirius Black is a God among men and I love him more than life itself.” Go ahead.
Because here’s the real surprise, Moony: I put a spell on your notebook, and on its twin, which is mine, by the way. They send messages to one another. No more waiting for owls to fly back and forth, no more passing notes in class. We can always reach each other with these notebooks. Now that I think about it, it’s as much a present for myself as for you. I used a variation of the spell we’re using to put together the map. Aren’t I brilliant?
How did your conversation with your parents go? I’m positive they reacted wonderfully. Your parents don’t have a malicious bone in their body.
Now, for the putting Remus’s panties in a twist: I went to Hogsmeade today and bought a bottle of lube. When you come back, I’ll touch you absolutely anywhere you want me to. You know why, Moony? Because I want to make you happy. The strangest thought struck me today. I’ve been wanking every night since Christmas hols started, and sometimes in the mornings too, but it doesn’t make a bit of a difference. All of the things I love about sex are connected to you. The little sounds you make when I kiss your neck with just a hint of teeth (yes, I figured that one out a long time ago.) Your face when you come. The smell of your hair. Holding you close all night. Even your freezing toes brushing up against mine. I miss those things so much. I love you.
It won’t be long, love.
Your Padfoot
Remus sat down with his newly acquired notebook and wrote to Sirius:
Thursday 25th -Christmas Day
Merry Christmas, Padfoot! Your present is wonderful, I love it. I love you. Did you like your present? It was a nightmare picking something out for you, and I still think you did a better job than me. In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I got myself a bracelet that matches the one I gave you.
Please don’t get too upset, but I cried a little the other day. I told my parents I was gay, and they were just so understanding. Not surprised, either, I think. Only when they reacted the way they did, saying they loved me and supported me no matter what, did I realise how terrified I’d been of their disapproval. I was so relieved. And then my mum asked whether I was seeing anyone and the whole story just came out of my mouth, just like that. I was so happy to tell people, Sirius. I was so happy to tell them how happy we are, how happy you make me. Both my parents laughed a bit at the way I talked about you. About how you make me come alive with happiness and feel better about myself and everything than I ever have before. I love you. I love you so much, and as I was telling my parents, I grew to love you even more. And then I cried because I missed you. I still miss you. Maybe over the summer, you can stay at our house for a while instead of James’? My mum suggested it. She’s very eager to know more about you all of a sudden.
I want to discuss something, but I’m a little afraid you’ll panic. All I can say to that is: don’t panic. I’ll never want anything you’re not comfortable with. However, I think we should tell James and Peter about us. Now, hear me out. First of all, I’m pretty convinced James already knows. He’s been giving me looks and on the Hogwarts Express he right out asked me why I was wearing your jumper. I denied that it was yours, of course, but he didn’t buy it. Secondly, it would be such a relief to tell them. We’d still put up the privacy spells and everything at night, so they’d have no reason to complain, but just imagine: we could hold hands in the hallways. I could sit on your lap sometimes in the Common Room. If there was a Quidditch afterparty, we could snog in a dark corner. We could go on a date sometime on a Hogsmeade day and ditch the others. I know you know how much of a sap I am, and I just love the idea of little things like that. I just love having everybody know I’m yours and your mine. I even love the way every girl in our year would be jealous, knowing you’re incredible arse is all mine and no one else’s. You could put your head in my lap and I’d play with your hair, as long as you managed to keep those obscenely sexy noises to a minimum. Think about it. If you don’t want to, I understand. But then I’ll take you on a date sometime soon to the Room Of Requirement and we’ll do all of the things I listed above anyway. You’re not getting out of my intense craving for romantic silliness. Besides, I know you secretly love it.
Here’s my awkward attempt at saying something dirty: I want to suck you off in the library sometime. I love the library. I know you know that, but I mean it differently. I think the library is sexy, in a way. Mock me for this and I’ll kill you, but knowledge is sexy. Intelligence is sexy. Your incredible brain is one of your most attractive qualities, actually. So let me suck you off in the library. I know you can’t say no to a blowjob, like, ever.
I still miss you, but it’s a little easier now that my parents know why I’m moping all the time. At least my mum isn’t nagging me to eat more, or to sleep more, or to laugh more. She gives my dad knowing looks that are just a little bit condescending, but I don’t care. It hurts to love you this much, and have you this far away from me at the same time. I’m doing the best I can. Just one more week. I love, love, love, love you.
Moony
PS: Besides pining over me, what have you been up to? Please tell me the Castle is still standing and you haven’t unleashed the full force of your mischief on it. I quite like the place, you know.
Friday 26th - Boxing Day
Moony,
Your present was brilliant, and here’s why: I’m just gay enough to pull off a bracelet without any raised eyebrows, and no one has to know what the little moon and the star engraved on it mean. I know, and every time I look at my wrist now, I think of you, and the colour of your hair when it’s illuminated by the Common Room fireplace. Morgana, I miss you so much it’s embarrassing, really. I’m sorry you cried, and I wish I was there to hold you, but I cried a bit too, the other day, so I guess it’s okay.
I’m happy it all went so well with your parents. I knew it would, I just think it’s absolutely wonderful. Also, why would I panic? I agree with you, we should tell James and Peter, even if it’s just so we can do all those cheesy things you mentioned, you big old sap. One time, before we got together, James flat out asked me whether I was in love with you. I, Sirius Black, master of lies and far-fetched tales and unlikely stories, convincer of millions and, on one memorable occasion, McGonagall, was speechless. I had no idea what to say, because there was no way for me to deny how much I love you. So James will be thrilled but not surprised. And I’m guessing Peter won’t much care. Maybe we should tell them when everyone is back from Christmas holidays?
Trust me, sweetheart, there is nothing better in the world than hearing about whatever gets you going. You want to shag in the library? We’ll shag in the library. You want to pour melted chocolate all over my body and lick it off? I’m game. Actually, I’m quite partial to that idea. Let’s do it.
Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head, oh sweet Moonling of mine. I have been keeping the shenanigans in check. Hogwarts does not need my meddling to get itself into a hilarious mess this year. It seems that good old Silvanus Kettleburn (you know, the professor that keeps on making us try to catch Jobberknolls, when everyone knows the little miscreants are next to impossible to grab without magic,) has taken quite a liking to everybody’s favourite Arithmacy teacher, Miss Vector. He made his affections known by sending her a Serenader at Christmas dinner. In case you didn’t know, a Serenader is the lovey-dovey version of a Howler. Watch your back, because I just might send you one sometime. Professor Vector was less than pleased. I don’t think she’s interested in romantic “nonsense,” as she put it. She’s in the process of proving Wenlock’s Theorem, and she can’t be arsed with such frivolous distractions at the moment. As she was explaining all this, loudly, Kettleburn ran out of the Great Hall. It was quite the spectacle. I wrote James a letter about it and he was barely coherent from laughter in his response.
Here comes the daily dose of getting Moony hot and bothered because I just can’t resist your flustered look. I want to kiss you. I think I probably miss kissing you most of all. Now, I know what you’re going to say, you yourself are the one who is always begging for kisses, but I guess I can see the appeal. Your lips are nice, you know. When our tongues brush, I feel tingles all over. I love kissing you the way I want to, tilting your head just so, but I might love it even more when you flip me over and take control of the kiss. And the way it makes you tremble when I tug at your bottom lip? Delicious. Gods, I miss that. When you pull at my hair to get me to kiss you deeper, when you break away because you need to catch your breath, when our noses brush together. The way you look at me sometimes, Remus, when I suddenly know for sure how much you love me. I only hope you can see how much I love you, too.
Desperate to see you,
Padfoot
Saturday 27th
Dear Padfoot,
Who could have guessed that the great brilliant Sirius Black could become such a lovesick adorable little puppy? Sometimes when I read your letters I can’t believe it’s really me you’re talking about. When you describe me, I become a different person, somebody better. Somebody who deserves you.
Did I ever tell you about the day I realised it was True Love between us, soulmates and so on? I think you know by now that I have been in love with you since the moment we met on the train. I was sitting with James because our parents knew each other and he started taunting you when you walked by, “Noble and Most Ancient House Of Black - something or other.” You sat down across from us, calm as you please, and started explaining why the whole Pureblood Black thing was despicable, how all wizards are equal and some magical creatures are equal to wizards too, when it comes to magical power. I’d been Turned only a couple of months before that, and it was the most beautiful thing anyone could ever have said to me. Gods, how much I loved you in that moment.
Sorry, I digress. That’s the part of our story you already know. Here’s the thing I never told you, for fear of being called a romantic girly tosser: a couple of weeks ago, the 6th years were brewing Amortentia. You must remember this incident, you and James laughed your asses off. Some poor idiot, I think it may have been Frank Longbottom, spilled half a cauldron of the potion. The thick smell of it was all over the Dungeons and you could even smell it a couple of floors up. Dazed students kept wandering towards the Dungeons all day, blushing and murmuring things about how they smelled some delicious foodstuff or the overwhelmingly strong scent of a friend or acquaintance. I think there was more snogging in the hallways that day than at Valentine’s.
I was confused about the fuss, because I couldn’t smell a damned thing. You and I were sharing clothes by then, and I was wearing both your robe and your scarf. So yeah, everything smelled faintly of sandalwood and mud from the Quidditch pitch and (excuse me for saying this) wet dog, but it always did! It was only later, when we went down into the Dungeons ourselves for Potions, that the smell was thick enough for me to notice. Then we ditched the class to go make out in a broom closet, remember? Slughorn didn’t much care as he was quite out of it himself, and Lily wasn’t upset with me either. She kept on looking over at James.
I don’t know what you smelled that day, Sirius, but I smelled you. So that’s when I knew you’re perfect for me.
Yours,
Moony
Sunday 28th
Dear Moony,
I am laughing my arse off. There’s only a handful of students in the Castle, and today Dumbledore decided to entertain us all with some bollocks Christmas story. I’ve known all of the Wizarding ones since childhood, the Caroling Kettle and the Mistletoe of Mirth and Crying Christmas Tree and so on. This Muggle story Dumby picked out for us was something else, though. There was a very poor, hungry girl, out on a cold Christmas Eve in it. Now, that’s not a cheerful way for a story to start, but the only direction to go from there is up, right? Wrong. The girl lights all the matchsticks she’s supposed to sell (apparently they’re some kind of wooden wands Muggles use to light fires), to keep herself warm by the flames, and then in the end, she freezes to death. I am not making this nonsense up, Moony.
No wonder all those Muggles never wear colourful clothes. If these were my Christmas stories I’d go around like a gloomy git for most of the year, myself. Muggles never cease to surprise me. What about “T is the season to be jolly,” and so on? Unbelievable.
It’s snowing out here. Is it snowing near you? It’s not Christmas hols if it isn’t snowing, I hope you know that. James, the absolute wanker, sent me the most ridiculous Christmas presents in the history of the world. There was a self-help book with a bright purple cover entitled “How To Woo The Wand: 500 Tips For The Homosexual Wizard To Have A Warm Winter,” and a wooden box with a tube in it. At first glance, this appeared to be wax to polish your broomstick, but it turned out to be a special kind of lube that makes your bits tingle. Be prepared. Also, I think it’s safe to say that he won’t be surprised when we tell him we’re together. Merciless teasing and terribly personal interrogations aside, that pleases me.
Peter sent me a large bag of chocolate frogs.
What did our ridiculous friends buy you this year, Moony?
You know I miss you, right? And I love you? And I will ravish you as soon as you set foot on school grounds. Thank James for the way I’m going to make your bits tingle.
Pads
Monday 29th
Dear Padfoot,
Your letter made me laugh so hard, I snorted hot chocolate up my nose, and the whipped cream it had on it came out of my left nostril. I hope my suffering amuses you. You’re right, Muggles can sometimes be a daft lot. I’m sorry you’re not taking Muggle Studies with me, as I’m sure it would be an endless source of mirth. Here’s some other Muggle inventions I’m guessing will delight you:
Here’s another thing for you to think about while you’re slowly wasting away all by yourself in our dormitories, going sick with longing for me: there’s two more years of Hogwarts to go. I know in spite of your aversion to Arithmacy that you have mustered basic skills of maths, so this is not news to you. But here’s the epiphany I had the other day while my mum was giving me an earful for leaving dirty dishes in the sink: in two years, it would be entirely possible for you and me to get a flat together. We could share a living space without having Peter and James around all the time, for a change. Now, I’m as fond of James and Peter as you are, Sirius, but take a moment to consider the possibilities of this scenario.
We could shag in the shower and no one would complain about using up the hot water. We could shag on our very own kitchen counter. We could get a double bed so neither of us ever ends up on the floor again. Bugger it, we could get a kingsized bed and roll around in it all day. I would buy endless amounts of bookshelves, and books to fill them with, and we could even have a little garden for us to play fetch.
I heard an old song the other day while my Dad was listening to Muggle radio. It went like this: Wouldn’t it be nice if we we’re older?/ Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long / and wouldn’t it be nice to live together / in the kind of world where we belong/. I thought of you when I heard that song. I can’t imagine ever sharing a flat with anyone else. I love you.
James got me a book with Muggle fairytales in it. Most of them are terribly gruesome, you’ll love it. Peter got me a bag of chocolate frogs.
Remus
Tuesday 30th
Dear Moony,
Thank Merlin for Safe Sex Spells. Plastic baggies are a buzzkill if ever I heard one. It’s a miracle these Muggles ever manage to reproduce. Again, I am not surprised they seem so gloomy all the time.
I want a little floating duck for our bathtub, Moony. When we get a flat together (which we will), it shall have an enormous bathroom with a marble tub large enough to fit the both of us, and in order to amuse myself I shall need one of the floaty duck thingies. Does it do anything exciting, quack or swim around or spray you with water?
We must visit one of these ball pit places at once. Oh, I just had a marvellous idea. Do you think we could transfigure wads of paper into plastic balls, and turn the Great Lake into a giant ball pit? Think about it. It’s never too early to start planning the end of year prank. I will write James at once about my brilliant plan.
I wish you were wrong, but alas it is true: I am slowly wasting away all by myself. I’m sitting by the fire night after night, as Padfoot more often than not, and just waiting for the time to pass. I love you so terribly much, it makes my chest hurt. All those things you said about getting a flat made me so excited. I love you.
Padfoot
Wednesday 31st - New Year’s Eve
Remus: This is bloody well the last straw, I shall have no more of this wasting away business.
Sirius: Just a little while longer, Moony.
Remus: Absolutely not. I am on a Muggle train right now, Pads. I’ll be damned if kissing you isn’t the first thing I do in 1976.
Sirius: On a Muggle train? Where the bloody hell are you going? Do any of them have rubber ducks with them?
Remus: I’m coming to Hogwarts, you gigantic tosser.
Sirius: MOONY, I LOVE YOU.
Remus: Just another hour or so.
Sirius: I CAN’T WAIT.
Remus: I know, Pads. I love you, too.
When Remus gets off the train at Hogsmeade, Sirius is there to meet him. They kiss on the platform for a good long while. Remus’s lips taste like chocolate frogs and Sirius tastes like the cigarette he snagged from a 7th year earlier in the day. Then they walk back to the Castle hand in hand. On the way there, they run into some students as well as Professor Dumbledore on a brisk afternoon walk, and Sirius shouts at him:
“Remus Lupin is my boyfriend and he loves me!”
Dumbledore gives them a little smile. Remus blushes. He’s pretty sure 1976 will be the best year yet.
Title: This Year’s For Me And You
Author/Artist: hastendown
Pairing(s): Sirius/Remus
Prompt: 28, Love letters exchanged over a long distance where they must be apart. Secret relationship. Delivered by snowy owls and read by the crackling fire. Make it as heartachingly romantic and torturously longing as possible! Romance and pining and longing and assertions of love. Maybe the series of letters turn passionate/steamy?
Word Count: 5.548 words
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The title for this fic was taken from my favourite Christmas song, Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl “Amor Omnia Vincit” is Latin for love conquers all.
Notes: Beta’d by the awesome blue_eyed_1987
Summary: Over the course of the Christmas holidays, Sirius and Remus explore their newly established relationship through a series of achingly sweet love letters.
Saturday 20th of December (departure day)
Dear Moony,
The Hogwarts Express departed forty-eight minutes ago and you were on it. I waved you good-bye, but I couldn’t kiss you like I wanted because Peter and James were there. That makes the last time we kissed two hours ago now. Your lips tasted sweet, because you had chocolate milk with your cereal for breakfast. Gods, I miss you.
I can’t help but feel a little bad for turning down Prongs’ invitation to spend the holidays with the Potters, but I vastly prefer this arrangement and I couldn’t very well tell him that, could I? That would have been a sight to see, James’ face after I told him “No, actually, Prongs, I’d prefer to stay at Hogwarts because Remus will come back early which gives us two full days of undisturbed shagging-time and that is worth more to me than two weeks of your company.” The poor git would never recover.
But now I’m alone. Obviously, the teachers are here, and a couple of young Gryffindors and I don’t know who else from the other Houses, but I have our room to myself and absolutely nothing to entertain myself with.
Write to me as soon as you get this, please.
I love you. I love you. I love you so much sometimes I’m afraid nothing will be left of me when you’re gone.
Yours,
Padfoot
Sunday 21st of December
Dear Sirius,
You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you? Where on earth would I go without you? I’m absolutely wretched at home. My parents, unfortunately, noticed that I was more gloomy and introverted than usual. My mother was afraid she’d overlooked something and that I’d have my Change over Christmas. I decided not to tell her that I wouldn’t have come home if that had been the case. No need to break her heart any further.
I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed yet, but I stole one of your jumpers before I went home. I wore it all day today and my mum said it looked nice on me. I told her I’d bought it in Hogsmeade, but it made me wonder. Should I maybe come out to them? It’s not like queerness is any worse than lycanthropy, I suppose. I wouldn’t have to tell them that we’re dating, just that I’m gay. I might feel better if I do. Although if they respond poorly, I will feel worse. Any thoughts?
I miss you, Padfoot. I’m hoping it’ll get better over the next few days, because last night I missed you like one misses a severed limb. I hardly slept a wink.
I love you,
Your Moony
Monday 22th of December
Dear Moony,
I’m sorry if I’m starting to sound like a broken record here, but Gods I miss you. Some first year girl was sitting in your favourite chair this morning, the one in the shadowy corner of the common room, near the fire, and I nearly bit her head off. I can’t bear being here without you. Everywhere I go, something reminds me of you.
I’ve slept in your bed both nights since you left. It’s not like there’s anyone here to call me out on it. But the sheets are starting to smell more like me than you. Don’t be angry, I dug out your favourite scarf to wear during the day. And I’m pretty sure Dumbledore recognised it at dinner because the old man had a fit of giggles when he saw me. It was awkward, but he didn’t explain why he was laughing. Crazy git.
I went flying this morning because that’s the only time I enjoy the cold, but I was constantly looking over at your regular spot on the stands, and it distracted me from the Quaffle.
Then I wanked in the shower. Now, don’t have a fit, no one was around, I swear. Also, you didn’t think you’d get away from me for two weeks without me sending you lots and lots (and I promise you, lots more) dirty letters? I will write down at least one filthy hot thought I’ve had in each letter from now on, so you’d better not open them at the breakfast table. Also, I expect steamy tales in return. I know you not-so-secretly love writing, so put that extensive vocabulary to good use for me, please.
Anyway, so I was wanking in the shower. I bet you know where this story is going. You remember, don’t you? How could you forget? You rubbed off on me in that shower once. Here’s the bit you don’t know yet, though, Moony. I’d planned the whole thing. You weren’t exactly subtle about your fascination with me and my Quidditch uniform, sweetheart. Whenever I came back from Quidditch practice, you’d snog me senseless. After you asked to watch practice I was sure you had a thing. Then, it was just a matter of getting the locker rooms to ourselves. I had’t quite anticipated the way it went, though, how you just held me still and pretty much used me to get yourself off. It was so hot, Moony, so hot, having my wrists pinned against the wall while our cocks bumped together, and you were just kissing everywhere you could reach. It had never been like that before. Before that, I was always afraid I was pushing you, like maybe you didn’t really want all the things we did together quite yet. But after that time in the shower, I figured out you had just been shy. You’re not shy anymore, are you, Moony? Please, write back to me soon and tell me what you think of when you touch yourself.
I love you.
Padfoot
PS: On the less-exciting topic of coming out to your parents, I feel like you should decide that for yourself. My parents are a bunch of bigoted wankers, as you know. Tell them if you think it will make you feel better. You can tell them we’re together, too, as long as word doesn’t get out to any relations of the Black family. I feel conflicted myself. I don’t want to antagonise my parents any further than absolutely necessary, but I do want the whole world to know that I’ve got you all to myself. I sometimes can’t believe it myself yet, that you would pick me. If we started telling people, prepare for me to be the cockiest bastard on the planet. I love you.
Tuesday 23d of December
Dear Sirius,
Merlin. Are you trying to kill me? I opened your letter as soon as it arrived, sitting in the middle of the living room. My mum was knitting by the fire and my dad was reading the Prophet. There we were, all just quite casually sipping our cuppa, when I started reading what you’d written. Then, of course, I had to shamefully shuffle away to my room, holding that damned letter in front of my lap. Morgana, you are the worst. I love you.
It wasn’t as subtle as I had hoped, either. Later, my mum asked me whether I’d gotten a letter from a girl. I didn’t answer her, but I made a decision: I’m going to tell them. Tonight after dinner. Wish me luck.
I bought your Christmas present today. Late, I know, but it was so hard. A year ago we weren’t together yet. Of course I was hopelessly in love with you already, but still, it’s different buying a Christmas present for a mate. Now, I want to give you something meaningful, and that turns out to be quite difficult. I’m still not sure I succeeded. Don’t worry, though. Whatever you get me, I’ll love it. I love you.
Anyway, on to more important business. After the shuffle of shame to my room, obviously, I wanked. Here’s what I was thinking about, since you asked. You’re right, by the way, I used to be shy. I still am, really. So don’t mock me for what I’m about to tell you. I touched myself, Sirius, but not in the way you thought. I touched my arse, a bit. I know that’s what gay men do, I’ve known that for years, but I never knew why. Now I do. It was good. It was so fucking good. I could only get two fingers in, and I really had to work at it, and I couldn’t get them all the way in because the angle was awkward, but that’s not the point. The point is that I imagined it was your fingers touching me there. Your fingers are longer than mine, more slender, and I only had to touch my cock a little bit before I was coming, just thinking of how far inside of me you’d reach. Oh sweet Circe. I want to come back to Hogwarts right now. I love you and I miss you. Nine more days to go.
Wish me luck talking to my parents tonight, I’ll let you know how it goes.
Moony
Wednesday 24th - Christmas Eve
Dear Moony,
I am a Phoenix. The thought of you doing that, of you wanting that, of you touching yourself there and imagining it was me, burned me to cinders. I swear to Merlin I couldn’t see straight for a moment. Then, I rose from the ashes, a new, randier version of the Padfoot you know, determined to drive you positively mad with lust before you return. Turnabout is fair play and all that. I didn’t even know you’d been thinking about that. I don’t really have words to express how badly I want do it, Moony, Gods.
If my timing is correct, this letter will reach you together with my Christmas present. I hope you like it. It requires some explanation. Fair warning, if it isn’t Christmas morning yet, and you have yet to open your present, DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT. Patience is a virtue, Moony.
Assuming you’ve had the restraint to wait until Christmas morning with reading this, Merry Christmas! I miss you. Now, you must be wondering about your present. It’s just a random notebook, right? Right? Wrong! I’m guessing you know what the motto on the cover means: Amor Omnia Vincit. Now, take the quill you got with the notebook (isn’t it charmingly fuchsia? You know you love my fashion sense.) and write something down for me. Write: “Sirius Black is a God among men and I love him more than life itself.” Go ahead.
Because here’s the real surprise, Moony: I put a spell on your notebook, and on its twin, which is mine, by the way. They send messages to one another. No more waiting for owls to fly back and forth, no more passing notes in class. We can always reach each other with these notebooks. Now that I think about it, it’s as much a present for myself as for you. I used a variation of the spell we’re using to put together the map. Aren’t I brilliant?
How did your conversation with your parents go? I’m positive they reacted wonderfully. Your parents don’t have a malicious bone in their body.
Now, for the putting Remus’s panties in a twist: I went to Hogsmeade today and bought a bottle of lube. When you come back, I’ll touch you absolutely anywhere you want me to. You know why, Moony? Because I want to make you happy. The strangest thought struck me today. I’ve been wanking every night since Christmas hols started, and sometimes in the mornings too, but it doesn’t make a bit of a difference. All of the things I love about sex are connected to you. The little sounds you make when I kiss your neck with just a hint of teeth (yes, I figured that one out a long time ago.) Your face when you come. The smell of your hair. Holding you close all night. Even your freezing toes brushing up against mine. I miss those things so much. I love you.
It won’t be long, love.
Your Padfoot
Remus sat down with his newly acquired notebook and wrote to Sirius:
Thursday 25th -Christmas Day
Merry Christmas, Padfoot! Your present is wonderful, I love it. I love you. Did you like your present? It was a nightmare picking something out for you, and I still think you did a better job than me. In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I got myself a bracelet that matches the one I gave you.
Please don’t get too upset, but I cried a little the other day. I told my parents I was gay, and they were just so understanding. Not surprised, either, I think. Only when they reacted the way they did, saying they loved me and supported me no matter what, did I realise how terrified I’d been of their disapproval. I was so relieved. And then my mum asked whether I was seeing anyone and the whole story just came out of my mouth, just like that. I was so happy to tell people, Sirius. I was so happy to tell them how happy we are, how happy you make me. Both my parents laughed a bit at the way I talked about you. About how you make me come alive with happiness and feel better about myself and everything than I ever have before. I love you. I love you so much, and as I was telling my parents, I grew to love you even more. And then I cried because I missed you. I still miss you. Maybe over the summer, you can stay at our house for a while instead of James’? My mum suggested it. She’s very eager to know more about you all of a sudden.
I want to discuss something, but I’m a little afraid you’ll panic. All I can say to that is: don’t panic. I’ll never want anything you’re not comfortable with. However, I think we should tell James and Peter about us. Now, hear me out. First of all, I’m pretty convinced James already knows. He’s been giving me looks and on the Hogwarts Express he right out asked me why I was wearing your jumper. I denied that it was yours, of course, but he didn’t buy it. Secondly, it would be such a relief to tell them. We’d still put up the privacy spells and everything at night, so they’d have no reason to complain, but just imagine: we could hold hands in the hallways. I could sit on your lap sometimes in the Common Room. If there was a Quidditch afterparty, we could snog in a dark corner. We could go on a date sometime on a Hogsmeade day and ditch the others. I know you know how much of a sap I am, and I just love the idea of little things like that. I just love having everybody know I’m yours and your mine. I even love the way every girl in our year would be jealous, knowing you’re incredible arse is all mine and no one else’s. You could put your head in my lap and I’d play with your hair, as long as you managed to keep those obscenely sexy noises to a minimum. Think about it. If you don’t want to, I understand. But then I’ll take you on a date sometime soon to the Room Of Requirement and we’ll do all of the things I listed above anyway. You’re not getting out of my intense craving for romantic silliness. Besides, I know you secretly love it.
Here’s my awkward attempt at saying something dirty: I want to suck you off in the library sometime. I love the library. I know you know that, but I mean it differently. I think the library is sexy, in a way. Mock me for this and I’ll kill you, but knowledge is sexy. Intelligence is sexy. Your incredible brain is one of your most attractive qualities, actually. So let me suck you off in the library. I know you can’t say no to a blowjob, like, ever.
I still miss you, but it’s a little easier now that my parents know why I’m moping all the time. At least my mum isn’t nagging me to eat more, or to sleep more, or to laugh more. She gives my dad knowing looks that are just a little bit condescending, but I don’t care. It hurts to love you this much, and have you this far away from me at the same time. I’m doing the best I can. Just one more week. I love, love, love, love you.
Moony
PS: Besides pining over me, what have you been up to? Please tell me the Castle is still standing and you haven’t unleashed the full force of your mischief on it. I quite like the place, you know.
Friday 26th - Boxing Day
Moony,
Your present was brilliant, and here’s why: I’m just gay enough to pull off a bracelet without any raised eyebrows, and no one has to know what the little moon and the star engraved on it mean. I know, and every time I look at my wrist now, I think of you, and the colour of your hair when it’s illuminated by the Common Room fireplace. Morgana, I miss you so much it’s embarrassing, really. I’m sorry you cried, and I wish I was there to hold you, but I cried a bit too, the other day, so I guess it’s okay.
I’m happy it all went so well with your parents. I knew it would, I just think it’s absolutely wonderful. Also, why would I panic? I agree with you, we should tell James and Peter, even if it’s just so we can do all those cheesy things you mentioned, you big old sap. One time, before we got together, James flat out asked me whether I was in love with you. I, Sirius Black, master of lies and far-fetched tales and unlikely stories, convincer of millions and, on one memorable occasion, McGonagall, was speechless. I had no idea what to say, because there was no way for me to deny how much I love you. So James will be thrilled but not surprised. And I’m guessing Peter won’t much care. Maybe we should tell them when everyone is back from Christmas holidays?
Trust me, sweetheart, there is nothing better in the world than hearing about whatever gets you going. You want to shag in the library? We’ll shag in the library. You want to pour melted chocolate all over my body and lick it off? I’m game. Actually, I’m quite partial to that idea. Let’s do it.
Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head, oh sweet Moonling of mine. I have been keeping the shenanigans in check. Hogwarts does not need my meddling to get itself into a hilarious mess this year. It seems that good old Silvanus Kettleburn (you know, the professor that keeps on making us try to catch Jobberknolls, when everyone knows the little miscreants are next to impossible to grab without magic,) has taken quite a liking to everybody’s favourite Arithmacy teacher, Miss Vector. He made his affections known by sending her a Serenader at Christmas dinner. In case you didn’t know, a Serenader is the lovey-dovey version of a Howler. Watch your back, because I just might send you one sometime. Professor Vector was less than pleased. I don’t think she’s interested in romantic “nonsense,” as she put it. She’s in the process of proving Wenlock’s Theorem, and she can’t be arsed with such frivolous distractions at the moment. As she was explaining all this, loudly, Kettleburn ran out of the Great Hall. It was quite the spectacle. I wrote James a letter about it and he was barely coherent from laughter in his response.
Here comes the daily dose of getting Moony hot and bothered because I just can’t resist your flustered look. I want to kiss you. I think I probably miss kissing you most of all. Now, I know what you’re going to say, you yourself are the one who is always begging for kisses, but I guess I can see the appeal. Your lips are nice, you know. When our tongues brush, I feel tingles all over. I love kissing you the way I want to, tilting your head just so, but I might love it even more when you flip me over and take control of the kiss. And the way it makes you tremble when I tug at your bottom lip? Delicious. Gods, I miss that. When you pull at my hair to get me to kiss you deeper, when you break away because you need to catch your breath, when our noses brush together. The way you look at me sometimes, Remus, when I suddenly know for sure how much you love me. I only hope you can see how much I love you, too.
Desperate to see you,
Padfoot
Saturday 27th
Dear Padfoot,
Who could have guessed that the great brilliant Sirius Black could become such a lovesick adorable little puppy? Sometimes when I read your letters I can’t believe it’s really me you’re talking about. When you describe me, I become a different person, somebody better. Somebody who deserves you.
Did I ever tell you about the day I realised it was True Love between us, soulmates and so on? I think you know by now that I have been in love with you since the moment we met on the train. I was sitting with James because our parents knew each other and he started taunting you when you walked by, “Noble and Most Ancient House Of Black - something or other.” You sat down across from us, calm as you please, and started explaining why the whole Pureblood Black thing was despicable, how all wizards are equal and some magical creatures are equal to wizards too, when it comes to magical power. I’d been Turned only a couple of months before that, and it was the most beautiful thing anyone could ever have said to me. Gods, how much I loved you in that moment.
Sorry, I digress. That’s the part of our story you already know. Here’s the thing I never told you, for fear of being called a romantic girly tosser: a couple of weeks ago, the 6th years were brewing Amortentia. You must remember this incident, you and James laughed your asses off. Some poor idiot, I think it may have been Frank Longbottom, spilled half a cauldron of the potion. The thick smell of it was all over the Dungeons and you could even smell it a couple of floors up. Dazed students kept wandering towards the Dungeons all day, blushing and murmuring things about how they smelled some delicious foodstuff or the overwhelmingly strong scent of a friend or acquaintance. I think there was more snogging in the hallways that day than at Valentine’s.
I was confused about the fuss, because I couldn’t smell a damned thing. You and I were sharing clothes by then, and I was wearing both your robe and your scarf. So yeah, everything smelled faintly of sandalwood and mud from the Quidditch pitch and (excuse me for saying this) wet dog, but it always did! It was only later, when we went down into the Dungeons ourselves for Potions, that the smell was thick enough for me to notice. Then we ditched the class to go make out in a broom closet, remember? Slughorn didn’t much care as he was quite out of it himself, and Lily wasn’t upset with me either. She kept on looking over at James.
I don’t know what you smelled that day, Sirius, but I smelled you. So that’s when I knew you’re perfect for me.
Yours,
Moony
Sunday 28th
Dear Moony,
I am laughing my arse off. There’s only a handful of students in the Castle, and today Dumbledore decided to entertain us all with some bollocks Christmas story. I’ve known all of the Wizarding ones since childhood, the Caroling Kettle and the Mistletoe of Mirth and Crying Christmas Tree and so on. This Muggle story Dumby picked out for us was something else, though. There was a very poor, hungry girl, out on a cold Christmas Eve in it. Now, that’s not a cheerful way for a story to start, but the only direction to go from there is up, right? Wrong. The girl lights all the matchsticks she’s supposed to sell (apparently they’re some kind of wooden wands Muggles use to light fires), to keep herself warm by the flames, and then in the end, she freezes to death. I am not making this nonsense up, Moony.
No wonder all those Muggles never wear colourful clothes. If these were my Christmas stories I’d go around like a gloomy git for most of the year, myself. Muggles never cease to surprise me. What about “T is the season to be jolly,” and so on? Unbelievable.
It’s snowing out here. Is it snowing near you? It’s not Christmas hols if it isn’t snowing, I hope you know that. James, the absolute wanker, sent me the most ridiculous Christmas presents in the history of the world. There was a self-help book with a bright purple cover entitled “How To Woo The Wand: 500 Tips For The Homosexual Wizard To Have A Warm Winter,” and a wooden box with a tube in it. At first glance, this appeared to be wax to polish your broomstick, but it turned out to be a special kind of lube that makes your bits tingle. Be prepared. Also, I think it’s safe to say that he won’t be surprised when we tell him we’re together. Merciless teasing and terribly personal interrogations aside, that pleases me.
Peter sent me a large bag of chocolate frogs.
What did our ridiculous friends buy you this year, Moony?
You know I miss you, right? And I love you? And I will ravish you as soon as you set foot on school grounds. Thank James for the way I’m going to make your bits tingle.
Pads
Monday 29th
Dear Padfoot,
Your letter made me laugh so hard, I snorted hot chocolate up my nose, and the whipped cream it had on it came out of my left nostril. I hope my suffering amuses you. You’re right, Muggles can sometimes be a daft lot. I’m sorry you’re not taking Muggle Studies with me, as I’m sure it would be an endless source of mirth. Here’s some other Muggle inventions I’m guessing will delight you:
- -They use little rubber baggies, much like plastic bags, to wrap around their you-know-what during sex in lieu of a Safe Sex Spell.
- They have a special cupboard in their kitchen that is kept cool by use of electricity, to keep food from getting spoilt.
- They sometimes put little floating statues of ducks in the bathtub to amuse themselves.
- Muggle children are often made to play in a giant pit filled with plastic balls. This entertains them. Make a joke about balls and I promise you will regret it.
Here’s another thing for you to think about while you’re slowly wasting away all by yourself in our dormitories, going sick with longing for me: there’s two more years of Hogwarts to go. I know in spite of your aversion to Arithmacy that you have mustered basic skills of maths, so this is not news to you. But here’s the epiphany I had the other day while my mum was giving me an earful for leaving dirty dishes in the sink: in two years, it would be entirely possible for you and me to get a flat together. We could share a living space without having Peter and James around all the time, for a change. Now, I’m as fond of James and Peter as you are, Sirius, but take a moment to consider the possibilities of this scenario.
We could shag in the shower and no one would complain about using up the hot water. We could shag on our very own kitchen counter. We could get a double bed so neither of us ever ends up on the floor again. Bugger it, we could get a kingsized bed and roll around in it all day. I would buy endless amounts of bookshelves, and books to fill them with, and we could even have a little garden for us to play fetch.
I heard an old song the other day while my Dad was listening to Muggle radio. It went like this: Wouldn’t it be nice if we we’re older?/ Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long / and wouldn’t it be nice to live together / in the kind of world where we belong/. I thought of you when I heard that song. I can’t imagine ever sharing a flat with anyone else. I love you.
James got me a book with Muggle fairytales in it. Most of them are terribly gruesome, you’ll love it. Peter got me a bag of chocolate frogs.
Remus
Tuesday 30th
Dear Moony,
Thank Merlin for Safe Sex Spells. Plastic baggies are a buzzkill if ever I heard one. It’s a miracle these Muggles ever manage to reproduce. Again, I am not surprised they seem so gloomy all the time.
I want a little floating duck for our bathtub, Moony. When we get a flat together (which we will), it shall have an enormous bathroom with a marble tub large enough to fit the both of us, and in order to amuse myself I shall need one of the floaty duck thingies. Does it do anything exciting, quack or swim around or spray you with water?
We must visit one of these ball pit places at once. Oh, I just had a marvellous idea. Do you think we could transfigure wads of paper into plastic balls, and turn the Great Lake into a giant ball pit? Think about it. It’s never too early to start planning the end of year prank. I will write James at once about my brilliant plan.
I wish you were wrong, but alas it is true: I am slowly wasting away all by myself. I’m sitting by the fire night after night, as Padfoot more often than not, and just waiting for the time to pass. I love you so terribly much, it makes my chest hurt. All those things you said about getting a flat made me so excited. I love you.
Padfoot
Wednesday 31st - New Year’s Eve
Remus: This is bloody well the last straw, I shall have no more of this wasting away business.
Sirius: Just a little while longer, Moony.
Remus: Absolutely not. I am on a Muggle train right now, Pads. I’ll be damned if kissing you isn’t the first thing I do in 1976.
Sirius: On a Muggle train? Where the bloody hell are you going? Do any of them have rubber ducks with them?
Remus: I’m coming to Hogwarts, you gigantic tosser.
Sirius: MOONY, I LOVE YOU.
Remus: Just another hour or so.
Sirius: I CAN’T WAIT.
Remus: I know, Pads. I love you, too.
When Remus gets off the train at Hogsmeade, Sirius is there to meet him. They kiss on the platform for a good long while. Remus’s lips taste like chocolate frogs and Sirius tastes like the cigarette he snagged from a 7th year earlier in the day. Then they walk back to the Castle hand in hand. On the way there, they run into some students as well as Professor Dumbledore on a brisk afternoon walk, and Sirius shouts at him:
“Remus Lupin is my boyfriend and he loves me!”
Dumbledore gives them a little smile. Remus blushes. He’s pretty sure 1976 will be the best year yet.