(no subject)
Reg!fic number two!
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Letters
Rating: PG13
Characters: Sirius and Regulus
Summary: Reg still needs a place to stay...
The day's last owl’s note repeated more or less the same message he’d been getting all day, though with the distinct variation of a notable lack of insults.
Father died this morning, it said simply, in small, neat handwriting. Beneath that, a hasty and less tidy addition stated, I miss you.
There was no signature, as though the writer had been eager to send the note, before he could change his mind.
Sirius didn’t need a signature to know who the sender was, however; that much was rather obvious to him.
He read the note again, then crumpled the bit of parchement up, set it on fire, and tossed it out the window, along with the remains of the half-dozen or so Howlers that had arrived over the course of the day.
Sirius had forgotten all about the last note by the time the post arrived the next morning (mainly fueled by his disgust for the sender, but perhaps helped along by a bit of firewhisky).
That he got any post at all that morning was rather a change of pace; being (to a certain degree) undercover, very little was even put into writing, much less allowed to arrive by morning post.
As such, Sirius eyed the rather scraggly-looking owl cautiously for a moment, wondering who it belonged to, and if the equally ragged bit of parchement tied to its leg was likely to be cursed.
After a long moment, the owl hooted dolefully, watching him with a rather exasperated expression that looked a lot like ‘get on with it already.’ Scowling back, Sirius gingerly obliged, growing more confident when he didn’t burst into flame, or shrivel up, or begin vomiting violently, or anything equally as horrible. In fact, this seemed to be a completely normal bit of parchement. Feeling rather silly, Sirius hastily unrolled it, faintly noticing that the scruffy bird was still perched on his windowsill.
I need your help, it said only, accompanied by a small, ornate squiggle that might have been a heavily-embellished set of initials, but could just as easily have been a random doodle. Sirius scowled again, realizing that the owl must be waiting for a response.
“Well, I’m not going to give you one,” he snapped harshly, waving his arms at the bird, “so clear off!” The owl only watched him, pointed and disdainful.
Eventually, after loudly threatening to wallop it with a broomstick (the owl merely ruffled its feathers almost boredly, as if to say ‘you wouldn’t dare’) and shouting curses at the bird until even that was no longer the slightest bit therapeutic (during which the owl somehow conceived to look long-suffering and hard-done-by), Sirius scribbled something rude on the back of the parchement, tied it loosely to the owl’s leg-in the hopes that it might fall off, of course-and sent it on its way.
Two days later, the owl returned, watching Sirius forlornly through the window for the better part of an hour. “I’m not letting you in,” he snarled once, turning his back on the window to eat his breakfast.
Later, when it had left (though not until after it had tapped at the windowpane so insistently that Sirius had fully expected to be picking bits of glass out of his flesh for weeks), he noticed it had left something on the sill just outside. Narrowing his eyes, he studied it just long enough to be certain that it was indeed a slightly crumpled slip of parchement, after which he ignored it entirely.
He did quite well with this for an hour or two, forgetting about the note completely while searching for his mirror (which, in the confusion of moving, he had misplaced). Then, however, he had a short conversation with James (the underlying gloom of which was rather flimsily masked with forced good cheer). They said goodbye rather quickly, and Sirius was left to his own devices again, at which point he remembered that there was still a rather pathetic bit of parchement resting on his windowsill.
After that, it was only a matter of time before he gave in to curiosity. With a surreptitious glance around (to make sure the owl wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby, understand), Sirius opened the window wide enough to accommodate his hand, snatched up the note, and slammed it shut again, the glass rattling in a not-quite-feeble protest.
For a moment, he just stared at the torn bit of parchement scornfully, debating about burning this one, too, but after a few moments more, he unfolded it carefully.
This note contained only two things: the word ‘please’ scrawled untidily across the top, and a spidery letter ‘R’ at the bottom.
Dammit, Reg, why do you have to make everything so hard?
Sirius ranted to the empty apartment for a good long time, searching for a quill while soundly cursing everything that came to mind. When one finally came to hand (though it was rather tattered, and Sirius suspected it belonged to Remus, as the end had been chewed rather thoroughly), he quickly wrote, I can’t. S.
This time, Sirius didn’t even bother to hope that the matter was settled. Sure enough, Reg’s owl returned within a couple of hours.
Why? Sirius could almost hear the petulant whine that would accompany this question.
Because, he scribbled back irritably.
When no post arrived for three days, Sirius decided that Regulus had given up, and he could go back to his regularly scheduled life again.
He was rather spectacularly wrong; shortly after nine, there was a knock at his door, and when Sirius answered it, his brother stood in the hallway on the other side.
Sirius glowered, but pulled Reg inside before starting in on him, because strange visitors were not conducive to remaining inconspicuous-Reg had done fairly well in dressing like a Muggle, but Sirius Never Had Visitors, so he was bound to attract attention if he stood in the hall much longer.
“What’re you doing here?” Sirius hissed as soon as the door was closed, looking as if he’d like nothing better than to give his brother a good strangling (which was probably quite accurate).
“Making you listen!” Reg retorted, though not quite as vehemently. He looked like he was trying very hard not to tremble or waver.
“Listen to what?” Sirius snarled.
“To me!” Reg insisted, “I miss you, and-”
“Miss me? You don’t miss me-” Sirius laughed derisively.
“I do, too! Just listen a moment-”
“Then start saying something worth listening to!”
Reg glared, but obliged. “I-I need your help,” he stuttered a bit lamely.
“Is that all? Well, you can-”
“No! It’s just-I-”
“Get to the point!”
“Then stop interrupting!”
“Just shut up and talk, then!”
“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”
“Then why are you even here?”
“Because-” Reg faltered a little. “Because you’re the only one I can ask for help, alright?” He wrinkled his nose. “There, are you happy? Have I stroked your ego enough for you to actually listen to what I’ve got to say?”
“I’m waiting.”
“Look, I could do without the attitude, alright, but I really need your help-the Dark Lord-” Reg paused here, as though unsure about how to go on, and Sirius jumped on his silence.
“What’s he up to?” he asked sharply, grabbing hold of Reg by the shoulders, almost as if about to try shaking the answers out of him. “Did he put you up to this?”
“No!” Regulus looked very much like he wished he’d never mentioned it. “Just-there’s a spy on your side-and-I need your help with something-”
Sirius fairly roared. “Who is it?”
“Will you stop shouting at me, I don’t know! I just-I really need someplace to stay for awhile-”
“Well, why here? Surely you can get one of your vile little-”
“But-they can’t find out-” For the first time that evening, Regulus looked really afraid, and that was probably what made Sirius begin to cave.
“How long?” he asked tersely. “What are you trying to do?”
“It’s-complicated,” Reg stated delicately, trembling a little.
Sirius snorted; Reg laughed weakly.
“Kind of sad,” he murmured, “asking you to trust me so much when I can’t even tell you what’s going on.”
“Yeah, well.” Sirius smiled a bit, in spite of himself.
Suddenly, Reg hugged his brother tightly, mumbling, “I don’t know how to thank you-”
Sirius’ eyes gleamed. “You can start by saying, ‘Thank you, Sirius, god among mortals, for you are an amazingly generous brother and I worship the ground you walk on’-oi!” Reg punched him playfully and stumbled off, looking over his shoulder and laughing like an idiot.
Sirius caught him with no trouble, tackling Reg to the shabby carpet in front of the sagging sofa with a loud “oof,” noisily gasping with slightly muffled laughter.
This whole ‘living together’ thing had real potential, Sirius decided with a wicked grin.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Letters
Rating: PG13
Characters: Sirius and Regulus
Summary: Reg still needs a place to stay...
The day's last owl’s note repeated more or less the same message he’d been getting all day, though with the distinct variation of a notable lack of insults.
Father died this morning, it said simply, in small, neat handwriting. Beneath that, a hasty and less tidy addition stated, I miss you.
There was no signature, as though the writer had been eager to send the note, before he could change his mind.
Sirius didn’t need a signature to know who the sender was, however; that much was rather obvious to him.
He read the note again, then crumpled the bit of parchement up, set it on fire, and tossed it out the window, along with the remains of the half-dozen or so Howlers that had arrived over the course of the day.
Sirius had forgotten all about the last note by the time the post arrived the next morning (mainly fueled by his disgust for the sender, but perhaps helped along by a bit of firewhisky).
That he got any post at all that morning was rather a change of pace; being (to a certain degree) undercover, very little was even put into writing, much less allowed to arrive by morning post.
As such, Sirius eyed the rather scraggly-looking owl cautiously for a moment, wondering who it belonged to, and if the equally ragged bit of parchement tied to its leg was likely to be cursed.
After a long moment, the owl hooted dolefully, watching him with a rather exasperated expression that looked a lot like ‘get on with it already.’ Scowling back, Sirius gingerly obliged, growing more confident when he didn’t burst into flame, or shrivel up, or begin vomiting violently, or anything equally as horrible. In fact, this seemed to be a completely normal bit of parchement. Feeling rather silly, Sirius hastily unrolled it, faintly noticing that the scruffy bird was still perched on his windowsill.
I need your help, it said only, accompanied by a small, ornate squiggle that might have been a heavily-embellished set of initials, but could just as easily have been a random doodle. Sirius scowled again, realizing that the owl must be waiting for a response.
“Well, I’m not going to give you one,” he snapped harshly, waving his arms at the bird, “so clear off!” The owl only watched him, pointed and disdainful.
Eventually, after loudly threatening to wallop it with a broomstick (the owl merely ruffled its feathers almost boredly, as if to say ‘you wouldn’t dare’) and shouting curses at the bird until even that was no longer the slightest bit therapeutic (during which the owl somehow conceived to look long-suffering and hard-done-by), Sirius scribbled something rude on the back of the parchement, tied it loosely to the owl’s leg-in the hopes that it might fall off, of course-and sent it on its way.
Two days later, the owl returned, watching Sirius forlornly through the window for the better part of an hour. “I’m not letting you in,” he snarled once, turning his back on the window to eat his breakfast.
Later, when it had left (though not until after it had tapped at the windowpane so insistently that Sirius had fully expected to be picking bits of glass out of his flesh for weeks), he noticed it had left something on the sill just outside. Narrowing his eyes, he studied it just long enough to be certain that it was indeed a slightly crumpled slip of parchement, after which he ignored it entirely.
He did quite well with this for an hour or two, forgetting about the note completely while searching for his mirror (which, in the confusion of moving, he had misplaced). Then, however, he had a short conversation with James (the underlying gloom of which was rather flimsily masked with forced good cheer). They said goodbye rather quickly, and Sirius was left to his own devices again, at which point he remembered that there was still a rather pathetic bit of parchement resting on his windowsill.
After that, it was only a matter of time before he gave in to curiosity. With a surreptitious glance around (to make sure the owl wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby, understand), Sirius opened the window wide enough to accommodate his hand, snatched up the note, and slammed it shut again, the glass rattling in a not-quite-feeble protest.
For a moment, he just stared at the torn bit of parchement scornfully, debating about burning this one, too, but after a few moments more, he unfolded it carefully.
This note contained only two things: the word ‘please’ scrawled untidily across the top, and a spidery letter ‘R’ at the bottom.
Dammit, Reg, why do you have to make everything so hard?
Sirius ranted to the empty apartment for a good long time, searching for a quill while soundly cursing everything that came to mind. When one finally came to hand (though it was rather tattered, and Sirius suspected it belonged to Remus, as the end had been chewed rather thoroughly), he quickly wrote, I can’t. S.
This time, Sirius didn’t even bother to hope that the matter was settled. Sure enough, Reg’s owl returned within a couple of hours.
Why? Sirius could almost hear the petulant whine that would accompany this question.
Because, he scribbled back irritably.
When no post arrived for three days, Sirius decided that Regulus had given up, and he could go back to his regularly scheduled life again.
He was rather spectacularly wrong; shortly after nine, there was a knock at his door, and when Sirius answered it, his brother stood in the hallway on the other side.
Sirius glowered, but pulled Reg inside before starting in on him, because strange visitors were not conducive to remaining inconspicuous-Reg had done fairly well in dressing like a Muggle, but Sirius Never Had Visitors, so he was bound to attract attention if he stood in the hall much longer.
“What’re you doing here?” Sirius hissed as soon as the door was closed, looking as if he’d like nothing better than to give his brother a good strangling (which was probably quite accurate).
“Making you listen!” Reg retorted, though not quite as vehemently. He looked like he was trying very hard not to tremble or waver.
“Listen to what?” Sirius snarled.
“To me!” Reg insisted, “I miss you, and-”
“Miss me? You don’t miss me-” Sirius laughed derisively.
“I do, too! Just listen a moment-”
“Then start saying something worth listening to!”
Reg glared, but obliged. “I-I need your help,” he stuttered a bit lamely.
“Is that all? Well, you can-”
“No! It’s just-I-”
“Get to the point!”
“Then stop interrupting!”
“Just shut up and talk, then!”
“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”
“Then why are you even here?”
“Because-” Reg faltered a little. “Because you’re the only one I can ask for help, alright?” He wrinkled his nose. “There, are you happy? Have I stroked your ego enough for you to actually listen to what I’ve got to say?”
“I’m waiting.”
“Look, I could do without the attitude, alright, but I really need your help-the Dark Lord-” Reg paused here, as though unsure about how to go on, and Sirius jumped on his silence.
“What’s he up to?” he asked sharply, grabbing hold of Reg by the shoulders, almost as if about to try shaking the answers out of him. “Did he put you up to this?”
“No!” Regulus looked very much like he wished he’d never mentioned it. “Just-there’s a spy on your side-and-I need your help with something-”
Sirius fairly roared. “Who is it?”
“Will you stop shouting at me, I don’t know! I just-I really need someplace to stay for awhile-”
“Well, why here? Surely you can get one of your vile little-”
“But-they can’t find out-” For the first time that evening, Regulus looked really afraid, and that was probably what made Sirius begin to cave.
“How long?” he asked tersely. “What are you trying to do?”
“It’s-complicated,” Reg stated delicately, trembling a little.
Sirius snorted; Reg laughed weakly.
“Kind of sad,” he murmured, “asking you to trust me so much when I can’t even tell you what’s going on.”
“Yeah, well.” Sirius smiled a bit, in spite of himself.
Suddenly, Reg hugged his brother tightly, mumbling, “I don’t know how to thank you-”
Sirius’ eyes gleamed. “You can start by saying, ‘Thank you, Sirius, god among mortals, for you are an amazingly generous brother and I worship the ground you walk on’-oi!” Reg punched him playfully and stumbled off, looking over his shoulder and laughing like an idiot.
Sirius caught him with no trouble, tackling Reg to the shabby carpet in front of the sagging sofa with a loud “oof,” noisily gasping with slightly muffled laughter.
This whole ‘living together’ thing had real potential, Sirius decided with a wicked grin.