(no subject)
It is not quite a home, where Remus lives.
The house looks small and worn from the outside, set on the outskirts of an old Muggle village.
Within, there are vast libraries and elaborate laboratories, maintained by carefully selected House Elves and entrusted to his care.
It is thoroughly warded, meticulously hidden, safe and silent and utterly lonely.
Until March 10th, when Sirius and Peter burst through the door, arms loaded with letters and presents, butchering birthday songs at the top of their lungs.
They have the drawing room decorated in an instant, resplendent in red and gold and blue. He's sat in front of a giant mug of cocoa and a great chocolate cake shaped like a lion's head, which occasionally roars at him, baring vanilla icing teeth.
Remus is too stunned for any token protests (and Peter lets him know that Minerva is the key of the invasion when he hands him her gift), too overwhelmed for wariness (and sometimes, if Sirius cannot quite meet his eyes, it is guilt and not suspicion that guides his gaze), too delighted to do anything but let it all happen.
They shout and laugh and sing, and pretend they are boys again.
Sirius' awkward, quiet apology is the best gift of the night. Remus knows that the doubts will not vanish overnight, that his friend was born to discord and paranoia; now, he can forgive them, and they can mend a breach they never wanted, just as they have done before.
Peter leaves too soon, but he promises he'll not miss a moon again, and Remus believes him.
His immaculate space is cluttered with tokens from all of the Order, and suddenly he knows that more trust him than not; that many even like him.
When he is left that night, he no longer feels alone.
The house looks small and worn from the outside, set on the outskirts of an old Muggle village.
Within, there are vast libraries and elaborate laboratories, maintained by carefully selected House Elves and entrusted to his care.
It is thoroughly warded, meticulously hidden, safe and silent and utterly lonely.
Until March 10th, when Sirius and Peter burst through the door, arms loaded with letters and presents, butchering birthday songs at the top of their lungs.
They have the drawing room decorated in an instant, resplendent in red and gold and blue. He's sat in front of a giant mug of cocoa and a great chocolate cake shaped like a lion's head, which occasionally roars at him, baring vanilla icing teeth.
Remus is too stunned for any token protests (and Peter lets him know that Minerva is the key of the invasion when he hands him her gift), too overwhelmed for wariness (and sometimes, if Sirius cannot quite meet his eyes, it is guilt and not suspicion that guides his gaze), too delighted to do anything but let it all happen.
They shout and laugh and sing, and pretend they are boys again.
Sirius' awkward, quiet apology is the best gift of the night. Remus knows that the doubts will not vanish overnight, that his friend was born to discord and paranoia; now, he can forgive them, and they can mend a breach they never wanted, just as they have done before.
Peter leaves too soon, but he promises he'll not miss a moon again, and Remus believes him.
His immaculate space is cluttered with tokens from all of the Order, and suddenly he knows that more trust him than not; that many even like him.
When he is left that night, he no longer feels alone.