(no subject)
RULED BY THE MOON
Chapter 13
Title: Ruled by the Moon
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Remus/Sirius (unrequited so far!)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Genre: Everything! Tis Lupin's Life!
A/N: Many millions of thanks to lyras for the beta-ing, and her endless patience with my vacillating and sometimes shocking writing habits. Feedback is adored.
Summary: Being an account of the life of Remus J Lupin, Esquire, from his first day at Hogwarts to his last on this earth. In many chapters. Also starring Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the various inhabitants of Hogwarts and the wizarding world.
Teaser: Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been a penance, a popularity contest Remus was destined to lose.
Chapter 13
Valentine's Day
“Moony!”
“- and a swish-swish double up-down -”
“Moony!”
“- and then the incantation - Colerculum!”
“Moony!”
“What?”
Sirius leant forwards and whispered, “I need your help.”
“Sirius, you mastered this charm last year.”
“Not with the charm. What do you take me for?”
“An annoyance. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Once more - Colerculum! Long “er” sound, please, I want no ‘colloculums’ today.”
“Moony, please.”
“No. Colerculum!”
“Moooooony…”
“No!”
“Please please please please -”
“Fine! But not now. After the lesson.”
“But I’m bored.”
“I don’t care.”
Two minutes later, Severus Snape’s quill exploded, splattering him and his neighbour with ink. Sirius and James smirked, and Remus groaned.
~*~
“So,” Remus said at breaktime, when they were snatching a cigarette in a deserted corner of the quad, “how can I help?”
“Give’s a light first.” Remus chucked him the lighter and Sirius cupped his hands around his cigarette, back turned to protect it against the wind. “Thanks. Ooh, good catch.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Go on.”
“Basically, it’s Valentine’s in two days, and I don’t know what to get Cleo.”
“Left it a bit late, haven’t you?” Remus said, ignoring the way his skin tingled where Sirius was huddled against him, even through three layers of clothing.
“Been busy. Quidditch, homework, Cleo, the Map…”
Remus smiled wryly. “At least you can be open about what you’re doing on Valentine’s Day.”
“And whose fault is it that you can’t?” Sirius retorted. Remus frowned.
“I will tell them,” he muttered, angrily flicking ash off his cigarette, “when I know they won’t hate me.”
“Is it your girl’s period, Moony? You’re being awfully melodramatic. Not to mention grumpy.”
“Do you want my help or not?” Remus demanded.
“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise, would I?” He shivered as a particularly Arctic wind gusted round the corner. “Shit it’s cold.”
“Let’s make this quick, then. Do you have any ideas?”
“Not really.”
Remus took a drag on his cigarette and tried to subdue his impatience. “Flowers are traditional,” he said, “along with chocolate, poetry and things decorated with hearts. And before you say it, you can’t paint your cock with hearts and call it her present.”
“Hideous slander,” Sirius exclaimed. “That’s something Prongs would do, not me.”
“What would you do then?”
“Just wrap it in a bow. The paint must taste horrible.” Despite himself, Remus laughed, and Sirius grinned around his cigarette, looking dashing and rather wicked. But then he sobered and said, “I wanted to get her something a bit different. Something that’s a bit more personal, you know? Not just, “Here, have this box of chocs that took me three minutes to buy.’”
“Maybe jewellery then,” Remus suggested. “Or poetry. But not Shakespeare. That’s too obvious. Auden, maybe, or Yeats.”
“‘Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,’” Sirius murmured.
“Exactly.”
Sirius looked up slowly, a smile blooming on his face. “Got it!” he said. “Bloody got it! Moony, you’re a genius!” He grabbed Remus and hugged him, arms tight around Remus’s neck.
Distantly the bell rang for the end of break.
“When you’ve quite finished copping a feel…” Remus heard himself drawl, and Sirius quickly let him go, awkwardness blooming between them like the outsize Fluorescent Fuschia in Greenhouse Three. “It’s Transfiguration,” Remus added hurriedly, noting the pink tinge to Sirius’s cheeks and wondering if he’d pushed his luck.
“Don’t want to be late,” Sirius agreed, taking a last drag on his cigarette then stubbing it out on the brick wall behind them. Remus watched the butt fall to the ground, joining those discarded in earlier visits.
“Getting a bit messy round here,” he said, with a false laugh.
Sirius looked at him quizzically. “I’ll tell the house-elves,” he said, and then he caught Remus’s eye and grinned. Remus smiled back, feeling the mask slip into place and cover the turmoil of his insides. He trusted his expression to hold, but he was worried at the effect eye contact had on him, and he resolved to keep his eyes averted as much as possible. Luckily Sirius seemed to be doing the same, and Remus was grateful for this, if a little distressed that he’d said the wrong thing. Evidently not used to it yet, he thought, his stomach sinking at the thought.
“What about you?” Sirius asked as they stepped into the Entrance Hall. “What are you getting Oliver?”
He’s putting a brave face on it, though, Remus reflected, feeling absurdly grateful, and so he answered truthfully. “I don’t know. It’s sort of - well, I dunno if he’s even expecting something.” Sirius nodded, and Remus felt able to continue. “And if he is, I don’t know how big it should be. And he’s not a girl, so I can’t get him jewellery or flowers or whatever.”
“Maybe a book?” Sirius suggested.
“Seems a bit big, doesn’t it?”
“Doesn’t have to be an encyclopaedia, Moony,” Sirius said, and Remus smiled. “Could be a pamphlet.”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. You’re his boyfriend.”
“Well, he likes Quidditch -”
“Boooring.”
“What?”
“Too obvious.”
“Oh. Um, I think he mentioned Fitzgerald, and Hardy - oh, no, he didn’t like Hardy.”
“Could you get him some Fitzgerald then?”
“No, he’s got them all already. First editions as well,” he added gloomily.
“Really? He must be well-off.”
“Well, he is, but you don’t have to be well off to have first editions of Fitzgerald. They were his grandfather’s. He got them in his will, along with his records.”
“Records? He likes music?”
“Yeah.”
“Get him a record then. It’s not too big, not too small, and has that personal, I’ve-really-thought-about-this feel.”
“But where am I going to get a record in two days?”
“Leave it to me. Tell me what you want and I guarantee you’ll have it by tomorrow evening.”
They’d reached Transfiguration by now, but Remus didn’t go in. “Really?” he said. “You’d do that?”
Sirius shrugged and smiled. “Why not? No skin off my back. It’d be a pleasure.”
“Wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Sirius smiled wider at Remus’s confusion, and chucked him under the chin. “Eh oop, lad,” he said. “Anything for a friend.” And with a final heart-stopping grin, he pushed open the door and went in.
~*~
Dear Sirius,
I always knew you should have been a Slytherin, and your latest letter confirmed it. I thought Gryffindors were too noble to resort to blackmail? Or in this case, Black-mail (ho ho ho, aren’t I witty?). In any case, threatening to tell Ted about “that time in France” is definitely hitting below the belt, and redundant besides, since a) I’ll just tell him about the time at Aunt Griselda’s birthday party, and b) I would have done it anyway if you’d just asked nicely.
But it seems being sprogful has made me soft, so I enclose one (1) LP of Robert Johnson. I hope you’re grateful, you snotty little brat, and you know I’ll never forgive you for making me talk to Muggles. I could have caught some horrible disease. If I die, I’ll make sure you’re sent down for my murder.
Affectionately yours,
Andromeda.
PS Nymphadora sends her love, and asks when “that silly one” is coming to play again. If you’re not good, I’ll make you read “The Elephant and The Bad Baby” to her ten times in a row. From memory.
~*~
Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been a penance, a popularity contest Remus was destined to lose. Even worse, it was a public penance, since the post came at breakfast and it was impossible to hide how many - or how few - cards he received. Naturally, Sirius was almost invisible in the flurry of feathers and falling envelopes, and even James received a fair few, while Remus and Peter sat uncomfortably in full view of everyone.
But today was different. Today Remus was armoured, made invincible by an early morning tap on the window and a heartfelt, if slightly reserved, note. He barely felt the floor beneath his feet, and his heart was clenched with happiness that left him short of breath. He felt appreciated, needed, desirable. He felt more at home in his body than he ever had. The only cloud on the horizon was Sirius and his infuriating attractiveness, but that had been such a permanent feature of the past few months that Remus was well used to ignoring it.
“You look like the cat who’s got the cream,” Sirius murmured in his ear as he slid into the seat next to Remus and helped himself to porridge. Remus merely smiled and tucked into his cornflakes.
“Post’s come,” James said through a mouthful of sausage. He gestured with his fork, and HP sauce splashed across the table.
“I can see that,” Sirius said, looking at the leaning tower of Pisa next to his plate. “Do they all have to be pink?”
“Colour of the day, I think you’ll find,” said Cleo, kissing Sirius’s head and sitting down on his other side. “Happy Valentine’s Day. May you manage not to vomit.”
“To you too,” Sirius grinned, and pecked her on the cheek.
Meanwhile, James had turned his attention to Peter. “No post, Pete?” he asked in what he evidently thought was a sympathetic tone.
Peter flushed and shook his head, his mouth thinning slightly. Remus felt inexplicably guilty.
“Never mind!” Sirius said jovially, secure in his own eligibility. He scooped up a pile of luridly pink envelopes and dumped them by Peter’s plate. “Here,” he said, “have some of mine.”
“Thanks,” Peter said, and Remus was impressed at his self control: he barely grimaced, and he managed to sound half-way grateful.
“Look!” Cleo said. “Another owl. Maybe it’s for you, Peter.”
“It won’t be,” Peter said, smiling brightly, and once again Remus was impressed.
“No, it is! Look.”
The owl circled, then landed on Peter’s shoulder, nipping his ear gently. Absently he stroked her plumage with one hand, while with the other he opened the envelope, his face shining with hope; then his whole body crumpled as he read the inscription.
“Well?” James asked.
“From my mum,” Peter mumbled, and Sirius roared with laughter. Remus frowned, reflecting that Sirius was being unusually loud and obnoxious this morning. Then he saw his grey eyes flick to Cleo, and he realised he was probably nervous. James too seemed twitchier than normal, and Remus wondered what hell would be let loose in the name of love this year.
Cleo’s present arrived first, an expectant hush falling over the table as her owl landed gracefully by her plate. Sirius’s shoulder was pressed against Remus’s, and he could feel his body tense as Cleo started opening the package. By the time the wrapping was undone, he was staring at his plate with wide unseeing eyes, his jaw clenched. Remus gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Sirius gave a weak smile in return. Cleo was opening the box now, and with a gasp, she drew out a silken scarf, a deep rich blue shot through with silver thread that shimmered in the light, and edged with silver embroidery. It was the most beautiful material Remus had ever seen. He felt rather guilty for feeling surprised.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Sirius!” Cleo exclaimed, and Sirius finally breathed.
“There’s more,” he said, his grin widening by the second. “Unwrap it.”
Everyone craned their neck to see, and a ripple of appreciation ran through the crowd as Cleo pulled out a delicate silver chain. It appeared to be a charm bracelet of some sort; when she held it up, Remus saw that each charm was an individual star.
“There’s a card!” Rilly said, as Cleo gazed wordlessly at the bracelet, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. “I’ll read it. Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths, of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
“Except he’s not exactly poor, is he?” someone - possibly Lily Evans - muttered, but she was quickly shushed.
“No vomiting?” Sirius asked, the slightest quaver in his voice.
Cleo beamed at him. “No vomiting,” she breathed, and Remus looked away, his armour slipping, his stomach and heart heavy with envy.
“You bastard,” James said then, “how on earth am I supposed to follow that?” Sirius smirked, and James glowered more. “Bet you didn’t even think of it,” he muttered.
“It was entirely my idea, actually. Although Remus helped. Didn’t you, Remus?” Remus looked up, and he found Sirius looking back at him, radiating happiness. He nodded and looked away, forcing a smile.
“Well, thank you, Remus,” Cleo said, bending to kiss his cheek.
“Yes, thank you, Remus,” Sirius echoed, but Remus refused to meet his eye.
~*~
If breakfast had been Sirius’s show, then lunch was James’s. He waited until just after the arrival of pudding, and then produced a small ceramic cherub from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Animatus,” he breathed, frowning with concentration, and the cherub slowly came to life, stretching one ceramic arm after another and giving a huge yawn. James proceeded to mutter at it for a good few minutes, until finally he sat back, satisfied. The cherub saluted, and then with a bit of effort (it was quite chubby, and its wings were rather small) it set off down the table in the direction of Lily Evans.
“And they’re off,” Peter whispered, and Remus grinned.
“This should be good,” he whispered back, and they shared a conspiratorial smile.
The cherub was almost level with Lily by now, and it produced a small trumpet, which it proceeded to blow. It made a small and tinny sound, as if from a toy, but it got Lily’s attention, and her shoulders slumped, as if to say here we go again.
The cherub put down its trumpet and cleared its throat a few times, then it announced in a piping voice, “Mr Potter’s compliments, Miss Evans; I am charged with a sacred quest, beloved of all my kind and sanctioned by the goddess Venus herself, namely to convey Mr Potter’s deepest affection and to ask if you will agree to be his Valentine on this, the day of sweethearts everywhere.”
And then there was a deafening bang above their heads, and Remus looked up to see hundreds - no, thousands - of little paper hearts falling through the air like snow. Curiously he caught one: in flashing curlicues it read: JP 4 LE.
Lily was staring in abject horror at the cherub, her hair liberally spangled with confetti; she looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hex James into next week. Remus caught Peter’s eye and found himself unable to stifle his grin; in a moment he, and the rest of the Gryffindor table, were almost crying with laughter. This seemed to decide Lily: her face as red as her hair, she bounced to her feet and marched over to James, whereupon she grabbed him by the ear and hissed, “Don’t you bloody get it, Potter? I will never, ever, ever go out with you. Ever. Not even if you were the last man on earth.”
And to a chorus of whistles and catcalls, she stormed out of the hall.
Meanwhile, James had crumpled like a wet paper bag, his face a picture of abject misery. Peter patted him on the shoulder, and Sirius said, “Bad luck, mate,” but since he had his arm round Cleo and was still glowing from his earlier triumph, it was cold comfort. Certainly James didn’t appear cheered.
“It’s over,” he said. “I’m ruined. I’ll never be able to live this down.”
“Cheer up, Prongs,” Sirius said. “You’ve done far stupider things than this, and you’ve lived those down.”
James didn’t seem to hear. He picked confetti out of his treacle tart and said forlornly, “She could at least have admired the spellwork.”
“I think she did admire it,” Peter said.
“What?”
“She did admire it. That was the problem.”
“How does that make any sense at all?”
“Basically, she’s determined not to like you, so every time you do something that might make her like you, or even admire you, it makes her furious at you for making her like you. If you see what I mean. Oh, and she was probably really embarrassed, which made her angrier.”
“See? It’s hopeless. Even bloody Wormtail understands girls better than me.”
Peter shrugged. “I just keep my eyes open, that’s all.”
“So do I!”
“Yeah,” Sirius said with a snigger, “but Wormtail doesn’t wear glasses, does he?”
James went a dull red colour, and Remus decided it was time to step in.
~*~
He didn’t realise it at first, but by eleven o’clock it was clear that the third billing of the day was his own name.
“And you really got no cards?” asked James, a little blearily.
“None.”
“At all?”
“At all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Remus said, starting to lose his patience.
“Not even one from Rilly?”
“Why Rilly?”
“She likes you,” Sirius cut in from his bed.
Remus felt himself blush, and his stomach suddenly felt very hollow. He took a gulp of Firewhiskey, and tried to brazen it out. “Nah,” he said. “She can’t.”
“Why not? You can’t help who you like.”
“Thanks, Prongs.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Shut up, Sirius. But listen, are you sure she didn’t?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
James shrugged, and blinked owlishly from behind his glasses. “I heard she was going to send a card.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” Sirius asked. “Besides, she’s probably above all that. Clever bird, that Rilly. But what about you, Prongs? You got your next second choice set up?”
And for a few minutes James rambled on about Kathy Jenkins and all her sterling qualities, and Remus gave Sirius a grateful smile for successfully changing the subject.
“No problem,” Sirius mouthed with a grin, and Remus almost wished Sirius would stop being so nice and go back to being a moody bastard, because he was in danger of falling more in love than ever, and at least when he’d been a wanker he hadn’t really liked him, however much he loved him.
But then the indomitable James made his way back to the subject of Rilly, and Remus’s stomach shrank away to nothing.
“But see here, Remus,” he said, taking a slurp from his glass (actually a tooth-mug), “I think you should go out with Rilly. She’s a lovely girl. And she needs someone steady who’d look after her, after all she’s been through.”
“And that’s me?” Remus asked.
“Yeah. You’d be perfect together.”
“Except I don’t think Rilly’s ready for a relationship,” Sirius said, and once again Remus felt a rush of gratitude. “I mean, it’s been just over a month since her parents died. Surely she’s a little fragile?”
“Maybe it’s what she needs. Remus would look after her.”
“But maybe Remus doesn’t want to look after her? Surely he’s got enough on his plate already?”
“That’s quite a selfish viewpoint,” James said sanctimoniously.
“Says the king of self-absorption.”
“I’m just trying to help. Remus has been a bit quiet lately. Spending too much time in the library. I think he needs a shag.”
“And what would you know of shagging, you bloody little virgin?”
James flushed. “I may not be a slut like you, but I know the mechanics.”
“If you call it mechanics, sonny Jim, you’re going to die a virgin.”
“How hard could it be?”
“If it was that easy, surely you’d have done it?”
“I’ve done everything but.”
“Yeah? Who with?”
“Loads of girls. But that’s not the point! We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Remus.”
“You’re talking about Remus. I’m talking about you.”
“Shut up, Sirius. Remus, would you go out with Rilly?”
And then Remus did something entirely unexpected. It might have been the Firewhiskey talking, or he might have gone temporarily mad; or it could have been that the horror of telling the truth was outweighed by the reluctance to tell another lie. Whatever the reason, he took a deep breath, swallowed, and said, “Yes.” Sirius stopped spluttering abruptly, and stared at him in amazement. “Hypothetically speaking, that is,” Remus added, feeling suddenly extremely calm. “Ignoring one vital problem.”
“That you don’t fancy her,” Sirius cut in, a little desperately.
Remus smiled serenely at Sirius, feeling the blood pounding in his head and somehow floating above it. “No, Sirius. I would fancy her. If I didn’t fancy blokes instead.”
next
Prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six
seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen
Chapter 13
Title: Ruled by the Moon
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Remus/Sirius (unrequited so far!)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Genre: Everything! Tis Lupin's Life!
A/N: Many millions of thanks to lyras for the beta-ing, and her endless patience with my vacillating and sometimes shocking writing habits. Feedback is adored.
Summary: Being an account of the life of Remus J Lupin, Esquire, from his first day at Hogwarts to his last on this earth. In many chapters. Also starring Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the various inhabitants of Hogwarts and the wizarding world.
Teaser: Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been a penance, a popularity contest Remus was destined to lose.
Chapter 13
Valentine's Day
“Moony!”
“- and a swish-swish double up-down -”
“Moony!”
“- and then the incantation - Colerculum!”
“Moony!”
“What?”
Sirius leant forwards and whispered, “I need your help.”
“Sirius, you mastered this charm last year.”
“Not with the charm. What do you take me for?”
“An annoyance. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Once more - Colerculum! Long “er” sound, please, I want no ‘colloculums’ today.”
“Moony, please.”
“No. Colerculum!”
“Moooooony…”
“No!”
“Please please please please -”
“Fine! But not now. After the lesson.”
“But I’m bored.”
“I don’t care.”
Two minutes later, Severus Snape’s quill exploded, splattering him and his neighbour with ink. Sirius and James smirked, and Remus groaned.
~*~
“So,” Remus said at breaktime, when they were snatching a cigarette in a deserted corner of the quad, “how can I help?”
“Give’s a light first.” Remus chucked him the lighter and Sirius cupped his hands around his cigarette, back turned to protect it against the wind. “Thanks. Ooh, good catch.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Go on.”
“Basically, it’s Valentine’s in two days, and I don’t know what to get Cleo.”
“Left it a bit late, haven’t you?” Remus said, ignoring the way his skin tingled where Sirius was huddled against him, even through three layers of clothing.
“Been busy. Quidditch, homework, Cleo, the Map…”
Remus smiled wryly. “At least you can be open about what you’re doing on Valentine’s Day.”
“And whose fault is it that you can’t?” Sirius retorted. Remus frowned.
“I will tell them,” he muttered, angrily flicking ash off his cigarette, “when I know they won’t hate me.”
“Is it your girl’s period, Moony? You’re being awfully melodramatic. Not to mention grumpy.”
“Do you want my help or not?” Remus demanded.
“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise, would I?” He shivered as a particularly Arctic wind gusted round the corner. “Shit it’s cold.”
“Let’s make this quick, then. Do you have any ideas?”
“Not really.”
Remus took a drag on his cigarette and tried to subdue his impatience. “Flowers are traditional,” he said, “along with chocolate, poetry and things decorated with hearts. And before you say it, you can’t paint your cock with hearts and call it her present.”
“Hideous slander,” Sirius exclaimed. “That’s something Prongs would do, not me.”
“What would you do then?”
“Just wrap it in a bow. The paint must taste horrible.” Despite himself, Remus laughed, and Sirius grinned around his cigarette, looking dashing and rather wicked. But then he sobered and said, “I wanted to get her something a bit different. Something that’s a bit more personal, you know? Not just, “Here, have this box of chocs that took me three minutes to buy.’”
“Maybe jewellery then,” Remus suggested. “Or poetry. But not Shakespeare. That’s too obvious. Auden, maybe, or Yeats.”
“‘Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,’” Sirius murmured.
“Exactly.”
Sirius looked up slowly, a smile blooming on his face. “Got it!” he said. “Bloody got it! Moony, you’re a genius!” He grabbed Remus and hugged him, arms tight around Remus’s neck.
Distantly the bell rang for the end of break.
“When you’ve quite finished copping a feel…” Remus heard himself drawl, and Sirius quickly let him go, awkwardness blooming between them like the outsize Fluorescent Fuschia in Greenhouse Three. “It’s Transfiguration,” Remus added hurriedly, noting the pink tinge to Sirius’s cheeks and wondering if he’d pushed his luck.
“Don’t want to be late,” Sirius agreed, taking a last drag on his cigarette then stubbing it out on the brick wall behind them. Remus watched the butt fall to the ground, joining those discarded in earlier visits.
“Getting a bit messy round here,” he said, with a false laugh.
Sirius looked at him quizzically. “I’ll tell the house-elves,” he said, and then he caught Remus’s eye and grinned. Remus smiled back, feeling the mask slip into place and cover the turmoil of his insides. He trusted his expression to hold, but he was worried at the effect eye contact had on him, and he resolved to keep his eyes averted as much as possible. Luckily Sirius seemed to be doing the same, and Remus was grateful for this, if a little distressed that he’d said the wrong thing. Evidently not used to it yet, he thought, his stomach sinking at the thought.
“What about you?” Sirius asked as they stepped into the Entrance Hall. “What are you getting Oliver?”
He’s putting a brave face on it, though, Remus reflected, feeling absurdly grateful, and so he answered truthfully. “I don’t know. It’s sort of - well, I dunno if he’s even expecting something.” Sirius nodded, and Remus felt able to continue. “And if he is, I don’t know how big it should be. And he’s not a girl, so I can’t get him jewellery or flowers or whatever.”
“Maybe a book?” Sirius suggested.
“Seems a bit big, doesn’t it?”
“Doesn’t have to be an encyclopaedia, Moony,” Sirius said, and Remus smiled. “Could be a pamphlet.”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. You’re his boyfriend.”
“Well, he likes Quidditch -”
“Boooring.”
“What?”
“Too obvious.”
“Oh. Um, I think he mentioned Fitzgerald, and Hardy - oh, no, he didn’t like Hardy.”
“Could you get him some Fitzgerald then?”
“No, he’s got them all already. First editions as well,” he added gloomily.
“Really? He must be well-off.”
“Well, he is, but you don’t have to be well off to have first editions of Fitzgerald. They were his grandfather’s. He got them in his will, along with his records.”
“Records? He likes music?”
“Yeah.”
“Get him a record then. It’s not too big, not too small, and has that personal, I’ve-really-thought-about-this feel.”
“But where am I going to get a record in two days?”
“Leave it to me. Tell me what you want and I guarantee you’ll have it by tomorrow evening.”
They’d reached Transfiguration by now, but Remus didn’t go in. “Really?” he said. “You’d do that?”
Sirius shrugged and smiled. “Why not? No skin off my back. It’d be a pleasure.”
“Wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Sirius smiled wider at Remus’s confusion, and chucked him under the chin. “Eh oop, lad,” he said. “Anything for a friend.” And with a final heart-stopping grin, he pushed open the door and went in.
~*~
Dear Sirius,
I always knew you should have been a Slytherin, and your latest letter confirmed it. I thought Gryffindors were too noble to resort to blackmail? Or in this case, Black-mail (ho ho ho, aren’t I witty?). In any case, threatening to tell Ted about “that time in France” is definitely hitting below the belt, and redundant besides, since a) I’ll just tell him about the time at Aunt Griselda’s birthday party, and b) I would have done it anyway if you’d just asked nicely.
But it seems being sprogful has made me soft, so I enclose one (1) LP of Robert Johnson. I hope you’re grateful, you snotty little brat, and you know I’ll never forgive you for making me talk to Muggles. I could have caught some horrible disease. If I die, I’ll make sure you’re sent down for my murder.
Affectionately yours,
Andromeda.
PS Nymphadora sends her love, and asks when “that silly one” is coming to play again. If you’re not good, I’ll make you read “The Elephant and The Bad Baby” to her ten times in a row. From memory.
~*~
Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been a penance, a popularity contest Remus was destined to lose. Even worse, it was a public penance, since the post came at breakfast and it was impossible to hide how many - or how few - cards he received. Naturally, Sirius was almost invisible in the flurry of feathers and falling envelopes, and even James received a fair few, while Remus and Peter sat uncomfortably in full view of everyone.
But today was different. Today Remus was armoured, made invincible by an early morning tap on the window and a heartfelt, if slightly reserved, note. He barely felt the floor beneath his feet, and his heart was clenched with happiness that left him short of breath. He felt appreciated, needed, desirable. He felt more at home in his body than he ever had. The only cloud on the horizon was Sirius and his infuriating attractiveness, but that had been such a permanent feature of the past few months that Remus was well used to ignoring it.
“You look like the cat who’s got the cream,” Sirius murmured in his ear as he slid into the seat next to Remus and helped himself to porridge. Remus merely smiled and tucked into his cornflakes.
“Post’s come,” James said through a mouthful of sausage. He gestured with his fork, and HP sauce splashed across the table.
“I can see that,” Sirius said, looking at the leaning tower of Pisa next to his plate. “Do they all have to be pink?”
“Colour of the day, I think you’ll find,” said Cleo, kissing Sirius’s head and sitting down on his other side. “Happy Valentine’s Day. May you manage not to vomit.”
“To you too,” Sirius grinned, and pecked her on the cheek.
Meanwhile, James had turned his attention to Peter. “No post, Pete?” he asked in what he evidently thought was a sympathetic tone.
Peter flushed and shook his head, his mouth thinning slightly. Remus felt inexplicably guilty.
“Never mind!” Sirius said jovially, secure in his own eligibility. He scooped up a pile of luridly pink envelopes and dumped them by Peter’s plate. “Here,” he said, “have some of mine.”
“Thanks,” Peter said, and Remus was impressed at his self control: he barely grimaced, and he managed to sound half-way grateful.
“Look!” Cleo said. “Another owl. Maybe it’s for you, Peter.”
“It won’t be,” Peter said, smiling brightly, and once again Remus was impressed.
“No, it is! Look.”
The owl circled, then landed on Peter’s shoulder, nipping his ear gently. Absently he stroked her plumage with one hand, while with the other he opened the envelope, his face shining with hope; then his whole body crumpled as he read the inscription.
“Well?” James asked.
“From my mum,” Peter mumbled, and Sirius roared with laughter. Remus frowned, reflecting that Sirius was being unusually loud and obnoxious this morning. Then he saw his grey eyes flick to Cleo, and he realised he was probably nervous. James too seemed twitchier than normal, and Remus wondered what hell would be let loose in the name of love this year.
Cleo’s present arrived first, an expectant hush falling over the table as her owl landed gracefully by her plate. Sirius’s shoulder was pressed against Remus’s, and he could feel his body tense as Cleo started opening the package. By the time the wrapping was undone, he was staring at his plate with wide unseeing eyes, his jaw clenched. Remus gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Sirius gave a weak smile in return. Cleo was opening the box now, and with a gasp, she drew out a silken scarf, a deep rich blue shot through with silver thread that shimmered in the light, and edged with silver embroidery. It was the most beautiful material Remus had ever seen. He felt rather guilty for feeling surprised.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Sirius!” Cleo exclaimed, and Sirius finally breathed.
“There’s more,” he said, his grin widening by the second. “Unwrap it.”
Everyone craned their neck to see, and a ripple of appreciation ran through the crowd as Cleo pulled out a delicate silver chain. It appeared to be a charm bracelet of some sort; when she held it up, Remus saw that each charm was an individual star.
“There’s a card!” Rilly said, as Cleo gazed wordlessly at the bracelet, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. “I’ll read it. Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths, of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
“Except he’s not exactly poor, is he?” someone - possibly Lily Evans - muttered, but she was quickly shushed.
“No vomiting?” Sirius asked, the slightest quaver in his voice.
Cleo beamed at him. “No vomiting,” she breathed, and Remus looked away, his armour slipping, his stomach and heart heavy with envy.
“You bastard,” James said then, “how on earth am I supposed to follow that?” Sirius smirked, and James glowered more. “Bet you didn’t even think of it,” he muttered.
“It was entirely my idea, actually. Although Remus helped. Didn’t you, Remus?” Remus looked up, and he found Sirius looking back at him, radiating happiness. He nodded and looked away, forcing a smile.
“Well, thank you, Remus,” Cleo said, bending to kiss his cheek.
“Yes, thank you, Remus,” Sirius echoed, but Remus refused to meet his eye.
~*~
If breakfast had been Sirius’s show, then lunch was James’s. He waited until just after the arrival of pudding, and then produced a small ceramic cherub from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Animatus,” he breathed, frowning with concentration, and the cherub slowly came to life, stretching one ceramic arm after another and giving a huge yawn. James proceeded to mutter at it for a good few minutes, until finally he sat back, satisfied. The cherub saluted, and then with a bit of effort (it was quite chubby, and its wings were rather small) it set off down the table in the direction of Lily Evans.
“And they’re off,” Peter whispered, and Remus grinned.
“This should be good,” he whispered back, and they shared a conspiratorial smile.
The cherub was almost level with Lily by now, and it produced a small trumpet, which it proceeded to blow. It made a small and tinny sound, as if from a toy, but it got Lily’s attention, and her shoulders slumped, as if to say here we go again.
The cherub put down its trumpet and cleared its throat a few times, then it announced in a piping voice, “Mr Potter’s compliments, Miss Evans; I am charged with a sacred quest, beloved of all my kind and sanctioned by the goddess Venus herself, namely to convey Mr Potter’s deepest affection and to ask if you will agree to be his Valentine on this, the day of sweethearts everywhere.”
And then there was a deafening bang above their heads, and Remus looked up to see hundreds - no, thousands - of little paper hearts falling through the air like snow. Curiously he caught one: in flashing curlicues it read: JP 4 LE.
Lily was staring in abject horror at the cherub, her hair liberally spangled with confetti; she looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hex James into next week. Remus caught Peter’s eye and found himself unable to stifle his grin; in a moment he, and the rest of the Gryffindor table, were almost crying with laughter. This seemed to decide Lily: her face as red as her hair, she bounced to her feet and marched over to James, whereupon she grabbed him by the ear and hissed, “Don’t you bloody get it, Potter? I will never, ever, ever go out with you. Ever. Not even if you were the last man on earth.”
And to a chorus of whistles and catcalls, she stormed out of the hall.
Meanwhile, James had crumpled like a wet paper bag, his face a picture of abject misery. Peter patted him on the shoulder, and Sirius said, “Bad luck, mate,” but since he had his arm round Cleo and was still glowing from his earlier triumph, it was cold comfort. Certainly James didn’t appear cheered.
“It’s over,” he said. “I’m ruined. I’ll never be able to live this down.”
“Cheer up, Prongs,” Sirius said. “You’ve done far stupider things than this, and you’ve lived those down.”
James didn’t seem to hear. He picked confetti out of his treacle tart and said forlornly, “She could at least have admired the spellwork.”
“I think she did admire it,” Peter said.
“What?”
“She did admire it. That was the problem.”
“How does that make any sense at all?”
“Basically, she’s determined not to like you, so every time you do something that might make her like you, or even admire you, it makes her furious at you for making her like you. If you see what I mean. Oh, and she was probably really embarrassed, which made her angrier.”
“See? It’s hopeless. Even bloody Wormtail understands girls better than me.”
Peter shrugged. “I just keep my eyes open, that’s all.”
“So do I!”
“Yeah,” Sirius said with a snigger, “but Wormtail doesn’t wear glasses, does he?”
James went a dull red colour, and Remus decided it was time to step in.
~*~
He didn’t realise it at first, but by eleven o’clock it was clear that the third billing of the day was his own name.
“And you really got no cards?” asked James, a little blearily.
“None.”
“At all?”
“At all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Remus said, starting to lose his patience.
“Not even one from Rilly?”
“Why Rilly?”
“She likes you,” Sirius cut in from his bed.
Remus felt himself blush, and his stomach suddenly felt very hollow. He took a gulp of Firewhiskey, and tried to brazen it out. “Nah,” he said. “She can’t.”
“Why not? You can’t help who you like.”
“Thanks, Prongs.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Shut up, Sirius. But listen, are you sure she didn’t?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
James shrugged, and blinked owlishly from behind his glasses. “I heard she was going to send a card.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” Sirius asked. “Besides, she’s probably above all that. Clever bird, that Rilly. But what about you, Prongs? You got your next second choice set up?”
And for a few minutes James rambled on about Kathy Jenkins and all her sterling qualities, and Remus gave Sirius a grateful smile for successfully changing the subject.
“No problem,” Sirius mouthed with a grin, and Remus almost wished Sirius would stop being so nice and go back to being a moody bastard, because he was in danger of falling more in love than ever, and at least when he’d been a wanker he hadn’t really liked him, however much he loved him.
But then the indomitable James made his way back to the subject of Rilly, and Remus’s stomach shrank away to nothing.
“But see here, Remus,” he said, taking a slurp from his glass (actually a tooth-mug), “I think you should go out with Rilly. She’s a lovely girl. And she needs someone steady who’d look after her, after all she’s been through.”
“And that’s me?” Remus asked.
“Yeah. You’d be perfect together.”
“Except I don’t think Rilly’s ready for a relationship,” Sirius said, and once again Remus felt a rush of gratitude. “I mean, it’s been just over a month since her parents died. Surely she’s a little fragile?”
“Maybe it’s what she needs. Remus would look after her.”
“But maybe Remus doesn’t want to look after her? Surely he’s got enough on his plate already?”
“That’s quite a selfish viewpoint,” James said sanctimoniously.
“Says the king of self-absorption.”
“I’m just trying to help. Remus has been a bit quiet lately. Spending too much time in the library. I think he needs a shag.”
“And what would you know of shagging, you bloody little virgin?”
James flushed. “I may not be a slut like you, but I know the mechanics.”
“If you call it mechanics, sonny Jim, you’re going to die a virgin.”
“How hard could it be?”
“If it was that easy, surely you’d have done it?”
“I’ve done everything but.”
“Yeah? Who with?”
“Loads of girls. But that’s not the point! We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Remus.”
“You’re talking about Remus. I’m talking about you.”
“Shut up, Sirius. Remus, would you go out with Rilly?”
And then Remus did something entirely unexpected. It might have been the Firewhiskey talking, or he might have gone temporarily mad; or it could have been that the horror of telling the truth was outweighed by the reluctance to tell another lie. Whatever the reason, he took a deep breath, swallowed, and said, “Yes.” Sirius stopped spluttering abruptly, and stared at him in amazement. “Hypothetically speaking, that is,” Remus added, feeling suddenly extremely calm. “Ignoring one vital problem.”
“That you don’t fancy her,” Sirius cut in, a little desperately.
Remus smiled serenely at Sirius, feeling the blood pounding in his head and somehow floating above it. “No, Sirius. I would fancy her. If I didn’t fancy blokes instead.”
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Prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six
seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen