Fic: HP, (r/s), drabble, "Care" - MP LDWS, Week Three - winner!
Title: Care
Word Count: 300
Author: whitmans_kiss
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters; Pairings: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters depicted are of legal age.
Summary: Remus worries far too much.
Written for mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Three.
Prompt: "Lie Low at Lupin's Era" "furry" "300 words exactly" "Team Moony"
(crossposted here at mp_ldws)
Dumbledore’s cryptic letter telling of Sirius’ Saturday arrival had come on Tuesday. Remus had staunchly ignored it, leaving it to languish on the counter, not sure how to feel. Dumbledore had been the one to set up him in the small Welsh cottage, and for as much as Remus was keeping a low profile, it made sense to send Sirius here.
But as tidy Xs ticked off days on the calendar hanging on the wall, Remus finally had to admit that he could no longer ignore the inevitable. On Saturday morning, he cleaned the spare room - would they need a separate bedroom? no, it wouldn’t to do presume - and drew a bath, charming the water to remain indefinitely warm. A set of secondhand clothes was folded neatly and placed on a low stool, carefully chosen from memories of Sirius’ size, and dinner, though modest, was made and set on the table; the cupboard was meager, but stocked enough.
Saturday evening is spent fitfully waiting; some time shortly after eight, a light downpour introduces itself. A slight rapping on the door nearly goes unnoticed, but when Remus rises to check, he is greeted by the sudden sneezing of a soaking, matted, furry mass somewhere around the vicinity of his knees. Hand on the doorframe, he looks down into gray eyes, and finds he doesn’t know what to say.
The next thing Remus knows, those gray eyes are looking right back at him, and Sirius’ knees go weak enough for Remus to catch him in an embrace. Arms slip around too-thin frames as they fall into each other, faces pressing into necks, inhaling the stench of wet dog, but never mind the smell, never mind the ribcages underneath fingers, never mind the patched clothes and crooked smiles, just - a whispered, “welcome home.”
Word Count: 300
Author: whitmans_kiss
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters; Pairings: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters depicted are of legal age.
Summary: Remus worries far too much.
Written for mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Three.
Prompt: "Lie Low at Lupin's Era" "furry" "300 words exactly" "Team Moony"
(crossposted here at mp_ldws)
Dumbledore’s cryptic letter telling of Sirius’ Saturday arrival had come on Tuesday. Remus had staunchly ignored it, leaving it to languish on the counter, not sure how to feel. Dumbledore had been the one to set up him in the small Welsh cottage, and for as much as Remus was keeping a low profile, it made sense to send Sirius here.
But as tidy Xs ticked off days on the calendar hanging on the wall, Remus finally had to admit that he could no longer ignore the inevitable. On Saturday morning, he cleaned the spare room - would they need a separate bedroom? no, it wouldn’t to do presume - and drew a bath, charming the water to remain indefinitely warm. A set of secondhand clothes was folded neatly and placed on a low stool, carefully chosen from memories of Sirius’ size, and dinner, though modest, was made and set on the table; the cupboard was meager, but stocked enough.
Saturday evening is spent fitfully waiting; some time shortly after eight, a light downpour introduces itself. A slight rapping on the door nearly goes unnoticed, but when Remus rises to check, he is greeted by the sudden sneezing of a soaking, matted, furry mass somewhere around the vicinity of his knees. Hand on the doorframe, he looks down into gray eyes, and finds he doesn’t know what to say.
The next thing Remus knows, those gray eyes are looking right back at him, and Sirius’ knees go weak enough for Remus to catch him in an embrace. Arms slip around too-thin frames as they fall into each other, faces pressing into necks, inhaling the stench of wet dog, but never mind the smell, never mind the ribcages underneath fingers, never mind the patched clothes and crooked smiles, just - a whispered, “welcome home.”