Merry Christmas, shananagin!
Title: Hatred and Back
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros.
Author's Notes: Muchas gracias goes to my lovely darlings; [taken out for anonymity]. You are my loves, and thank you for the hand-holding and trust in me.
Warnings: none.
Prompt #20: Coming out fic, with the two of them falling in love, but not thinking that they have a chance with the other. PG-R, with kissing and cuddling, but not too much sex, and don't just add a sex scene because it's a sex scene, just make sure it helps the story. I want a happy ending. MWPP Era.
To: shananagin
from your Secret Santa
"oh how i meant to tease him
oh how i meant no harm
touching his back with my hand i kiss him
i see the wasp on the length of my arm"
- Sufjan Stevens, The Predetory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out To Get Us!
There quite a few things Sirius really didn't like about Remus. For one, he had a terrible, terrible sense of humor.
"Alright, I've got one," Remus said, his face glowing oddly in the firelight, making him look old and gaunt as he sidled closer to the fire in the common room. The only noise louder than the popping logs was Peter's snoring.
"Shoot," James said, crumpling his old Arithmacy notes and tossing in the fire.
"Okay, so," Remus hunkered down as if he was about to reveal the secret to the universe, "Gandhi was always barefoot, right?"
"Um," said James, extremely eloquently.
"And then," Remus said, getting quite excited, "that made his feet quite tough, yeah? And he also was very spiritual. Between the hunger strikes, he really didn't eat. So he was a bit wispy, too, quite thin. And all that eating made his breath bad, right? Very, very bad."
"Moony," Sirius said, "if you do not get to the point very soon, I shall be forced to kill you."
"So therefore," Remus said, pretending Sirius did not exist (another habit of which he was not so fond), "he was a super calloused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis."
Silence. A few logs cracked as Sirius pondered what the best method of making Remus never joke again, as clearly he did not respect the sacredness of the profession. James, too, looked very troubled, and Sirius felt that Remus quite deserved whatever cutting remark James was going to make.
"Who's Gandhi?"
---
Remus also had terrible, terrible ideas.
"It's endearing. It is a term of affection," he insisted.
"It's revolting," Sirius said stoutly.
"No, it's French."
"Disgusting."
"It's what my mother calls me."
"Remus," said Sirius, closing his eyes as if in physical pain (which, to be fair, he was), "you are a man. No self-respecting man would ever admit that his mother had any sort of nickname for him, let alone a French one."
"I like it," said Peter stoutly. "It's very refined-like. Genteel sounding."
"Thank you, Peter," Remus said graciously, as Peter flushed faintly with pleasure. "Besides, it's not as if we don't have nicknames anyways."
"Those are manly nicknames," Sirius clarified, "befitting of real men and animagi everywhere. They are not," he made a disgusted noise, "French."
"Mes p'tites bêtes," Remus said fondly "it also means 'my\ little idiots', you know. It's quite fitting."
Sirius very nearly cried.
---
Remus could also be very inconsiderate, but he would never say that out loud because then Remus would adopt a very pained look and James would even tell him off for being cruel. But he was not pleased. Really very not pleased at all with no way to articulate it. "Oh shitting bothering shit," he managed, which was quite good, all things considering, as this was an unparalleled crisis. "You could have told me. I mean, I would have taken it okay."
"I did just tell you." Remus said, softly. "And you're not 'taking it okay'"
"I mean! It's just! I mean, I just... I always assumed!"
"My dear old mum always did say assuming makes an ass out of you and me." James said, clearly thinking he was very witty. Sirius threw his pillow at him.
"You always take notes!" He said, pointing accusingly at Remus, feeling as though he might throw a temper tantrum very, very soon. "And you didn't! Now how am I supposed to study if you haven't taken notes?
"Take them yourself," Remus seemed to be getting irritated. He also had a short temper, which was another thing that Sirius didn't appreciate.
"James. Come now. Help a man out."
"Would if I could," James said idly, sucking on a sugar quill, "but I dropped Astronomy."
"Wormtail! Wormy! Rat of my heart," Sirius wheedled, turning to Peter, who was fighting very, very hard to stay awake while reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and losing spectacularly.
Peter snored.
"Remus, you should have taken notes."
"I'm sure you're right." Remus said mildly, stretching. His pajamas were too short at the ankle. His stomach was visible from the bottom of his shirt. We'll have to do something about that, Sirius thought distractedly. He supposed, though, that it would be a bit of a shame. He was rather fond of those pajamas, and by 'fond of' he meant he hated them.
---
"It's a Quick Quotes Quill," Remus said awkwardly, his finger tracing circles on his bare knee where the bone jutted through the worn
fabric.
"That's... really. I mean."
"It's so you don't have to take notes. I mean, you can fall asleep and it takes notes for you."
"That's brilliant, Moony. I - it's, I mean, how did you?"
Remus' eyes flashed proudly, and he flushed and looked down. "I managed."
"But I mean, Peter and James? Did you get them? I mean, their presents must have been brilliant too..."
"They weren't." Remus said shortly. "Just some candy. I told them I was running low this year."
"I - " Sirius cursed his inability to not speak.
"Don't, Sirius."
"I got you pajamas." Sirius offered. "They're navy. That's your favorite color. I got them for you because they're your favorite color and yours are small, and when you stretch I can see your belly, which I don't think I'm supposed to."
"I know," Remus said, fingering the frayed edge of the hole again so it yawned wider. "I opened them this morning. You shouldn't have."
"I -"
"Don't."
Sirius didn't speak, because Remus said not to, but he did lean over and kiss him. Because Remus didn't forbid that, and because he couldn't think of a better way to say sometimes I want to bash your brains in but I still find you rather charming, especially if he was forbidden from speaking. And Remus was a really good kisser, even though his lips were very chapped. Sirius really hated when Remus forbid him from doing things, because then he would end up doing something Remus hadn't thought to forbid because it was so utterly stupid, and then once he'd done it, there would be silence. He hated silence.
"I'm sorry." Sirius said, because he had run out of things to utterly, utterly balls up.
"I'm going to the common room," was all Remus said.
---
Sirius hated Remus for many, many, many reasons. One of the the most prevalent reasons was Remus' ability to lie. Not flat-out lie - that would be acceptable and would even have saved the four of them quite a few detentions. But Remus could play-act like no one's business, which, when you got right down to it, was pretty much the same as lying anyways, just done at a less considerate time.
When James came in from getting attacked by Lily's snowballs, which, Sirius would be the first to say, were charmed most expertly, and said "Right then, what's up mates, good Christmas haul?" Remus looked up from his textbook and said something appropriately witty and sarcastic, as if nothing had happened and damned if James didn't laugh good-naturedly, even if it was a little strained, and if Peter didn't smile with his eyes but only twitch his mouth half-heartedly, like a fish that was mostly dead anyways.
The conversation didn't matter much, anyways. Sirius had on his face of aristocratic indifference, which meant that no one bothered him, and he could spend as long as he wanted to picking apart all the terrible, awful, no good, very bad things about Remus.
---
Among the many things Sirius hated about Remus (he had started keeping a list, which he hid next to his unused Quick Quotes Quill), was his sort of twisted charisma. Remus didn't strike you as the charismatic type, being all reserved and gangly, but he really rather was, and mostly because you weren't expecting it, so it would sneak up on you in the most unlikely scenarios, which really wasn't playing fair, if you thought about it.
It wasn't long after the new year that Remus got himself a girl. Her name was Viola Kircady, and besides Lily Evans, she was the nicest girl Sirius had ever met. He couldn't help but like her in the same way he couldn't help but like Remus, and then he couldn't help but hate both of them for manipulating his emotions so carelessly.
She was the perfect girl for Remus, she really was. They looked nice together, both nondescriptly blonde in the way that it was just as much brown as it was yellow-y. Both had large eyes, both tall and angled, smart, both busy, and so Remus' monthly disappearances did not phase her (though really, she was a Hufflepuff and therefore a bit dim). She could talk about Quidditch (her brother was an avid fan), she let Peter win at Gobstones, and she was never anything but perfectly, horribly nice.
Sirius loathed her.
---
Remus Lupin, Sirius had already decided, was a generally inconsiderate human being (and he hated that), but there were certain things that made Sirius feel like maybe that judgment was a little unfair. After all, Remus always remembered things like birthdays and your parent's birthdays and what your favorite color and food was, which was quite considerate. He always said please and thank you and would show first years how to get from place to place without ending up more lost than before (which was something James could never quite manage to do without sending them on at least one unnecessary detour). But what Remus really was inconsiderate about, (and this joined two of the things Sirius hated about Remus into one giant thing, which was quite expeditious) was how he affected people.
That summer was full of long days at the Potter's, with lemonade and botched attempts at apparition and quidditch games by the lake and grilled chicken at night. Both Peter and Remus flooed up at every opportunity, and each of them brought different sorts of things - Peter with smokes and new games and a helpful hand at stealing Mrs. Potter's fudge, and Remus a sort of quiet calm that didn't involve talking, just long afternoons in the grass with conversations that sometimes were only a few words but meant everything.
They swam on the days they were all there, James with the same careless grace that he flew, Sirius splashingly (and dashingly, as he liked to think), and Peter ploddingly paddling, but never splashing, and the best at squirting water through the gap in his teeth.
Remus hated to swim, even when it was only the four of them in the little lake by the Potter's. "Exhibitionists, shameless savages, all of you," he said in his stuffy voice he reserved when he almost wished he could do what they were doing, but somehow had a conscious that prevented him. Instead, he would skip stones, his pants rolled up to his knees, his arms brown, steady, and perfectly angled.
On the days when it was too hot to bear, James would dunk Remus, because he clearly had no choice in the matter, and was making them all sticky and uncomfortable just by existing in a non-soaked state.
Remus was always embarrassed, giving James a few half-hearted splashes before James, and thereby Peter, would grow bored and paddle away, while Sirius would float, just to watch out for Remus' well being, mind, because did he even know how to swim?
Remus would grin, then, ruefully to himself as he lurched to dry land before shucking his helplessly heavy clothing. like damp, sandy pea pods. It always struck Sirius how water seemed to cling to Remus like it was fastened there. Sirius supposed that was because Remus, being tall and bony and scarred, had more dips and crags in him. Sirius would dunk himself underwater when Remus started shaking off, just so he wouldn't see or think about the secretive places around Remus' neck where the water caressed and pooled. Something about Remus being wet was indecent and savage and heathen, and it made Sirius want to run out of air and drown.
Being around Remus Lupin was that bad - it made him want to die.
---
For all the reasons Sirius Black hated Remus Lupin, the biggest reason was that he couldn't get properly mad, and that just made everyone else have to get indecently mad to make up for it.
Remus and Viola had quietly broken up by time they got back to school and Remus treated the whole episode like it was nothing worth time or energy, like another small bump in the road. He smiled and acted as if nothing had happened, even flirting a little with Alice Prewett the next Hogsmeade weekend. Every time Sirius saw him, he was struck by this explosive feeling in his stomach, which he could only classify as rage, but was far too akin to waiting to open his Christmas presents for his own tastes. There wasn't much Sirius could do about it - the oddest things were likely to make him mad. The way Remus smiled more on one side than the other, dimpling only on his left cheek, his long, freckled fingers when he peeled an apple, the thoughtful way he drank his tea, and his distressing habit of licking his finger before turning a page was wont to make Sirius' feel as though his stomach had t-minus five seconds before it exploded. Or imploded. Or simply ploded into nothingness.
He hadn't meant to use his rage so constructively, even Remus didn't deserve to have his secret outed to Snape, of all people, let alone in as degrading a manner as Sirius had managed. He would have liked it if Remus had raged. He would have liked to get out all of his pent up anger and frustration out on Remus. The could tell him everything he hated about him - like how charismatically inconsiderate he was and how he made his stomach hurt and his head feel like maybe it wasn't connected to his body. Or how he made people, namely Sirius, trip over their own feet and he didn't take notes for other people in class like he was supposed to and could pretend things like no one's business and smelled of wet dog and old books and a spice rack with a Christmas tree. And really, Remus deserved to be yelled at for all of that, because it simply was not on.
Instead, when Sirius had gone to visit him in the hospital wing, prepared for a fight that would make Madam Pomfrey go into several seizures, Remus had simply looked at him with his eyes soft and muddy and sleepy and said "Don't, Sirius, it was something I'd been thinking would happen for a long time."
Remus' voice was not angry in the slightest. Or sad. It was simply resigned and faded, like old cloth left in the sun, like the worn out sole of a shoe. His hands were pale against the scarlet wool infirmary blankets and there was even the hint of a sad smile and a small, resigned dimple.
And suddenly, Sirius realized, there were a lot of things he hated about himself.
---
What Sirius hated about himself, most notably, was his inability to shop for Christmas presents. Or, more specifically, Christmas presents for Moony. James was easy enough, a pack of lewd playing cards, the new Zonkos products, that sort of thing. Peter was still charmed by Muggle toys and candies, but Moony was another matter. He has yet to think up a gift that conveys exactly how wonderful Moony is, and how much lighter he feels now that he has realized this.
He has no thoughtful gift ideas anymore, because spending a year enraged at someone does tend to cut down on the sorts of conversations that lead to what the other person would like to have.
Christmas was planned that year in a rather slapdash and complicated manner - they had all made plans before realizing the date of the full moon fell on the twenty-ninth, and Remus, of course, had not told them.
"That," James said, "is the most useless bit of nobility I think you have ever pulled."
"I didn't want to bother you," Remus replied, shifting uncomfortably.
"Bullocks," James artfully replies, as Sirius sits silently by the fire and thinks that Moony's skewed sense of nobility is something he quite likes.
---
In the end, Sirius decides he will floo up on Boxing Day from the Potters, which he has mostly volunteered for, as that is the same day Lily will be flooing up. It is not that he doesn't like Lily, he really thinks she's one of the most spectacular girls he's ever met, but seeing her and James canoodling makes him feel the most unappealing mixture of forlorn and bemused. Forlorn and bemused, he thinks, does not sit well with his digestive system.
"Oh Moooony," he carols, taking off his scarf as he prances into their mostly-empty dorm. "Oh Moonikins, I am here, awaken, awaken."
"I am awake, I'm just reading," Remus replies, looking up from his very dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol, which he insists on reading every year, even though Sirius has tried to do the same and lost no time informing him that it is a waste of paper.
"Reading and awake are not the same thing," Sirius said, unhooking his scarf from his neck and plopping on the edge of Remus' bed, which may or may not be his favorite place in the universe. (It is soft and squishy and smells of Moony.)
"I see," Remus says, in a tone that means he does not, but would really prefer not to hear Sirius explain his logic, which Sirius has learned better than to do anyways.
"How was your Christmas?"
"Very nice," Remus says mildly, folding the page corner down with one finger and closing the book, "of all the presents I liked yours the best - the Neverending Notebook."
"It's so you can take notes for me, you know," Sirius said absently, watching Remus' sleeves as he put the book on his beside table. They are navy and the right length, which strikes him as odd. "You're wearing what I got you last year for Christmas," he says, "I don't think I've ever seen you wear them before."
Remus coughs. "My others were dirty."
This is a lie. Sirius knows this is a lie, because he has seen Remus' raggedy, scarlet pajamas folded painfully neatly at the foot of his bed. Remus knows Sirius knows this is a lie, because his eyes look like mud puddles and question marks. There is silence for a few moments as Sirius ponders on this while realizing that his and Remus' noses are rather close together.
"What I got you is ass," Remus says quietly, looking somewhere beyond Sirius' cheek. Sirius doesn't correct him, it was only a little gold bag of Honeydukes candy, and he ate it all in one go. But he saved the bag in his pocket just because, even though he doesn't think this is the sort of thing he should say to Remus anyways. It would be a shame, he thinks, to waste their close noses when all he really wants is to kiss Moony on the lips. He thinks about this in silence for a few minutes until Moony touches the inside of his wrist.
"I really did like your present the best," he says, his lower lip stuck out in a sort of defiant dare, which Sirius takes and kisses him.
Moony still has chapped lips, scaly and rough and not very nice at all. They're colder, this year, and they taste like toothpaste and Christmas cookies, and this year Remus is kissing back and he's never hated Moony in his entire life except for now, because kissing is all he can seem to do, and if Sirius could somehow triple the feeling of kissing him, he might be able to die a happy, happy man. Their teeth are in the way of everything, and the tip of Sirius' nose is cold, and everything is terribly, awfully some sort of wonderful. Except he has to breathe and it's rather hard to kiss Moony and breathe.
"Me too," Sirius exhales, and Remus' eyes fold into little laughing wrinkles - the first thing that Sirius realizes that he loves about Moony.