Therefore, Since I Cannot Prove a Lover (blanketforts Day 02)
Title: Therefore, Since I Cannot Prove a Lover
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1633
Prompt: Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds;
~ Rupert Brooke
Notes: Nothing here. You're imagining it. It's a mirage. Yup. Title from Richard III. Also under the influence of too much tea. Floorboards and borrowed sheets.
1 2 3 4
It was a nice enough house, as empty houses went. Sirius wasn’t sure what he was meant to say about it. It had a kitchen and five bedrooms (“for you lot and yeah, well, y’know, um. Right, next room!). It had two bathrooms and a funny little cupboard with some sort of heater in (I dunno. Some Muggle thingy. Bloke who was here before - his wife was a Muggle. They’ve gone to Australia. Safer, he said.) and a big garden with a covering of snow and a swing. There was a bus stop down the road but the fireplace was connected.
“We’re outside the congestion zone,” James said wisely, “so we’ll have to pay extra to get to work but you wouldn’t believe how much higher the house prices are in central London.”
Sirius blinked and tried to assume the look of an experienced property owner. “Yeah.”
The fireplace crackled and Remus stumbled out, rosy-cheeked and sweaty. “Morning.”
“Afternoon,” James said pointedly. “You look warm.”
“We’ve been clearing the snow off the steps and drive. Guests coming tonight.”
“You’ve got snow too?” Sirius asked, cheered. If Remus had to live such a stupidly long way away, at least they could have some weather in common.
“Never seen a winter like it. The sea keeps freezing. This it, then, Prongs?”
James glared at him disdainfully. “A little more respect for Potter Manor, please.”
“I thought it was called Pooh Corner?” Sirius said and Remus snorted.
James winced. “I can change the name. Right, Moony. Time for the tour.”
“Lunch,” Sirius wailed. They’d only just finished the last tour and he didn’t want to see a lot of empty rooms again. If they waited until after lunch he might have forgotten a floorboard or two.
James hesitated. Remus caught Sirius’ eye and said, “I’m starving, James. I brought some of Dad’s soup.”
“Beer,” James said cheerfully. “Pads?”
“Peanuts,” Sirius said gloomily. “Salted, dry-roasted and honey-coated.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Where are going to eat? And where’s Pete?”
“At work. On the floor. I don’t have furniture yet.”
Remus knelt down and arranged a folded tablecloth in the middle of the room. He tapped it with his wand three times, rather fussily, and it hopped into the air and then unfolded, whirling checked fabric in their faces. Sirius jumped back. When he looked down the cloth was spread and four steaming bowls of soup were set around the edges. There was even cutlery and a saltcellar.
“My gran had one of them,” James said, sliding down to lean against the wall. “Got moths in it, though. Pissed Mum off, that did. Bags me Wormtail’s.”
Sirius had already been reaching for the spare bowl. He sat back, huffing. “Beer?”
James summoned it over. For a while they devoted themselves to food. Then James asked, “How did Operation Wormtail go?”
“Ah,” Sirius said. “Well. Yeah.”
Remus grinned. “You told Pads to get Wormtail drunk and find out what he does for a living. Instead Pads got drunk and told Wormy what an important Auror he was.”
Sirius lifted his finger at him. “Don’t remember you doing much interrogating.”
“Couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”
“You’re a pair of useless sods,” James proclaimed. “In a completely non-derogatory and tolerant way, of course.”
Remus threw a peanut at him. “Did Lily give you the tolerance talk again?”
“Fuck off.”
“Jamsie’s hen-pecked,” Sirius chanted and made chicken noises. James tackled him and they went rolling across the floor. By the time Sirius was sitting on James’ back, Remus had cleared up lunch. Except for the peanuts. Sirius eyed them warily. He was hoping he could foist them on James. He still had buckets of the bloody things at home.
“Let’s have this tour then,” Remus said and James began to squirm. “Let him up, Pads.”
Sirius ignored most of James’ speech this time and split the time between watching Remus and thinking. James had bought a house. A bloody great family house. He shouldn’t be surprised. He was used to James being all responsible and serious these days. Head-boying did that to a bloke. Course, he’d been like for years, if you thought about it, in a sort-of backwards way.
A house, though. A bloody great house. Okay, he’d got a flat but that was different. It was young and free and puking in the sink on Sunday mornings and waking up in the middle of the night with no one there.
“So,” Remus said, interrupting James’ floorboard spiel. “What does Lily think?”
“Ub,” said James.
Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius shrugged at Remus.
“Does she hate it?” he asked cautiously. The idea had all the painful fascination of two Seekers on a collision course.
James shook his head. “No. Dunno. Yeah. Um. Haven’t told her.”
“You haven’t told her?” Remus echoed blankly. “Prongs!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Sirius demanded. Even he knew she’d be pissed off that he told them first.
“Can’t,” James said, going an odd shade of purple. “Have to ask her first.”
“Ask her what?” Remus asked.
“Ask her,” he said, going white, then red. “Ask her to - to.. Ask - fuck!” He banged his head on the wall.
“Good,” Sirius said gently. “Um, ask her to move in?”
“No,” James snapped.
Remus drew a quick breath. “You’re going to propose?”
James nodded speechlessly.
Fuck. Sirius needed to sit down. There was adult and responsible and then there was, well, weddings. Then he thought about it again and felt the grin begin to break out of him. James and Lily - married. In this house. They’d have kids - mini Marauders to corrupt and tell about the time he tried to feed their Dad to the Giant Squid.
“Can I be best man?” he demanded in the same moment that Remus asked, “When are you going to ask? You should have done it before you bought the house, y’know.”
James slumped against the wall. “That’s just the problem,” he said miserably. “I’ve been trying since November.”
They both stared at him in silence. Then Sirius said, outraged, “She turned you down?”
“No,” James said. “I just can’t ask. I stand there and open my mouth and say something like ‘Can you pass the mustard?’ or ‘How about the Magpies for the Cup?’ I just can’t bloody say it.”
“Oh,” Remus said.
“I know it’s stupid,” James said. “And she’s beginning to look at me like she thinks I’m pranking her. I don’t bloody well know what to do.”
Remus shook his head. “Nothing obvious, I’m afraid. Let me think.”
“I could ask her for you,” Sirius offered.
James brightened.
“Bad, bad idea,” Remus said hastily.
“Really?”
“Definitely. How about writing a letter?”
“Tried. Ending up sending her six pages of Quidditch tactics.”
Remus winced. “Okay. Look, let’s see if Pete can think of anything. What’s next?”
James sighed. “I need furniture. And carpets and wallpaper and stuff. I don’t even know what yet. Want to help?”
“Can I paint the ceilings?” Sirius demanded.
Remus dug into his pocket for a pen. “Let’s make a list.”
~x~
Peter shrugged when they asked. He’d finally stumbled out of the fire just before seven, looking exhausted. Remus had asked a carefully casual question about his day and he’d shrugged and muttered something about paperwork before asking James about the house.
Now they sprawled out of the floor of the main room, not longer entirely sober. Sirius watched the bare bulb flicker above him and tried to guess how it worked. He supposed Lily would like it more than candles. It was what you were used to, really. He wondered which Remus preferred, being a halfblood.
Remus’ eyes were closed and he was snuffling slightly. Asleep, the daft fool. Sirius propped himself up on his elbow and stared at him thoughtfully. They were all a bit short on sleep, after New Year. Good thing it was the dark of the moon. It was the best time of the month, this, when Remus looked healthy and rested and happy.
James was looking at him thoughtfully. Sirius mouthed, ‘What?’ and James shrugged.
“Perhaps,” Peter said, lying with his hands folded over his belly. “Perhaps, you should just keep trying.”
“I’ve been trying for weeks.”
“No, every time you see her. Every time you start to say something to her try saying that. Eventually it’ll just pop out.”
“It’s not very romantic,” James complained.
“Neither’s never asking at all, you prat,” Peter said sleepily and then sat up. “I should get moving. Work tomorrow. And doesn’t Moony get the 7.30 Floo?”
“S’alright,” Sirius said. “If he doesn’t wake up I’ll take him home with me.”
Peter snorted. “Flung over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes?”
“I am not a bag of potatoes,” Remus said distinctly. “And I’m awake.”
The others exchanged a dubious glance.
“Yes, I am, you wankers.”
“You say that in your sleep,” Sirius pointed out and reached out cautiously. There was a huge hole in Remus’ sock, displaying a fair stretch of bony ankle. If Remus was really awake he would move.
He didn’t, and Sirius grinned and tickled him. Remus shrieked and shot up. “Bastard!”
“Told you you were asleep,” Sirius said.
Remus glared and said, “Git. Right, I’m off home. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Friday, Wormtail?”
“I should be able to make it,” Peter said. “Padfoot. Prongs.”
It wasn’t until after the fire had flared behind Peter that James said meditatively, “We still haven’t asked him what he does.”
“It’s obviously something really crap,” Sirius said. “Have you got any clean sheets I could nick?”
“Do some laundry, Padfoot.”
“Can’t. Launderette’s shut.”
“Alright, but I want them back.”
“Prongs, Prongs, Prongs. You grow cynical in your old age.”
“Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot. I know you.”
“Git.”
“Wanker.”
“Twat.”
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1633
Prompt: Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds;
~ Rupert Brooke
Notes: Nothing here. You're imagining it. It's a mirage. Yup. Title from Richard III. Also under the influence of too much tea. Floorboards and borrowed sheets.
1 2 3 4
It was a nice enough house, as empty houses went. Sirius wasn’t sure what he was meant to say about it. It had a kitchen and five bedrooms (“for you lot and yeah, well, y’know, um. Right, next room!). It had two bathrooms and a funny little cupboard with some sort of heater in (I dunno. Some Muggle thingy. Bloke who was here before - his wife was a Muggle. They’ve gone to Australia. Safer, he said.) and a big garden with a covering of snow and a swing. There was a bus stop down the road but the fireplace was connected.
“We’re outside the congestion zone,” James said wisely, “so we’ll have to pay extra to get to work but you wouldn’t believe how much higher the house prices are in central London.”
Sirius blinked and tried to assume the look of an experienced property owner. “Yeah.”
The fireplace crackled and Remus stumbled out, rosy-cheeked and sweaty. “Morning.”
“Afternoon,” James said pointedly. “You look warm.”
“We’ve been clearing the snow off the steps and drive. Guests coming tonight.”
“You’ve got snow too?” Sirius asked, cheered. If Remus had to live such a stupidly long way away, at least they could have some weather in common.
“Never seen a winter like it. The sea keeps freezing. This it, then, Prongs?”
James glared at him disdainfully. “A little more respect for Potter Manor, please.”
“I thought it was called Pooh Corner?” Sirius said and Remus snorted.
James winced. “I can change the name. Right, Moony. Time for the tour.”
“Lunch,” Sirius wailed. They’d only just finished the last tour and he didn’t want to see a lot of empty rooms again. If they waited until after lunch he might have forgotten a floorboard or two.
James hesitated. Remus caught Sirius’ eye and said, “I’m starving, James. I brought some of Dad’s soup.”
“Beer,” James said cheerfully. “Pads?”
“Peanuts,” Sirius said gloomily. “Salted, dry-roasted and honey-coated.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Where are going to eat? And where’s Pete?”
“At work. On the floor. I don’t have furniture yet.”
Remus knelt down and arranged a folded tablecloth in the middle of the room. He tapped it with his wand three times, rather fussily, and it hopped into the air and then unfolded, whirling checked fabric in their faces. Sirius jumped back. When he looked down the cloth was spread and four steaming bowls of soup were set around the edges. There was even cutlery and a saltcellar.
“My gran had one of them,” James said, sliding down to lean against the wall. “Got moths in it, though. Pissed Mum off, that did. Bags me Wormtail’s.”
Sirius had already been reaching for the spare bowl. He sat back, huffing. “Beer?”
James summoned it over. For a while they devoted themselves to food. Then James asked, “How did Operation Wormtail go?”
“Ah,” Sirius said. “Well. Yeah.”
Remus grinned. “You told Pads to get Wormtail drunk and find out what he does for a living. Instead Pads got drunk and told Wormy what an important Auror he was.”
Sirius lifted his finger at him. “Don’t remember you doing much interrogating.”
“Couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”
“You’re a pair of useless sods,” James proclaimed. “In a completely non-derogatory and tolerant way, of course.”
Remus threw a peanut at him. “Did Lily give you the tolerance talk again?”
“Fuck off.”
“Jamsie’s hen-pecked,” Sirius chanted and made chicken noises. James tackled him and they went rolling across the floor. By the time Sirius was sitting on James’ back, Remus had cleared up lunch. Except for the peanuts. Sirius eyed them warily. He was hoping he could foist them on James. He still had buckets of the bloody things at home.
“Let’s have this tour then,” Remus said and James began to squirm. “Let him up, Pads.”
Sirius ignored most of James’ speech this time and split the time between watching Remus and thinking. James had bought a house. A bloody great family house. He shouldn’t be surprised. He was used to James being all responsible and serious these days. Head-boying did that to a bloke. Course, he’d been like for years, if you thought about it, in a sort-of backwards way.
A house, though. A bloody great house. Okay, he’d got a flat but that was different. It was young and free and puking in the sink on Sunday mornings and waking up in the middle of the night with no one there.
“So,” Remus said, interrupting James’ floorboard spiel. “What does Lily think?”
“Ub,” said James.
Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius shrugged at Remus.
“Does she hate it?” he asked cautiously. The idea had all the painful fascination of two Seekers on a collision course.
James shook his head. “No. Dunno. Yeah. Um. Haven’t told her.”
“You haven’t told her?” Remus echoed blankly. “Prongs!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Sirius demanded. Even he knew she’d be pissed off that he told them first.
“Can’t,” James said, going an odd shade of purple. “Have to ask her first.”
“Ask her what?” Remus asked.
“Ask her,” he said, going white, then red. “Ask her to - to.. Ask - fuck!” He banged his head on the wall.
“Good,” Sirius said gently. “Um, ask her to move in?”
“No,” James snapped.
Remus drew a quick breath. “You’re going to propose?”
James nodded speechlessly.
Fuck. Sirius needed to sit down. There was adult and responsible and then there was, well, weddings. Then he thought about it again and felt the grin begin to break out of him. James and Lily - married. In this house. They’d have kids - mini Marauders to corrupt and tell about the time he tried to feed their Dad to the Giant Squid.
“Can I be best man?” he demanded in the same moment that Remus asked, “When are you going to ask? You should have done it before you bought the house, y’know.”
James slumped against the wall. “That’s just the problem,” he said miserably. “I’ve been trying since November.”
They both stared at him in silence. Then Sirius said, outraged, “She turned you down?”
“No,” James said. “I just can’t ask. I stand there and open my mouth and say something like ‘Can you pass the mustard?’ or ‘How about the Magpies for the Cup?’ I just can’t bloody say it.”
“Oh,” Remus said.
“I know it’s stupid,” James said. “And she’s beginning to look at me like she thinks I’m pranking her. I don’t bloody well know what to do.”
Remus shook his head. “Nothing obvious, I’m afraid. Let me think.”
“I could ask her for you,” Sirius offered.
James brightened.
“Bad, bad idea,” Remus said hastily.
“Really?”
“Definitely. How about writing a letter?”
“Tried. Ending up sending her six pages of Quidditch tactics.”
Remus winced. “Okay. Look, let’s see if Pete can think of anything. What’s next?”
James sighed. “I need furniture. And carpets and wallpaper and stuff. I don’t even know what yet. Want to help?”
“Can I paint the ceilings?” Sirius demanded.
Remus dug into his pocket for a pen. “Let’s make a list.”
~x~
Peter shrugged when they asked. He’d finally stumbled out of the fire just before seven, looking exhausted. Remus had asked a carefully casual question about his day and he’d shrugged and muttered something about paperwork before asking James about the house.
Now they sprawled out of the floor of the main room, not longer entirely sober. Sirius watched the bare bulb flicker above him and tried to guess how it worked. He supposed Lily would like it more than candles. It was what you were used to, really. He wondered which Remus preferred, being a halfblood.
Remus’ eyes were closed and he was snuffling slightly. Asleep, the daft fool. Sirius propped himself up on his elbow and stared at him thoughtfully. They were all a bit short on sleep, after New Year. Good thing it was the dark of the moon. It was the best time of the month, this, when Remus looked healthy and rested and happy.
James was looking at him thoughtfully. Sirius mouthed, ‘What?’ and James shrugged.
“Perhaps,” Peter said, lying with his hands folded over his belly. “Perhaps, you should just keep trying.”
“I’ve been trying for weeks.”
“No, every time you see her. Every time you start to say something to her try saying that. Eventually it’ll just pop out.”
“It’s not very romantic,” James complained.
“Neither’s never asking at all, you prat,” Peter said sleepily and then sat up. “I should get moving. Work tomorrow. And doesn’t Moony get the 7.30 Floo?”
“S’alright,” Sirius said. “If he doesn’t wake up I’ll take him home with me.”
Peter snorted. “Flung over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes?”
“I am not a bag of potatoes,” Remus said distinctly. “And I’m awake.”
The others exchanged a dubious glance.
“Yes, I am, you wankers.”
“You say that in your sleep,” Sirius pointed out and reached out cautiously. There was a huge hole in Remus’ sock, displaying a fair stretch of bony ankle. If Remus was really awake he would move.
He didn’t, and Sirius grinned and tickled him. Remus shrieked and shot up. “Bastard!”
“Told you you were asleep,” Sirius said.
Remus glared and said, “Git. Right, I’m off home. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Friday, Wormtail?”
“I should be able to make it,” Peter said. “Padfoot. Prongs.”
It wasn’t until after the fire had flared behind Peter that James said meditatively, “We still haven’t asked him what he does.”
“It’s obviously something really crap,” Sirius said. “Have you got any clean sheets I could nick?”
“Do some laundry, Padfoot.”
“Can’t. Launderette’s shut.”
“Alright, but I want them back.”
“Prongs, Prongs, Prongs. You grow cynical in your old age.”
“Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot. I know you.”
“Git.”
“Wanker.”
“Twat.”