FIC: A Weaving [Harry Potter]
Back to those shiny prompts now; more to follow.
nk_aoede gave me Remus/Sirius and 'fingertips on skin'.
A Weaving
Harry Potter ; Remus/Sirius ; PG ; 500 words
They're running hell for leather through the school, racing through ghosts and leaping onto staircases already in motion. James is cackling as he runs, and Peter keeps his head down as he sprints alongside him, a well-developed self-preservation instinct kicking in. It's an instinct that Sirius appears to entirely lack, and Remus groans as he turns to see Sirius lagging behind once again.
"Hurry up!" he yells, darting backwards to grab Sirius and drag him along, away from the admittedly entertaining spectacle of most of the fifth year chasing after them, shouting. They'd have pitchforks if they could.
Sirius flashes him a grin, and Remus rolls his eyes, holds tight onto Sirius's wrist, and starts running again. James and Peter -- curse their eternal names -- have vanished from the face of the earth by now, and so they have to improvise.
"Quick, in here," Sirius says, waving aside a tapestry that covers a small hollow in the wall. The fabric only just falls still over them as their pursuers catch up, but they hurtle on down the corridor, leaving the two of them hidden.
Remus starts laughing, slumping back again the wall in relief. Sirius beams at him, his eyes alight with the illicit mischief of a prank well-played. Remus suddenly becomes acutely that he's still holding onto Sirius, his fingertips still wrapped tight around his wrist.
"Er, sorry," he says, and loosens his grip. He feels oddly reluctant about it.
"Remus," Sirius says, thoughtful.
"You know, we should probably lay low here for a bit - everyone'll still be looking for us."
"Yeah," Sirius agrees. He presses himself against the wall and grins conspiratorially at Remus.
They stay quiet for a while - Remus is reminiscing over the finer points of this afternoon, and Sirius is probably planning their next operation.
When thinking about it later, Remus won't be quite sure how and when it happens that Sirius reaches out for his hand again. That's telling, really, of how often Remus has considered this that it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He has considered Sirius's hands, the way their childhood delicacy has been worn away into callused and supple hands made for sport and mischief.
He has considered the line of Sirius's body that rests just next to him, the angles and hollows of his bones that are as familiar as his own. He has considered, and done nothing, and so as Sirius grasps his hand now and murmurs something about not letting Remus get ahead of him, Remus is content still to wait.
Sounds recede down the corridor, and Remus supposes that James and Peter will be looking for them soon enough. Now, Remus turns to Sirius, their cheeks so close they almost touch. He smiles, a careful promise. Sirius's fingertips brush the inside of Remus's wrist, cool and steady. It's not quite enough, until it is.
nk_aoede gave me Remus/Sirius and 'fingertips on skin'.
A Weaving
Harry Potter ; Remus/Sirius ; PG ; 500 words
They're running hell for leather through the school, racing through ghosts and leaping onto staircases already in motion. James is cackling as he runs, and Peter keeps his head down as he sprints alongside him, a well-developed self-preservation instinct kicking in. It's an instinct that Sirius appears to entirely lack, and Remus groans as he turns to see Sirius lagging behind once again.
"Hurry up!" he yells, darting backwards to grab Sirius and drag him along, away from the admittedly entertaining spectacle of most of the fifth year chasing after them, shouting. They'd have pitchforks if they could.
Sirius flashes him a grin, and Remus rolls his eyes, holds tight onto Sirius's wrist, and starts running again. James and Peter -- curse their eternal names -- have vanished from the face of the earth by now, and so they have to improvise.
"Quick, in here," Sirius says, waving aside a tapestry that covers a small hollow in the wall. The fabric only just falls still over them as their pursuers catch up, but they hurtle on down the corridor, leaving the two of them hidden.
Remus starts laughing, slumping back again the wall in relief. Sirius beams at him, his eyes alight with the illicit mischief of a prank well-played. Remus suddenly becomes acutely that he's still holding onto Sirius, his fingertips still wrapped tight around his wrist.
"Er, sorry," he says, and loosens his grip. He feels oddly reluctant about it.
"Remus," Sirius says, thoughtful.
"You know, we should probably lay low here for a bit - everyone'll still be looking for us."
"Yeah," Sirius agrees. He presses himself against the wall and grins conspiratorially at Remus.
They stay quiet for a while - Remus is reminiscing over the finer points of this afternoon, and Sirius is probably planning their next operation.
When thinking about it later, Remus won't be quite sure how and when it happens that Sirius reaches out for his hand again. That's telling, really, of how often Remus has considered this that it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He has considered Sirius's hands, the way their childhood delicacy has been worn away into callused and supple hands made for sport and mischief.
He has considered the line of Sirius's body that rests just next to him, the angles and hollows of his bones that are as familiar as his own. He has considered, and done nothing, and so as Sirius grasps his hand now and murmurs something about not letting Remus get ahead of him, Remus is content still to wait.
Sounds recede down the corridor, and Remus supposes that James and Peter will be looking for them soon enough. Now, Remus turns to Sirius, their cheeks so close they almost touch. He smiles, a careful promise. Sirius's fingertips brush the inside of Remus's wrist, cool and steady. It's not quite enough, until it is.