FIC: Enough To Go By - for duck_or_rabbit
Title: Enough To Go By
Author: inksheddings
Recipient: duck_or_rabbit
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1330
Summary: Harry just wants to know one thing.
Author's notes: The prompt: Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much. - Oscar Wilde. I might have drifted a bit away from what you had in mind, duck_or_rabbit, but I do hope you like it! Beta'd by the lovely and amazing midnitemaraud_r. Title from Vienna Teng's song of the same name.
Enough To Go By
The transient occupants of Grimmauld Place were currently involved in one form of business or another, and Remus was grateful for the chance to exist in solitude for a while. It had been hard to bear the company of others, and yet he hadn't wished to isolate himself upstairs where memories were, for now, strongest. Still, when Harry dropped by unexpectedly, looking lost and in need of something he apparently thought Remus could provide, of course he'd welcomed him inside. Ron and Hermione were still in hospital, and Remus couldn't begrudge him whatever small comfort. Even if it reshaped the pain he'd managed to dull in the few nights since Sirius' death, and rekindled it into something much sharper.
It was an unusually warm night, even for June, and they were standing at the open window in the drawing room. They talked about little things for a while- how their friends were faring at St. Mungo's, how Harry would keep occupied during the summer -but it was obvious that Harry had something on his mind. Remus was torn between encouraging him to get it off his chest and continuing with the superficial chatter. Neither appealed to him, honestly, so he simply stood there looking at the few visible stars and listening to the stops and starts of whatever it was that Harry wanted to say.
"Remus, tell me one thing," Harry finally managed.
Remus waited for him to be more specific, but after a moment he realized that nothing else was forthcoming. He looked at Harry and saw that he was wound up tight, his shoulders hunched and hands clenched at his sides. Remus relaxed then, realising that as much as he would like to be left alone, he didn't want Harry to feel the same way. He wanted Harry to be able to reach out and depend on people- even on Remus, who didn't feel particularly dependable at the moment.
"What is it, Harry? What can I tell you?"
"Just... one thing. About Sirius. Anything that I don't know."
Harry's voice was quiet, but desperate nonetheless, yet Remus resisted the urge to reach out and try to smooth some of the tension from his shoulders.
"Just one thing?"
Remus hadn't meant for it to come out so casually; hadn't meant to make Harry take a backward step, away from the window. Remus did reach out, finally, placing a hand on his arm to keep him from bolting.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm afraid my nerves aren't much better than yours tonight."
Harry exhaled and nodded, and appeared inclined to stay put so Remus let him go.
"It's true, though," Harry said as he leaned back against the window sill. "I know... well, fuck all about Sirius, really."
Remus blinked at the unexpected profanity, but didn't comment on it. Everyone who'd cared for Sirius was entitled to far more than a few colourful words.
"That's not your fault," Remus offered instead. "You didn't have much of a chance. Sirius didn't have much of a chance to change that for you, though I know it was his fondest wish."
"I know that, Remus, that it's not my fault. But that doesn't make it any easier. Please, one thing. Just tell me one thing."
Remus looked back out at the sky, but clouds were drifting in and doing their best to block even his faint view of the stars. They were a pearl-grey colour, contrasting sharply against the few patches of darkening sky visible, lit from behind by the waxing three-quarter moon, and reflecting the ambient light of London from below. He watched as Vega was enveloped, winking out of existence, and closed his eyes. Unbidden, a deluge of memories flooded through his mind. Trivial things that certainly weren't the sort of knowledge Harry was requesting. Surely he didn't care what his Godfather's favourite colour had been, or which of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans had been his favourite. Harry didn't want to know if Sirius had preferred morning to evening skies, or if he'd preferred sleeping in a warm or cool room. Remus knew the answer to every one of those questions and many more, but these inconsequential bits of flotsam and jetsam would not answer Harry’s request for one thing about Sirius; not really.
Melancholy laughter brought Remus out of himself, and he opened his eyes to find Harry shaking his head.
"Is it really that hard, Remus? Is there nothing you can tell me? I'd even settle for what sort of foods he could cook for himself, or if he even knew how to cook."
Harry's voice was resigned, as if he'd already given up on learning anything; on Remus' ability to get past his own grief and give Harry something, anything. But what did Harry know about Remus' grief? What could he know?
Another memory drifted to the surface, elicited by Harry's outburst. Cooking. Cooking.
Remus hung his head and let it overtake him.
"Sirius didn't care for roasted potatoes. Not one little bit."
*****
But I don't like roasted potatoes!" Sirius said yet again around a mouthful of chicken as he pushed the offensive edible around on his plate.
"Are you this bad with James and Lily, or is it just me? How about Peter? Couldn't you harass Peter instead?"
Sirius waved his suggestions off. "Nah. But honestly, Remus, I don't particularly like roasted anything, but potatoes?" Sirius shuddered dramatically.
"I'm going to roast your bollocks, Sirius, if you don't shut up about it and eat the bloody meal," Remus muttered.
"I heard that."
"I know."
Sirius stabbed one of the apparently offensive potatoes with his fork and held it up in between both their faces.
"You have it then," Sirius insisted.
Remus dropped his fork and knife, letting them clatter onto the table top. "If you don't like the potatoes then why the fuck did you cook them? Why did you bother to barge into my flat- uninvited, I might add -and cook anything at all?"
"Because, my dear Remus, you can't cook worth a damn," Sirius answered with grave certainty.
Remus squeezed his eyes shut tightly until they started to ache. When he opened them again, Sirius was still sitting at the shabby little table in Remus' shabby little flat, holding that blasted potato up in the air as if it was the most sensible thing one could do. All Remus could manage was a shake of his head and a quietly asked, "What?"
"Because you like them, you idiot," Sirius continued gently, "and because I get to watch the vein in your forehead bulge ever so slightly, and listen to your voice growl and rasp when I complain about how I don't like them. Gets my blood pumping, you know."
"It does?"
"Quite. And then..."
"And then?"
"And then I get to feed you from my very own fork, off my very own plate. I get to watch your eyes close as your mouth opens and you very slowly…"
Remus leaned over and took a bite of Sirius' potato. He did indeed close his eyes, though not as he opened his mouth, but rather as he chewed and tasted the butter and herbs that covered his tongue. He licked his lips after swallowing, savouring the flavours that lingered. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a sight even more promising than the roasted potatoes. Sirius was leaning in, closer and closer over the shabby little table in Remus' shabby little flat. Just before he closed the distance, before all Remus' thoughts of food and plates and forks and knives disappeared, with Sirius' breath as welcome on his lips as the food had been, Sirius said, "That, my dear dear Remus, is why I cooked them."
*****
"What?" Harry asked, nonplussed. "Potatoes?"
Remus put his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulled him closer, and looked back up at the sky. The clouds now completely obscured the stars, but that wouldn't last forever. Nothing did, after all. He couldn't hold the clouds responsible any more than he could hold Sirius responsible- maybe not even himself -for how things had turned out, especially not when he had so many other things to hold close and, more importantly, to share.
"No, Harry, Sirius most definitely did not like roasted potatoes. But he loved us, Harry. He loved us."
end
Author: inksheddings
Recipient: duck_or_rabbit
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1330
Summary: Harry just wants to know one thing.
Author's notes: The prompt: Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much. - Oscar Wilde. I might have drifted a bit away from what you had in mind, duck_or_rabbit, but I do hope you like it! Beta'd by the lovely and amazing midnitemaraud_r. Title from Vienna Teng's song of the same name.
Enough To Go By
The transient occupants of Grimmauld Place were currently involved in one form of business or another, and Remus was grateful for the chance to exist in solitude for a while. It had been hard to bear the company of others, and yet he hadn't wished to isolate himself upstairs where memories were, for now, strongest. Still, when Harry dropped by unexpectedly, looking lost and in need of something he apparently thought Remus could provide, of course he'd welcomed him inside. Ron and Hermione were still in hospital, and Remus couldn't begrudge him whatever small comfort. Even if it reshaped the pain he'd managed to dull in the few nights since Sirius' death, and rekindled it into something much sharper.
It was an unusually warm night, even for June, and they were standing at the open window in the drawing room. They talked about little things for a while- how their friends were faring at St. Mungo's, how Harry would keep occupied during the summer -but it was obvious that Harry had something on his mind. Remus was torn between encouraging him to get it off his chest and continuing with the superficial chatter. Neither appealed to him, honestly, so he simply stood there looking at the few visible stars and listening to the stops and starts of whatever it was that Harry wanted to say.
"Remus, tell me one thing," Harry finally managed.
Remus waited for him to be more specific, but after a moment he realized that nothing else was forthcoming. He looked at Harry and saw that he was wound up tight, his shoulders hunched and hands clenched at his sides. Remus relaxed then, realising that as much as he would like to be left alone, he didn't want Harry to feel the same way. He wanted Harry to be able to reach out and depend on people- even on Remus, who didn't feel particularly dependable at the moment.
"What is it, Harry? What can I tell you?"
"Just... one thing. About Sirius. Anything that I don't know."
Harry's voice was quiet, but desperate nonetheless, yet Remus resisted the urge to reach out and try to smooth some of the tension from his shoulders.
"Just one thing?"
Remus hadn't meant for it to come out so casually; hadn't meant to make Harry take a backward step, away from the window. Remus did reach out, finally, placing a hand on his arm to keep him from bolting.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm afraid my nerves aren't much better than yours tonight."
Harry exhaled and nodded, and appeared inclined to stay put so Remus let him go.
"It's true, though," Harry said as he leaned back against the window sill. "I know... well, fuck all about Sirius, really."
Remus blinked at the unexpected profanity, but didn't comment on it. Everyone who'd cared for Sirius was entitled to far more than a few colourful words.
"That's not your fault," Remus offered instead. "You didn't have much of a chance. Sirius didn't have much of a chance to change that for you, though I know it was his fondest wish."
"I know that, Remus, that it's not my fault. But that doesn't make it any easier. Please, one thing. Just tell me one thing."
Remus looked back out at the sky, but clouds were drifting in and doing their best to block even his faint view of the stars. They were a pearl-grey colour, contrasting sharply against the few patches of darkening sky visible, lit from behind by the waxing three-quarter moon, and reflecting the ambient light of London from below. He watched as Vega was enveloped, winking out of existence, and closed his eyes. Unbidden, a deluge of memories flooded through his mind. Trivial things that certainly weren't the sort of knowledge Harry was requesting. Surely he didn't care what his Godfather's favourite colour had been, or which of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans had been his favourite. Harry didn't want to know if Sirius had preferred morning to evening skies, or if he'd preferred sleeping in a warm or cool room. Remus knew the answer to every one of those questions and many more, but these inconsequential bits of flotsam and jetsam would not answer Harry’s request for one thing about Sirius; not really.
Melancholy laughter brought Remus out of himself, and he opened his eyes to find Harry shaking his head.
"Is it really that hard, Remus? Is there nothing you can tell me? I'd even settle for what sort of foods he could cook for himself, or if he even knew how to cook."
Harry's voice was resigned, as if he'd already given up on learning anything; on Remus' ability to get past his own grief and give Harry something, anything. But what did Harry know about Remus' grief? What could he know?
Another memory drifted to the surface, elicited by Harry's outburst. Cooking. Cooking.
Remus hung his head and let it overtake him.
"Sirius didn't care for roasted potatoes. Not one little bit."
*****
But I don't like roasted potatoes!" Sirius said yet again around a mouthful of chicken as he pushed the offensive edible around on his plate.
"Are you this bad with James and Lily, or is it just me? How about Peter? Couldn't you harass Peter instead?"
Sirius waved his suggestions off. "Nah. But honestly, Remus, I don't particularly like roasted anything, but potatoes?" Sirius shuddered dramatically.
"I'm going to roast your bollocks, Sirius, if you don't shut up about it and eat the bloody meal," Remus muttered.
"I heard that."
"I know."
Sirius stabbed one of the apparently offensive potatoes with his fork and held it up in between both their faces.
"You have it then," Sirius insisted.
Remus dropped his fork and knife, letting them clatter onto the table top. "If you don't like the potatoes then why the fuck did you cook them? Why did you bother to barge into my flat- uninvited, I might add -and cook anything at all?"
"Because, my dear Remus, you can't cook worth a damn," Sirius answered with grave certainty.
Remus squeezed his eyes shut tightly until they started to ache. When he opened them again, Sirius was still sitting at the shabby little table in Remus' shabby little flat, holding that blasted potato up in the air as if it was the most sensible thing one could do. All Remus could manage was a shake of his head and a quietly asked, "What?"
"Because you like them, you idiot," Sirius continued gently, "and because I get to watch the vein in your forehead bulge ever so slightly, and listen to your voice growl and rasp when I complain about how I don't like them. Gets my blood pumping, you know."
"It does?"
"Quite. And then..."
"And then?"
"And then I get to feed you from my very own fork, off my very own plate. I get to watch your eyes close as your mouth opens and you very slowly…"
Remus leaned over and took a bite of Sirius' potato. He did indeed close his eyes, though not as he opened his mouth, but rather as he chewed and tasted the butter and herbs that covered his tongue. He licked his lips after swallowing, savouring the flavours that lingered. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a sight even more promising than the roasted potatoes. Sirius was leaning in, closer and closer over the shabby little table in Remus' shabby little flat. Just before he closed the distance, before all Remus' thoughts of food and plates and forks and knives disappeared, with Sirius' breath as welcome on his lips as the food had been, Sirius said, "That, my dear dear Remus, is why I cooked them."
*****
"What?" Harry asked, nonplussed. "Potatoes?"
Remus put his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulled him closer, and looked back up at the sky. The clouds now completely obscured the stars, but that wouldn't last forever. Nothing did, after all. He couldn't hold the clouds responsible any more than he could hold Sirius responsible- maybe not even himself -for how things had turned out, especially not when he had so many other things to hold close and, more importantly, to share.
"No, Harry, Sirius most definitely did not like roasted potatoes. But he loved us, Harry. He loved us."
end