fic: but he frowned like thunder and went away; for paddy_wolfstar
Title: But He Frowned like Thunder and Went Away
Author: jamesly
Written for: paddy_wolfstar
Rating: PG
Prompt: 'Time and again boys race to be men
Impatient they start, fearful they end
But here was a man mourning tomorrow
He drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow' - A Sadness Runs Through Him, by The Hoosiers.
Summary: Six times in which Remus lives.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Title based off of an Auden poem and oh gosh, I hope you like it!
i. time and again
Generally, Remus does not eat much for breakfast. A scrape of blackberry jam on wheat toast and a cup of orange juice over the paper suit him just fine. Sirius is quite the opposite most mornings, while on other days he eats less even than Remus. It is something Remus always finds baffling.
On the second-to-last morning, Sirius is sitting alone. Early as it is, Remus says nothing and sits across the table, reaching for his usual slice of toast.
You’re up early, Remus comments offhandedly, Couldn’t sleep?
Thought I might join you, says Sirius, I’ve got a question.
Mmm, says Remus, What about?
D’you have a place to live?
Sirius has asked many questions over the years, and Remus is usually not surprised. There has been the occasional time where Sirius throws him a new one and Remus always has to stomach the fact that he will never really be able to read Sirius Black.
This is one of those times.
Without overwhelming eagerness, Remus replies, No.
Where were you going to stay?
Leaky Cauldron, says Remus, I’ve got enough money for awhile.
Oh, says Sirius. Right.
Remus sighs. He hates to prod.
And?
And, says Sirius, Well. I got to thinking maybe you…might want somewhere to live.
Sirius, says Remus.
James isn’t living with me, says Sirius, words tripping and stumbling as they spill from his chapped lips, But I can’t tell you why and I meant to ask you, ages ago, if you wanted to maybe move into the flat with us, the three of us, just like old times, but then I forgot. And I promise this isn’t a last resort, or anything, I’ve already lived with you and you’re loads better at cooking than James is and you probably smell better than him besides, and please live with me?
The best part about Sirius, Remus will later think, is his overwhelming honesty.
I wouldn’t mind, says Remus, and the rest of breakfast is silent.
ii. boys race to be men
Remus is turning into his mother.
Sirius never comes home before seven and then he’s never hungry for dinner, but eats the curry Remus saves for him anyways. His skin is like parchment paper, already thin and crinkled; Remus is supposed to be the old one.
Sometimes, Remus waits up all night, just so he can watch Sirius stumble in around dawn. Sirius makes it to the bedroom most of the time. When he doesn’t, Remus tucks him in and puts on Sirius’s favorite Chopin record before slipping quietly out to work.
Then one time, Sirius is home before dark and demands they cook supper together.
Their cramped kitchen is littered with vegetable scrapings and half-shed garlic cloves and cutting boards, trails of flour dotting the chipped linoleum. Sirius is stirring the pasta with an apron on over his trousers and Remus is testing the bread, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Chopin plays in the sitting room.
Slowly, Sirius starts to come in before seven, and soon before five. Remus teaches arithmetic at an old school down three blocks twice a week; otherwise he does crosswords in the leather armchair. Now Sirius nudges up against him, suggesting naughty limericks for the crosswords.
Sirius likes to chop vegetables, Remus has found, along with reading cheap dime novels from seedy stores on Portobello and taping up ragged old gig posters on the bathroom walls.
(Padfoot, says Remus, You don’t even know these bands.
Yes, says Sirius, But they look a notch better than the striped wallpaper, mind you.)
Fall drifts softly into winter and Remus thinks this is how he always wanted it: a safe, set pattern, just like Hogwarts but on their own time. It’s the ordinary bits he likes best: when Sirius asks Remus to read Dickens on Sundays or how Sirius loves eating croissants from the bakery across the road or how Remus always ends up doing both of their laundry. Perfect, Lily once said, You get along perfectly!
Of course, pipes up Remus’s inner cynic, That means it won’t last much longer.
iii. impatient they start
When winter bleeds into spring, Sirius starts to drift again. Four becomes five, five becomes six, and six becomes seven. Remus stops setting the table for two and eats out of a takeout carton while listlessly marking his crosswords with black ink. The vegetable bin in the kitchen dwindles down to a handful of soggy carrots and the chopping knives stay in the block. Remus doesn’t mention how he misses winter and fall; Sirius is too tired.
Sirius doesn’t come home for two days at the start of April. Remus paces around the apartment, decides against ringing James or Peter, and only drinks peppermint tea - Sirius’s favorite.
Around noon on the third Sirius tumbles into the apartment, smelling strongly of whiskey. His Oxford is half-tucked into his trousers and the hem of his overcoat is speckled with spots of mud.
Hey, says Sirius, Miss me?
Remus swallows the urge to punch Sirius’s jaw.
Where the hell have you been? Sirius recoils slightly and sways, but continues to lean against the doorframe.
Out, says Sirius, shortly. His voice is thick with alcohol, Remus realizes, but he doesn’t feel sorry.
Out, says Remus, Without calling, without leaving a note, without - my god, Sirius, you could have been dead, for all I know, and none of us would be the wiser!
I’m not, am I? Sirius’s eyes glint.
That’s not the point and you know it.
You’re not my keeper, says Sirius, dragging himself up closely to Remus, their faces almost meeting. I’d have thought you knew better than anyone what it’s like to have someone keeping tabs of your whereabouts.
Remus takes a step back.
You, he says, hands shuddering to keep still. I can’t believe you’d - I just -
He wants to pull himself up to full height, to give some sort of a vicious response (yelltacklekickscreambite) but his throat is dry and his limbs won’t move.
Goodnight, Sirius, he says.
Remus just barely makes it to the bathroom before heaving up his Pad Thai into the toilet, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
iv. fearful they end
On Thursday, Sirius attempt to apologize, sober and solemn-eyed. Remus hasn’t spoken in three days and he hasn’t eaten breakfast since Saturday.
Moony, says Sirius, Remus. Please. I’m sorry.
Remus doesn’t say anything.
_
Moony -
Don’t.
_
But I -
Shut it.
_
Goddamnit, Remus.
Silence.
_
I left because I think I might love you.
Remus blinks. This is certainly something he hasn’t heard before.
What?
I said, says Sirius, I might love you.
I can tell, says Remus tightly, You treat me ever so lovingly. Anger bubbles up, clawing and gurgling in a rise to reach his throat - Shall I fetch you the paper, dearest? Massage your shoulders? Blow your -
Sirius cuts him off because suddenly Remus is pressed up against the wall and Sirius is pressed up against Remus, cherry lips sliding hard against his own. Sirius’s hair feels like lace on his cheek and Remus’s hands are pinned to his side, and he wants to stop and ask where the fuck this came from, but he can’t stop, he can’t breathe, he can’t move -
And Sirius pulls away.
That, says Sirius, Is why I left.
Oh, says Remus. There isn’t much else to say.
Oh, says Sirius, Is that the best you can do?
Remus stares in disbelief. Are you out of your mind?
Yeah, says Sirius, I must be, right? To be in love with a twit like you.
To be in love with a man, Remus corrects.
No, says Sirius, With you.
Oh my god, says Remus, This is like something from your dime store novels, isn’t it?
Maybe, says Sirius, But. It’s - it’s still real.
Sirius, says Remus slowly, I am going to leave the house. I’m not sure when I’ll be back and you are not to come look for me, d’you understand?
Moony -
You can’t just throw this, says Remus, This, or, or yourself at me and expect perfect harmony and acceptance and compliance, Sirius, that’s not how things work! He lets out a heaving sigh, clutching his side. I will be back when I’ve got a grip on this, all right?
All right, says Sirius.
Good, says Remus, and walks out the door.
v. but here a man mourning tomorrow
Remus returns a week later.
He rented out a room at the Leaky Cauldron and did nothing but sleep off and on, atop a mattress that creaked and smelled of mildew. He ran out of change by the sixth day and had to head home.
At first, Remus heads for the kitchen straightaway, mechanically filling the kettle for tea. It isn’t until he turns the stove on high that he notices things missing. The knife block isn’t in the corner by the fridge and the cupboard doors are bare. Remus walks briskly into the sitting room; half of the furniture is gone. He can taste the bile in his mouth.
Collapsing into the old armchair, he knows Sirius’s room must be empty also. The kettle whistles after a few minutes, but Remus lets it boil over, sizzling out of the spout and dousing the flames. He automatically reaches for his crosswords and his hands touch a note on the cover, filled with sprawling handwriting.
Remus doesn’t need to read it; he knows Sirius is gone.
vi. he drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow
The news that James and Lily have died strikes him hard; the news that it was Sirius who betrayed them strikes him harder. They had met, casually and politely, when Lily gave birth to Harry and continued cordial exchanges until the Potter trio fell into hiding. Then pretense had been shrugged off and they ignored each other entirely.
Remus has not left the bar in twelve hours. Everyone else has drank themselves silly, laughing and cheering and whistling and crying, all in elation. He is alone in the corner, like a fallen hero with nothing more to lose, nursing a pint of whiskey.
Weren’t you, says a woman tipsy with bourbon, Weren’t you friends? With those, those Potters? And that awful Black and poor Pettigrew? She giggles. I remember you, Brown Eyes, you were three years younger and in Gryffindor. Inseparable.
Yeah, says Remus, We knew each other.
Terribly sorry, says the woman, I’m so, so sorry, but at least You-Know-Who’s gone, you know, shouldn’t sit in a corner during the celebrations! She hiccups and wanders off. Remus polishes off the rest of his whiskey and slips into his coat.
I was friends with them, says Remus to himself, One of them was even in love with me and then we weren’t friends anymore. He allows himself a slight smile as he nears the front doors. And then I never really saw him again.
The cold outside is bitter and invasive; there is no one now to go home to.
Well, thinks Remus, Just another plotline in the tragic story of R.J. Lupin; and he begins to trudge down the street alone.
_
Author: jamesly
Written for: paddy_wolfstar
Rating: PG
Prompt: 'Time and again boys race to be men
Impatient they start, fearful they end
But here was a man mourning tomorrow
He drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow' - A Sadness Runs Through Him, by The Hoosiers.
Summary: Six times in which Remus lives.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Title based off of an Auden poem and oh gosh, I hope you like it!
i. time and again
Generally, Remus does not eat much for breakfast. A scrape of blackberry jam on wheat toast and a cup of orange juice over the paper suit him just fine. Sirius is quite the opposite most mornings, while on other days he eats less even than Remus. It is something Remus always finds baffling.
On the second-to-last morning, Sirius is sitting alone. Early as it is, Remus says nothing and sits across the table, reaching for his usual slice of toast.
You’re up early, Remus comments offhandedly, Couldn’t sleep?
Thought I might join you, says Sirius, I’ve got a question.
Mmm, says Remus, What about?
D’you have a place to live?
Sirius has asked many questions over the years, and Remus is usually not surprised. There has been the occasional time where Sirius throws him a new one and Remus always has to stomach the fact that he will never really be able to read Sirius Black.
This is one of those times.
Without overwhelming eagerness, Remus replies, No.
Where were you going to stay?
Leaky Cauldron, says Remus, I’ve got enough money for awhile.
Oh, says Sirius. Right.
Remus sighs. He hates to prod.
And?
And, says Sirius, Well. I got to thinking maybe you…might want somewhere to live.
Sirius, says Remus.
James isn’t living with me, says Sirius, words tripping and stumbling as they spill from his chapped lips, But I can’t tell you why and I meant to ask you, ages ago, if you wanted to maybe move into the flat with us, the three of us, just like old times, but then I forgot. And I promise this isn’t a last resort, or anything, I’ve already lived with you and you’re loads better at cooking than James is and you probably smell better than him besides, and please live with me?
The best part about Sirius, Remus will later think, is his overwhelming honesty.
I wouldn’t mind, says Remus, and the rest of breakfast is silent.
ii. boys race to be men
Remus is turning into his mother.
Sirius never comes home before seven and then he’s never hungry for dinner, but eats the curry Remus saves for him anyways. His skin is like parchment paper, already thin and crinkled; Remus is supposed to be the old one.
Sometimes, Remus waits up all night, just so he can watch Sirius stumble in around dawn. Sirius makes it to the bedroom most of the time. When he doesn’t, Remus tucks him in and puts on Sirius’s favorite Chopin record before slipping quietly out to work.
Then one time, Sirius is home before dark and demands they cook supper together.
Their cramped kitchen is littered with vegetable scrapings and half-shed garlic cloves and cutting boards, trails of flour dotting the chipped linoleum. Sirius is stirring the pasta with an apron on over his trousers and Remus is testing the bread, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Chopin plays in the sitting room.
Slowly, Sirius starts to come in before seven, and soon before five. Remus teaches arithmetic at an old school down three blocks twice a week; otherwise he does crosswords in the leather armchair. Now Sirius nudges up against him, suggesting naughty limericks for the crosswords.
Sirius likes to chop vegetables, Remus has found, along with reading cheap dime novels from seedy stores on Portobello and taping up ragged old gig posters on the bathroom walls.
(Padfoot, says Remus, You don’t even know these bands.
Yes, says Sirius, But they look a notch better than the striped wallpaper, mind you.)
Fall drifts softly into winter and Remus thinks this is how he always wanted it: a safe, set pattern, just like Hogwarts but on their own time. It’s the ordinary bits he likes best: when Sirius asks Remus to read Dickens on Sundays or how Sirius loves eating croissants from the bakery across the road or how Remus always ends up doing both of their laundry. Perfect, Lily once said, You get along perfectly!
Of course, pipes up Remus’s inner cynic, That means it won’t last much longer.
iii. impatient they start
When winter bleeds into spring, Sirius starts to drift again. Four becomes five, five becomes six, and six becomes seven. Remus stops setting the table for two and eats out of a takeout carton while listlessly marking his crosswords with black ink. The vegetable bin in the kitchen dwindles down to a handful of soggy carrots and the chopping knives stay in the block. Remus doesn’t mention how he misses winter and fall; Sirius is too tired.
Sirius doesn’t come home for two days at the start of April. Remus paces around the apartment, decides against ringing James or Peter, and only drinks peppermint tea - Sirius’s favorite.
Around noon on the third Sirius tumbles into the apartment, smelling strongly of whiskey. His Oxford is half-tucked into his trousers and the hem of his overcoat is speckled with spots of mud.
Hey, says Sirius, Miss me?
Remus swallows the urge to punch Sirius’s jaw.
Where the hell have you been? Sirius recoils slightly and sways, but continues to lean against the doorframe.
Out, says Sirius, shortly. His voice is thick with alcohol, Remus realizes, but he doesn’t feel sorry.
Out, says Remus, Without calling, without leaving a note, without - my god, Sirius, you could have been dead, for all I know, and none of us would be the wiser!
I’m not, am I? Sirius’s eyes glint.
That’s not the point and you know it.
You’re not my keeper, says Sirius, dragging himself up closely to Remus, their faces almost meeting. I’d have thought you knew better than anyone what it’s like to have someone keeping tabs of your whereabouts.
Remus takes a step back.
You, he says, hands shuddering to keep still. I can’t believe you’d - I just -
He wants to pull himself up to full height, to give some sort of a vicious response (yelltacklekickscreambite) but his throat is dry and his limbs won’t move.
Goodnight, Sirius, he says.
Remus just barely makes it to the bathroom before heaving up his Pad Thai into the toilet, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
iv. fearful they end
On Thursday, Sirius attempt to apologize, sober and solemn-eyed. Remus hasn’t spoken in three days and he hasn’t eaten breakfast since Saturday.
Moony, says Sirius, Remus. Please. I’m sorry.
Remus doesn’t say anything.
_
Moony -
Don’t.
_
But I -
Shut it.
_
Goddamnit, Remus.
Silence.
_
I left because I think I might love you.
Remus blinks. This is certainly something he hasn’t heard before.
What?
I said, says Sirius, I might love you.
I can tell, says Remus tightly, You treat me ever so lovingly. Anger bubbles up, clawing and gurgling in a rise to reach his throat - Shall I fetch you the paper, dearest? Massage your shoulders? Blow your -
Sirius cuts him off because suddenly Remus is pressed up against the wall and Sirius is pressed up against Remus, cherry lips sliding hard against his own. Sirius’s hair feels like lace on his cheek and Remus’s hands are pinned to his side, and he wants to stop and ask where the fuck this came from, but he can’t stop, he can’t breathe, he can’t move -
And Sirius pulls away.
That, says Sirius, Is why I left.
Oh, says Remus. There isn’t much else to say.
Oh, says Sirius, Is that the best you can do?
Remus stares in disbelief. Are you out of your mind?
Yeah, says Sirius, I must be, right? To be in love with a twit like you.
To be in love with a man, Remus corrects.
No, says Sirius, With you.
Oh my god, says Remus, This is like something from your dime store novels, isn’t it?
Maybe, says Sirius, But. It’s - it’s still real.
Sirius, says Remus slowly, I am going to leave the house. I’m not sure when I’ll be back and you are not to come look for me, d’you understand?
Moony -
You can’t just throw this, says Remus, This, or, or yourself at me and expect perfect harmony and acceptance and compliance, Sirius, that’s not how things work! He lets out a heaving sigh, clutching his side. I will be back when I’ve got a grip on this, all right?
All right, says Sirius.
Good, says Remus, and walks out the door.
v. but here a man mourning tomorrow
Remus returns a week later.
He rented out a room at the Leaky Cauldron and did nothing but sleep off and on, atop a mattress that creaked and smelled of mildew. He ran out of change by the sixth day and had to head home.
At first, Remus heads for the kitchen straightaway, mechanically filling the kettle for tea. It isn’t until he turns the stove on high that he notices things missing. The knife block isn’t in the corner by the fridge and the cupboard doors are bare. Remus walks briskly into the sitting room; half of the furniture is gone. He can taste the bile in his mouth.
Collapsing into the old armchair, he knows Sirius’s room must be empty also. The kettle whistles after a few minutes, but Remus lets it boil over, sizzling out of the spout and dousing the flames. He automatically reaches for his crosswords and his hands touch a note on the cover, filled with sprawling handwriting.
Remus doesn’t need to read it; he knows Sirius is gone.
vi. he drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow
The news that James and Lily have died strikes him hard; the news that it was Sirius who betrayed them strikes him harder. They had met, casually and politely, when Lily gave birth to Harry and continued cordial exchanges until the Potter trio fell into hiding. Then pretense had been shrugged off and they ignored each other entirely.
Remus has not left the bar in twelve hours. Everyone else has drank themselves silly, laughing and cheering and whistling and crying, all in elation. He is alone in the corner, like a fallen hero with nothing more to lose, nursing a pint of whiskey.
Weren’t you, says a woman tipsy with bourbon, Weren’t you friends? With those, those Potters? And that awful Black and poor Pettigrew? She giggles. I remember you, Brown Eyes, you were three years younger and in Gryffindor. Inseparable.
Yeah, says Remus, We knew each other.
Terribly sorry, says the woman, I’m so, so sorry, but at least You-Know-Who’s gone, you know, shouldn’t sit in a corner during the celebrations! She hiccups and wanders off. Remus polishes off the rest of his whiskey and slips into his coat.
I was friends with them, says Remus to himself, One of them was even in love with me and then we weren’t friends anymore. He allows himself a slight smile as he nears the front doors. And then I never really saw him again.
The cold outside is bitter and invasive; there is no one now to go home to.
Well, thinks Remus, Just another plotline in the tragic story of R.J. Lupin; and he begins to trudge down the street alone.
_