A Superfluity of Scarves (scarvesnhats Day 27)
Title: A Superfluity of Scarves
Rating: PG (for language)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because they're more fun than playing with Barbie.
Wordcount: 1889
Prompt: Scarves. And hats.
Notes: Sixth year. Hee! Remus ponders. *waves at nekare* Well guessed.
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Remus Lupin had a mission.
He’d been performing it for several days now, though he was sure none of his friends knew.
He crouched below the windows of the hospital wing and wrapped his long scarf more securely around his neck. It was freezing out here, though the rain had stopped overnight. He’d needed his hat as well and now he tugged it down over his ears. They were already stinging with cold.
Wand ready, he scanned the sky.
“Lupin, while I’m sure my brother finds this ridiculous display touching in some fashion, I would rather like to get my own post one of these days.”
Remus jumped.
Regulus Black leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. His scarf, green and silver, wasn’t full of holes. His hat didn’t have a bobble on it (Remus’ mother had charmed it on after he’d cut the last three off). His boots were fur-lined and his thick wool coat had round brass buttons rather than toggles. All in all, he looked both elegant and warm.
Not that Remus was jealous. Or cold.
He stood up and crossed his own arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Black.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so someone else with no taste in knitwear has been chasing off the family owl every day?”
“It’s not my problem if your owl’s unreliable, Black.”
“Jormungardr is not unreliable!” Regulus snapped.
“You do know that’s a bloody stupid name for an owl?”
“Oh, hearken to the expert. Where’s your owl, Lupin? Oh, I forgot. You’re the only boy in the school who couldn’t afford a toad, aren’t you?”
“Better not affording a toad,” Remus said sweetly, “than not even being able to buy some friends.”
Regulus flushed. “I have friends. Without having to spread my legs for them.”
“I beg your pardon,” Remus said. He didn’t know how someone could look so like Sirius and yet be such a snotty little shit.
“Oh, please, Lupin. Everyone knows that Potter only puts up with you because you’re my brother’s catamite and Pettigrew because he’ll do anything Potter tells him too.”
Remus fought back the flush of rage and said mildly, “Catamite? Who on earth still uses the word catamite?”
Regulus flushed again, a splash of red along his high cheekbones. “Are you laughing at me, Lupin?”
“Only when you’re amusing, Black, which isn’t all that often.”
A low hoot distracted them both and Remus went for his wand. Regulus flung his arm up first and shouted, “Jormungardr! Here!”
The owl plummeted out of the sky. It landed on Regulus’ wrist with its wings flared. Remus could have sworn it sneered at him.
Regulus pulled his other glove off with his teeth and undid the letters from their bundle. He shoved three into his pocket and cast the other one of Remus’ feet. Then he threw his arm up and Jormungardr soared away. Regulus put his gloves back on with meticulous care and said, “Happy, Lupin? Do what you like with my brother’s correspondence.”
“He doesn’t want it,” Remus said.
“Neither do I. Reading my own letters will satisfy me.”
“Have you been getting Sirius’ post?”
Regulus paused as he turned away. “Not recently.”
“When?”
“Really, Lupin, I don’t see what-”
“When?”
Regulus shrugged. “Earlier in the month. It happens when the same owl carries them all. Most of them went straight to him. I don’t merit daily correspondence.”
Oh, yes, Gryffindor had been the best thing to ever happen to Sirius. Quietly, Remus asked, “Did you open them?”
Another flush of anger. “I don’t read other people’s post.” Then grudgingly. “The first one. I didn’t check the address.”
“What did it say?”
“That’s none of your fucking business, Lupin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually intend to eat breakfast today.”
Remus nodded absently. Regulus had opened one of the letters. He wondered if Sirius knew. He watched him stalk away and absently ground the letter by his feet into the mud.
“Oy!” It was a hoarse whisper and it came from above.
Remus looked up. Sirius was hanging over the edge of the balcony, so swathed in scarves only his eyes were visible.
“Morning,” Remus said and couldn’t keep the daft grin off his face.
“You coming up?”
“Give me five minutes.”
“Nah,” Sirius said, eyes narrowed. “Up the wall.”
Remus looked at the wall and then looked at Sirius.
Sirius grinned and unwound one of his scarves.
“You’ll have a relapse,” Remus said sternly. “How long is that thing?”
“Good fifteen foot. House elves got confused. I’ve got six of them on, anyway, governess dear.” He knotted the end around one of the balusters and chucked the scarf over the edge. “Coming? Or are you scared?”
Remus sighed. “The problem with you is not just that you’re insane but that your insanity is infectious.” He picked up the end of the scarf and wrapped it loosely around his waist. “If this thing breaks, you’re paying for my funeral.”
“Least I can do, Moony, mate.”
He grasped the wool firmly, leant back and started up the wall. “I want white horses.”
“Six of them.”
“And choirs of Veela singing dirges.”
“Not sure who’d listen to the sermon, then, mate, but if you want.”
The fucking wall was slippery. “I want it at night. On a full moon.”
“No problem. I’ll howl at the moon on your behalf.”
He was almost there and Sirius reached out to drag him over the balustrade. Then he said promptly, “Legs!” and sat down, pulling Remus with him.
Remus managed to catch himself before he landed full on Sirius’ chest. Propping himself on his hands, he said, “What are you doing up?”
Beneath him Sirius was laughing, his belly vibrating against Remus’ thighs. “Legs,” he said again. “Jelly-legs without the curse.”
“You’re ill,” Remus said sternly and pushed himself up. He retrieved the scarf and tugged Sirius to his feet. Sirius stumbled and grabbed at him for balance and Remus steered him back to the chair further down the balcony. Sirius tried to pull him over again, smirking, and Remus batted him away.
“Put the scarf back on,” he said firmly.
“It’s ridiculous,” Sirius said, crossing his arms.
“Not as ridiculous as making yourself ill again because you’re embarrassed to wear a scarf. What are you doing outside?”
“Madam Pomfrey said I could get some fresh air for an hour. If it doesn’t make me worse and I behave all afternoon she might let me sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“Please,” Remus said urgently. “I like Lily. I really do. I just want to talk about something else when I’m trying to go to sleep.” He began to wind the scarf around Sirius’ neck again.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Any word from Pete?”
“I’ve got a letter,” Remus said and fished into his pocket. Sirius started unravelling the scarf again.
Remus glared at him. “Do you want me to tie you to the chair with it?”
“Kinky,” Sirius said and smirked.
Remus handed him the letter. “Funeral’s today. He thinks he’ll be back on Saturday.”
“Halloween Sunday,” Sirius said. “Gryffindor party?”
“Pete might not be in the mood.”
“Or he might appreciate the distraction. Firewhiskey always helps.”
Remus rolled his eyes, wrapped the scarf around him and the back of the chair and sat by his feet. “And they wonder why the wizarding world has an alcohol problem.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “They never brew enough. Now shut up. I’m reading.”
Remus snorted but leant quietly against his knee. He didn’t know what this new almost-something was between them. It felt good and frightening and it didn’t really matter whether he thought it was a good idea or not because he couldn’t resist it. He had been longing for Sirius to touch him for so long. He had never really let himself hope it might happen. He knew his Sirius, after all.
Sirius didn’t love easily. He didn’t make friends easily. He would fight to the death for his friends. He would die for them. Remus suspected, rather uneasily, that he would kill for them. It was easy for him to be blithe about other people’s misfortunes because only a handful of people mattered to him. Remus knew perfectly well that he was one of those people. It was faintly frightening. Which meant that Sirius didn’t flirt. He might have dallied with someone who hadn’t earnt their place in his life and not cared if he hurt them. Within the circle, though, he was all seriousness. Remus had seen him reduced to self-hate before and every time it had been because he thought he had let down or betrayed one of his people.
Which meant if Sirius followed through with this, if he really, truly wanted him, it was forever.
Or until they destroyed each other and all their friendships with them.
Which was terrifying. Wonderful but terrifying. It might be easier to stay in this not-quite state, pretending nothing was happening but with every casual touch pregnant with meaning.
He wasn’t sure he could do that. He wanted to touch him openly, to put his hands on him and keep them there. The little touches just made him hungrier. He wanted to hold and he wanted the right to do so.
He wondered if James would understand this, with his unswerving devotion to Lily. He wondered if Lily, uneasy recipient of that steady love, would understand more.
Sirius put his hand on Remus’ head, burrowing his fingers into his hair. Remus leant against his knee and wrapped his hand around Sirius’ ankle.
The leaves were thin now and the bones of the trees were showing through, true and stark. Could he stand with Sirius, stripped of all his disguises, against the wind and the snow and the inevitable, rising storm?
“Poor bastard,” Sirius said. “I hate those fuckers.”
“I know,” Remus said.
“They were trying to kill me, y’know. With the flu.”
“What?” Remus didn’t realise he’d tightened his grip on Sirius’ ankle until the bones bruised his palm.
“Ted told me. Look, listen, because I’m missing something and you’re the one who understands plans. This is all top-secret and everything but I reckon you don’t count.”
“Thanks,” Remus said dryly.
“No,” Sirius said fiercely. “Listen.”
By the time he’d finished Remus was on his feet.
“I need to go to the library,” he said.
“What?”
“The library. I think - I’ve got an idea but I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“We thought it was Bella’s wedding, Ted and me. The point when we all got cursed, that is.”
“No,” Remus said. “Not if I’m right. Get inside. Get warm. If it is possible I’ll come back and tell you.” He headed for the door.
“Remus!” Sirius called.
“Inside!”
“I’m still tied to the chair.”
Remus dashed back and unravelled him. As he dropped the scarf in Sirius’ lap, the other boy caught his hand.
“It’s killing people, Moony. Do you really think you’ve worked it out?”
“I don’t know,” Remus said, squeezing his hand. “I need to read.”
“That’s my Moony,” Sirius said and, though he grinned, his eyes were solemn.
Remus, reckless on inspiration, said, “Absolutely,” and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
Then, before he could panic, he ran. He could manage forever with Sirius Black.
Rating: PG (for language)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because they're more fun than playing with Barbie.
Wordcount: 1889
Prompt: Scarves. And hats.
Notes: Sixth year. Hee! Remus ponders. *waves at nekare* Well guessed.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
Remus Lupin had a mission.
He’d been performing it for several days now, though he was sure none of his friends knew.
He crouched below the windows of the hospital wing and wrapped his long scarf more securely around his neck. It was freezing out here, though the rain had stopped overnight. He’d needed his hat as well and now he tugged it down over his ears. They were already stinging with cold.
Wand ready, he scanned the sky.
“Lupin, while I’m sure my brother finds this ridiculous display touching in some fashion, I would rather like to get my own post one of these days.”
Remus jumped.
Regulus Black leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. His scarf, green and silver, wasn’t full of holes. His hat didn’t have a bobble on it (Remus’ mother had charmed it on after he’d cut the last three off). His boots were fur-lined and his thick wool coat had round brass buttons rather than toggles. All in all, he looked both elegant and warm.
Not that Remus was jealous. Or cold.
He stood up and crossed his own arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Black.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so someone else with no taste in knitwear has been chasing off the family owl every day?”
“It’s not my problem if your owl’s unreliable, Black.”
“Jormungardr is not unreliable!” Regulus snapped.
“You do know that’s a bloody stupid name for an owl?”
“Oh, hearken to the expert. Where’s your owl, Lupin? Oh, I forgot. You’re the only boy in the school who couldn’t afford a toad, aren’t you?”
“Better not affording a toad,” Remus said sweetly, “than not even being able to buy some friends.”
Regulus flushed. “I have friends. Without having to spread my legs for them.”
“I beg your pardon,” Remus said. He didn’t know how someone could look so like Sirius and yet be such a snotty little shit.
“Oh, please, Lupin. Everyone knows that Potter only puts up with you because you’re my brother’s catamite and Pettigrew because he’ll do anything Potter tells him too.”
Remus fought back the flush of rage and said mildly, “Catamite? Who on earth still uses the word catamite?”
Regulus flushed again, a splash of red along his high cheekbones. “Are you laughing at me, Lupin?”
“Only when you’re amusing, Black, which isn’t all that often.”
A low hoot distracted them both and Remus went for his wand. Regulus flung his arm up first and shouted, “Jormungardr! Here!”
The owl plummeted out of the sky. It landed on Regulus’ wrist with its wings flared. Remus could have sworn it sneered at him.
Regulus pulled his other glove off with his teeth and undid the letters from their bundle. He shoved three into his pocket and cast the other one of Remus’ feet. Then he threw his arm up and Jormungardr soared away. Regulus put his gloves back on with meticulous care and said, “Happy, Lupin? Do what you like with my brother’s correspondence.”
“He doesn’t want it,” Remus said.
“Neither do I. Reading my own letters will satisfy me.”
“Have you been getting Sirius’ post?”
Regulus paused as he turned away. “Not recently.”
“When?”
“Really, Lupin, I don’t see what-”
“When?”
Regulus shrugged. “Earlier in the month. It happens when the same owl carries them all. Most of them went straight to him. I don’t merit daily correspondence.”
Oh, yes, Gryffindor had been the best thing to ever happen to Sirius. Quietly, Remus asked, “Did you open them?”
Another flush of anger. “I don’t read other people’s post.” Then grudgingly. “The first one. I didn’t check the address.”
“What did it say?”
“That’s none of your fucking business, Lupin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually intend to eat breakfast today.”
Remus nodded absently. Regulus had opened one of the letters. He wondered if Sirius knew. He watched him stalk away and absently ground the letter by his feet into the mud.
“Oy!” It was a hoarse whisper and it came from above.
Remus looked up. Sirius was hanging over the edge of the balcony, so swathed in scarves only his eyes were visible.
“Morning,” Remus said and couldn’t keep the daft grin off his face.
“You coming up?”
“Give me five minutes.”
“Nah,” Sirius said, eyes narrowed. “Up the wall.”
Remus looked at the wall and then looked at Sirius.
Sirius grinned and unwound one of his scarves.
“You’ll have a relapse,” Remus said sternly. “How long is that thing?”
“Good fifteen foot. House elves got confused. I’ve got six of them on, anyway, governess dear.” He knotted the end around one of the balusters and chucked the scarf over the edge. “Coming? Or are you scared?”
Remus sighed. “The problem with you is not just that you’re insane but that your insanity is infectious.” He picked up the end of the scarf and wrapped it loosely around his waist. “If this thing breaks, you’re paying for my funeral.”
“Least I can do, Moony, mate.”
He grasped the wool firmly, leant back and started up the wall. “I want white horses.”
“Six of them.”
“And choirs of Veela singing dirges.”
“Not sure who’d listen to the sermon, then, mate, but if you want.”
The fucking wall was slippery. “I want it at night. On a full moon.”
“No problem. I’ll howl at the moon on your behalf.”
He was almost there and Sirius reached out to drag him over the balustrade. Then he said promptly, “Legs!” and sat down, pulling Remus with him.
Remus managed to catch himself before he landed full on Sirius’ chest. Propping himself on his hands, he said, “What are you doing up?”
Beneath him Sirius was laughing, his belly vibrating against Remus’ thighs. “Legs,” he said again. “Jelly-legs without the curse.”
“You’re ill,” Remus said sternly and pushed himself up. He retrieved the scarf and tugged Sirius to his feet. Sirius stumbled and grabbed at him for balance and Remus steered him back to the chair further down the balcony. Sirius tried to pull him over again, smirking, and Remus batted him away.
“Put the scarf back on,” he said firmly.
“It’s ridiculous,” Sirius said, crossing his arms.
“Not as ridiculous as making yourself ill again because you’re embarrassed to wear a scarf. What are you doing outside?”
“Madam Pomfrey said I could get some fresh air for an hour. If it doesn’t make me worse and I behave all afternoon she might let me sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“Please,” Remus said urgently. “I like Lily. I really do. I just want to talk about something else when I’m trying to go to sleep.” He began to wind the scarf around Sirius’ neck again.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Any word from Pete?”
“I’ve got a letter,” Remus said and fished into his pocket. Sirius started unravelling the scarf again.
Remus glared at him. “Do you want me to tie you to the chair with it?”
“Kinky,” Sirius said and smirked.
Remus handed him the letter. “Funeral’s today. He thinks he’ll be back on Saturday.”
“Halloween Sunday,” Sirius said. “Gryffindor party?”
“Pete might not be in the mood.”
“Or he might appreciate the distraction. Firewhiskey always helps.”
Remus rolled his eyes, wrapped the scarf around him and the back of the chair and sat by his feet. “And they wonder why the wizarding world has an alcohol problem.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “They never brew enough. Now shut up. I’m reading.”
Remus snorted but leant quietly against his knee. He didn’t know what this new almost-something was between them. It felt good and frightening and it didn’t really matter whether he thought it was a good idea or not because he couldn’t resist it. He had been longing for Sirius to touch him for so long. He had never really let himself hope it might happen. He knew his Sirius, after all.
Sirius didn’t love easily. He didn’t make friends easily. He would fight to the death for his friends. He would die for them. Remus suspected, rather uneasily, that he would kill for them. It was easy for him to be blithe about other people’s misfortunes because only a handful of people mattered to him. Remus knew perfectly well that he was one of those people. It was faintly frightening. Which meant that Sirius didn’t flirt. He might have dallied with someone who hadn’t earnt their place in his life and not cared if he hurt them. Within the circle, though, he was all seriousness. Remus had seen him reduced to self-hate before and every time it had been because he thought he had let down or betrayed one of his people.
Which meant if Sirius followed through with this, if he really, truly wanted him, it was forever.
Or until they destroyed each other and all their friendships with them.
Which was terrifying. Wonderful but terrifying. It might be easier to stay in this not-quite state, pretending nothing was happening but with every casual touch pregnant with meaning.
He wasn’t sure he could do that. He wanted to touch him openly, to put his hands on him and keep them there. The little touches just made him hungrier. He wanted to hold and he wanted the right to do so.
He wondered if James would understand this, with his unswerving devotion to Lily. He wondered if Lily, uneasy recipient of that steady love, would understand more.
Sirius put his hand on Remus’ head, burrowing his fingers into his hair. Remus leant against his knee and wrapped his hand around Sirius’ ankle.
The leaves were thin now and the bones of the trees were showing through, true and stark. Could he stand with Sirius, stripped of all his disguises, against the wind and the snow and the inevitable, rising storm?
“Poor bastard,” Sirius said. “I hate those fuckers.”
“I know,” Remus said.
“They were trying to kill me, y’know. With the flu.”
“What?” Remus didn’t realise he’d tightened his grip on Sirius’ ankle until the bones bruised his palm.
“Ted told me. Look, listen, because I’m missing something and you’re the one who understands plans. This is all top-secret and everything but I reckon you don’t count.”
“Thanks,” Remus said dryly.
“No,” Sirius said fiercely. “Listen.”
By the time he’d finished Remus was on his feet.
“I need to go to the library,” he said.
“What?”
“The library. I think - I’ve got an idea but I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“We thought it was Bella’s wedding, Ted and me. The point when we all got cursed, that is.”
“No,” Remus said. “Not if I’m right. Get inside. Get warm. If it is possible I’ll come back and tell you.” He headed for the door.
“Remus!” Sirius called.
“Inside!”
“I’m still tied to the chair.”
Remus dashed back and unravelled him. As he dropped the scarf in Sirius’ lap, the other boy caught his hand.
“It’s killing people, Moony. Do you really think you’ve worked it out?”
“I don’t know,” Remus said, squeezing his hand. “I need to read.”
“That’s my Moony,” Sirius said and, though he grinned, his eyes were solemn.
Remus, reckless on inspiration, said, “Absolutely,” and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
Then, before he could panic, he ran. He could manage forever with Sirius Black.