Speaking Volumes for theenginedriver
Title: Speaking Volumes
Author: buckle_berry
Written for: theenginedriver
Rating: PG-13 for the odd mildly racy part.
Summary: theenginedriver suggested this photo prompt, and mentioned that she was fond of "plots that incorporate books, ie, have novel-reading as a major plot point or cool magical books as major set-pieces". It was such a great prompt I had trouble narrowing it down to one plot bunny, so thank you! I hope you get somewhere near as much fun from reading it as I did from writing it.
A/N: Many thanks to tarteaucitron, jacqui_hw and the1elf for hand-holding betas and general encouragement. Many thanks also to the mods for putting up with my tardy submission - I will not be this late next year, I promise!
Sirius, of course, is not the type of wizard to be rooting around in someone's sock drawer for any nefarious purpose. He has his flaws, as everyone does -- he can be a bit arrogant, he would concede, and occasionally he might act without thinking, and his devilish good looks and killer charisma are probably some sort of crime against those less fortunate (comprising every individual throughout history with the possible exception of James Potter) -- but he is basically an upstanding citizen: honest, decent, bags of moral fibre, that sort of thing. All his good qualities should be counted double, in his view, when it comes to his friends, since he takes the business of being a good friend very seriously indeed, even more so now what with all the threats and attacks and that War thing going on. And Remus Lupin, being the most -- well, the most friendly of all his friends in a variety of ways that Sirius does not feel comfortable enumerating or elaborating upon even within the relative safety of his own stream-of-consciousness, should therefore represent the absolute pinnacle of Sirius's achievements in the field of really awfully good friendship. Remus Lupin is his best friend. In the hierarchy of Sirius's values, that comes right at the top.
All of that being taken into account, it's quite obvious, when you think about it, that Sirius could only be ferreting around amongst Remus's underwear for entirely innocent reasons. What he certainly isn't doing is looking for evidence of romantic entanglements in which Remus might be, well, entangled. If Remus is involved with a lovely lady (or a lovely gent, since, let's face it, he hasn't given Sirius much indication either way, and Sirius has certainly been looking), and has chosen not to share that information with Sirius, that is entirely Remus's right as a grown adult wizard of 19 years of age. Sirius respects Remus's privacy, as a best friend should. If Remus is conducting a torrid love affair with persons unknown, that's no concern of Sirius's. Why should it be? They're sharing a flat, yes, but that doesn't mean they're married, for Merlin's sake.
So when, in the course of his reconnoitre through the contents of Remus's bedside cabinet, Sirius comes across an unusual book, it is entirely natural that he should flip through its pages, just out of idle curiosity. No harm in it. Anyone would do the same.
Which will teach Sirius, really. The book, or The Book as he soon comes to think of it, is a weighty tome, bound in beautiful red leather. It does not appear to have a title, and there is no indication of where it has come from, or the purpose it is intended to serve. When Sirius opens its thick parchment pages, he is surprised to see long, flowing sentences in a language he does not understand, precisely inked by someone with excellent command of a quill. Intricate, elaborate illuminations ornament the initial at the beginning of each paragraph and several different colours have been used in places. It is incredibly beautiful, and it crackles with an unfamiliar magic that makes Sirius's fingers twitch.
He takes the book out of the drawer and places it on the floor, turning the thick pages carefully, trying to make sense of it. The words seem to be some variant of Latin, a language of which Sirius has a working knowledge, but when he tries to focus on the meaning contained within the pages, the words twist and blur before his eyes. Old books can be shy in that way, unaccustomed to being observed, but the usual charms for calming the words or fixing the ink have no effect. It seems strange to Sirius that Remus would keep a book hidden away in a drawer, and stranger still that Remus, with his Muggle parentage, would own a book so riddled with complicated magic. Sirius frowns.
Over the next two weeks, Sirius returns to The Book repeatedly, whenever Remus is out of the flat. He attempts a variety of spells intended to uncover its content or its purpose, but magic seems simply to fizzle and die on contact with its vellum pages. There are no explosions, no magical flashes of light. The Book seems almost entirely oblivious to his presence, and certainly impervious to the many charms Sirius throws in its direction.
It is frustrating, and eventually, it becomes worrying. Sirius knows they are living in dangerous times. Dumbledore has warned them all to be careful about when and with whom they share their trust, advice which Sirius has heeded, but that isn't a concern he needs to have with his friends, surely? He knows Moony backwards and forwards, his strange quirks and foibles, his unexpected grace with a wand in his hand, his obsession with making tea properly. He has a sense for Moony's ebbs and flows the same way he has a sense for magic, a connection that feels innate even if it can't possibly be. They have been through a great many things together in their relatively short lives, not least the four years' worth of full moons spent in each other's company at the Shack. He knows Moony. No magic book can change that.
(Peter had eyeballed Sirius when he had said he was moving into a flat with Remus. "What's your problem, Wormtail?" Sirius had asked, irritated.
Peter shrugged. "Dark times. Dark creatures. A bad mix, if you ask me.")
Sirius decides to take an unanticipated step. He will ask Remus about the book.
This course of action requires careful preparation. Sirius will need an explanation as to why he was rummaging around in Remus's sock drawer in the first place, although the completely honest and truthful answer -- that he was looking for a pair of socks, what other reason could there be? -- would suffice for that purpose. Sirius will also need to anticipate the range of potential reactions from Remus to Sirius's questions. What if he makes a crazed attempt at dark magic? What if he gives a warning signal to watching Death-Eaters? What if confronting Remus about The Book is the catalyst for all-out catastrophic Wizarding war? Sirius scratches his nose and shrugs. Nah. It will be alright. It's just Remus.
Sirius does at least take the precaution of waiting until the moon has all but disappeared from the sky. It seems sensible to look for answers on one of the few days each month when he's stronger than Remus. Sirius also chooses his moment with some care, and so he finds himself, late one Thursday evening, the wind rattling the windows, Remus with a cup of tea in his hand and his nose in a book in the warm glow of the fire.
Sirius clears his throat. "Remus?"
Remus looks up with momentary confusion at the switch from his fictional world to the real one. "What?"
"I wanted to ask you about something. Please don't be upset."
As an opening gambit, it's not great. Remus, who had been quite happy the moment before, now has that familiar crease of worry in the middle of his forehead. "Okay," he says slowly.
"The thing is," Sirius begins, trying to keep his tone light-hearted, "that I was looking for a pair of socks -- important, you know, with it being winter -- and I didn't find any socks, a few days ago, a few weeks really, but I did find -- this was what I wanted to ask you -- I did find a book, and I just wondered, you know, about that?"
The crease in Remus's forehead deepens. Sirius realises that he has become a little shaky, and decides it best to hold his breath. It is impossible to read Remus, to divine his thought processes now that the secret of The Book has been outed. Long seconds pass, until Sirius thinks he cannot hold his breath any longer. Then, Remus speaks. "What?"
Sirius exhales fiercely. "What do you mean, 'what'?"
Remus smiles, which Sirius considers inappropriate given the gravity of the situation. "I mean, what on earth are you talking about? Something to do with socks and books, seemingly, and I think you were asking me a question, but I have no idea what it is."
"Really, Remus, you must learn to pay better attention. It was quite straightforward."
"Yes, I'm sure. But please do me the courtesy of repeating it, won't you?"
Sirius closes his eyes and opens them again, composing himself. His stomach flutters with nerves. "I found a book in your sock drawer, a very magical book. I was wondering what it was."
Remus stiffens, and Sirius feels the wings beating in his gut redouble their efforts. "Did you read it?"
"I tried," Sirius admits, "but I couldn't."
Sirius could swear he sees the flicker of a smile on Remus's face, but it is quickly gone, replaced with a closed tightness. "Why were you going through my things?"
"Socks!" Sirius exclaims, at unnecessary volume. He stops, clears his throat again. "I was looking for a pair of socks."
Remus looks unconvinced, and his expression is dark, as dark as Sirius has ever seen it, especially at this time of the month. He is suddenly aware of his wand up his sleeve, his mind curling round the words of short, sharp defensive spells. This was a mad idea.
"It's none of your business," Remus says, putting down his cup and his book and rising to his feet, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest.
Sirius is on his feet before he knows it. "We live together. We key our wards to each other. We're best friends, Remus. These are strange times. If you're keeping heavy, impenetrable magical artefacts under our roof, I deserve to know about it."
Remus is staring straight at him, a range of emotions flicking across his face, and suddenly Sirius is terrified. He shakes his arm imperceptibly within his sleeve, the tip of his wand nudging into the cup of his hand, wondering who this is, this man opposite him that he hardly recognises. The atmosphere in the room is electric, and Sirius is on the verge of an expelliarmus, when suddenly Remus seems to deflate in front of him. He turns on his heel and walks out of the room, leaving Sirius shaking and confused.
Sirius debates whether to follow him until Remus reappears seconds later, face stony. In his hand is The Book. Sirius gasps and draws his wand, pointing it directly at Remus. "Stop! Whatever you're doing, just stop it!"
Remus looks up, and once again, to Sirius's confusion, smiles. "Pack it in, Padfoot. This isn't as dramatic as you want to make it."
Sirius is wrong-footed. "But what --", he begins, as Remus flicks his wand over the book and whispers a couple of words.
"Shut up," Remus says. "Look." Remus turns The Book towards Sirius and flicks through its pages. The intricate calligraphy and illustrations have vanished, as has the strange language, replaced with Remus's slanting handwriting and the occasional splotch of ink. "It's just a diary. My diary."
Sirius shakes his head. "No. I don't believe you. I tried everything on that thing, complex charm work, incredibly advanced magic. It absorbs magic. It doesn't even react. Why would you bother, just for a diary?"
Remus sighs. "It's not impervious to magic. It's the delectus charm. It's just impervious to you."
Impressed in spite of himself, Sirius grins. "You sly fox, Moony. I didn't know you could do delectus. You must be even more of a charms genius than we suspected."
"No," Remus responds dryly, "it's just that one thing. To be honest, I've been working on it for years. And I still don't have it right."
"You do, you know. Nothing I tried even affected that book."
"Oh," Remus says, "it works on the book, I know that."
"So what are you talking about?"
"It wasn't really about the book, Sirius." Remus looks at his feet. "I would hardly bother, like you say, not just for a diary."
Sirius feels the conversation twisting out of his grasp again. Why is Remus practising delectus if not for the book? It could be a dangerous charm in the wrong hands, Sirius knows, and theoretically Remus could still be concealing some dark, Death-Eating plan. But Sirius also knows that isn't it. He thought he could read Remus, but he can't read this strange silence, Remus awkward and gentle.
Long seconds pass and Remus doesn't even raise his eyes. Sirius lowers his wand, cogs in his brain turning frantically and to no avail. "I'm sorry, Moony. I really don't understand."
"No," Remus sighs, "why would you? I was trying --," he begins, and then falters, breaking off. His chest fills with a huge breath and then empties before he begins again. "I was trying to make the charm work on me. But I can't."
“On -- what?"
"Against you, Sirius," Remus says quietly. "I can't delectus myself against you."
Should that have been obvious? Sirius doesn't think it was obvious. It's not as if he hasn't been looking for this, registering every little sign, or lack of one. He feels a surge of want in his belly, in the balls of his feet, in his cock; his breath feels harsh in his own throat. Moony. Sirius hears his wand clatter against the tiled floor, sees Remus crossing the small kitchen with short, tentative steps until he can smell his complicated, familiar, lupine scent. He feels Remus put three fingers of one cold hand against his cheek and then they are kissing, a gentle press of lips on lips growing gradually more insistent until their bodies bump together and they spring apart, as if surprised by their own corporeality. Sirius feels uncomfortably hot and he can see a fever-brightness in Remus's eyes, a strange sheen that must -- surely, must -- be desire.
"The book," Sirius says, after a moment, "is about me?" His voice is a little more husky and his breathing a little faster than he might ideally have wanted. He sees Remus notice the same thing, and then lick his lips, still glistening from their kiss. Sirius touches Remus's wrist, his shoulder, the line of his jaw, his movements an unconscious expression of his need for contact. Remus nods, and Sirius wants to push his hair back from his forehead, wants to put his fingers into Remus's mouth and watch him suck. A dozen thoughts he has spent forever trying not to think spring into his mind. He is delirious, terrified; he is hard as a rock. He exhales shakily, and Remus smiles.
"I think," Remus attempts slowly, "that we should write some more chapters." Sirius's hand settles on the back of Remus's neck. He pulls him in for another kiss.
Author: buckle_berry
Written for: theenginedriver
Rating: PG-13 for the odd mildly racy part.
Summary: theenginedriver suggested this photo prompt, and mentioned that she was fond of "plots that incorporate books, ie, have novel-reading as a major plot point or cool magical books as major set-pieces". It was such a great prompt I had trouble narrowing it down to one plot bunny, so thank you! I hope you get somewhere near as much fun from reading it as I did from writing it.
A/N: Many thanks to tarteaucitron, jacqui_hw and the1elf for hand-holding betas and general encouragement. Many thanks also to the mods for putting up with my tardy submission - I will not be this late next year, I promise!
Sirius, of course, is not the type of wizard to be rooting around in someone's sock drawer for any nefarious purpose. He has his flaws, as everyone does -- he can be a bit arrogant, he would concede, and occasionally he might act without thinking, and his devilish good looks and killer charisma are probably some sort of crime against those less fortunate (comprising every individual throughout history with the possible exception of James Potter) -- but he is basically an upstanding citizen: honest, decent, bags of moral fibre, that sort of thing. All his good qualities should be counted double, in his view, when it comes to his friends, since he takes the business of being a good friend very seriously indeed, even more so now what with all the threats and attacks and that War thing going on. And Remus Lupin, being the most -- well, the most friendly of all his friends in a variety of ways that Sirius does not feel comfortable enumerating or elaborating upon even within the relative safety of his own stream-of-consciousness, should therefore represent the absolute pinnacle of Sirius's achievements in the field of really awfully good friendship. Remus Lupin is his best friend. In the hierarchy of Sirius's values, that comes right at the top.
All of that being taken into account, it's quite obvious, when you think about it, that Sirius could only be ferreting around amongst Remus's underwear for entirely innocent reasons. What he certainly isn't doing is looking for evidence of romantic entanglements in which Remus might be, well, entangled. If Remus is involved with a lovely lady (or a lovely gent, since, let's face it, he hasn't given Sirius much indication either way, and Sirius has certainly been looking), and has chosen not to share that information with Sirius, that is entirely Remus's right as a grown adult wizard of 19 years of age. Sirius respects Remus's privacy, as a best friend should. If Remus is conducting a torrid love affair with persons unknown, that's no concern of Sirius's. Why should it be? They're sharing a flat, yes, but that doesn't mean they're married, for Merlin's sake.
So when, in the course of his reconnoitre through the contents of Remus's bedside cabinet, Sirius comes across an unusual book, it is entirely natural that he should flip through its pages, just out of idle curiosity. No harm in it. Anyone would do the same.
Which will teach Sirius, really. The book, or The Book as he soon comes to think of it, is a weighty tome, bound in beautiful red leather. It does not appear to have a title, and there is no indication of where it has come from, or the purpose it is intended to serve. When Sirius opens its thick parchment pages, he is surprised to see long, flowing sentences in a language he does not understand, precisely inked by someone with excellent command of a quill. Intricate, elaborate illuminations ornament the initial at the beginning of each paragraph and several different colours have been used in places. It is incredibly beautiful, and it crackles with an unfamiliar magic that makes Sirius's fingers twitch.
He takes the book out of the drawer and places it on the floor, turning the thick pages carefully, trying to make sense of it. The words seem to be some variant of Latin, a language of which Sirius has a working knowledge, but when he tries to focus on the meaning contained within the pages, the words twist and blur before his eyes. Old books can be shy in that way, unaccustomed to being observed, but the usual charms for calming the words or fixing the ink have no effect. It seems strange to Sirius that Remus would keep a book hidden away in a drawer, and stranger still that Remus, with his Muggle parentage, would own a book so riddled with complicated magic. Sirius frowns.
Over the next two weeks, Sirius returns to The Book repeatedly, whenever Remus is out of the flat. He attempts a variety of spells intended to uncover its content or its purpose, but magic seems simply to fizzle and die on contact with its vellum pages. There are no explosions, no magical flashes of light. The Book seems almost entirely oblivious to his presence, and certainly impervious to the many charms Sirius throws in its direction.
It is frustrating, and eventually, it becomes worrying. Sirius knows they are living in dangerous times. Dumbledore has warned them all to be careful about when and with whom they share their trust, advice which Sirius has heeded, but that isn't a concern he needs to have with his friends, surely? He knows Moony backwards and forwards, his strange quirks and foibles, his unexpected grace with a wand in his hand, his obsession with making tea properly. He has a sense for Moony's ebbs and flows the same way he has a sense for magic, a connection that feels innate even if it can't possibly be. They have been through a great many things together in their relatively short lives, not least the four years' worth of full moons spent in each other's company at the Shack. He knows Moony. No magic book can change that.
(Peter had eyeballed Sirius when he had said he was moving into a flat with Remus. "What's your problem, Wormtail?" Sirius had asked, irritated.
Peter shrugged. "Dark times. Dark creatures. A bad mix, if you ask me.")
Sirius decides to take an unanticipated step. He will ask Remus about the book.
This course of action requires careful preparation. Sirius will need an explanation as to why he was rummaging around in Remus's sock drawer in the first place, although the completely honest and truthful answer -- that he was looking for a pair of socks, what other reason could there be? -- would suffice for that purpose. Sirius will also need to anticipate the range of potential reactions from Remus to Sirius's questions. What if he makes a crazed attempt at dark magic? What if he gives a warning signal to watching Death-Eaters? What if confronting Remus about The Book is the catalyst for all-out catastrophic Wizarding war? Sirius scratches his nose and shrugs. Nah. It will be alright. It's just Remus.
Sirius does at least take the precaution of waiting until the moon has all but disappeared from the sky. It seems sensible to look for answers on one of the few days each month when he's stronger than Remus. Sirius also chooses his moment with some care, and so he finds himself, late one Thursday evening, the wind rattling the windows, Remus with a cup of tea in his hand and his nose in a book in the warm glow of the fire.
Sirius clears his throat. "Remus?"
Remus looks up with momentary confusion at the switch from his fictional world to the real one. "What?"
"I wanted to ask you about something. Please don't be upset."
As an opening gambit, it's not great. Remus, who had been quite happy the moment before, now has that familiar crease of worry in the middle of his forehead. "Okay," he says slowly.
"The thing is," Sirius begins, trying to keep his tone light-hearted, "that I was looking for a pair of socks -- important, you know, with it being winter -- and I didn't find any socks, a few days ago, a few weeks really, but I did find -- this was what I wanted to ask you -- I did find a book, and I just wondered, you know, about that?"
The crease in Remus's forehead deepens. Sirius realises that he has become a little shaky, and decides it best to hold his breath. It is impossible to read Remus, to divine his thought processes now that the secret of The Book has been outed. Long seconds pass, until Sirius thinks he cannot hold his breath any longer. Then, Remus speaks. "What?"
Sirius exhales fiercely. "What do you mean, 'what'?"
Remus smiles, which Sirius considers inappropriate given the gravity of the situation. "I mean, what on earth are you talking about? Something to do with socks and books, seemingly, and I think you were asking me a question, but I have no idea what it is."
"Really, Remus, you must learn to pay better attention. It was quite straightforward."
"Yes, I'm sure. But please do me the courtesy of repeating it, won't you?"
Sirius closes his eyes and opens them again, composing himself. His stomach flutters with nerves. "I found a book in your sock drawer, a very magical book. I was wondering what it was."
Remus stiffens, and Sirius feels the wings beating in his gut redouble their efforts. "Did you read it?"
"I tried," Sirius admits, "but I couldn't."
Sirius could swear he sees the flicker of a smile on Remus's face, but it is quickly gone, replaced with a closed tightness. "Why were you going through my things?"
"Socks!" Sirius exclaims, at unnecessary volume. He stops, clears his throat again. "I was looking for a pair of socks."
Remus looks unconvinced, and his expression is dark, as dark as Sirius has ever seen it, especially at this time of the month. He is suddenly aware of his wand up his sleeve, his mind curling round the words of short, sharp defensive spells. This was a mad idea.
"It's none of your business," Remus says, putting down his cup and his book and rising to his feet, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest.
Sirius is on his feet before he knows it. "We live together. We key our wards to each other. We're best friends, Remus. These are strange times. If you're keeping heavy, impenetrable magical artefacts under our roof, I deserve to know about it."
Remus is staring straight at him, a range of emotions flicking across his face, and suddenly Sirius is terrified. He shakes his arm imperceptibly within his sleeve, the tip of his wand nudging into the cup of his hand, wondering who this is, this man opposite him that he hardly recognises. The atmosphere in the room is electric, and Sirius is on the verge of an expelliarmus, when suddenly Remus seems to deflate in front of him. He turns on his heel and walks out of the room, leaving Sirius shaking and confused.
Sirius debates whether to follow him until Remus reappears seconds later, face stony. In his hand is The Book. Sirius gasps and draws his wand, pointing it directly at Remus. "Stop! Whatever you're doing, just stop it!"
Remus looks up, and once again, to Sirius's confusion, smiles. "Pack it in, Padfoot. This isn't as dramatic as you want to make it."
Sirius is wrong-footed. "But what --", he begins, as Remus flicks his wand over the book and whispers a couple of words.
"Shut up," Remus says. "Look." Remus turns The Book towards Sirius and flicks through its pages. The intricate calligraphy and illustrations have vanished, as has the strange language, replaced with Remus's slanting handwriting and the occasional splotch of ink. "It's just a diary. My diary."
Sirius shakes his head. "No. I don't believe you. I tried everything on that thing, complex charm work, incredibly advanced magic. It absorbs magic. It doesn't even react. Why would you bother, just for a diary?"
Remus sighs. "It's not impervious to magic. It's the delectus charm. It's just impervious to you."
Impressed in spite of himself, Sirius grins. "You sly fox, Moony. I didn't know you could do delectus. You must be even more of a charms genius than we suspected."
"No," Remus responds dryly, "it's just that one thing. To be honest, I've been working on it for years. And I still don't have it right."
"You do, you know. Nothing I tried even affected that book."
"Oh," Remus says, "it works on the book, I know that."
"So what are you talking about?"
"It wasn't really about the book, Sirius." Remus looks at his feet. "I would hardly bother, like you say, not just for a diary."
Sirius feels the conversation twisting out of his grasp again. Why is Remus practising delectus if not for the book? It could be a dangerous charm in the wrong hands, Sirius knows, and theoretically Remus could still be concealing some dark, Death-Eating plan. But Sirius also knows that isn't it. He thought he could read Remus, but he can't read this strange silence, Remus awkward and gentle.
Long seconds pass and Remus doesn't even raise his eyes. Sirius lowers his wand, cogs in his brain turning frantically and to no avail. "I'm sorry, Moony. I really don't understand."
"No," Remus sighs, "why would you? I was trying --," he begins, and then falters, breaking off. His chest fills with a huge breath and then empties before he begins again. "I was trying to make the charm work on me. But I can't."
“On -- what?"
"Against you, Sirius," Remus says quietly. "I can't delectus myself against you."
Should that have been obvious? Sirius doesn't think it was obvious. It's not as if he hasn't been looking for this, registering every little sign, or lack of one. He feels a surge of want in his belly, in the balls of his feet, in his cock; his breath feels harsh in his own throat. Moony. Sirius hears his wand clatter against the tiled floor, sees Remus crossing the small kitchen with short, tentative steps until he can smell his complicated, familiar, lupine scent. He feels Remus put three fingers of one cold hand against his cheek and then they are kissing, a gentle press of lips on lips growing gradually more insistent until their bodies bump together and they spring apart, as if surprised by their own corporeality. Sirius feels uncomfortably hot and he can see a fever-brightness in Remus's eyes, a strange sheen that must -- surely, must -- be desire.
"The book," Sirius says, after a moment, "is about me?" His voice is a little more husky and his breathing a little faster than he might ideally have wanted. He sees Remus notice the same thing, and then lick his lips, still glistening from their kiss. Sirius touches Remus's wrist, his shoulder, the line of his jaw, his movements an unconscious expression of his need for contact. Remus nods, and Sirius wants to push his hair back from his forehead, wants to put his fingers into Remus's mouth and watch him suck. A dozen thoughts he has spent forever trying not to think spring into his mind. He is delirious, terrified; he is hard as a rock. He exhales shakily, and Remus smiles.
"I think," Remus attempts slowly, "that we should write some more chapters." Sirius's hand settles on the back of Remus's neck. He pulls him in for another kiss.