Fic: Stature; October 1
Title: Stature
Author: a_shadow_there
Pairing: Remus, Sirius gen!fic
Rating: G
Word Count: 240~
Prompt: Day 1
Warnings: a somewhat spoiled Sirius
Summary: At Florean Fortescue's, Remus and Sirius don't-quite-meet.
Author's Notes: set pre-Hogwarts.
"What can I get for you, lad?" the man behind the counter asks. His face is flush with the heat of the afternoon; he seems enormous, peering down at Remus; Remus, who stands with his small hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets, fingertips glancing the cold, metallic coins, and his slight frame curving in on itself, shrinking; shying away from the question.
"Um ... " Remus hesitates. He looks away: down at his shoes, before raising his eyes to scan the contents of the freezer. Through fluttering, golden eyelashes, and a nervous gaze, Remus contemplates his options: apple cider, cinnamon and chocolate, pumpkin ... yes! That was it! That was what he wanted. Pumpkin. Pumpkin ice-cream.
"Um," he repeats, "I'd like -"
But Remus' request is lost, consumed suddenly by the loud, brassy ring of a bell as the shop's door is opened hurriedly to admit a long-limbed, dark-haired boy; a boy with a flashing, genial smile who does not shuffle or stroll but, even at a young age (for, Remus thinks, he cannot be much more than Remus' eleven years) struts with an air of entitlement. This boy, interjecting with his own order for a triple scoop of chocolate, steps brusquely past Remus: his presence swallows the silence and space of Remus' uncertainty and, as the boy waits with his hand outstretched, his fingers grasping, Remus stands, small and quiet as ever, fingering the coins that clink in his pocket.
Author: a_shadow_there
Pairing: Remus, Sirius gen!fic
Rating: G
Word Count: 240~
Prompt: Day 1
Warnings: a somewhat spoiled Sirius
Summary: At Florean Fortescue's, Remus and Sirius don't-quite-meet.
Author's Notes: set pre-Hogwarts.
"What can I get for you, lad?" the man behind the counter asks. His face is flush with the heat of the afternoon; he seems enormous, peering down at Remus; Remus, who stands with his small hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets, fingertips glancing the cold, metallic coins, and his slight frame curving in on itself, shrinking; shying away from the question.
"Um ... " Remus hesitates. He looks away: down at his shoes, before raising his eyes to scan the contents of the freezer. Through fluttering, golden eyelashes, and a nervous gaze, Remus contemplates his options: apple cider, cinnamon and chocolate, pumpkin ... yes! That was it! That was what he wanted. Pumpkin. Pumpkin ice-cream.
"Um," he repeats, "I'd like -"
But Remus' request is lost, consumed suddenly by the loud, brassy ring of a bell as the shop's door is opened hurriedly to admit a long-limbed, dark-haired boy; a boy with a flashing, genial smile who does not shuffle or stroll but, even at a young age (for, Remus thinks, he cannot be much more than Remus' eleven years) struts with an air of entitlement. This boy, interjecting with his own order for a triple scoop of chocolate, steps brusquely past Remus: his presence swallows the silence and space of Remus' uncertainty and, as the boy waits with his hand outstretched, his fingers grasping, Remus stands, small and quiet as ever, fingering the coins that clink in his pocket.