fic: I look at the world and I notice it's turning (HP; Remus/Sirius; pg)
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
Harry Potter; Remus/Sirius; pg; 650 words
"I needed to hear this song."
This is a teeny sequel to The Love There That's Sleeping. This won't make much sense without reading that.
~*~
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
It's his third day of lying low with Remus when Sirius finds the phonograph. It's collecting dust out in the shed, on a shelf beside shards of broken terra cotta pots, a pair of gardening gloves so old they're cracked and covered in mold, and a trowel with a missing handle.
He does a quick cleaning spell and carries it into the house, pleased with himself. He spends the better part of an hour looking for Remus's records, but there aren't any to be found. He considers the stash of Muggle money Arabella Figg had given him, and his orders to keep out of sight. Surely a quick trip into town couldn't hurt?
He apparates before good sense catches up with him, but nobody sells records anymore. It's all CDs in shiny plastic boxes. He ends up in a secondhand shop. The place smells like boiled cabbage and the early summer sunlight barely filters through the grimy windows.
"I need to buy a record album," he tells the old man behind the counter, who points him towards a stack of crates filled with records. "By the wossname, bugger--Beatles."
"Give you the whole lot for ten quid."
"I only want the one."
The old man shrugs. "Good luck finding it."
Sirius spends fifteen minutes flipping through the old albums, sneezing at the dust they raise. He mutters a scourgify under his breath and hopes the old man won't notice.
He finds it in the fourth crate, the white of the album cover dingy now, the corners bent, the gatefold worn.
He places it gently on the counter and fumbles with the strange Muggle notes. He used to be good at this, used to move between the two worlds like he belonged to both of them. Now he doesn't belong anywhere. He's as much a relic as this old bit of vinyl and cardboard.
He apparates back to the house to find Remus looking strained and frantic.
"Where have you been?"
Sirius pulls the record out of the plastic bag the old man put it in. "Shopping."
"Sirius--"
"I'm fine, Remus. It's all right. Nobody spotted me."
"I just--I thought--"
"When did you become a nervous old man?"
Remus flinches like he's been slapped. "I don't think it's too much to ask that you actually do what Dumbledore tells you, Sirius. He's got your best interests at heart."
"Dumbledore has Dumbledore's best interests at heart," Sirius mutters, and it feels like fourteen years ago, like those dark autumn days when they'd stopped speaking and stopped fucking and stopped trusting each other. He tries to shake himself out of it. "I didn't--I don't--" He swipes a hand across his face. "It's all bollocksed up."
Remus laughs softly. "It usually is." He reaches out a hand. "What've you got there?" Sirius shows him. He doesn't hold his breath and hope Remus remembers. "The White Album. Always a good choice."
Sirius exhales and tries to relax, tension making his skin too tight. He thinks about turning into Padfoot but doesn't. Instead, he puts the record on the phonograph, drops the needle into the groove with a hand that trembles. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lets the soothing strum of Eric Clapton's guitar wash over him, take him back further, to that autumn of sneaking around in the equipment shed, of hot, breathless nights behind the curtains of Remus's bed.
He turns back to Remus and says, "I needed to hear this song. I haven't heard it in forever."
"Me neither," Remus says. His eyes are suspiciously bright.
Sirius sits down on the threadbare sofa, but that feels wrong. He lies down on the floor and closes his eyes. That's good.
Then he feels Remus settle next to him. Their shoulders brush and Remus's warm fingers curl around Sirius's wrist, and that's even better than good. It's perfect.
end
*
Title from While My Guitar Gently Weeps, on which Eric Clapton does indeed play guitar.
~*~
Feedback would be awesome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/107381.html.
people have commented there.
Harry Potter; Remus/Sirius; pg; 650 words
"I needed to hear this song."
This is a teeny sequel to The Love There That's Sleeping. This won't make much sense without reading that.
~*~
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
It's his third day of lying low with Remus when Sirius finds the phonograph. It's collecting dust out in the shed, on a shelf beside shards of broken terra cotta pots, a pair of gardening gloves so old they're cracked and covered in mold, and a trowel with a missing handle.
He does a quick cleaning spell and carries it into the house, pleased with himself. He spends the better part of an hour looking for Remus's records, but there aren't any to be found. He considers the stash of Muggle money Arabella Figg had given him, and his orders to keep out of sight. Surely a quick trip into town couldn't hurt?
He apparates before good sense catches up with him, but nobody sells records anymore. It's all CDs in shiny plastic boxes. He ends up in a secondhand shop. The place smells like boiled cabbage and the early summer sunlight barely filters through the grimy windows.
"I need to buy a record album," he tells the old man behind the counter, who points him towards a stack of crates filled with records. "By the wossname, bugger--Beatles."
"Give you the whole lot for ten quid."
"I only want the one."
The old man shrugs. "Good luck finding it."
Sirius spends fifteen minutes flipping through the old albums, sneezing at the dust they raise. He mutters a scourgify under his breath and hopes the old man won't notice.
He finds it in the fourth crate, the white of the album cover dingy now, the corners bent, the gatefold worn.
He places it gently on the counter and fumbles with the strange Muggle notes. He used to be good at this, used to move between the two worlds like he belonged to both of them. Now he doesn't belong anywhere. He's as much a relic as this old bit of vinyl and cardboard.
He apparates back to the house to find Remus looking strained and frantic.
"Where have you been?"
Sirius pulls the record out of the plastic bag the old man put it in. "Shopping."
"Sirius--"
"I'm fine, Remus. It's all right. Nobody spotted me."
"I just--I thought--"
"When did you become a nervous old man?"
Remus flinches like he's been slapped. "I don't think it's too much to ask that you actually do what Dumbledore tells you, Sirius. He's got your best interests at heart."
"Dumbledore has Dumbledore's best interests at heart," Sirius mutters, and it feels like fourteen years ago, like those dark autumn days when they'd stopped speaking and stopped fucking and stopped trusting each other. He tries to shake himself out of it. "I didn't--I don't--" He swipes a hand across his face. "It's all bollocksed up."
Remus laughs softly. "It usually is." He reaches out a hand. "What've you got there?" Sirius shows him. He doesn't hold his breath and hope Remus remembers. "The White Album. Always a good choice."
Sirius exhales and tries to relax, tension making his skin too tight. He thinks about turning into Padfoot but doesn't. Instead, he puts the record on the phonograph, drops the needle into the groove with a hand that trembles. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lets the soothing strum of Eric Clapton's guitar wash over him, take him back further, to that autumn of sneaking around in the equipment shed, of hot, breathless nights behind the curtains of Remus's bed.
He turns back to Remus and says, "I needed to hear this song. I haven't heard it in forever."
"Me neither," Remus says. His eyes are suspiciously bright.
Sirius sits down on the threadbare sofa, but that feels wrong. He lies down on the floor and closes his eyes. That's good.
Then he feels Remus settle next to him. Their shoulders brush and Remus's warm fingers curl around Sirius's wrist, and that's even better than good. It's perfect.
end
*
Title from While My Guitar Gently Weeps, on which Eric Clapton does indeed play guitar.
~*~
Feedback would be awesome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/107381.html.
people have commented there.