Merry Christmas, connmhaigh!
Title: …And To All A Good Night
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros.
Prompt #12: Remus and Sirius getting together Post-Hogwarts and Pre-Azkaban. Any rating, though I'd prefer they discover their feelings without the Just Friends Helping Each Other Out angle. Extra points if you get Remus dressed up as Santa Claus and Sirius dressed as Mrs. Claus.
To: connmhaigh
from your Secret Santa
Christmas Eve, 1979
"So, er… what d’you want for Christmas, Moony?"
Remus gave him a hard, wry stare and handed him a contraption that looked more like a dark wizard’s torture device than an undergarment.
"I told you, nothing. There’s nothing I want for Christmas. And I won’t be distracted, Sirius. You promised."
"And this absolutely necessary?"
"Yes. On three. One…"
"…Wouldn’t do this for anyone else, you know …"
"Two…"
Sirius resigned himself and braced both hands on the bedpost, feeling utterly foolish, and closed his eyes.
"Three!"
A foot pressed hard into his back and the laces snapped through their grommets until the corset closed sharply and choked off his air. Sirius gasped, feeling his eyes bulge from the force of Remus’ yanking. The padded bosom rose buoyantly and crested over the top of the stays, providing rather fulsome assets of flannel and cotton wool that Sirius tweaked experimentally once he regained his breath.
Behind him, Remus shifted his voluminous padded belly and ran up his wide red braces. Sirius scowled.
"Remind me again why I have to be Mrs. Claus?"
Remus smiled at him ruefully, the sad and earnest expression that always made Sirius inwardly cringe because it meant he had failed to comprehend some way in which Moony was being noble. He watched Remus’ long fingers gingerly touch the violent slashes that crossed his face, souvenirs of a particularly difficult transition.
"Because the beard hides these. My face doesn’t exactly conjure visions of sugarplums, does it?"
Sirius blanched, abashed. He hadn’t noticed. Rather, he had-his mind held an inventory of all of Remus’ scars, their length and breadth catalogued along with the dates they first appeared-but he had long ago stopped seeing them, seeing only Moony, and he hated it when his friend gouged himself with these little verbal claws, even if his words were true.
"Moony, I…" He stumbled over his clumsy words, his mouth hanging awkwardly.
"Would you rather be an elf?" Remus interceded. "I can conjure you some pointy shoes if you like." He muttered an incantation and tapped his wand against his chin, his cheeks sprouting white hairs that filled out his face and grew steadily downward until a thick, snowy beard hung almost to his padded belly.
Sirius wished he could breathe, wished the bones of the corset didn’t dig into the bony promontories of his hips, but even the sore, raw spots he wagered he’d have tomorrow would simply be a reminder of something he had done right, something he had done because Moony asked him to. Moony, after all, asked very little. He closed his mouth into a small, sheepish grin and donned his wig. Remus held his gaze until Sirius shifted uncomfortably and looked away.
# # #
They floo’d to headquarters together (fashionably late, as Sirius had briefly suffered a bout of cold feet) appearing in the chimney posed arm in arm, the perfect picture of Father Christmas and his tall, skinny wife with an impractically large bosom and a prominent Adam’s apple. His tall, skinny wife with an edge of denim and scuffed Doctor Martens poking out from beneath her heavy velvet skirt: Sirius had drawn the line firmly at stockings and pumps.
The Hall was a riot of hovering candles and candy-laden stockings that intermittently detached themselves from the mantle to form roving kick-lines. One in particular, a red-and-black striped affair bulging with candy canes and Chocolate Frogs, seemed to take alarming pleasure in floating around the hall and booting unsuspecting guests in the bum. At the banquet table, Minerva McGonagall spelled raisins to look like tiny Hungarian Horntails, dropping them in the large bowl of brandy that sent up low blue flames for a round of Snapdragon. Every so often, she peered around the room officiously and, satisfied no one was looking, popped one into her mouth.
The party was meant to be a bright moment in a world that had become increasingly dim. The members of the Order and their families had voted to gather at the headquarters for a grand display of holiday spirit. And spirit there was: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore hiding in the vestibule, concocting a scheme to get them over the threshold without the mistletoe causing an embarrassing ruckus, Gideon and Fabian Prewett squaring off to pull the biggest Christmas cracker Sirius had ever seen, and numerous children-many of them Weasleys-running amok, drunk on a surfeit of sugar.
Their arrival brought quite a vocal response from James. The git was laughing! No, not laughing…howling. Cackling, even. They had barely stepped out of the fireplace when he doubled over in glee, his glasses slipping off his nose and cracking against the stone floor. Lily, more subdued in her mirth, cast a quick reparo on the broken lens and tucked them into her pocket until James could better control himself, which would not be soon enough, as far as Sirius was concerned.
"Shut it, Prongs. Remus might’ve asked you to be a red-nosed reindeer."
This only made James howl more, and he reached up and honked Sirius’ left tit. Sirius smacked his hand.
"Mind the children, prat."
James leered lasciviously but did not relinquish his grip on Sirius’ padding. "If I ply you with firewhiskey will I get to play with them later?"
Sirius scowled. "It’ll take at least a bottle to make me that friendly, mate."
Just then, an explosion rocked the room and sent some of the smaller children tumbling to the floor. The Prewetts had just pulled the cracker. Confetti and streamers rained down, fireworks and sparkling stars zoomed and flashed around the room, and giant chocolate coins rolled across the floor. Gideon picked up a bejeweled coronet and set it on his brother’s head at a jaunty angle. "Should’ve known wizard crackers would come with real crowns!"
James returned with the first of Sirius’ drinks and he gratefully downed it. His wig itched terribly and the tightness of the corset was making him vaguely nauseated. Remus, meanwhile, had ensconced himself in a fancy throne-like chair, and the smaller children crowded around him with eager squeals.
Sirius watched Remus lift the McKinnon’s little girl on to his knee and lean in to hear her tiny whisper, and she beamed so thoroughly when she finally slid off his lap that even Sirius couldn’t help grinning. Remus visited with each one of the children and his soft, low voice calmed even the most fretful toddler (which was indubitably Percy Weasley). The children loved Father Christmas, yet the same children would likely shy behind their mother’s robes or whimper uncertainly if they saw Remus’ scarred face without his holiday beard. The thought was sobering and sad. He wished they could see what he saw when he looked at Remus. Which is what, exactly, a little voice in his mind queried. He ignored it and flagged James for another drink.
In his dress and itchy wig, he fidgeted self-consciously. He thought of Moony in his threadbare robes and clothes that were hopelessly out-of-date, or too small, or repeatedly patched by his inexpert hands with uneven stitches, and realized that Remus hardly ever looked self-conscious. He caught Remus watching him, his lips curved in a warm smile. The smile made Sirius tingle.
A few sips later, he didn’t feel quite so maudlin, but he did feel short of breath and a bit overheated. The dress wasn’t so bad, just the bloody corset, and the stuffed tits that seemed to slowly be working their way up under his chin, making it impossible to see his feet. He looked back at Remus, who was now balancing the wriggling Weasley twins, one on each knee, and laughing. Admit it, you twit, he reproved himself. You’d have dressed up in pink panties and a bra if you thought it would make Remus happy. However, thinking of being nearly naked in front of Remus took his thoughts into uncomfortable territory, so he quickly steered them elsewhere and swallowed back the remainder of his drink. Looking down through his empty glass and beyond his bodacious chest, he saw the distorted face of an unidentified Weasley staring up at him suspiciously.
"You’re not a real lady," the boy declared peevishly.
"Er…well…" Sirius stumbled, wondering how Remus would handle this, because Remus knew how to handle everything, but the pouting youngster was swiftly swept along by Lily and distracted with a singing candy cane. He returned to watching Remus, and sometimes Remus looked over at him, smiling, and it was gutting.
He wasn’t feeling particularly well, and he wished he hadn’t had that last drink. He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. He was still too hot, though he had moved away from the fireplace. Even his scalp was sweaty. He fanned himself with his hand and his fingers felt prickly. It occurred to him rather too late that something wasn’t quite right. He keeled over backward, his vision going all white, but he thought he might have heard James holler "Oi, Padfoot!" right before he hit the floor.
* * *
"Sirius? You alright?"
At the sound of that voice, Sirius opened his eyes muzzily, aware of a throbbing ache at the back of his head. He saw his corset, dress and padding draped over a chair and was exceedingly glad he had decided to keep his jeans on underneath. Remus perched on the couch beside him, his hat and padding gone but the long, wiry whiskers still streaming in a frothy fall against his chest. He wore his half-smile like a cloak.
"You fainted. Hit your head on the mantel."
Sirius groaned, half in pain, half in mortification. "Bloody corset. A bloke can’t breathe in one of those things."
An eyebrow hoisted archly. "I’m sure the firewhiskey had nothing to do with it."
"Not a thing," Sirius grinned dizzily. He looked down and it registered at last that Remus was holding his hand. Remus followed his gaze and abruptly looked away, jerking back his fingers as if he had been burned. Sirius opened his mouth lamely, and closed it again, not sure what he had thought to say. His fingers curled slowly shut to trap the warmth left by Remus’ now-absent touch. Remus was blushing, and the creep of color behind white whiskers made Sirius’s heart trip in its rhythm.
"You went straight over like someone stupefied you," Remus piped, his tone falsely light. "Moody went bonkers. Thought we were under attack. You nearly squashed Percy Weasley flat."
Sirius grunted, his Remus-warmed hand gingerly surveying the rising lump on the back of his head. "Well, if someone must be squashed, may as well be a Weasley. At least they’d still have a few dozen left."
The sudden strained silence between them was not broken by Remus’ forced laughter. His eyes still remained averted, and Sirius felt suddenly hollow.
"I’m sorry if I cocked up your Father Christmas bit."
The grey-brown head shook. "I’m sorry I made you wear that awful contraption. Anyway, it was getting late." A wand emerged from the folds of red velvet, and with a whispered word and a tap against his chin, Remus’ beard crept backward inch by inch until it receded into his skin, baring familiar planes interrupted by familiar angry gouges. "All the little ones were falling asleep."
"James?"
"Gone home. Wearing your wig. Almost everyone’s gone."
Sirius watched the shadows cast by candlelight dance across Remus’ face and his chest tightened, contracting painfully around his heart like a corset; he almost forgot the pulsing pain at the back of his head. Remus’ eyes were uncommonly bright, shining in the flickering light. He swallowed hard, feeling as if something had caught in his throat, and with terrifying certainty he reached for Remus’ hand.
He hadn’t expected Remus to startle, to flinch as if struck, and he wondered if he had done the wrong thing, but Remus didn’t take his hand away. No, it rested there solidly, and the thumb that traversed his knuckles now with deliberate care felt somehow like an assurance, a declaration: Yes.
And then they were both in motion, slow and inexorable, inches vanishing between them until their foreheads touched. The air in the room crackled around them and Sirius almost believed the shooting stars from the Christmas cracker would reappear and begin orbiting the sofa. His breathing was shallow and quick. He wondered if he was the only one, hoped desperately that he was not.
A throaty whisper, then. "Remus?"
"Yes?"
"What do you want for Christmas?"
Remus shrugged and the jerky hitch of his shoulders jarred them both, the shirring sound of his fringe crinkling against Sirius’s forehead strangely loud.
"Tell me, Remus."
Remus laughed nervously and began to pull away. "You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought."
Not wanting to break the contact, Sirius followed his retreat, reassured by the renewed susurrations of their hair rubbing between their pressed heads.
"I’m fine. Tell me."
"I…"
"Tell."
"Just… this."
The kiss was gentle and hesitant and Merlin, Moony’s lips were soft…how could they possibly be so soft? Sirius hovered there, close, with their breath slipping in and out of each other’s mouths, the furious pounding of their hearts echoing between them, and he dipped forward again. The pink tip of Remus’ tongue darting across dry lips nearly broke him. When those lips parted against his, parted for him, he shivered, and all sensation in his body focused entirely on his mouth, on the feeling of Remus’ tongue shyly curling around his, the heat of him. The taste of him: rum punch and gingerbread and something that was utterly indefinable and utterly Remus.
He reached up with his free hand, traced the taut, pink scars, the angle of a jaw. Remus pulled back and gave him a hopeful smile edged in wonder. He touched those lips, those impossibly soft lips, because he wanted more than anything to feel that smile, to absorb the moment right through his skin.
"You’re sure?" Remus asked, his breath warm and moist against Sirius’ fingertips.
Sirius didn’t answer. He took another kiss instead. Longer, deeper, still tentative but determined, with trepidation transforming to urgency, and with a surge of joy he feared, just for a moment, might just overwhelm him. Softly, his fingers still warm in Remus’ hand, he whispered:
"Happy Christmas, Moony."
A/N: Snapdragon was a Victorian parlor game popular at Christmas time in which raisins were placed in a bowl of brandy which was then lit on fire. Guests tried to snatch the raisins from the bowl without getting burned. Seems like exactly the kind Wizards would have had at their party!