Fic: This Wonderful Life (R/S, PG)
Hi all. I'm tired of this sitting around, so I've declared it finished for the time being. If you spot any major boo-boos or areas I could improve, let me know. Other than that, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Title: This Wonderful Life
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Disclaimer: The characters and world in this story belong to JK Rowling. Thanks to her for such lovely stories.
To say more would spoil it.
The corners of his mouth flit upward just a little as Sirius thinks on this wonderful life. James and Lily have the most wonderful little home, a quaint Muggle-style cottage in the south of Wales. Lily keeps a fine household, and lavishes attention on her garden as well. This time when he visits the dusty pink roses are in full bloom, their sweetly spicy scent curling across the stonework path as he walks up to the house. He taps lightly on the bright red door, as is his habit, and then walks on in, because they never stand on ceremony. Before he can call out a greeting, his knees are nearly taken out by an oversized garden gnome with unruly black hair.
"Uncle Sirus," Harry shrieks. Though his ears may ring, Sirius never gets tired of the boy’s enthusiastic greetings. Sirius manages to pry those little arms off his legs, and then he tosses the boy upwards and settles him over one hip.
"How's it going, Harry," he says, and then grins while he is treated to a rambling story without head or tail that may very well be about Quidditch. He wanders the bright house, full of the smell of lemons and baked bread, until he finds James and Lily lounging in the back yard. They each have an iced pumpkin juice in hand as they watch a smoking black box.
"Could have told me where they were, you little monster," he scowls at Harry. The boy just giggles and squirms down from his perch.
Last month Lily told them about a strange Muggle tradition called a barbekay, and James took to the idea with his usual enthusiastic vigor. So here Sirius is, ready for whatever role he is to play in the scheme. Lily has informed them that tradition holds that barbekays are the provinces of men, and therefore she is taking the day off. Sirius smiles at the way she just smirks whenever James has a question, making him puzzle it out on his own. Good on her, then.
They have been lazing in the sun for about half an hour when a sharp knock sounds near his ear. Harry jumps up from his miniature Quidditch flyers arrayed on the short-cropped patch of green lawn, already running for the door as he yells "I'll get it."
"He'll be getting his letter soon," Lily says, a strange mixture of melancholy and pride in her jazz-satin voice as she looks after her son.
"Not for another six years," James says, a bit indignantly. Sirius supposes it is a mother's prerogative to have such an encompassing viewpoint of her child's life, though his own was less than sentimental in his regard.
"He's still playing at snap blocks with-" and here Sirius pauses, trying to place Harry's playmate. A Weasley, he thinks. There is a never-ending supply of Weasleys, all with red hair and freckles.
The discussion is interrupted by a wildly squealing Harry with his other uncle in tow. Remus is smiling indulgently, hand resting on that soft head of hair as he steps through the door. He looks good, better than when they were at school. He is wearing Muggle khakis that show off his small bum and a short sleeved shirt in one of those unholy factory blends. The job at Flourish and Blotts is agreeing with him. So does the more relaxed attitude of the public toward werewolves in recent years. Sirius silently thanks Merlin yet again for that Ministry decree.
Remus settles in beside him, and then James races off for some firebeers, managing not to look guilty despite Lily's raised eyebrow. Sirius knows it is just for show anyway. Lily will play catch up with her own selection of spirits once the sun is down and Harry is in bed. She is quite the saucy wench once you get past her prim exterior.
Sirius stretches in the chair, just managing to graze Remus's calf with his bare foot. Deep brown eyes flick sideways, eyelashes fluttering just a bit before he looks up to where James is returning with a laugh. Harry tries to tackle his feet, but James is still adroit years after leaving his tenure as Seeker. Remus leans forward to capture one of the brown bottles. When he sinks back into his chair his arm and thigh press up against Sirius's own.
Sirius coughs a little, and then refocuses his thoughts. The sun is warm on the bare stretches of his arms, his face, his feet. He can smell the barest hint of sweat and musk rising from his own skin. Remus is wearing new cologne, hints of spice with some citrus undertones that make his mouth water. They chat away about things both consequential and not, spending much of the time just watching Harry. The boy is sure to follow in his father's footsteps on the Quidditch pitch, given his current fascination with the sport. Harry still hasn't gotten to fly on his own--Lily is adamant about that--but whenever James takes him up the boy is like a soaring phoenix.
Sirius glances over at Remus at one point, and the look in those dark eyes is enough to sear him to the wooden chair like a piece of the meat James is torturing. Then Remus is rising, saying something about the facilities. Sirius drains his bottle and offers to fetch more. In a few seconds he is through the back door. Then he is pinned against it, a soft tongue licking at his sun-dried lips. They snog like fifteen-year-olds, wet and loud and deep. When Remus pulls back, he is panting with his mouth open, panting like the wolf he wears just under his skin.
Sirius grins at the thought, loving the way the two of them fuel each other's desires. A cool prickle at the back of his neck starts to intrude, but Sirius returns to the vision in front of him.
Remus nips at his mouth and neck while Sirius lets his hands wander over hot skin and hard muscle. Remus steps away, murmuring something about rejoining the party. Sirius smiles in reluctant agreement, but brushes a quick kiss over those narrow lips one more time. That pulls a breathy whisper from Remus.
"Love you, Pad--"
And then Sirius is drowning in ice, his breath pulled out of his lungs in a cold burn along with the remains of the pseudo-memory. His eyes fly open despite his will. He catches a glimpse of that parasitic mouth before he forces his eyelids shut. His body is shuddering and shaking, the cold and fear and loss robbing him of anything but autonomic functions. He feels warmth on his belly that rapidly ices and he knows that he has wet himself once again. It matters little with that face of horror and grief hovering over him. He tries to figure out how to beg, but even that is beyond him. It just keeps going, icy fear. He thinks he might die this time.
Later he looks around at the bare stone cell, empty except for himself, a naked cot, and a waste bucket. He must have passed out. Not an unusual occurrence. He whimpers and rolls over, pulling his knees up to his chest and clasping his arms around them. He stares at the bland stone wall, letting his mind fill with the hum of nothingness. He doesn't know how long he stays that way--there are no markers of time here--but soon enough he returns to awareness.
He rolls over and sees the tin of water and bowl of mush beside the door. He drains them both, having long ago learned the futility of attempting to ration. He leaves the dishes by the door and then leaves a dribble of waste in the bucket. He ponders doing something productive, stretches or exercise or reciting charms in his head, but at this moment the weight of years overpowers his strength. He thinks about folding into Pads, but some strange masochism drives him, making him flirt with dangerous desires like a man snatching galleons from in front of the Hogwarts train. So instead, he curls back up on the cot, facing away from the near wall.
Ever so gently he probes at his memories, not immersing himself but checking to see what's there. Best friends James and Lily. Godson Harry. Years at Hogwarts, countless pranks and laughing affairs with girls who should have known better. One love above all others.
He quickly leaves that one alone, jealously guarding it more than the rest. Sirius gathers the facts from his brain, leaving the colors of the memories behind. They never take it all. How would they feed if he was stripped bare? They never take it all, but they take enough that he carefully shields what he has left. He gathers the facts and begins to spin a new vision.
Sirius thinks on this wonderful life. James and Lily have just announced that Harry will have a little brother, and his godson is delighted. Sirius keeps his grin to himself, though Remus' dark eyes twinkle when they meet his own. They have plans to make, the two of them together, and Sirius can hardly wait.
THE END
Title: This Wonderful Life
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Disclaimer: The characters and world in this story belong to JK Rowling. Thanks to her for such lovely stories.
To say more would spoil it.
The corners of his mouth flit upward just a little as Sirius thinks on this wonderful life. James and Lily have the most wonderful little home, a quaint Muggle-style cottage in the south of Wales. Lily keeps a fine household, and lavishes attention on her garden as well. This time when he visits the dusty pink roses are in full bloom, their sweetly spicy scent curling across the stonework path as he walks up to the house. He taps lightly on the bright red door, as is his habit, and then walks on in, because they never stand on ceremony. Before he can call out a greeting, his knees are nearly taken out by an oversized garden gnome with unruly black hair.
"Uncle Sirus," Harry shrieks. Though his ears may ring, Sirius never gets tired of the boy’s enthusiastic greetings. Sirius manages to pry those little arms off his legs, and then he tosses the boy upwards and settles him over one hip.
"How's it going, Harry," he says, and then grins while he is treated to a rambling story without head or tail that may very well be about Quidditch. He wanders the bright house, full of the smell of lemons and baked bread, until he finds James and Lily lounging in the back yard. They each have an iced pumpkin juice in hand as they watch a smoking black box.
"Could have told me where they were, you little monster," he scowls at Harry. The boy just giggles and squirms down from his perch.
Last month Lily told them about a strange Muggle tradition called a barbekay, and James took to the idea with his usual enthusiastic vigor. So here Sirius is, ready for whatever role he is to play in the scheme. Lily has informed them that tradition holds that barbekays are the provinces of men, and therefore she is taking the day off. Sirius smiles at the way she just smirks whenever James has a question, making him puzzle it out on his own. Good on her, then.
They have been lazing in the sun for about half an hour when a sharp knock sounds near his ear. Harry jumps up from his miniature Quidditch flyers arrayed on the short-cropped patch of green lawn, already running for the door as he yells "I'll get it."
"He'll be getting his letter soon," Lily says, a strange mixture of melancholy and pride in her jazz-satin voice as she looks after her son.
"Not for another six years," James says, a bit indignantly. Sirius supposes it is a mother's prerogative to have such an encompassing viewpoint of her child's life, though his own was less than sentimental in his regard.
"He's still playing at snap blocks with-" and here Sirius pauses, trying to place Harry's playmate. A Weasley, he thinks. There is a never-ending supply of Weasleys, all with red hair and freckles.
The discussion is interrupted by a wildly squealing Harry with his other uncle in tow. Remus is smiling indulgently, hand resting on that soft head of hair as he steps through the door. He looks good, better than when they were at school. He is wearing Muggle khakis that show off his small bum and a short sleeved shirt in one of those unholy factory blends. The job at Flourish and Blotts is agreeing with him. So does the more relaxed attitude of the public toward werewolves in recent years. Sirius silently thanks Merlin yet again for that Ministry decree.
Remus settles in beside him, and then James races off for some firebeers, managing not to look guilty despite Lily's raised eyebrow. Sirius knows it is just for show anyway. Lily will play catch up with her own selection of spirits once the sun is down and Harry is in bed. She is quite the saucy wench once you get past her prim exterior.
Sirius stretches in the chair, just managing to graze Remus's calf with his bare foot. Deep brown eyes flick sideways, eyelashes fluttering just a bit before he looks up to where James is returning with a laugh. Harry tries to tackle his feet, but James is still adroit years after leaving his tenure as Seeker. Remus leans forward to capture one of the brown bottles. When he sinks back into his chair his arm and thigh press up against Sirius's own.
Sirius coughs a little, and then refocuses his thoughts. The sun is warm on the bare stretches of his arms, his face, his feet. He can smell the barest hint of sweat and musk rising from his own skin. Remus is wearing new cologne, hints of spice with some citrus undertones that make his mouth water. They chat away about things both consequential and not, spending much of the time just watching Harry. The boy is sure to follow in his father's footsteps on the Quidditch pitch, given his current fascination with the sport. Harry still hasn't gotten to fly on his own--Lily is adamant about that--but whenever James takes him up the boy is like a soaring phoenix.
Sirius glances over at Remus at one point, and the look in those dark eyes is enough to sear him to the wooden chair like a piece of the meat James is torturing. Then Remus is rising, saying something about the facilities. Sirius drains his bottle and offers to fetch more. In a few seconds he is through the back door. Then he is pinned against it, a soft tongue licking at his sun-dried lips. They snog like fifteen-year-olds, wet and loud and deep. When Remus pulls back, he is panting with his mouth open, panting like the wolf he wears just under his skin.
Sirius grins at the thought, loving the way the two of them fuel each other's desires. A cool prickle at the back of his neck starts to intrude, but Sirius returns to the vision in front of him.
Remus nips at his mouth and neck while Sirius lets his hands wander over hot skin and hard muscle. Remus steps away, murmuring something about rejoining the party. Sirius smiles in reluctant agreement, but brushes a quick kiss over those narrow lips one more time. That pulls a breathy whisper from Remus.
"Love you, Pad--"
And then Sirius is drowning in ice, his breath pulled out of his lungs in a cold burn along with the remains of the pseudo-memory. His eyes fly open despite his will. He catches a glimpse of that parasitic mouth before he forces his eyelids shut. His body is shuddering and shaking, the cold and fear and loss robbing him of anything but autonomic functions. He feels warmth on his belly that rapidly ices and he knows that he has wet himself once again. It matters little with that face of horror and grief hovering over him. He tries to figure out how to beg, but even that is beyond him. It just keeps going, icy fear. He thinks he might die this time.
Later he looks around at the bare stone cell, empty except for himself, a naked cot, and a waste bucket. He must have passed out. Not an unusual occurrence. He whimpers and rolls over, pulling his knees up to his chest and clasping his arms around them. He stares at the bland stone wall, letting his mind fill with the hum of nothingness. He doesn't know how long he stays that way--there are no markers of time here--but soon enough he returns to awareness.
He rolls over and sees the tin of water and bowl of mush beside the door. He drains them both, having long ago learned the futility of attempting to ration. He leaves the dishes by the door and then leaves a dribble of waste in the bucket. He ponders doing something productive, stretches or exercise or reciting charms in his head, but at this moment the weight of years overpowers his strength. He thinks about folding into Pads, but some strange masochism drives him, making him flirt with dangerous desires like a man snatching galleons from in front of the Hogwarts train. So instead, he curls back up on the cot, facing away from the near wall.
Ever so gently he probes at his memories, not immersing himself but checking to see what's there. Best friends James and Lily. Godson Harry. Years at Hogwarts, countless pranks and laughing affairs with girls who should have known better. One love above all others.
He quickly leaves that one alone, jealously guarding it more than the rest. Sirius gathers the facts from his brain, leaving the colors of the memories behind. They never take it all. How would they feed if he was stripped bare? They never take it all, but they take enough that he carefully shields what he has left. He gathers the facts and begins to spin a new vision.
Sirius thinks on this wonderful life. James and Lily have just announced that Harry will have a little brother, and his godson is delighted. Sirius keeps his grin to himself, though Remus' dark eyes twinkle when they meet his own. They have plans to make, the two of them together, and Sirius can hardly wait.
THE END