Bonus Fic: At the Age of Eleven for dustmouth
Title: At the Age of Eleven
Author/Artist: magnetic_pole
Recipient: dustmouth
Rating: G
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none*
Word count: 1100
Summary: No one falls in love at the age of eleven.
Notes: For dustmouth, with thanks for pinch-hitting this year.
No one falls in love at the age of eleven.
At the age of eleven, Sirius Black hadn’t even discovered boys yet. He loved brooms, and flying, and his subscription to Which Broomstick? (delivered the last Thursday of every month after noon, when his mum wasn’t about), and wizarding chess, and running in the park, and dogs (but not the tiny yappy ones), and books about the wizarding isle of Atlantis, and telly (which he saw once with Andromeda), and the portrait of great, great, great uncle Sirius that swore under its breath, and Andromeda, and Regulus (sometimes), and Nummy (all the time, so much so that Nummy had given him one of her tea towels to take with him to Hogwarts).
He loved Hogwarts already, after only five days. He loved being a Gryffindor (he’d always known he was different), and living in the Tower, and being able to use his wand any time, and learning Transfiguration, which was already his favorite subject. His roommate James was brilliant, very clever and very funny and a bit mean like Sirius himself (he’d have to watch that). And Remus and Peter seemed all right. (At least they were tidy. James threw his clothes on the floor, and, unlike at home, they just stayed there like that, making Sirius’ head hurt.)
But if he loved Hogwarts so much, if he loved not having Mum hanging about, watching him all the time, if he loved living in the Tower, and drinking pumpkin juice every night, and having evenings free to sit in the common room and Saturday mornings to sleep in, like right now, why was he so sad? Because he felt as if all the sadness in the world had just curled up in his throat, and he couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the tears back, and even thinking about Mum wasn’t enough to distract him from the fact that Nummy usually made runny eggs and tomatoes on Saturday mornings. Thank goodness he’d closed the curtain on his bed last night, because--
“Sirius!” It was James, yanking back the curtain. “Time to get up! Are you--”
Sirius pulled the covers up to hide his face, but not fast enough. James peered at him, his face very close to Sirius’ face, his eyes blinking behind his glasses, slightly larger than normal eyes.
“What?” Sirius said.
“Are you crying?” James asked, inspecting him as he might inspect a Magical Creature they were meant to study in class. “Is that--is that a tea towel?”
Sirius tried to ball up Nummy’s wet, snotty tea towel in his hand, but the damage had already been done.
“Peter! Remus! Sirius has a tea towel!” James shrieked, delighted, moving to open Peter’s curtains.
“James--” Sirius said desperately, sliding out from beneath his blankets. Yow! The floor was icy. The whole room was freezing. He jammed his feet into his slippers and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.
“Sirius has a tea towel!”
“What?” Peter asked groggily, sitting up.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Sirius has a tea--”
“Confundo!”
Frozen mid-yank at the foot of Remus’ bed, James suddenly went silent. He dropped the curtains and turned around, blinking, hazy, looking around as if he didn’t quite recognize his own bedroom. Behind him, Remus slipped out from behind his curtains and gave James a tentative push on the shoulder with his wand.
“Why don’t you go shower?” Remus said softly.
James nodded. “Shower. I like that. Shower.” James drifted off, leaving Remus, Peter, and Sirius staring at one another.
Peter broke the silence.
“Did you just...did you just...did you just Confound him?” Peter asked.
Remus was beginning to look worried. “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”
“That was brilliant,” Peter said. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Now Remus was definitely worried; Sirius recognized the same frown Remus worn when he first joined the Gryffindor table, at Monday’s Sorting.
“I really shouldn’t have done that,” Remus muttered. “That was only meant for emergencies.” His mouth tightened, and he looked from Sirius to Peter to Sirius again.
“I won’t say anything,” Sirius offered.
Peter nodded, still awestruck. “Don’t do it to me, though!” he said. Then, after a moment: “Should I go see if James is okay?”
When Peter had gone, Remus smiled a wry, apologetic little smile. “I should have mentioned that I get nervous when people surprise me.”
“Who taught you to do that?” Sirius asked. His parents had taught him some family spells, but nothing like that.
“My mum,” Remus said. “We’re...I suppose you could say we’re an anxious family. Or cautious. Or prepared. Or...something like that.”
That explained nothing, but Sirius could certainly understand an odd family.
Remus looked at Sirius curiously. “Are you crying?”
“No,” Sirius said.
Remus paused for a moment at the obvious lie. “Okay,” he said. Then: “Did James say something about a tea towel?”
At the thought of the tea towel Sirius’ eyes welled up again, but Remus turned away and fussed for a moment with the ropes pulling back the curtains on his bed, and Sirius wiped his face on the blanket around his shoulders.
“Okay,” Sirius said, and Remus turned around again.
“I hear the mushrooms at breakfast are from the Forbidden Forest,” Remus said casually. “If you eat too many of them, your magic is off for the whole day.”
Sirius sniffed.
“Shall we go to breakfast?” Remus asked.
“Okay,” Sirius said.
“Maybe you want to wash your face first?” Remus said. “Your nose is still drippy.”
“Okay,” Sirius said.
No one falls in love at the age of eleven. Sirius hasn’t discovered boys; Remus hasn’t worked up enough courage to understand his own feelings. The tea towel incident is quickly forgotten. James and Sirius are life-long friends by the end of the month. Peter’s admiration for James quickly eclipses whatever awe he held for Remus. Remus, luckily, never needs to Confound anyone again, during seven years at Hogwarts. James and Sirius and Peter see to that.
By the time Remus and Sirius do fall in love, nine years later, they can hardly articulate what is they like about one another. They are still boys, after all, even at twenty. But if one were to press? Remus would never put it this way, but he is drawn to Sirius’ passion for life, his almost unbearable capacity for joy and disappointment. Sirius, under duress, might mention Remus’ kindness and his deceptively mild demeanor (beneath which, Sirius is convinced, is a passion for life even greater than his own).
No one falls in love at the age of eleven, but some things have fallen in place, even then.
Author/Artist: magnetic_pole
Recipient: dustmouth
Rating: G
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none*
Word count: 1100
Summary: No one falls in love at the age of eleven.
Notes: For dustmouth, with thanks for pinch-hitting this year.
No one falls in love at the age of eleven.
At the age of eleven, Sirius Black hadn’t even discovered boys yet. He loved brooms, and flying, and his subscription to Which Broomstick? (delivered the last Thursday of every month after noon, when his mum wasn’t about), and wizarding chess, and running in the park, and dogs (but not the tiny yappy ones), and books about the wizarding isle of Atlantis, and telly (which he saw once with Andromeda), and the portrait of great, great, great uncle Sirius that swore under its breath, and Andromeda, and Regulus (sometimes), and Nummy (all the time, so much so that Nummy had given him one of her tea towels to take with him to Hogwarts).
He loved Hogwarts already, after only five days. He loved being a Gryffindor (he’d always known he was different), and living in the Tower, and being able to use his wand any time, and learning Transfiguration, which was already his favorite subject. His roommate James was brilliant, very clever and very funny and a bit mean like Sirius himself (he’d have to watch that). And Remus and Peter seemed all right. (At least they were tidy. James threw his clothes on the floor, and, unlike at home, they just stayed there like that, making Sirius’ head hurt.)
But if he loved Hogwarts so much, if he loved not having Mum hanging about, watching him all the time, if he loved living in the Tower, and drinking pumpkin juice every night, and having evenings free to sit in the common room and Saturday mornings to sleep in, like right now, why was he so sad? Because he felt as if all the sadness in the world had just curled up in his throat, and he couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the tears back, and even thinking about Mum wasn’t enough to distract him from the fact that Nummy usually made runny eggs and tomatoes on Saturday mornings. Thank goodness he’d closed the curtain on his bed last night, because--
“Sirius!” It was James, yanking back the curtain. “Time to get up! Are you--”
Sirius pulled the covers up to hide his face, but not fast enough. James peered at him, his face very close to Sirius’ face, his eyes blinking behind his glasses, slightly larger than normal eyes.
“What?” Sirius said.
“Are you crying?” James asked, inspecting him as he might inspect a Magical Creature they were meant to study in class. “Is that--is that a tea towel?”
Sirius tried to ball up Nummy’s wet, snotty tea towel in his hand, but the damage had already been done.
“Peter! Remus! Sirius has a tea towel!” James shrieked, delighted, moving to open Peter’s curtains.
“James--” Sirius said desperately, sliding out from beneath his blankets. Yow! The floor was icy. The whole room was freezing. He jammed his feet into his slippers and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.
“Sirius has a tea towel!”
“What?” Peter asked groggily, sitting up.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Sirius has a tea--”
“Confundo!”
Frozen mid-yank at the foot of Remus’ bed, James suddenly went silent. He dropped the curtains and turned around, blinking, hazy, looking around as if he didn’t quite recognize his own bedroom. Behind him, Remus slipped out from behind his curtains and gave James a tentative push on the shoulder with his wand.
“Why don’t you go shower?” Remus said softly.
James nodded. “Shower. I like that. Shower.” James drifted off, leaving Remus, Peter, and Sirius staring at one another.
Peter broke the silence.
“Did you just...did you just...did you just Confound him?” Peter asked.
Remus was beginning to look worried. “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”
“That was brilliant,” Peter said. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Now Remus was definitely worried; Sirius recognized the same frown Remus worn when he first joined the Gryffindor table, at Monday’s Sorting.
“I really shouldn’t have done that,” Remus muttered. “That was only meant for emergencies.” His mouth tightened, and he looked from Sirius to Peter to Sirius again.
“I won’t say anything,” Sirius offered.
Peter nodded, still awestruck. “Don’t do it to me, though!” he said. Then, after a moment: “Should I go see if James is okay?”
When Peter had gone, Remus smiled a wry, apologetic little smile. “I should have mentioned that I get nervous when people surprise me.”
“Who taught you to do that?” Sirius asked. His parents had taught him some family spells, but nothing like that.
“My mum,” Remus said. “We’re...I suppose you could say we’re an anxious family. Or cautious. Or prepared. Or...something like that.”
That explained nothing, but Sirius could certainly understand an odd family.
Remus looked at Sirius curiously. “Are you crying?”
“No,” Sirius said.
Remus paused for a moment at the obvious lie. “Okay,” he said. Then: “Did James say something about a tea towel?”
At the thought of the tea towel Sirius’ eyes welled up again, but Remus turned away and fussed for a moment with the ropes pulling back the curtains on his bed, and Sirius wiped his face on the blanket around his shoulders.
“Okay,” Sirius said, and Remus turned around again.
“I hear the mushrooms at breakfast are from the Forbidden Forest,” Remus said casually. “If you eat too many of them, your magic is off for the whole day.”
Sirius sniffed.
“Shall we go to breakfast?” Remus asked.
“Okay,” Sirius said.
“Maybe you want to wash your face first?” Remus said. “Your nose is still drippy.”
“Okay,” Sirius said.
No one falls in love at the age of eleven. Sirius hasn’t discovered boys; Remus hasn’t worked up enough courage to understand his own feelings. The tea towel incident is quickly forgotten. James and Sirius are life-long friends by the end of the month. Peter’s admiration for James quickly eclipses whatever awe he held for Remus. Remus, luckily, never needs to Confound anyone again, during seven years at Hogwarts. James and Sirius and Peter see to that.
By the time Remus and Sirius do fall in love, nine years later, they can hardly articulate what is they like about one another. They are still boys, after all, even at twenty. But if one were to press? Remus would never put it this way, but he is drawn to Sirius’ passion for life, his almost unbearable capacity for joy and disappointment. Sirius, under duress, might mention Remus’ kindness and his deceptively mild demeanor (beneath which, Sirius is convinced, is a passion for life even greater than his own).
No one falls in love at the age of eleven, but some things have fallen in place, even then.