Fic: those who thrive when days are bleak for rhye
Title: those who thrive when days are bleak
Author/Artist: liseuse
Recipient: rhye
Rating: PG13, but only because of the swearing.
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Word count: 2,050
Summary: The older you get, the more you're away, the less home feels like home, except in all the ways it remains home.
Notes: Dear, rhye, I hope you enjoy this interpretation of your prompt (probably more the wildcard one than #3, if I'm being honest). All my thanks go to my wonderful beta, wildestranger, and any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. The title is from Alan Hartley's poem 'Winter in Bishopdale'.
Remus leaned his head on the window, thinking about the slide of the landscape into the familiar moorland and dry stone walls, how they’d changed into something different. He remembered when they meant homecoming, the comforting sound of the conductor announcing that they were now arriving at Mytholmyroyd, the next station stop is Mytholmroyd, and the overstuffed settee in the back sitting room. He’d been nine when they’d moved from the stone farmhouse perched up on Cragg Vale, down to terraced streets which had never stopped feeling strange. And now the horrible flat, with the stupid sticky lock and the sink that kept backing up was more home than 9, Banksfield Road ever had been. But the streets were wrong, and the landscape wasn’t right, and somehow, even in the middle of the worst year of his life, and oh, he laughed inside, wasn’t there a fucking competition for that, he felt his heart lift up at the sight of the moor and the sound of his fellow passengers.
‘Where are we?’ Sirius yawned into his shoulder. ‘We must be nearly there.’ He sounded tired to the bone, huddled in his leather jacket.
‘Just leaving Sowerby Bridge, another five minutes or so,’ Remus said. ‘Nearly at the bright lights.’
‘Oh, good,’ Sirius said, sitting up and stretching. His back clicked alarmingly and he winced as his shoulder pulled. ‘Don’t start,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine.’ Remus shrugged. ‘Fine describes absolutely fucking nothing right now.’ He caught the disapproving look from the woman opposite him, and smiled apologetically.
‘Okay,’ Sirius said, ‘my shoulder isn’t fine right now, but it will be.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and, in a deliberately jaunty tone of voice, carried on, ‘are there actually bright lights in Mytholmroyd?’ He said Mytholmroyd carefully, like it might be a spell and bring something dreadful once spoken aloud. ‘Because from what Lil’ told me, there’s not much to recommend it.’
‘Lily is from Stalybridge and can keep her trap shut,’ Remus said. ‘We’ve got streetlights. Running water. Even electricity.’
‘One up on the flat then,’ Sirius said wryly. ‘If you grow up in the north do you get special lessons in grumpily defending your place of birth from people born, oh, about thirty miles away.’
‘Yes.’ Remus stood up and dragged their bags down. ‘Starts in primary school, you have to pass an exam before they let you take the eleven plus.’
--
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Remus said, shaking Mr Whelan’s hand.
‘Thanks, lad,’ Mr Whelan said. ‘We didn’t know if you’d be able to make it. Your da’ said he thought you might be caught up.’
‘Managed to get some time off. Dad says he’ll be along later.’ Remus smiled tightly before holding his hand out for Mrs Whelan to shake.
‘Oh, Remus,’ Mrs Whelan said, ‘don’t be dafter than you can help.’ She batted his hand away and pulled him into a hug. ‘Thank you for coming. I know you and Bat weren’t so close the past few years but, oh,’ she broke off, crying into her sleeve.
Remus pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket, ‘Here. Take this.’ He squeezed her shoulder tightly before extricating himself and heading for where Sirius was stood, trying not to lean on the church wall. ‘Fucking hell,’ he sighed, leaning back. ‘You’d think I’d be used to this. We’ve been to, what, eight funerals this year?’
‘I think you start worrying when you get used to it,’ Sirius said, pressing his shoulder to Remus’s.
Remus pressed back and then rummaged through his coat pockets for his cigarettes. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He lit two and inhaled slowly, head tipped back to the sky. ‘Least we’re all expecting to die. Bat crossed the road wrong one night.’
‘Maybe that’s how we should start fighting this war.’ Sirius exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the grey afternoon. ‘No more spells. Just articulated lorries.’ He turned to face Remus, ‘Come on. Take me to say hello to your mother.’
They walked slowly around the church, Remus nodding at people and stopping occasionally to shake hands and accept soggy hugs, his shoulders ratcheting ever higher with every ‘my it’s nice to see you, don’t get back much do you. That London treating you okay?’ until they finally made it to the graveyard, averting their eyes from the freshly piled earth.
‘Hello, mum.’ Remus stopped to pull a few weeds from in front of the gravestone. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in a while. It’s been a bit of a horrible year. I brought someone to say hello. This is Sirius, you remember, from school. Yes, the one who got me into all that trouble.’
Sirius raised an eyebrow and crouched down. ‘Hello, Mrs Lupin. Don’t believe a word your son says, I only ever ended up in trouble with him. And it was mostly of his own devising. Apart from that incident with the exploding butter dishes, but I got that idea from you.’ He smiled softly at Remus, ‘It’s true, you know, she did. Over Easter lunch.’
Remus laughed, and sent a soft imperturbo around them, slipping his hand into Sirius’s. ‘I’m not surprised, she always was a firecracker, my mum.’ He leaned one hand on the gravestone, stroking his hand over the letters. ‘Right, best get back. You ready for a lot of dreadful singing and a priest who knows nothing about the deceased?’
‘I am always ready for bad singing,’ Sirius declared, standing up and stretching. ‘I thought that Bat was an altar boy? Surely Father McManus must know something about him?’
‘Father McManus is new,’ Remus said wryly. ‘Father Kenny was the one that knew us all, but he died two years ago. I don’t think Father McManus ever saw Bartholomew in person. He’ll just have Sheila’s word to go on, and don’t trust her view of her angelic boy as far as you could throw it in a strong wind.’
Sirius’s smile had a hard edge to it. ‘It’s not even in the same realm as being a good comparison, but that does rather remind me of hearing about how lovely, and charming, and gentle, Regulus had been. Perhaps when he was a child, but definitely not by the time he died. Fucking hell, but we eulogise people into different memories.’
‘We really do,’ Remus said heavily. ‘My mother was a lovely woman, and I miss her, but she wasn’t the saint that Father McManus talked about, and that dad keeps remembering. She shouted and she swore, and she threw the kitchen radio at him once. But he won’t think about that. Just talks about her as if she’d never got on his nerves, not once.’ He checked the imperturbo and slid his hand back into Sirius’s. ‘I promise, if you die during this sodding war, that I will tell the whole world how much you annoyed me, how often I wanted to throw a radio at your head, all your bad habits, and how much I loved you.’
‘How much you loved me anyway?’ Sirius asked, squeezing Remus’s fingers tightly.
‘No.’ Remus said, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘How much I loved you. I mean, I might not use those exact words. Depends who ends up coming to the service. Don’t want to further ruin my chances of gainful employment, after all, but even if I don’t say it, exactly like I’d want to, please, please, know that that’s what I mean.’
‘I’ll know,’ Sirius said, ‘no matter where I am, I’ll know.’ He flicked his wand, bursting the spell. ‘Rightio, come on. Introduce me to everyone. Especially that ravishing blonde in the purple coat. She looks like she knows where the best sherry is hidden.’
--
‘Buggering hell, it’s cold in here,’ Sirius said, his teeth chattering as they stepped into the kitchen. ‘Not believe in heating, your father?’
Remus shook his head, lazily waving his wand at the hearth. ‘Doesn’t believe in very much these days, my dad. Set yourself down in front of the fire, I’ll fill the kettle.’
‘Set yourself down,’ Sirius said, mockingly. ‘Spend more than an hour with your townsfolk, Remus John Lupin, and you get very Northern indeed.’
‘Set thissen ‘d be’t reet way to say it,’ Remus glowered, ‘and you’ve got no room to talk. Shove you and Andromeda in a room and you cut your fucking selves on the accent.’ He shoved at the tap, cursing before tapping it viciously with his wand. ‘I keep telling him to get Sandeep in, fix this bloody tap before the whole system goes. Mother of Christ.’ He filled the kettle, setting it on top of the stove. ‘At least the gas is working.’
Sirius wandered over to stand by the stove, bumping Remus’s hip. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just sometimes forget that this is where you come from. In my head you start existing as a scruffy eleven year old, on a stool.’
Remus slumped forward, bracing his hands on the countertop edge. ‘I know,’ he said into his forearm. ‘It’s just being back here, seeing everything that’s happened since I last came back. My dad’s barely a person, Mrs Whelan’s had her whole life destroyed, and I can’t even tell anyone what I’m doing. They think I went off to some fancy public school. Sirius, I work in a greengrocer’s, and I can’t tell them that because it’ll just prove that they were right, and then Mr and Mrs Cartwright won’t let Dave go off to grammar school, because what’s the fucking point, if Remus Lupin who got into that fancy school can’t get a proper fucking job.’ His voice cracked as the kettle started whistling. ‘God, it’s all such a fucking mess.’
‘Come here,’ Sirius said, ducking under Remus’s arm, slipping between him and the counter, fastening an arm around his waist. ‘Come here, you bloody big-hearted idiot. Forget the tea. Let’s go upstairs.’
Remus sagged forward, head on Sirius’s shoulder. ‘Okay,’ he said, into Sirius’s coat. ‘Okay.’
--
The next and final stop is London King’s Cross, London King’s Cross where this train terminates.
Sirius ruffled Remus’s hair, ‘Wake up, we’re nearly in the station.’ He smiled down at Remus, whose hair needed a cut and who had dark circles under his eyes. ‘Nearly home, moonshine.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Remus yawned into his shoulder. ‘’S not funny.’ He rolled his neck, wincing as it clicked, and sat up slowly.
‘It’s fucking hilarious,’ Sirius said. ‘You get this pinched expression every single time.’ He stood to get their bags down. ‘Ready to get back to the sticky front door?’ There was something hesitant in his expression, as if he expected Remus to say that no, he was going to get on the next train back north. ‘I mean, it’s not much, but we’ve got running water.’
Remus laughed. ‘Careful, I’ll swoon,’ he said before bumping his shoulder to Sirius’s hip. ‘Thanks. I know a funeral isn’t the best fun you could have had this week.’
‘Anything for you, moonshine,’ Sirius said, his tone mocking enough to fool anyone listening in. ‘Besides, what else would I have done with my week off?’
‘Gone and got drunk with James? Played endless games of pool with Peter?’ Remus suggested, leaning out of the train window for the door catch as they pulled into the platform. ‘Hassled Lil’ into feeding you?’
‘Nonsense,’ Sirius said as they stepped onto the platform. ‘None of that’s any fun without you around. Can’t play pool with this buggered shoulder, anyway. Pete’d have won, and he’s insufferable when he wins.’ He shouldered his bag and waited for a convenient break in the stream of passengers, before stepping sideways into a shadowy nook. ‘Come on, let’s just apparate home. I’m fucking knackered.’
‘All right,’ Remus yawned, tipping his head to one side, ‘wait for the woman in the blue coat to go past and then we’re clear.’ He leaned solidly into Sirius, and shoved his hand into Sirius’s coat pocket, before brushing a kiss over his cheek. ‘You do know you’re home, right? I know those streets, that accent, but you, you’re home.’
‘I know,’ Sirius said, a little sadly, and a little far away, before apparating them both away with a small, subdued, crack.
Author/Artist: liseuse
Recipient: rhye
Rating: PG13, but only because of the swearing.
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Word count: 2,050
Summary: The older you get, the more you're away, the less home feels like home, except in all the ways it remains home.
Notes: Dear, rhye, I hope you enjoy this interpretation of your prompt (probably more the wildcard one than #3, if I'm being honest). All my thanks go to my wonderful beta, wildestranger, and any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. The title is from Alan Hartley's poem 'Winter in Bishopdale'.
Remus leaned his head on the window, thinking about the slide of the landscape into the familiar moorland and dry stone walls, how they’d changed into something different. He remembered when they meant homecoming, the comforting sound of the conductor announcing that they were now arriving at Mytholmyroyd, the next station stop is Mytholmroyd, and the overstuffed settee in the back sitting room. He’d been nine when they’d moved from the stone farmhouse perched up on Cragg Vale, down to terraced streets which had never stopped feeling strange. And now the horrible flat, with the stupid sticky lock and the sink that kept backing up was more home than 9, Banksfield Road ever had been. But the streets were wrong, and the landscape wasn’t right, and somehow, even in the middle of the worst year of his life, and oh, he laughed inside, wasn’t there a fucking competition for that, he felt his heart lift up at the sight of the moor and the sound of his fellow passengers.
‘Where are we?’ Sirius yawned into his shoulder. ‘We must be nearly there.’ He sounded tired to the bone, huddled in his leather jacket.
‘Just leaving Sowerby Bridge, another five minutes or so,’ Remus said. ‘Nearly at the bright lights.’
‘Oh, good,’ Sirius said, sitting up and stretching. His back clicked alarmingly and he winced as his shoulder pulled. ‘Don’t start,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine.’ Remus shrugged. ‘Fine describes absolutely fucking nothing right now.’ He caught the disapproving look from the woman opposite him, and smiled apologetically.
‘Okay,’ Sirius said, ‘my shoulder isn’t fine right now, but it will be.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and, in a deliberately jaunty tone of voice, carried on, ‘are there actually bright lights in Mytholmroyd?’ He said Mytholmroyd carefully, like it might be a spell and bring something dreadful once spoken aloud. ‘Because from what Lil’ told me, there’s not much to recommend it.’
‘Lily is from Stalybridge and can keep her trap shut,’ Remus said. ‘We’ve got streetlights. Running water. Even electricity.’
‘One up on the flat then,’ Sirius said wryly. ‘If you grow up in the north do you get special lessons in grumpily defending your place of birth from people born, oh, about thirty miles away.’
‘Yes.’ Remus stood up and dragged their bags down. ‘Starts in primary school, you have to pass an exam before they let you take the eleven plus.’
--
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Remus said, shaking Mr Whelan’s hand.
‘Thanks, lad,’ Mr Whelan said. ‘We didn’t know if you’d be able to make it. Your da’ said he thought you might be caught up.’
‘Managed to get some time off. Dad says he’ll be along later.’ Remus smiled tightly before holding his hand out for Mrs Whelan to shake.
‘Oh, Remus,’ Mrs Whelan said, ‘don’t be dafter than you can help.’ She batted his hand away and pulled him into a hug. ‘Thank you for coming. I know you and Bat weren’t so close the past few years but, oh,’ she broke off, crying into her sleeve.
Remus pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket, ‘Here. Take this.’ He squeezed her shoulder tightly before extricating himself and heading for where Sirius was stood, trying not to lean on the church wall. ‘Fucking hell,’ he sighed, leaning back. ‘You’d think I’d be used to this. We’ve been to, what, eight funerals this year?’
‘I think you start worrying when you get used to it,’ Sirius said, pressing his shoulder to Remus’s.
Remus pressed back and then rummaged through his coat pockets for his cigarettes. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He lit two and inhaled slowly, head tipped back to the sky. ‘Least we’re all expecting to die. Bat crossed the road wrong one night.’
‘Maybe that’s how we should start fighting this war.’ Sirius exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the grey afternoon. ‘No more spells. Just articulated lorries.’ He turned to face Remus, ‘Come on. Take me to say hello to your mother.’
They walked slowly around the church, Remus nodding at people and stopping occasionally to shake hands and accept soggy hugs, his shoulders ratcheting ever higher with every ‘my it’s nice to see you, don’t get back much do you. That London treating you okay?’ until they finally made it to the graveyard, averting their eyes from the freshly piled earth.
‘Hello, mum.’ Remus stopped to pull a few weeds from in front of the gravestone. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in a while. It’s been a bit of a horrible year. I brought someone to say hello. This is Sirius, you remember, from school. Yes, the one who got me into all that trouble.’
Sirius raised an eyebrow and crouched down. ‘Hello, Mrs Lupin. Don’t believe a word your son says, I only ever ended up in trouble with him. And it was mostly of his own devising. Apart from that incident with the exploding butter dishes, but I got that idea from you.’ He smiled softly at Remus, ‘It’s true, you know, she did. Over Easter lunch.’
Remus laughed, and sent a soft imperturbo around them, slipping his hand into Sirius’s. ‘I’m not surprised, she always was a firecracker, my mum.’ He leaned one hand on the gravestone, stroking his hand over the letters. ‘Right, best get back. You ready for a lot of dreadful singing and a priest who knows nothing about the deceased?’
‘I am always ready for bad singing,’ Sirius declared, standing up and stretching. ‘I thought that Bat was an altar boy? Surely Father McManus must know something about him?’
‘Father McManus is new,’ Remus said wryly. ‘Father Kenny was the one that knew us all, but he died two years ago. I don’t think Father McManus ever saw Bartholomew in person. He’ll just have Sheila’s word to go on, and don’t trust her view of her angelic boy as far as you could throw it in a strong wind.’
Sirius’s smile had a hard edge to it. ‘It’s not even in the same realm as being a good comparison, but that does rather remind me of hearing about how lovely, and charming, and gentle, Regulus had been. Perhaps when he was a child, but definitely not by the time he died. Fucking hell, but we eulogise people into different memories.’
‘We really do,’ Remus said heavily. ‘My mother was a lovely woman, and I miss her, but she wasn’t the saint that Father McManus talked about, and that dad keeps remembering. She shouted and she swore, and she threw the kitchen radio at him once. But he won’t think about that. Just talks about her as if she’d never got on his nerves, not once.’ He checked the imperturbo and slid his hand back into Sirius’s. ‘I promise, if you die during this sodding war, that I will tell the whole world how much you annoyed me, how often I wanted to throw a radio at your head, all your bad habits, and how much I loved you.’
‘How much you loved me anyway?’ Sirius asked, squeezing Remus’s fingers tightly.
‘No.’ Remus said, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘How much I loved you. I mean, I might not use those exact words. Depends who ends up coming to the service. Don’t want to further ruin my chances of gainful employment, after all, but even if I don’t say it, exactly like I’d want to, please, please, know that that’s what I mean.’
‘I’ll know,’ Sirius said, ‘no matter where I am, I’ll know.’ He flicked his wand, bursting the spell. ‘Rightio, come on. Introduce me to everyone. Especially that ravishing blonde in the purple coat. She looks like she knows where the best sherry is hidden.’
--
‘Buggering hell, it’s cold in here,’ Sirius said, his teeth chattering as they stepped into the kitchen. ‘Not believe in heating, your father?’
Remus shook his head, lazily waving his wand at the hearth. ‘Doesn’t believe in very much these days, my dad. Set yourself down in front of the fire, I’ll fill the kettle.’
‘Set yourself down,’ Sirius said, mockingly. ‘Spend more than an hour with your townsfolk, Remus John Lupin, and you get very Northern indeed.’
‘Set thissen ‘d be’t reet way to say it,’ Remus glowered, ‘and you’ve got no room to talk. Shove you and Andromeda in a room and you cut your fucking selves on the accent.’ He shoved at the tap, cursing before tapping it viciously with his wand. ‘I keep telling him to get Sandeep in, fix this bloody tap before the whole system goes. Mother of Christ.’ He filled the kettle, setting it on top of the stove. ‘At least the gas is working.’
Sirius wandered over to stand by the stove, bumping Remus’s hip. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just sometimes forget that this is where you come from. In my head you start existing as a scruffy eleven year old, on a stool.’
Remus slumped forward, bracing his hands on the countertop edge. ‘I know,’ he said into his forearm. ‘It’s just being back here, seeing everything that’s happened since I last came back. My dad’s barely a person, Mrs Whelan’s had her whole life destroyed, and I can’t even tell anyone what I’m doing. They think I went off to some fancy public school. Sirius, I work in a greengrocer’s, and I can’t tell them that because it’ll just prove that they were right, and then Mr and Mrs Cartwright won’t let Dave go off to grammar school, because what’s the fucking point, if Remus Lupin who got into that fancy school can’t get a proper fucking job.’ His voice cracked as the kettle started whistling. ‘God, it’s all such a fucking mess.’
‘Come here,’ Sirius said, ducking under Remus’s arm, slipping between him and the counter, fastening an arm around his waist. ‘Come here, you bloody big-hearted idiot. Forget the tea. Let’s go upstairs.’
Remus sagged forward, head on Sirius’s shoulder. ‘Okay,’ he said, into Sirius’s coat. ‘Okay.’
--
The next and final stop is London King’s Cross, London King’s Cross where this train terminates.
Sirius ruffled Remus’s hair, ‘Wake up, we’re nearly in the station.’ He smiled down at Remus, whose hair needed a cut and who had dark circles under his eyes. ‘Nearly home, moonshine.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Remus yawned into his shoulder. ‘’S not funny.’ He rolled his neck, wincing as it clicked, and sat up slowly.
‘It’s fucking hilarious,’ Sirius said. ‘You get this pinched expression every single time.’ He stood to get their bags down. ‘Ready to get back to the sticky front door?’ There was something hesitant in his expression, as if he expected Remus to say that no, he was going to get on the next train back north. ‘I mean, it’s not much, but we’ve got running water.’
Remus laughed. ‘Careful, I’ll swoon,’ he said before bumping his shoulder to Sirius’s hip. ‘Thanks. I know a funeral isn’t the best fun you could have had this week.’
‘Anything for you, moonshine,’ Sirius said, his tone mocking enough to fool anyone listening in. ‘Besides, what else would I have done with my week off?’
‘Gone and got drunk with James? Played endless games of pool with Peter?’ Remus suggested, leaning out of the train window for the door catch as they pulled into the platform. ‘Hassled Lil’ into feeding you?’
‘Nonsense,’ Sirius said as they stepped onto the platform. ‘None of that’s any fun without you around. Can’t play pool with this buggered shoulder, anyway. Pete’d have won, and he’s insufferable when he wins.’ He shouldered his bag and waited for a convenient break in the stream of passengers, before stepping sideways into a shadowy nook. ‘Come on, let’s just apparate home. I’m fucking knackered.’
‘All right,’ Remus yawned, tipping his head to one side, ‘wait for the woman in the blue coat to go past and then we’re clear.’ He leaned solidly into Sirius, and shoved his hand into Sirius’s coat pocket, before brushing a kiss over his cheek. ‘You do know you’re home, right? I know those streets, that accent, but you, you’re home.’
‘I know,’ Sirius said, a little sadly, and a little far away, before apparating them both away with a small, subdued, crack.