Fic #15: Ghost Story
Title: Ghost Story
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Rating: R
Summary: Remus isn't the only inhabitant of his flat
Pongo never understood why he haunted Peter’s old flat.
It wasn’t as if Peter was a wizard, although there were a few squibs in the family (like that uncle from France who sent packets of dirty postcards every few months). Peter certainly wasn’t one of the Bright Young Things who had made London such a spiffing place in the 20s, even if his sister had nearly wrecked the family flirting with an anarchist or two. And if Pongo had spent more than one happy evening dining with the most amusing man in London at the Egotists’ Club, well, he’d done the same with Freddie and young Levy and even that KC Biggs.
Perhaps it was because Peter genuinely seemed to enjoy Pongo’s company, or because he played the piano so very well. They’d both gone to Balliol, too, which certainly made a difference, and of course Pongo and Peter had both helped Freddie when it seemed he’d never be allowed to marry his Rachel.
Or perhaps it was because Peter was the only one of his so-called friends who acted even halfway sorry at the funeral.
However he got there and whyever he stayed, Pongo felt comfortable in Peter’s flat, even after Peter married his murderess and spent most of his time in the countryside. Mayfair was still Mayfair, after all, and if the flat was eventually taken over by Peter’s son Bredon, and then Bredon’s nephew Gerry, well, they were all the same family, weren’t they? He sometimes had the distinct feeling Gerry could see him from time to time, and once could have sworn Gerry used a muttered scourgify on a nasty stain under the rug, but never mind. It wasn’t as if they’d called in an exorcist to get rid of him.
Pongo was so much at home in Piccadilly that even the building being sold and subdivided into bedsitters didn’t particularly faze him. The Muggle tenants didn’t know he was there, and the few wizards who moved in from time to time were pleased to see a ghost that wasn’t tied to Hogwarts. One of them had actually gone to university with Gerry and kept Pongo up to date when Bredon was installed as Duke after Peter finally went wherever Muggles went when they passed.
And so it went, year to year, day to day, until the werewolf moved in.
Pongo knew he was a wizard, of course, and a powerful one; his aura had that peculiar crackle enjoyed only by the truly gifted. The lycanthropy was a bit of a shock, especially when young Remus (appropriate name, that) would curl up on the hearth rug and nap instead of rampaging through Hanover Square. Then again, Remus spent a good deal of his time curled up on the sofa or the hearth rug anyway, usually with a book or a sheaf of papers, so obviously there was some modern way to keep a werewolf from ripping everything to shreds.
Eventually he showed himself to Remus, who was as pleasant and quiet as he seemed, if a bit poverty-stricken from time to time (tinned dog food was good enough for the wolf, but a man needed something more substantial). He wasn’t a chatty sort, not like Peter, and had few close friends. Once or twice he had a woman spend the night, more often a man (and wasn’t that a change!), but by and large he kept to himself, and Pondo did the same.
One time Pongo had watched while a shabby, filthy young man came over and all but demanded that Remus bugger him as some sort of loyalty test. Remus had complied, sent the boy on his way, and then scrubbed himself half-raw in the shower until the hot water ran out for the flat. He had gotten very drunk that night and cried a bit, and Pongo had stayed out of sight except to make sure that he didn’t pass out in the fire and hurt himself. No one had come over for months after that.
Eventually Remus had a boyfriend or two visit, but never for more than an hour or two, and never more than twice. He seemed lonely, even though this Dark Lord fellow (what a ridiculous idea! He wasn’t even an Honourable!) was dead and Remus seemed to have a bit more money. Pongo asked him once, and he said it wasn’t worth bed hopping when he already knew who he wanted, and the chappie didn’t want him back. It didn’t seem fair - Pongo wasn’t queer himself, not hardly, but Remus was a good sort and deserved a little happiness - and Pongo said so, but Remus had just shaken his head and fixed himself some leftover steak-and-kidney pie in the little instant cooker the last Muggle tenant had installed.
All that changed one fall. First there were noises like someone grinding against the door. When Pongo stuck his head through the window he saw Remus and a thin dark fellow (obviously a Snape, that nose had been in the family at least two hundred years) groping and kissing and making the most amazing noises. Remus had pulled away before they did something private in public and spent the night grinning while he packed for a conference in America. A few weeks later he was home, the Snape in tow, and they’d spent a good hour kissing in the kitchen before it was time to go to the theatre.
Now he spent less and less time at the flat, and more and more time with the Snape at Hogwarts. Pongo finally caught him long enough to ask if he was planning to move, and Remus said yes, but he was keeping the flat for a while and would do his best to find a wizard for the next tenant. Pongo was grateful (it got lonely with so few wizards in the building) and said so, and Remus, who looked considerably happier these days, smiled and went off to dinner with his Snape.
It was late November when Pongo showed up right in the middle of things. He usually stayed away when Remus had guests, but none of the other wizards were interested in a chat, the Muggles couldn’t see him, and it wasn’t humid enough for him to leave the block and visit Tou-Tou over at the Savoy.
Remus and the Snape were naked, perfectly naked, and writhing about on the fold-out sofa. Remus was already rampant and the Snape was almost there (odd, that Pongo had never thought he’d be Jewish - had one of the Snapes married a D’Israeli?), and they were kissing and touching and groaning in a way that made Pongo very glad there was a permanent muffling charm on the flat.
Pongo had never seen men go at it before (at least, not since the day at Harrow when he’d walked in on two upper formers from the Uranian Society) and was sure they wanted their privacy. He tried to melt back through the wall, only to find that the enchanter next door who worked for the Ministry had activated his privacy wards. So Pongo retreated into the bookshelves and watched.
He had never imagined Remus, quiet, kindly Remus, was so savage in bed. But the Snape seemed to enjoy the biting and sucking at his neck and his chest and his privy parts, even when Remus snarled and bit him right over the great artery in his neck. And Remus all but begged for it when the Snape rolled him onto his back and said a few words and buggered him, face to face. They both were yelling by the end, Remus arching up and clawing his lover’s back hard enough to leave welts along the ribs, the Snape with his head thrown back and his long messy hair falling over his shoulders and face. It was loud and passionate and for the first time Pongo understood, really understood, just why Remus spent so many nights at Hogwarts.
Eventually they cleaned up and the Snape (Severus, that was his name!) fell asleep with his beaky nose pressed against Remus’s chest. Pongo waited for Remus’s eyes to be shut before drifting slowly across the room to see if the wards had gone down yet.
“Pongo?”
Oh, bloody hell. Pongo adjusted the party hat he’d been wearing when he drowned and tried his best silly-ass smile. “Um, what? Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were here. I’ll just be on my way - ”
Remus chuckled and ran a hand over his lover’s hair. “Right. You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
If Pongo could have blushed, he would have. “Didn’t mean to watch, old chum, but that fellow next door - “
“What Severus doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Remus smiled, a lovely sweet smile that made Pongo wish he’d lived long enough to feel even half what Remus obviously felt right now. “I don’t much care. This is the first time I’ve felt alive in years, and I don’t care who knows.”
Severus grunted and wriggled closer to Remus, who pressed a kiss to his forehead and summoned the extra blanket from the basket chair by the fire. Pongo bowed and tipped his hat. The privacy wards were so weak he could barely feel them, and the last thing he wanted was to be the third wheel.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Time for me make a noise like a hoop and roll away.” Pongo sketched a salute. “Ta!”
“Good night, Pongo.” Remus wiggled two fingers that weren’t tangled in his lover’s hair. He closed his eyes and murmured the charm to bank the fire.
Pongo spent the rest of the night in the enchanter’s pantry. He would introduce himself to Severus in the morning over tea, the way civilized folk did, maybe tell that cracking good story Tommy Martin had told him third year about the Snape who’d fallen into the lake one night and come home in time for breakfast with mermaid hair in his robes. He knew tons of funny stories, most of them true.
He settled back against a tin of Jackson’s lapsang souchong and waited for morning. Plenty of time to be amusing then. Right now it was time to let the humans rest.
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Rating: R
Summary: Remus isn't the only inhabitant of his flat
Pongo never understood why he haunted Peter’s old flat.
It wasn’t as if Peter was a wizard, although there were a few squibs in the family (like that uncle from France who sent packets of dirty postcards every few months). Peter certainly wasn’t one of the Bright Young Things who had made London such a spiffing place in the 20s, even if his sister had nearly wrecked the family flirting with an anarchist or two. And if Pongo had spent more than one happy evening dining with the most amusing man in London at the Egotists’ Club, well, he’d done the same with Freddie and young Levy and even that KC Biggs.
Perhaps it was because Peter genuinely seemed to enjoy Pongo’s company, or because he played the piano so very well. They’d both gone to Balliol, too, which certainly made a difference, and of course Pongo and Peter had both helped Freddie when it seemed he’d never be allowed to marry his Rachel.
Or perhaps it was because Peter was the only one of his so-called friends who acted even halfway sorry at the funeral.
However he got there and whyever he stayed, Pongo felt comfortable in Peter’s flat, even after Peter married his murderess and spent most of his time in the countryside. Mayfair was still Mayfair, after all, and if the flat was eventually taken over by Peter’s son Bredon, and then Bredon’s nephew Gerry, well, they were all the same family, weren’t they? He sometimes had the distinct feeling Gerry could see him from time to time, and once could have sworn Gerry used a muttered scourgify on a nasty stain under the rug, but never mind. It wasn’t as if they’d called in an exorcist to get rid of him.
Pongo was so much at home in Piccadilly that even the building being sold and subdivided into bedsitters didn’t particularly faze him. The Muggle tenants didn’t know he was there, and the few wizards who moved in from time to time were pleased to see a ghost that wasn’t tied to Hogwarts. One of them had actually gone to university with Gerry and kept Pongo up to date when Bredon was installed as Duke after Peter finally went wherever Muggles went when they passed.
And so it went, year to year, day to day, until the werewolf moved in.
Pongo knew he was a wizard, of course, and a powerful one; his aura had that peculiar crackle enjoyed only by the truly gifted. The lycanthropy was a bit of a shock, especially when young Remus (appropriate name, that) would curl up on the hearth rug and nap instead of rampaging through Hanover Square. Then again, Remus spent a good deal of his time curled up on the sofa or the hearth rug anyway, usually with a book or a sheaf of papers, so obviously there was some modern way to keep a werewolf from ripping everything to shreds.
Eventually he showed himself to Remus, who was as pleasant and quiet as he seemed, if a bit poverty-stricken from time to time (tinned dog food was good enough for the wolf, but a man needed something more substantial). He wasn’t a chatty sort, not like Peter, and had few close friends. Once or twice he had a woman spend the night, more often a man (and wasn’t that a change!), but by and large he kept to himself, and Pondo did the same.
One time Pongo had watched while a shabby, filthy young man came over and all but demanded that Remus bugger him as some sort of loyalty test. Remus had complied, sent the boy on his way, and then scrubbed himself half-raw in the shower until the hot water ran out for the flat. He had gotten very drunk that night and cried a bit, and Pongo had stayed out of sight except to make sure that he didn’t pass out in the fire and hurt himself. No one had come over for months after that.
Eventually Remus had a boyfriend or two visit, but never for more than an hour or two, and never more than twice. He seemed lonely, even though this Dark Lord fellow (what a ridiculous idea! He wasn’t even an Honourable!) was dead and Remus seemed to have a bit more money. Pongo asked him once, and he said it wasn’t worth bed hopping when he already knew who he wanted, and the chappie didn’t want him back. It didn’t seem fair - Pongo wasn’t queer himself, not hardly, but Remus was a good sort and deserved a little happiness - and Pongo said so, but Remus had just shaken his head and fixed himself some leftover steak-and-kidney pie in the little instant cooker the last Muggle tenant had installed.
All that changed one fall. First there were noises like someone grinding against the door. When Pongo stuck his head through the window he saw Remus and a thin dark fellow (obviously a Snape, that nose had been in the family at least two hundred years) groping and kissing and making the most amazing noises. Remus had pulled away before they did something private in public and spent the night grinning while he packed for a conference in America. A few weeks later he was home, the Snape in tow, and they’d spent a good hour kissing in the kitchen before it was time to go to the theatre.
Now he spent less and less time at the flat, and more and more time with the Snape at Hogwarts. Pongo finally caught him long enough to ask if he was planning to move, and Remus said yes, but he was keeping the flat for a while and would do his best to find a wizard for the next tenant. Pongo was grateful (it got lonely with so few wizards in the building) and said so, and Remus, who looked considerably happier these days, smiled and went off to dinner with his Snape.
It was late November when Pongo showed up right in the middle of things. He usually stayed away when Remus had guests, but none of the other wizards were interested in a chat, the Muggles couldn’t see him, and it wasn’t humid enough for him to leave the block and visit Tou-Tou over at the Savoy.
Remus and the Snape were naked, perfectly naked, and writhing about on the fold-out sofa. Remus was already rampant and the Snape was almost there (odd, that Pongo had never thought he’d be Jewish - had one of the Snapes married a D’Israeli?), and they were kissing and touching and groaning in a way that made Pongo very glad there was a permanent muffling charm on the flat.
Pongo had never seen men go at it before (at least, not since the day at Harrow when he’d walked in on two upper formers from the Uranian Society) and was sure they wanted their privacy. He tried to melt back through the wall, only to find that the enchanter next door who worked for the Ministry had activated his privacy wards. So Pongo retreated into the bookshelves and watched.
He had never imagined Remus, quiet, kindly Remus, was so savage in bed. But the Snape seemed to enjoy the biting and sucking at his neck and his chest and his privy parts, even when Remus snarled and bit him right over the great artery in his neck. And Remus all but begged for it when the Snape rolled him onto his back and said a few words and buggered him, face to face. They both were yelling by the end, Remus arching up and clawing his lover’s back hard enough to leave welts along the ribs, the Snape with his head thrown back and his long messy hair falling over his shoulders and face. It was loud and passionate and for the first time Pongo understood, really understood, just why Remus spent so many nights at Hogwarts.
Eventually they cleaned up and the Snape (Severus, that was his name!) fell asleep with his beaky nose pressed against Remus’s chest. Pongo waited for Remus’s eyes to be shut before drifting slowly across the room to see if the wards had gone down yet.
“Pongo?”
Oh, bloody hell. Pongo adjusted the party hat he’d been wearing when he drowned and tried his best silly-ass smile. “Um, what? Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were here. I’ll just be on my way - ”
Remus chuckled and ran a hand over his lover’s hair. “Right. You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
If Pongo could have blushed, he would have. “Didn’t mean to watch, old chum, but that fellow next door - “
“What Severus doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Remus smiled, a lovely sweet smile that made Pongo wish he’d lived long enough to feel even half what Remus obviously felt right now. “I don’t much care. This is the first time I’ve felt alive in years, and I don’t care who knows.”
Severus grunted and wriggled closer to Remus, who pressed a kiss to his forehead and summoned the extra blanket from the basket chair by the fire. Pongo bowed and tipped his hat. The privacy wards were so weak he could barely feel them, and the last thing he wanted was to be the third wheel.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Time for me make a noise like a hoop and roll away.” Pongo sketched a salute. “Ta!”
“Good night, Pongo.” Remus wiggled two fingers that weren’t tangled in his lover’s hair. He closed his eyes and murmured the charm to bank the fire.
Pongo spent the rest of the night in the enchanter’s pantry. He would introduce himself to Severus in the morning over tea, the way civilized folk did, maybe tell that cracking good story Tommy Martin had told him third year about the Snape who’d fallen into the lake one night and come home in time for breakfast with mermaid hair in his robes. He knew tons of funny stories, most of them true.
He settled back against a tin of Jackson’s lapsang souchong and waited for morning. Plenty of time to be amusing then. Right now it was time to let the humans rest.