HP Fic: endings (Remus/Sirius)
Title: endings
Characters: Remus/Sirius; Teddy
Rating: R (sexual content)
Words: 1,167
Disclaimer: Not my boys.
Summary: “Nothing’s forever, Moony,” Sirius replies, but he kisses Remus softly to soften the blow.
A/N: Written for the lovely mollivanders’s birthday. I’m sorry it’s late, dear! <3
i.
Sirius never completely moves in.
It’s hard to tell, really. He doesn’t have many things. There’s his wand and his motorbike, his cloaks and the muggle jeans and records he’s so fond of. A toothbrush, red and in desperate need of replacing, but Sirius charms it clean, ignores the new one that Remus buys for him and leaves out on the corner of the sink. His life fits into a duffel bag. More often, he says a spell and it fits into his pocket.
Remus wants to ask, Is this for always, you and me? But he’s afraid of what the answer will be. He always has been.
He envies Sirius, envies the way he never plans, never frets, the way he drifts in and out of the cottage Remus is never sure if he should call theirs or his. Remus has too many things. Books, mostly. Spell books and history books, biographies and crime novels. Muggle authors and magical authors all jumble together until it’s impossible to see where one world ends and the other one begins. He likes it like that, one foot in and one foot out. If he wants, he can disappear into the world of science, of facts and figures, a world where he is a man always, where his body never betrays him, never twists and shifts, never becomes monstrous, never becomes monster. But he always comes back to the other side, to the familiar comfort of ancient incantations that create beautiful somethings out of nothing; he always comes back to Sirius.
The one thing he’s certain of is that he can never leave.
“Moony? Earth to Moony…” Sirius laughs at his own joke, bad as it is.
Sirius is lounging in their bed, the sheets almost as messy as Sirius’s hair, and he’s caught Remus staring, his mind too lost in thought to notice that Sirius has woken up.
“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” Sirius mugs, one hand reaching out to catch Remus’s wrist in an attempt to drag him back to bed. Remus relents almost immediately, lets Sirius pull him back into the sweaty tangle of sheets and warmth that smells so sweetly of them.
“You’re full of yourself,” Remus says, stalling.
“Of course, I am. And you, my dear, Moony, think too much.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Mmm?” Sirius mumbles lazily, his hand wandering down Remus’s chest. “I don’t think that’s true. What are you worrying about today?”
There’s no simple answer to that question. He’s worried about the war looming just out of sight, he’s worried about endings, about their ending, he’s worried about the day when he’ll be the only one left rattling around in the cottage… most of all, he’s worried about being left alone.
He settles for saying everything, letting one word carry the weight of all the things he can’t say.
Sirius grows quiet, threads his fingers through Remus’s.
“Me too,” he says, simply, honestly.
And it’s not a promise, not a guarantee, but it is a comfort. A reminder that Remus is not alone.
ii.
Sirius never completely moves out.
Even when he suspects Remus, even when the trust and love they built over so many years collapses in on itself, he leaves behind bits and pieces. A Sex Pistols record, scratched and nearly unplayable, a toothbrush that Remus can’t bear to throw away, a half-written letter to James, that will never be finished, that wouldn’t do anyone any good if it was.
Remus keeps these things, these bits of rubbish. He keeps them for thirteen years and brings them out only after Sirius returns to him, older and grayer, missing so many important pieces of himself, but still Sirius all the same. They play the record the first night, not bothering with charms, letting the scratches and the crackling fill the cottage. They barely hear the noise, too lost in each other, too lost in the joy of rediscovery, in the pain of remembering.
Sirius crumples the letter before the night is done, tosses it into the fire and watches as it turns to ash. Remus sits beside him, tries not to dwell on how accustomed he is to being alone now. Having Sirius back is a gift, the cottage has been too empty, for too long, but still there’s a strangeness to having company, even company that he’s known for half his life.
“You’re staring, Remus,” Sirius rasps, bringing the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey to his lips.
“Forgive me,” Remus replies, more somberly than he did in the shack.
“I thought we did that bit already.”
“It bears repeating.”
Sirius smiles, not the smile Remus knows, but it’s still Sirius’s, so he loves it all the same. He reaches for Remus, pushes him lightly to the floor, and they both know they’re too old for this; too old for fucking on the floor like teenagers, but it feels right, it feels like picking up where they left off.
“Promise, you’ll stay this time,” Remus says, desperately.
He doesn’t care if Sirius lies. He just wants to hear it, just one time.
“Nothing’s forever, Moony,” Sirius replies, but he kisses Remus softly to soften the blow.
iii.
Teddy inherits the cottage.
It’s full of his father’s things. There’s no trace of his mother, but that’s only because she never lived there, she and his father had their own place for the few months that they were married. Besides, Teddy knows his mother, even if he never knew her, Andromeda made sure of that.
His father is a mystery.
Harry tells him what he can, but it’s only bits and pieces. It’s never enough. He believes the cottage holds a secret, that he’ll step inside and suddenly understand who Remus Lupin was, what sort of father he might have been. All he finds is books and dust and spiders lurking in the windows. And a record. At least he’s fairly certain it’s a record, it looks like the pictures he saw in muggle studies, anyway.
He puts it on and the room fills with a horrible screeching, but underneath it there’s a melody.
He lies down on the moldy couch and stares up at the ceiling, disappointment settling over him like a cloud. Harry told him not to expect too much. But he did anyway.
The record begins to skip.
iv.
They never leave.
Remus doesn’t understand it.
Neither does Sirius.
But they live on, even after, in their cottage.
And Remus knows even as he’s with Sirius, a part of him is elsewhere, and that part of him is as happy as this part, but it’s a different sort of happy. He doesn’t dwell. Sirius won’t let him.
They’re there the day Teddy comes, and Remus watches his son, wishes he could tell him not to give up.
His father has a story too and it’s not lost, nothing ever really is.
“I wish I could tell him,” Remus says aloud.
“Tell him what?” Sirius asks.
“That some things last.”
Characters: Remus/Sirius; Teddy
Rating: R (sexual content)
Words: 1,167
Disclaimer: Not my boys.
Summary: “Nothing’s forever, Moony,” Sirius replies, but he kisses Remus softly to soften the blow.
A/N: Written for the lovely mollivanders’s birthday. I’m sorry it’s late, dear! <3
i.
Sirius never completely moves in.
It’s hard to tell, really. He doesn’t have many things. There’s his wand and his motorbike, his cloaks and the muggle jeans and records he’s so fond of. A toothbrush, red and in desperate need of replacing, but Sirius charms it clean, ignores the new one that Remus buys for him and leaves out on the corner of the sink. His life fits into a duffel bag. More often, he says a spell and it fits into his pocket.
Remus wants to ask, Is this for always, you and me? But he’s afraid of what the answer will be. He always has been.
He envies Sirius, envies the way he never plans, never frets, the way he drifts in and out of the cottage Remus is never sure if he should call theirs or his. Remus has too many things. Books, mostly. Spell books and history books, biographies and crime novels. Muggle authors and magical authors all jumble together until it’s impossible to see where one world ends and the other one begins. He likes it like that, one foot in and one foot out. If he wants, he can disappear into the world of science, of facts and figures, a world where he is a man always, where his body never betrays him, never twists and shifts, never becomes monstrous, never becomes monster. But he always comes back to the other side, to the familiar comfort of ancient incantations that create beautiful somethings out of nothing; he always comes back to Sirius.
The one thing he’s certain of is that he can never leave.
“Moony? Earth to Moony…” Sirius laughs at his own joke, bad as it is.
Sirius is lounging in their bed, the sheets almost as messy as Sirius’s hair, and he’s caught Remus staring, his mind too lost in thought to notice that Sirius has woken up.
“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” Sirius mugs, one hand reaching out to catch Remus’s wrist in an attempt to drag him back to bed. Remus relents almost immediately, lets Sirius pull him back into the sweaty tangle of sheets and warmth that smells so sweetly of them.
“You’re full of yourself,” Remus says, stalling.
“Of course, I am. And you, my dear, Moony, think too much.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Mmm?” Sirius mumbles lazily, his hand wandering down Remus’s chest. “I don’t think that’s true. What are you worrying about today?”
There’s no simple answer to that question. He’s worried about the war looming just out of sight, he’s worried about endings, about their ending, he’s worried about the day when he’ll be the only one left rattling around in the cottage… most of all, he’s worried about being left alone.
He settles for saying everything, letting one word carry the weight of all the things he can’t say.
Sirius grows quiet, threads his fingers through Remus’s.
“Me too,” he says, simply, honestly.
And it’s not a promise, not a guarantee, but it is a comfort. A reminder that Remus is not alone.
ii.
Sirius never completely moves out.
Even when he suspects Remus, even when the trust and love they built over so many years collapses in on itself, he leaves behind bits and pieces. A Sex Pistols record, scratched and nearly unplayable, a toothbrush that Remus can’t bear to throw away, a half-written letter to James, that will never be finished, that wouldn’t do anyone any good if it was.
Remus keeps these things, these bits of rubbish. He keeps them for thirteen years and brings them out only after Sirius returns to him, older and grayer, missing so many important pieces of himself, but still Sirius all the same. They play the record the first night, not bothering with charms, letting the scratches and the crackling fill the cottage. They barely hear the noise, too lost in each other, too lost in the joy of rediscovery, in the pain of remembering.
Sirius crumples the letter before the night is done, tosses it into the fire and watches as it turns to ash. Remus sits beside him, tries not to dwell on how accustomed he is to being alone now. Having Sirius back is a gift, the cottage has been too empty, for too long, but still there’s a strangeness to having company, even company that he’s known for half his life.
“You’re staring, Remus,” Sirius rasps, bringing the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey to his lips.
“Forgive me,” Remus replies, more somberly than he did in the shack.
“I thought we did that bit already.”
“It bears repeating.”
Sirius smiles, not the smile Remus knows, but it’s still Sirius’s, so he loves it all the same. He reaches for Remus, pushes him lightly to the floor, and they both know they’re too old for this; too old for fucking on the floor like teenagers, but it feels right, it feels like picking up where they left off.
“Promise, you’ll stay this time,” Remus says, desperately.
He doesn’t care if Sirius lies. He just wants to hear it, just one time.
“Nothing’s forever, Moony,” Sirius replies, but he kisses Remus softly to soften the blow.
iii.
Teddy inherits the cottage.
It’s full of his father’s things. There’s no trace of his mother, but that’s only because she never lived there, she and his father had their own place for the few months that they were married. Besides, Teddy knows his mother, even if he never knew her, Andromeda made sure of that.
His father is a mystery.
Harry tells him what he can, but it’s only bits and pieces. It’s never enough. He believes the cottage holds a secret, that he’ll step inside and suddenly understand who Remus Lupin was, what sort of father he might have been. All he finds is books and dust and spiders lurking in the windows. And a record. At least he’s fairly certain it’s a record, it looks like the pictures he saw in muggle studies, anyway.
He puts it on and the room fills with a horrible screeching, but underneath it there’s a melody.
He lies down on the moldy couch and stares up at the ceiling, disappointment settling over him like a cloud. Harry told him not to expect too much. But he did anyway.
The record begins to skip.
iv.
They never leave.
Remus doesn’t understand it.
Neither does Sirius.
But they live on, even after, in their cottage.
And Remus knows even as he’s with Sirius, a part of him is elsewhere, and that part of him is as happy as this part, but it’s a different sort of happy. He doesn’t dwell. Sirius won’t let him.
They’re there the day Teddy comes, and Remus watches his son, wishes he could tell him not to give up.
His father has a story too and it’s not lost, nothing ever really is.
“I wish I could tell him,” Remus says aloud.
“Tell him what?” Sirius asks.
“That some things last.”